Music of the muse

I know I've written here about the fact that I choose specific music per book. Thursday proved how invaluable the habit can be for me. I was only going to organize a few notes for Merry 5, but to do it I turned on the musical I'd been listening to for the last Merry book, A STROKE OF MIDNIGHT. The musical was Jekyll and Hyde. I didn't really want to work. I wasn't in the mood to work, but as soon as the singing/talking introduction finished I was suddenly thrown back into the world, the character's, all of it. My subconscious associates this music with this story, apparently, because I began to remember some of the scenes I'd cut to save for this book. I began to remember the new characters that had only barely been on stage last time and the plans I had for them. Plot points; mythology; so much came back, as if the music was some kind of magic key. I had spent weeks listening to this music while I wrote MIDNIGHT, until I was so tired of the music I couldn't bear to listen to it. Then I put it away and didn't listen to it again until today. Part of it is the right music for the right character, or world, truly brings it alive for me. But also, it's that I had conditioned myself that when this music plays, this book and world is being written. I'd almost convinced myself that I could fudge on music between Anita and Merry and carry over between the two, but this incident proved that that might be hazardous. I have empirical evidence now on how my creative process uses music.

I also now have over a hundred pages of recovered material. One large section and several smaller scenes that furthered the plot last time, but would have forced me to leave some really big plot threads hanging and almost cliff hanging storylines. Not fair to the readers and not a complete enough book for my tastes.

So, over a hundred pages in hand and this is still the musical for Merry.

Chapter Two, by accident

I edited the first chapter of Anita 14 this morning, but when I tried to do the outline a funny thing happened. I now have chapter two done, and notes on chapter three. I am not intending to write this book right now. I can't. Merry 5 is next in the deadline schedule. But damn, I have nearly forty pages of Anita 14. Apparently the book is ready to be written. I guess I should have expected it. For one thing I've finally had enough of a break from work that the writing is pushing at me again. Pushing at me not with deadlines, but with the pressure, or need to write, to create.

But also, the plot of this book was the Edward part of DANSE MACABRE. I had to take the part that brought Edward to town out when I realized just how much other plot was already there. DANSE MACABRE was over a thousand pages long, can you imagine if I had tried to keep in the plot that needed Edward to come back Anita up? The book would have been impossibly large. But just as it's left me with more type-written notes than I've ever had before I started writing a book, it also means I know what happens for most of the book. There's no sitting at the computer and wondering what happens next, or how to work in that clue, I know already. I think that is one reason that I now have two chapters written, and that they're both almost twenty pages a piece. It's cool that it's writing so fast, but it's not next. Interesting problem.

I'm hoping that part of the renewed urge to write will transfer to other projects. I am hoping, very much, that when I sit down to start Merry 5 next week that the pressure of creative juices will be there for that book, too. It would be nice. But my fear is that just like with DANSE MACABRE that this Anita book is ready to write, ready to go, and that I will somehow damage my creative flow by jumping to a different project when I'm doing almost twenty pages a day. One of the many issues with doing two series for me. Merry was supposed to help me rest from Anita, so that I could come to both series fresh. But in some ways writing is writing and work is work. Even I cannot truly rest from one series by writing another. I needed to rest that part of me that gets ideas, and needs to put them on paper. No matter how much I enjoy a book, it is not the same thing as taking a break. You'd think it wouldn't take me a trip to Italy to figure that out, but it did. They say travel broadens the mind, but for me, it just let me see my life and work from a new angle. I've come back refreshed and renewed, but still puzzled on how to juggle two series without damaging the flow of either book. It is a puzzlement.

Tomorrow morning I'll give it another try to do the outline, but I'm betting I'll come away with chapter three. Hard to complain about that, but I've got to start on Merry. Strangely, I'm excited about starting the next Merry book, too. Though, because I've only done four books in her world, the characters are not as real to me, the voices not as strong, so the press of them is not so loud in my head. Somewhere around book eight, BLUE MOON, is when Anita and the gang got very loud and clear in my head. It will be interesting to see if the same is true of Merry and her crew.

In fact, I've had two ideas for other series that have nothing to do with Anita or Merry's world, and oddly enough, they, too, have been clearer in my head. Characters, world building, images, scenes, plot points, swimming through my head. Though, I did try and sit down and write some detailed stuff on one of the ideas and it was hard. New world, new characters, always a little difficult at first. Anita and I are like a well-oiled machine; we know how to work together. The two new worlds will be years away. One isn't ready to write, and the other there isn't time to write it, now. Two series is more than enough. And yes, I haven't forgotten that my first book, NIGHTSEER, was supposed to be the first of four books. Sometimes I think I will go back to it after Merry is done, in about a decade. Other times I'm not sure I can go back and finish the story. Just is there are some books that appeal to you as a child, or teenager, but when you come back to them as an adult they do not fill your heart the same way, I fear that books that you write yourself may be the same. That perhaps the time to write my first series has come and gone. I don't know, all I know is that it does not speak to me. The characters do not knock on the door of my subconscious. They did once, and no one cared. The direct sequel was rejected, and NIGHTSEER, itself, did not sell well enough initially. My success with Anita and now Merry has kept NIGHTSEER in print. In fact, the people that rejected the sequel came back and sort of hinted, or maybe asked, I can't remember anymore, if I could finish the series. But it was years later after the Anita books had really taken off. By that time I was committed to Merry and Anita, and there wasn't time or energy.

