Grief

My Dad will have been gone four years this July. It was a long and hard death for him. He'd been diagnosed with Alzheimer's nearly 20 years before. He outlived my Mom by five years, and struggled to the very end in a body that literally disintegrated around him. My sister and her son took care of him and I helped when I could. But in the end we could only wait until he gave up.

I don't remember everything that happened then, but this is what I do remember:

Reading saved my life. My oldest best friend, Loren Rhoads was finishing up her space opera trilogy, In The Wake of the Templars, which she had sold to Night Shade Books. The fact that my friend had made a sale to a major publisher was literally the best thing that happened in.... it seemed like years.

She was on the tightest deadline I could imagine--it was months, where I take years to finish anything. Loren was doing it.

In the midst of all of that, she started sending me the book in progress, chapter by chapter. Now I couldn't tell you if it was one a week or a day, but it seemed as though, I woke up every day to something new, something exciting. Something that wasn't me at work, carrying my phone around all day waiting for the CALL.

My last memory of my Dad was that last day, sitting by his bed, trying to get him to wake up and take some water. It's also of Raena and her adventures. No More Heroes was so much more than a distractaction. It was a story that I could hang on to, in spite of everything. As I read Loren's story, I even had hope that there would be a time I could write my own again. I don't think I ever thanked her properly for that. 

Find all of them here

Cover Reveal Day! When Knowing Comes, By Valarie Savage Kinney

Today is a very special day. It's COVER REVEAL DAY for Valarie Savage Kinney's newest book, When Knowing comes. This is the second in Valarie's Secrets  of Windy Springs series. The first, In the Presence of Knowing is a lovely book, full of  darkness, magic, and love. My three favorite things. I can't wait for number two! The preorder link is right below. and the good thing about waiting for it is if you In the Presence of Knowing yet, there's still time. 

For now, please enjoy this beautiful cover. And hit that preorder.

Preorder link https://tinyurl.com/ybvwk55f

Release date: March 10th

Twisted magic pervades the enchanted forest at Windy Springs Renaissance Festival. Strange physical symptoms plague Keisha as her second season of vending at Windy Springs begins.

Violence and destruction bring fear to the festival as long-harbored secrets threaten to emerge. When stunning truths are unveiled, Keisha struggles to come to grips with a new reality. Will her relationship with Rogan withstand the coming changes or will the darkness he reveals about his past destroy the promise of their future?

When Knowing Comes is the second book in the Secrets of Windy Springs series. Grab your copy today and find out what mysteries await within the magical forest at Windy Springs.

Here are all the link to lead you to Valarie's online presence:

My website

Join my FB readers group 

My books

The New Year (viewed with dread and glitter)

I'm a little late with the "Last Year In Writing" post, aren't I? Well, actually, this might be my first one.
Last year was..... Complicated. It wasn't all bad. I got to go to Gilchrist twice. That was great. My nephew graduated from High School without giving his mother or me a fatal heart attack.  That was fantastic. My Dad is still hanging on with us, and I'm grateful for that.
Also, we published Out Of the Green (available on bn.com and Amazon.com), and I'm fond of the stories in it. I had a great time writing mine. I wrote two other short stories that have yet to find a home. One's a post-apocalyptic lesbian djin story. Yeah, okay, that one might be hard to find a market for.... And the other... Well the other is an Asia story. I haven't decided what to do with that one yet.
I know I promised to have a book out by late fall last year, didn't I? Well, it's a little late too, (cover issues plus just plain too much life-intrusion) but don't forget about it! It's still coming.
The first two weeks of the new year, though, are for the novel I'm working on right now.  I'm working that subplot.
So, while life isn't perfect (I work in a hell hole, still, and home is really prickly at the moment), I'm working on it. I wish I could be the kind of writer that had big lovely announcements at year's end, but for me, this works for right now.

m

Tired of Waiting

Do you sometimes feel like you've spent your whole life waiting? I do. I feel, in the situation I've been in with the care of my father that I've been waiting. Today I waited for the Doctor to read Dad's ex-rays to tell me if his hip or pelvis was broken. Last night, in lieu of sleeping, I waited for my alarm to go off so I could get up and go over to help get Dad ready for his appointment. Today I'm waiting to see if this latest bout of re-arranging my work schedule will be the thing that pushes them over the edge to knock me down to part time. I wait for quiet time to write.....Wait....wait.

 Before I continue this rant, there were no broken bones, luckily. But back to my point. Oh, yeah. I'm not going to wait anymore.

I haven't updated this blog in a while because, while it's been a really productive year for my friends, (Reflection Pond, by Kacey Vanderkarr, available from amazon and bn.com, As Above, So Below, Loren Rhoads and Brian Thomas, Black Bed Sheets Books, available from amazon and bn.com), for me, not so much.

I have decided that's going to change. So here's my plan, and it's secret, so don't spread it around. I'm going to finish "The Night Was Not," before Christmas. (novel). I'm going to put out "The Black Light" this fall (novel), and I'm going to finish two short stories, and finalize the story I wrote for "Out of the Green," the fairy anthology from Urban Fey Press, and then help it to print.

