Sunday, December 24, 2017

Merry Christmas

My dreams are full of frightening omens and I'm very nervous about my upcoming surgery.

But for today and tomorrow, I don't have to worry yet. Tonight I'm going back to the church I left months ago for a midnight mass, then tomorrow I'll be cooking my usual Christmas feast to share with my husband Kobi and a new friend we've made in the trials of this year.

Be joyful. Life is short and we seldom live it fully. Merry Christmas.

The Linen Butterfly- PREVIEW!

The bad news is, DAW didn't want my work.
The good news is, because my usual publisher is much more accommodating, I can share this with you!

Here is my Christmas gift to everyone who has put up with my nonsense over the last year!

This preview contains the first three chapters of the novel, which should give you some idea of what to expect without spoiling anything.

I have yet to nail down a release date for this book and the final draft may differ *somewhat* from the text presented here, but this is about as revised and refined as I could get it on my own.

From the cover copy:

Meet Arthur Carrick, Duke of Upcaster. He and his retainer, Sir Balthasar, are fighting to save his dukedom from a scheming courtier, except...

...they're not. The real Arthur and Balthasar are in suspended animation in a cutting-edge immersive virtual reality lab in Seattle, Washington in the year 2036. 

Now it's sink or swim as they navigate the treacherous waters of courtly intrigue amid traitors, schemers, and the Beziards, a heretical sect winning converts among the nobility. They believe their world was created by an evil or insane god. 

One thing's for sure: The lab's owner, Ted Ducasse, is no saint. He's created a World War I simulator that has bled into the other sims. Now the lab's lead tech, Isa Chetal, fights to keep control of the project she started before someone gets killed for real. 

It's happened before.

Lies, greed, quantum computing, and medieval heresy collide under the ominous shadow of World War One in The Linen Butterfly.

Friday, November 17, 2017

Time To Make My Move

The stamps I ordered for my submission packet arrived, so it's time to get my packet ready. Work on The Linen Butterfly has officially ceased until and unless an editor tells me I need to fix something.

Brushed off my cursive for my SASE. Its been a while. Cursive is fast becoming a dead art. My cursive hand doesn't fit any one style, sort of a leaner, cleaner Spencerian script with elements of D'Nealian.

I'm going to give my cover letter one last pass, then I have to print everything and mail it the first chance I get. My baby's going off to New York!

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Finishing Up

I honestly don't feel like I can possibly do much more with "The Linen Butterfly." I've refined it to the point where I'm fatiguing myself trying to find things wrong with it. But there are things I can still fix, and if I let myself I could keep fixing them indefinitely. It's time to put the project to bed and trust in my skill.
I was just thinking tonight how my goals have changed. With "Vimana" I was hoping for a big success from a small publisher. I didn't go huge but there are signs that people definitely noticed me. With "Butterfly" I'm hoping for a small success from a big publisher.
What can I expect? With "Vimana" I set out to write something on the level of what was cutting edge in the late 60s and ended up with something slightly more polished, which is good. But the bar is set much higher nowadays than it was when Dick, Disch, and Lem were ramping things up. SF is much more fiercely competitive.
I've tried to get my ideas, my prose, and my characters all in top form. I've rewritten the story so many times it bears little resemblance to the story it derived from, because I wanted a strong narrative. I worried obsessively about pacing. I went through the manuscript with a fine-toothed comb multiple times even when it was "done" and I'm only walking away from editing now because it's far better than anything I've done to date.
I think my perspective on what I can expect as a writer has changed. A small success with a big publisher suddenly seems plausible when I consider that "Vimana" did pretty well for niche fiction from an indie publisher. It's doable. But I'm intimidated beyond words.
My I Ching readings have predicted a rough ride with a lot of biting my way through, tricky situations, powerful allies whose power is a double-edged sword, and situations where my goals may be temporarily waylaid by miscommunications. One thing they didn't predict was utter failure.
I get the distinct impression that I'm about to unlock a new level, and it's going to be much harder. Great rewards bring great risks. Powerful allies can become powerful enemies. I won't fool myself; if my writing career hits critical mass here and now, this will not be easy.

Thursday, November 9, 2017

"Arcana" Anthology Now On Sale!

Check out my story "St. John's Bridge," available now in the short story anthology, "Arcana!"

Friday, October 13, 2017

Car Stories: More To Come!

To make my endless begging less annoying, I'm going to keep telling stories about cars I've had (or my family has had) throughout my life.