I'm going to go try and organize some notes, either Merry or Anita. I do not edit on screen. I still edit and organize on paper. The screen is not real to me, paper is real. Early experiences with computers taught me that on the screen can go away and be beyond retrieval, but printed paper I can carry with me, and I know where it is. Jon has finally convinced me that the memory sticks, or whatever they're called, are secure, and will hold lots. But it's only been in the last few months that I trusted to it. Once a technophobe . . . but, hey, I'm working on it, okay.

Chapter one

I finished the first chapter of the next Anita book. Once I've edited it, and finished a rough outline of some of the major points then I can ship it off to New York, put a copy in my file system, and the decks will be cleared for me to concentrate on Merry 5. The chapter will be there waiting for me months from now when I get finished with Merry. I'm off to bed now.

Organizing the creative

Today Trinity is at a friend's house for a play date. So today is the first day back to work for Jon and myself. And for the rest of the staff, too. Jon is back to work on the first draft of the script. We're actually reversing the process that I do on the books. I do a draft, or several, of a book before anyone else looks at it. Of course, all I'm wanting is someone to tell me if it makes sense, or if my dyslexia has kicked in I've used the totally wrong word in a sentence. (Spell checkers won't catch it, if the word is a real word.) For Jon and I, it will be a true collaboration on the script. Jon seems to have no trouble taking the already written book of GUILTY PLEASURES and turning into a script. I have terrible trouble seeing it as anything but a book. First draft of a script, which we experimented with for an afternoon, that, I'm faster on. I love creating something out of thin air. Jon seems much better at taking what is already in existence and turning it into a script. I'll look at it once he's got a draft, because all I can see is the book. I find that when Jon has it in script form, it looks like a script to me, but I could not have put it in that form. Funny that.

What am I doing today while Jon works on the script? I'm still clearing the decks for the next book. I went through a lot of the papers, old versions of scenes from DANSE MACABRE that will never be used in any book. Scenes that just didn't fly. They have been shredded, or will be soon. The time intensive paperwork is the scenes that didn't work for this book, but may work for the next one. Characters too, that will work better later. Those I'm saving, and I'm trying to find a way to file them that is actually useful. The story idea files work. When I don't know exactly what to do next I use to go through the story idea file, full of bits of paper, sticky notes, and pages from old writer's notebooks. When I was shopping for what to do next this system worked well. I tried to expand this system to Merry idea file, and an Anita idea file. It seemed like it should work, but it isn't. At first, I thought it was because it was too disorganized, so I divided the Anita files into narrower and narrower topics, giving them each their own folder. It didn't work, because writing a book is not that easily delineated. The scene with Meng Die overlapped with some of the Requiem scenes. The information we learn about some of the new vamps from London overlapped with a lot of scenes. I write entirely too organically to divide everything so cleanly. I also found the outline format they teach in most classes to be almost useless for me. Some writers swear by them, I'm more likely to swear at them. The character interaction is too complex to be divided up into neat bites.

I actually have purchased large, hard-sided, three ring binders. I hate three ring binders, never liked them at all, but due to the fact that the last Anita book was divided in it's plot. The mystery that was supposed to be in DANSE MACABRE will actually be the entire plot for Anita book 14, untitled as of yet. So a lot of the notes are very pertinent. I can't file them, because filing makes no sense to me as a way to construct a book. I can't put dozens of type written pages up on the wall. It's too bulky, and sticky notes are one thing, entire chapters another. So in a bid to find a method to help me organize that works for me, and how I write, I have the binders. I'm going to try and separate the notes in sections for different characters, or scenes, or maybe just first third, middle, last third, climax. Maybe that would work better than organizing by character or scene? Maybe? Maybe. Why am I changing how I work after nearly twenty years? Because I have never had a book plot that I knew so much about ahead of time. I have never had so many pages, and notes that are actually part of a book, and the next book at that. Well, the next Anita book. I will actually be doing the next Merry book next-next.

Because of the amount of paper, I actually kept redoing scenes that I already had written out, because I didn't remember writing them. I would write a scene and find it in the files in a slightly different version, but not much different. The last Merry book took longer than I'd hoped, and Anita was chomping at the bit to be written, so I made notes. That took some of the pressure off and allowed me to concentrate on Merry. I find that when I have that pressure of another work in my head, that I need to take an afternoon and just write out the notes, or the chapter, because it frees me up to go back to the current book. The novellite MICAH was like that. The story interrupted DANSE MACABRE early in the process. I wrote it in like two weeks, two glorious weeks where the muse was driving me hard. I've never had anything that long come out so quickly. Of course, usually two hundred pages is like the bare beginnings of a book for me, so maybe I've had some two hundred chunks write this fast before, but because the book wasn't done, I didn't notice it.

So, I am drowning in notes, characters, and I have to organize it so I can clear the desk off and start on Merry number 5, untitled as of yet. So I'm giving myself the rest of this week to organize the notes; at the end of this week what isn't organized goes in t he Anita drawer. I'll sort it out later, because my deadline for Merry 5 is not getting further away. I also will finish the first chapter for the next Anita book, so that months from now I won't sit down to a blank screen. I actually have entire chapters written in the next Merry book; scenes that just didn't have time for in SEDUCED BY MOONLIGHT. But what I thought was the beginning scene is actually been pushed back a little, just from rereading the first few chapters of MOONLIGHT. Merry being a continuing story arc, much more than Anita, has had some of the same organizational problems for me as DANSE MACABRE and the untitled next Anita. So I'll be trying the binder system with Merry, as well. We'll see. I'm hoping the binder will allow me to go through and glance at my notes in a more user friendly way. Whatever the file system has failed me, so as my worlds and characters get more complex, I need a more flexible and visual system. The sticky notes work because I can look up and see them. How to do that with dozens of pages of typed notes? We'll try the binders.

Happy Holidays

Happy Hanukkah, and Happy Kwanzaa. Sorry we missed the start of Hanukkah by a day. But everyone enjoy their holidays. I so don't get this whole being insulted because people say happy holidays and not Merry Christmas. Contrary to what some people may think you can't actually tell by looking at a person what faith they follow. I have a lot of friends that are Christian, and none of them are insulted by being bid happy holidays. It seemed like a nice compromise so that you wouldn't be in the embarrassing moment of wishing Merry Christmas to someone who was Jewish, or Happy Hanukkah to someone who was Christian. There are lots of religions out there to get confused with this time of year. Some years Ramadan also falls around this same week, and then you're really struggling on what to wish anyone. But don't we all agree that Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Ramadan, and Christmas, are all holidays? Can't we at least agree on that much? Besides, if you were hitting it correct for our faith it would be Happy Yule, or Happy Solstice. Plus there are all sorts of civil holidays that happen around this time of year. Boxing day in the U. K. It's a U. S. public holiday. It was the Emperor's Birthday in Japan on the 23rd. New Year's is just around the corner. I'm sure there are holidays in other parts of the world that I'm missing. So Happy Holidays everyone, and remember that most of these holidays have one common theme; we're supposed to love one another, or at least tolerate each other. Peace on Earth, Goodwill towards everyone.

We Wish You a Merry Christmas... Or Yule

Its now officially Christmas.

Happy Holidays from All of Us at LKH Central.

Additions to the unmerry Christmas List

Two additions to the unmerry Christmas list of movies: "The Blue Carbuncle" a Sherlock Holmes Christmas mystery, and The Vicar of Dibley's "The Christmas Lunch Incident." The Vicar of Dibley is a very funny series. The Christmas episode is the one that we saw first and made us order the rest of the series. Sadly, I've only been able to find it on VHS, not DVD. Sigh. The vicar special is actually one where no one dies, and it's heart warming, very funny, and very feel good. But somehow, strangely, it's still not on the traditional list of holiday specials. It just feels subversive, somehow.

The turkey is in the oven, the cook book is open to the sweet potato recipe, raisins and dried cranberries are soaking in boiling water for the stuffing, and while we wait for the turkey to cook Trinity and I are baking cookies. 'Tis the season. Happy holidays.

A not so merry Christmas list

'Twas the night before, the night before, Christmas. All through the house many creatures were stirring most of them furry and canine. Oh, hell, I call this parody for lack of patience. Jon and I have been sick for two out of the last three days, and I have to say that probably exercising in the middle of it was not my brightest move, but I'd do it again, I think. We usually feel better when we exercise. If any of you are feeling as Grinchy as I am this year, I have some alternate Christmas theamed shows for you to put into your DVD player. Things that will help you embrace your mood and still be festive, sort of.