I'll post them every few days to keep things interesting!  Here are some stories I'll be telling:

The Chevy of Infinite Mystery (1995 Chevrolet Corsica)

The Bug-Gatti (Type 35 Bugatti replica on a '66 VW chassis)

The Buzzy Besom (2008 Longbo LB-50 Scooter)

The Titanic of the Ozarks (1977 Dodge M886 army ambulance)

Le Diamant Brut (1956 Citroen 2CV)

Dotty (1982 Datsun 210 Wagon)

The Car I Learned To Drive In (1992 Geo Metro)

Be sure to help me keep my current car on the road!

Thursday, October 12, 2017

Car Stories- The Kerouac Cadillac

Since I need money to fix my car, why don't I tell you all a story about one of my favorite cars? If you like this story, please consider leaving a tip at and keep watching this space, because I've got more car stories to keep you entertained.

I think, of all the cars I've owned, the one I miss the most is a 1992 Cadillac Deville I bought on its last legs. It was white on white, and would have been a gorgeous car if not for years of neglect that left the paint peeling off in foot-wide sheets as I drove down I-40 across the Southwest. The radio never did work properly; I always kept a boombox in the passenger seat and a generous selection of home-burned CDs instead.

The car was a junkyard rescue and still had its junkyard lot number on it- a death sentence in greasepaint. Instead of going gently into that good night, she broke loose and went on a 3000 mile road trip with me.

Admittedly I thought the trip was a suicide mission. I was so desperate to get out of Little Rock I didn't care. After paying my bills downtown, I set off down I-40, playing an old 16th Century French corsair's song on my boombox:

Sont des hommes de grand courage,
Ceux qui partiront avec nous
Ils ne craindront point les coups,
Ni les naufrages,
Ni l'abordage,
Du péril seront jaloux
Tout ceux qui partiront avec nous.

The first stop was Amarillo, staying in a house overrun with cockroaches. Luckily my host for the night offered me something real nice to smoke because I couldn't have slept with those little claws tapdancing on me all night afterward.

The transmission started giving me trouble around Amarillo, but got me as far as a little Mom and Pop garage along Route 66 in Gallup before I had to stop for repairs. I stayed in a motel next door, a little one-star roach castle called the Roadrunner that hadn't been redecorated since the Eisenhower Administration.

Four days and $200 later, I was back on the road. My next stop was supposed to be Flagstaff, but my friend there warned me that if I stayed with him, I wouldn't be able to dig the car out the next morning, so I braved an Arizona blizzard with bald tires and bad brakes all the way to my mother's place in Las Vegas.

At Cajon Pass, I got stopped for doing 89 in a 70 zone (I didn't want to liquidate my brakes by riding them). The CHP officer took one look at the car and said "You drove all the way from Arkansas in that?" When I explained I was on my way to Oregon for a better life, he wished me good luck and sent me on my way with a warning. I've been told that CHP almost never lets anyone off with a warning but the look of that car and my natural earnestness was an easy way out of a speeding ticket.

From Mom's place my next stop was Fullerton, CA, staying with a now-former friend who hated Koreans and loved old Russian cartoons. He had a spotless early 70s Mercedes W116 (I think it was the 450 SEL model), an original Blue Plate car that had spent its whole life cooped up in his garage and barely had 6000 miles on it. I nearly cried when I saw it. This man's apartment was a dragon's hoard of obscure pop culture treasures that he piled up even as he discarded friends for the slightest transgression. Eventually, our friendship broke when I got tired of walking on eggshells around him. But for the duration of this trip, at least, I had a sunny place to stay between long stretches of winter driving.

I spent New Year's in Sacramento, eating In-N-Out and drinking 40-year-old whisky with a friend of my host who, it turns out, might be a distant relative.

I-5 around Lake Shasta was terrifying. I was forced, due to the terrain, the weather, and the condition of my tires and brakes, to drive 35 until I was well into Oregon.

I spent about a week in Portland, got to know the city, then went back the way I came. Apart from topping up the transmission fluid in Fullerton and forgoing the roach-infested house for a much cleaner Motel 6 in Amarillo, I went back the way I came with no surprises.

The car died about 2 weeks later. I was driving to Kroger for cat litter and was barely able to crawl back into my parking spot at home before it would move no further (much the same way my Scion died on me today). But for 18 days in late 2010-early 2011, that car was my lifeline to a new life on the West Coast and helped me make up my mind to move to Portland.