Hercule Poirot's Christmas with David Suchet. "The Christmas Party", another murder for the holidays, this time with Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin. If you do not know who I am referring to, then get a Rex Stout book, quickly, and cure your ignorance. It's one of our favorite mystery series. There are other not so merry holiday movies, but I'll leave you with this one; Bell, Book, and Candle. It's not about murder, but it is about the supernatural, and love, and not love, and cats, and it has Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak in it. It begins at this festive time of year. A romantic and scary Christmas, just up my alley. I'll recommend one short story, and one book, to complete the unmerry list. "The Festival" by H. P. Lovecraft, and THE DARK IS RISING by Susan Cooper. The Lovecraft story has long been a favorite of mine, and Cooper was out long before J. K. Rowling ever dreamt of Harry Potter. THE DARK IS RISING is actually supposed to be the second book in the series, but the first two books can be easily read out of order, and this is the book that sold me on the series. It is magical and heartwarming and scary and awe inspiring. It is one of the few books that I will reread periodically, just for the pleasure of the words and the story. Some books you like to take off the book shelf and wrap around yourself like a favorite blanket. Something to comfort you when your spirits are low. THE DARK IS RISING is such a book.

Enjoy my unmerry Christmas list; I do.

Heroes don't whine

I finished the edits of DANSE MACABRE. Yea! Trinity declared our Christmas tree the most beautiful tree ever. I couldn't see it, but this afternoon as I walked past the room, I thought, "You know, it is a pretty tree." I guess I'm feeling a little less blue. I've decided to stop whining about my grief over my grandmother. I'm tired of hearing it, so that probably means so is everyone else. At least I'll stop whining here on the blog. Jon and the people I work with, well, they'll get some of it at odd moments. I can't help it. Here I can rewrite, edit, just decide no that's too personal. When you're in the middle of a conversation, it's harder to check yourself. I haven't shared a lot of this with friends, how much it's all bothering me . . . Shit, there I go again. It is hard sometimes not to get overly personal on the blog. It begins to feel like a diary, and more private than it actually is. But it's not private. It's like the opposite of private. I'm not sure I like the opposite of private.

Business, if I just concentrate on business. The edits are done, and the ball is now being served back to my editor. The next round will be copy edits, and Jon will finally get a look at the whole book. We've found that one pair of fresh eyes is important for copy edits, because otherwise you've seen the same pages so many times they feel stale, and it's hard to see them clearly. Of course, I've read and discussed some parts of the book with him so it almost seems like he's read it. But I find it impossible to live and be in a relationship and not share my work. It is too much a part of who I am and what I think. Jon got me a girl's t-shirt from CITY OF HEROES. The computer game. He also got me a shirt from CITY OF VILLAINS. I opened up my drawer and there they both were on top. I sat there and thought, hero or villain? Today I needed to be a hero, because I'm not feeling particularly brave. Not that you can't be brave and be a villain, but it does lower your odds. No, I don't play the computer game, but Jon does.

Happy Winter Solstice

It's winter solstice the longest night of the year. It is the night when our ancestors huddled around fires and prayed for the return of the sun, or that's what folklore and myth tells us. If Jon and I were purely Celtic Wiccans we'd celebrate today and be done, but we are eclectic Wiccans, which means we also have many of the traditions of the Germanic Wiccan in our belief system. (There is some debate among Wiccans and folklore scholars about whether Winter Solstice and Yule are indeed the same celebration, or not. We choose to divide them in our house.) Which means we also have Yule to celebrate. Yule is on the same day as Christmas. So technically for us it's Happy Yule, not Merry Christmas. But for Trinity it is Christmas. She's starting to go to church with Jon's parents and is thinking seriously of becoming Catholic. Not my flavor of religion, but I believe strongly that God, or Goddess, calls us to our paths of faith, so Catholic is okay. That whole women can't be priests thing, and the whole celibacy for their priests, just puzzles me. Luckily for us many of the trappings, decorations, food, etc . . . are identical between the two holidays. Which makes a duel celebration a very smooth one.

We open one present on Solstice, and divide the rest between Christmas eve and Yule, itself. We also put out extra treats for the wild birds on St. Stephen's day which is the day after Christmas. The tradition in England, parts of Ireland, Wales, Cornwall, etc . . . was to hunt a wren and kill it on this day. There's even a Christmas carol about it. I'm trying to make family traditions that reflect the family we are. We had a tradition from when I was a wee girl that we did this year. We do it most years, but this year it was harder. The first night you decorate the tree, you turn out the lights, and by the splendor of the tree in the darkened room you sing a carol. For my mother and I when I was very small, the carol was always 'Silent Night'. I still can't sing that carol without a certain level of grief, even after nearly a decade in school choirs. Trinity and have been struggling to find one we both know the words to, and want to sing. This year, it was 'Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it snow'. She did it in the Christmas program, so she knows the words, and it was one of the carols I wrote the last book to. So we know the words, and it has not depressing associations. Either we've found our carol, or by next year Trinity and I need to learn all the words to 'O' Tannenbaum.'

Holiday blues

I hate Christmas, the whole Christmas season. Why? Damned if I know. I know it has something to do with the fact that this is the first one without my grandmother being alive. I'm still working through how I feel about her and me, and all the issues that never seem to get resolved. We had our disagreements. Two stubborn, strong-willed women in one house is always a problem. But I miss her, damnit. I don't seem to want to decorate anything. The tree is up, but naked. We'll decorate tonight after school. But my heart isn't in it. I remember when my year revolved around this holiday time of year. Now it just seems like something to endure, rather than enjoy. What I want to do is just drown myself in work. I need to do the work, and I could just ignore everything but the work. Jon would be okay with us playing Scrooge. But we have a child, one that still talks about Santa. Every year may be the last year for Saint Nick, so it's special and I appreciate that, but it's hard to do a child-friendly holiday when you, yourself, are feeling so . . . well, not holiday. I love my work and my world. It is my shield and my refuge when the rest of the world goes south in some way. I think one of the reasons I felt so compelled to have a child this time round is that a child forces you to be more than you want to be. They force you to not hide, but to confront. If we're paying attention as parents we always learn as much from our children as they learn from us. Good, bad, hard, or joy filled; it's always a learning experience.

The trouble is that you keep learning from each other long after you're grown as a child. The relationship doesn't end because you got out and had a family of your own. The lessons continue, apparently, even after one side of the equation is no longer among the living.

SETI@home

I'm a member of SETI@home.
I also started a Team, Team LKH, for the project.
This is to announce that the team exists and to solicit membership.
C'mon and help me find some aliens!

The cat bird blues

Just picked Trinity up from the sleep over birthday party of her friend, Lydia. Trin was having such a good time that she didn't want to leave yet, but it was the time on the invitation for picking up of children. Two different parents arrived to pick up their respective children as we were having her gather her stuff. I stood in the foyer carefully not touching anything. They have a cat. Thanks to the allergy shots I could stand there, but within minutes I had to step outside because it began to impact my breathing. I got out before it got bad, but everything that Trin took with her is going to have to be washed. She's in the bath as we speak. Jon has her clothes in the washer. Her sleeping bag, her pillow case, all of it. I had to roll down a window on the drive home, even in the cold. I've taken a benadryl on top of all my other allergy meds, because I'm starting to itch. Some people joke about allergies, those of us who truly suffer from them, well, it's not so funny. There was an article in Cat Fancy magazine some time ago about the genetic altered cats that are supposed to be ownable by those of us with this allergy. A woman wrote in about the article saying, that those of us with allergies should just suffer through the allergy. It's just a little sneezing and itching. It's so much more than that for some of us. It's throat closing, breathing stopping, epi pen time. Unless the genetically altered kitties actually work, I will never own a cat. Not a horrible tragedy, as tragedies go, but for those of you who spent your childhood wanting a cat, but being raised by someone who hated them . . . You grow up, and think you'll have one of your own. Then in college I acquired this allergy. Most of my truly severe allergies were acquired in college. You rarely out grow adult onset allergies.

I don't know where I stand on the genetic alteration of animals. Especially when it's to allow people with allergies to own them. It seems frivolous. But, it would sooth something inside me to finally have a cat of my own. Funny, somethings you want when you're five never quite go away.

Truthfully, the thing I miss most about my allergies is birds. I lost my beloved cockatiel, Baby, when she was still quite young. She had not yet seen a decade. Many birds live much longer than dogs or cats. It is one of their many pluses. She passed away before I realized I was allergic to the birds. We found new homes for the canary and a cockatiel that we had inherited from a deceased relative. Snoopy, our yellow-naped Amazon parrot, stayed. If Baby had been alive I wouldn't have gotten rid of her, and Snoopy had been ours since she was a very little big bird. I did not realize how terribly allergic I was to Snoopy and her cage until I moved out and she stayed with Gary. I got the two pugs, Pugsley and Phouka, and he got Snoopy. I was home more and could do more exercise and socialization of the dogs. It seemed logical. But once I was in a bird free environment I felt so much better. Unfortunately the allergy shots will not help with the bird allergy. Because no one has been able to isolate the protein, or component that makes humans allergic to bird feathers. It is the feathers. I eat poultry just fine, but something in feathers is not my body's friend. I never owned a cat, so it's harder to truly miss what I've never had. But I had birds. I had a shoulder bird. Long after Baby died I would catch myself at the computer reaching up to scratch her head, and she would not be there. I would swear that I could feel her pressed against my cheek while I wrote. She was my muse for many of the first Anita books. I guess there are three things I feel better with when I work; tea or coffee, music, and animal companionship. Snoopy would sit on her perch, or her play area near my desk. She was a little big to be a shoulder bird. And also, as an Amazon she was more playful, not so much into the sitting around. Heck, we taught her to play catch with some of her smaller toys.

I don't ever expect to be able to own a cockatoo or a cockatiel again. Very high feather dander. Any of the bigger parrots are going to be out. But if I could just have a canary again. One little bird, to sing in my office. We had a canary named Snert, after Hagar the Horrible's dog. Snert was a character. He totally sold me on canaries. He was a Gloster Fancy with that Beatles hair-do. He would sing at the drop of a hat. He would come out of his cage and play on Snoopy's playground. He ate green peas like a hawk with a kill, stabbing through the pea with his little-bitty claws, and eating the pea hollow. He died, and we got another canary. The one that had to find a new home. Sigh. I don't dare get another bird, because an pet deserves a home for it's entire life, and I couldn't count on being able to do that for a canary, or any bird. I have the room to have that finch aviary that I dreamt of, but that is like totally out. Too many feathers.

It isn't a tragedy, but it is a little loss. I have the dogs, and I am grateful, and I am a dog person at heart, but I do miss the possibilities.

Christmas is next week, aaah!

Christmas is next week. Aaahh! I knew it theorectially. I mean I've looked at the calendar recently. I saw that the winter solstice was the 21st. Which meant Christmas was close by. I even knew that the 25th is always Christmas, but somehow the whole that- would -be- next- weekend just escaped me. I have not finished my shopping, at all. Trin's done, but Jon's not, and lots of other people aren't finished either. Still trying to finish up the edit of DANSE MACABRE so it can go back to New York. It's making those last decisions, like; do we cut this bit of dialogue, do we cut this new minor-major character and save him for another book, do we really need two longish speeches by this character, or does the second one do enough character development. There are also smaller questions like what is that one move in ballet called? Grand jete, actually. Yesterday was not as productive as it might have been, because Mary, Jon's mom is on vacation and we're on earlier munchkin duty. Jon and I picked the kiddo up from school then drove to get dinner before her dance class. Yesterday was their Christmas program. A lot of little girls in reindeer antlers. It was very cute, and Trin had improved a lot in the ballet moves. The jazz moves, which are newer, are a little less refined. We're going to have to make sure she practices between now and the main recital.

I have to get DANSE MACABRE done. Jon and I must pick out the last of the lighting fixtures and plumbing fixtures. These things cannot be put off. Do the holidays come with a delay button? Don't I wish?

More cheerful this morning

Feeling a little more cheerful this morning. I finished the first go through of edits of DANSE MACABRE on the airplane coming home. I also finished rereading I.O.U. by Robert B. Parker. I started the first chapter of the next Anita book. I'll do an outline. Sometimes the outline is very close to the final book, and sometimes has little to do with the final product. I think this one will be pretty close to the actual book. Time will tell.

Home again, home again

We're back home. Yea! The flight back home was harder than the flight out for me. There was more turbulence. I don't like turbulence. Yeah, yeah, no one does. The business went well. We'll know more after the holidays. I'm not being cryptic on purpose, but I've found that no matter what I say that some people pick it apart, of course, those same people will complain because I'm hinting but not saying anything. You know there are nights when I wonder if the blog is a good idea. It just seems like another thing for people to bitch about.

Packing again

Jon and I just finished unpacking the brief case that we took with us to Italy, so we can repack it for the trip to L. A. I'll be taking the last half of DANSE MACABRE with me to edit on the plane. About five hundred pages worth. Should keep me busy, the flight isn't that long. I've packed a couple of books just in case, but I'll probably work. Work and try to forget where I'm sitting and how far up we are. Damned phobias.

Cold

I got the edits for DANSE MACABRE back yesterday in a box; a big, thick, box. I've gone from eager to do the editing to just strung out from it. Some of the book is so familiar from writing and rewriting that I still can't see it clearly. I'm on page 568 and the book is over a thousand pages, so still far to go. I was hoping to have it done before we fly to the coast for a business meet on Monday, but there is just no way to be done in time. Not unless I spend the whole weekend working, and I don't want to do that. One of my goals for the new year is to enjoy my success more. I mean what's the point of making money and doing well at your job if you never let yourself enjoy it? I was hoping for a more relaxing grown-up weekend, but my ex is sick, and he's supposed to pick Trinity up tomorrow, but I'm not banking on it. Hoping, but not banking.

Frankly, with a book this size I'm not sure that working steadily all weekend would get it done in time to have it shipped back to New York on Monday anyway. Long damn book. I thought nearly a month off would make it seem fresh, but it's still too close, too recent a wound. It's like I'm still bleeding from the experience and they want me to fill out insurance forms. I've got THREE DAYS GRACE playing while I type this. I needed something with more of a beat than the Dean Martin Christmas album I was listening to. THREE DAYS GRACE is one of the albums I listened to when I did the last Merry book, A STROKE OF MIDNIGHT. Strangely, I'm going to be able to recycle almost all the albums that I used for MIDNIGHT for the new Merry book. She doesn't seem to burn through music as fast as Anita does. I'd started rereading MIDNIGHT when the edits came back. Another reason why I was hoping to get done with the edits was to take the last Merry book and read and make notes on the plane, but I don't want to immerse myself in one world then try to immerse myself in the other one. Too confusing.

I have no idea why I'm so discouraged today. It's cold here, but I've put a space heater in my office for the dogs. I've had it aimed at their bed all day. Usually when I get up and leave the office they wander around or want to go with me, but today the pugs haven't moved from the warm bed. Pip even stayed put through two interruptions. He finally couldn't resist finding out what everyone else was doing, but he's followed me back up, and he's curled on the other side of the room. I guess there is only so much room on the dog bed and the pugs have stretched out, deeply asleep, and taken the space over. I'm going to make them go downstairs with me this time. I need a hug from my husband and then I give up for the day. I'm going to run a large amount of hot water in a tub and soak. Jon will handle the kiddo, and then we'll have dinner, and then bed. The only thing that sounds better than a hot bath is cuddling next to Jon for a long winter's sleep. Maybe I just need to hibernate?

Snow

You know the earlier blog that I wrote about snow not being magical? Well, I have to take it back. It's snowing here. Snowing enough that I was reminded of snow in northern Indiana where I grew up. Since we don't get much snow here I wanted Pippin to experience it. He's only two, and still very much a puppy. They're predicting between two and four inches, so it may be the biggest snowfall of the year here. So out we went. I didn't make Jon come with us because he's my tropical Viking, not my winter warrior. I got out from the house only a little and realized I needed something to protect my eyes from the blowing snow, so I went back for glasses. Richard, our friend and personal asssstant, was suited up for winter and wanted to come with. I didn't argue, though I thought volunteering for the snow was a little, well, odd. I wasn't looking forward to it. But out we went. Rapidly I remembered that with a scarf up, glasses fog and you can't see. About half way through the mile, or so, I remembered how to not look directly at blowing snow, and look both down and up. The snow was falling very fast, and the wind had it an an angle that was just right to hit the face. It wasn't as cold as yesterday, but it was still cold. Richard was downright cheerful about the whole thing. I admit, I was not. But it was impossible to be glum with Pip enjoying the snow so much. He galloped in it, licked it, played with it, and when his feet got cold, he pulled harder to go faster, further. He is half boxer and one quarter Brittany, which means he's a tougher customer outside than the pugs. Sasquatch has wanted nothing to do with the walks since it got really cold. Pip's prints were his paws, the leash sweeping the snow periodically because he was coming in and out (he courses a field naturally) and his tongue in a long wiggly line. I'd love to know what a tracker would have made of it. by the time we got back to the house my hair was wet with snow. Richard and I had so much snow on our hats, scarves, coats, that we had to shake them out and put them in the bathroom to dry out. We got to do that boot shake-stamp at the porch to get the shoes clean. We spent most of the talk discussing winters we'd experienced. I told my story about getting lost in a snow storm with my dog, King, one memorable winter in Indiana. He weighed about sixty, sixty-five pounds, and was injured, and just refused to move. Too cold. I could carry him, but not through waist deep snow, not for long. We made it back alright, with very minor frostbite. But I still remember the moment when the world went white, and though I knew we were in an open field surrounded by houses, I could see nothing but the snow. I realize that I've never liked winter as well since that year. But it was that moment. That moment when I realized that the snow could kill me, that if I chose the wrong direction we could walk out into the fields past the houses, and truly be in serious trouble. I also wouldn't leave my dog, and I couldn't carry him through the snow. I got frostbite taking off my gloves and warming his injured leg with my hands and breath, so he would limp with me. But I did it, while waiting for the snow to stop long enough for me to know which direction I needed to walk. So close to home. Minutes before I could see my house, then whoosh, and the world was white. Hell, even my dog was white, but not as white as that snow.

But we made it back and we were okay, and by spring King's injured leg was fine. I did physical therapy with him and walked him every morning before class. He'd been shot by a neighbor, that's how we inherited him. The parents of the cousin who owned King told me that they'd take him into the woods and shoot him rather than do the physical therapy. He was just a dog. My grandmother and I had paid for his surgery and a metal pin being put in his leg. I'd found him shot, and threatened to kill my neighbor. If it had been a Matlock, or Murder She Wrote, episode he'd have come up dead and me being a suspect, but in real life nothing happened to him, because we hadn't witnessed it. He intimidated the only witness we had, and that was the end of it. But I drove up with the dog from the vet's and my grandmother's first question was, "Why are you putting that dog in my new garage?" She'd waited years for a garage to be put on the house for the car I drove. I told her why I'd brought King home, and she didn't argue. We liked the dog.

All this to say that I'm excited about the snow. No one in the house has to drive anywhere in it. Though the local schools are closing and we're waiting to hear about Trin's. DANSE MACABRE is in a huge box on my other desk, and all I have to do today is sit at my desk, watch the snow, and edit. Cool. I can see the bird feeders from my windows, and the heated birdbath. A very big hit right now. This morning when Gary dropped Trin off there was a large hawk in the magnolia tree. We think a rough-legged, or broad-shouldered. Trin spotted it first, and I only figured out why they weren't coming inside when I saw them creeping around the edge of the yard and Gary pointing upward. It flew just over my head, a dark and pale flash bigger than most of our dogs. A good day to make friends again with the snow.

Richard's just brought up a fresh cup of tea, so it's time to get editing. If the weather doesn't get too bad Keath, our personal trainer, is coming today, so I better get busy.

Weekend

This weekend was not relaxing, but it was very family. We did breakfast with Santa at the Misourri Botanical Gardens on Saturday. We got up earlier for it, than we do for school. Trin had a wonderful time. She was in her social element. By the time we got a compliment on her Christmas dress she was off to another costumed character. She never stayed to hear the compliments. We told her later. Her activity level is what mine might have been as a child if punishment in school had been less punitive. But her socialization desire is my mother's. I don't remember it, but she, like Trin, was running into people that knew her name whenever we went out and about. Though, I know for a fact, that I'm not the only parent that has had the experience of being out with your kid and they know more people than we do. Especially when you work out of the house, you just don't see that many people daily.

Sunday morning, up for church. Trinity has requested to go with Jon's parents to church, and since we believe that religion is a personal choice between you and Diety, we're cool with that. Christianity is fine religion, and I trust to Mary and Art to guide her around the fanatics or the misogynists.

We did holiday shopping after breakfast with Santa. Braving the malls all dressed up and pleasantly for us there were very few crowds. Mary told us that later in the day it was so crowded she could barely stand to be there, so going early was good. Tiring, but good. Jon and I will never be morning people, and it's nice to be married to someone who shares with me the puzzlement of being at places full of Yuletide cheer and costumed reindeer. Rudolph did a nice tap dance. There were lots of babies in the cutest Christmas outfits. But there are usually moments in the middle of such events where I feel completely out of my element. Where I want to pinch myself and wonder how I ended up here. I have one of those Addams family moments where I'd rather be dressed in black and lurking in a corner instead of in red and green and smiling. But the red and green and smiling is me, too. I love Christmas, the whole Christmas season. But that all black, lurking in the corner is me, as well. But now, I'm married to someone that also understands that dichotomy. That some weekends you feel like playing Santa, and some weekends you'd rather be in that black t-shirt being anti-social.

Grown-up

Yesterday was the first of December. We woke to some serious snow flurries. They were those huge fluffy flakes. The kind that if it keeps up pile up rapidly if the ground is cold enough. Once upon a time, I would have thought it was magical sight; the first snow fall of the season. Yesterday all I could think of was what a pain in the ass it would be for so many mundane things. Driving is dangerous; walk and driveway to shovel. Those pretty flakes were short hand for all sorts of unpleasant things. And it was cold. The coldest it's been here this year. It has stayed around freezing or just above it for yesterday and today feels as cold. Once, the cold meant Christmas was coming, one of my favorite times of year. But living in Misourri, as opposed to where I grew up in northern Indiana, has spoiled me. I've stopped associating winter's cold with the winter solstice. Christmas and all it's accompanying celebration can come when it's too warm outside for snow. When we first moved here, I felt cheated, now it's the snow that makes me feel cheated.

The snow didn't stick, or even last very long, but my first reaction let me know beyond doubt that I am, at long last, a grown-up. Being a writer that can come pretty late in life. I saw the flakes, and they were lovely, swirling down, but all I thought was of the trouble they would cause, and not the magical possibilities. I'm a little sad, I guess. Though, it's interesting that my most mundane thoughts about snow have come during the longest period of nonwriting that I've had since junior high. When I look away from desk in the midst of creating, I don't think about mundane things, or at least not about my life usually. I think about mundane things from the world I'm writing. I'll even forget what season my world is having, and think it should be what season I'm writing about. It will be interesting to see if this new grumpy grown-up view is permanent, or if my effort to not write, and it is strangely an effort, is effecting other attitudes. I'm still tired. Still not eager to get back to work. But it will take care of itself, because the edited manuscript of DANSE MACABRE is coming back next week. So I'll have work. I'll also be rereading the last Merry book so I'll remember exactly where on my plot outline that I am. So I'll ease myself back into work. Though, maybe this vague unease, almost moments of depression is what happens when I'm not working directly on a book. Frankly, it's been so long since I haven't had a book in first draft at any given time that I don't remember how it's supposed to feel without it. Weird.