That's it. I'm not waiting anymore.  

This is where I fail

This is the year I flunk out of Nano. Yes, it's true. I like the idea of winning, of pushing through those fifty thousand words and putting them up on the website. There's something so satisfying about seeing the little word counter fill up.
But that won't be happening this year. I've accepted it. I could give excuses. I have work, I have family, and family and family.....  But that's not it.
No, it's that my story wants to do something else. It wants to be more than the simple if A happens, then B will happen and that will cause C story. It wants to require more thinking, and more careful writing. Sigh. Damn it. Careful writing is hard. So I've slowed down. I've added characters. I have even been thinking about putting some of it on this blog for you all to tell me what you think.

Narin unlocked his door and sat down on the couch, reaching for his acoustic guitar. He chorded it softly, fingers just ghosting whispers from the strings. He didn't want this, especially not now.

His fingers wandered to minor chords when he thought of James. He had a darkness all his own that Narin couldn't help wanting to save him from.

He barely noticed his fingers slowing, growing heavy. His eyelids began to close, despite his struggle to keep them open, and the paralysis in his fingers crept through his arms to the rest of his body til he felt as though he was made of stone. No, he thought, just barely able to keep his eyes slitted. The guitar was gently teased from his hands, and his narrow strip of sight was filled with his Lord's razor cut glass features.

It wore a beautiful human glamour. Somewhere in Narin's mind he thought that made perfect sense. It had dressed for the occasion. Narin tried to raise his arm to defend himself, but he couldn’t move now. “Don't.” he forced it out.

It spoke, voice like honey against Narin's skin. “Don't what? Don't hurt you? Don't retrieve my property? Special boy, cleverest pet, I can't do either of these things now.”

Narin saw the colors of it's words change from clover honey to thousand year old amber. His Lord leaned close enough to feel it's breath on his face. Narin tried to struggle, but he couldn't even scream.

So, Nano this year gave e stuff like that. I guess I can't really complain. Let me know what you think.
m

Just an update.

The reading went well. We had a small audience, but a good one. Each member of the workshop read well too. We had four vastly different stories which was great. There was a piece about knowing that there is something there in the dark that isn't in the light and going there anyway. Patricia read one about a woman who finds out what she must do to protect her child. Nancy's story was about being a child learning to be alone, and then not.
Mine? Well, you already know what mine was about.  Is about....  For the moment, anyway.  The big surprise there is that I am becoming fond of the story, which makes me feel a little good.
But, as I said, the reading, though small, was a success.  I hope that the next time (I'm still trying to decide if I want to do a next time), but the next time, there will be more people.  When I talk to other writers, I'm always surprised to hear that, yes, they're married, but no, their spouses (husbands, I've not really talked to many men who've said this) have never read anything they've written.  Maybe surprised is the wrong word. It makes me sad. How do you marry someone that you haven't met.  Because really? If you haven't read my work, you don't know me. 
But before you think I'm bashing men, let me say, that I don't believe that all husbands/partners are left out because they choose to be. I think that we, as writers are afraid of sharing, because what if the partner hates it?
I say it doesn't matter. I say you have to realize that your partner is not your editor, and thank him (okay, or her) for the effort. And keep asking them to make the effort. I don't think it's important for your partner/family/best friend to love your work to keep loving you. It's important that they appreciate it and support it. 
End of rant.

Ashes

All summer one thing has been waking me up in the middle of the night: what am I going to put my Mother's ashes in for the memorial? When I picked them up from the funeral home, she'd been dead about four days, I think. I thought I should feel some connection to them. I've read stories about people who have used the ashes of a loved one in tattoo ink, or even, in one instance, of a husband sprinkling a bit on his morning cereal. And everyone has stories of someone they know spreading ashes. I don't know what I expected. What I got was a discreet tote bag and a perfectly serviceable box. The funeral home lady made me open it and look inside-as though I could tell her, yes, I can see that it really is my Mother. So I thanked her and carried them out to the car. I rode around for a couple of hours, trying to figure out what to do next. I'd been to the attorney, I'd made all the calls I could think of.

But now I had my Mom in a box, in a tote bag, and all I could think of was, I'll be able to sleep again. And that I couldn't remember a single hymn that she'd told me she'd wanted sung at her funeral. Not one.

That was the end of April, and that thought hasn't gone away. I couldn't bring myself to buy one of the urns on display at the funeral home. They all looked so impersonal. Just like the ashes. So I put it off. I looked around online, sort of. Nothing seemed right.

The memorial is next week, and I can't imagine how displeased her friends would be with the box. Or nothing. Though, that's what I would prefer.

All summer I've been avoiding the art shop in the Farmer's Market. Mom loved to shop there. She bought prints that artists had made of down town Flint, and she bought lots of the pottery they sell there. I was there with my Dad and nephew two days ago, and the bowls on display made me miss her. Out of habit I began to price them for Christmas, birthday, anniversary, but stopped myself before I said anything out loud. Then I happened to look down on the floor, in the corner, and saw it. This potter that my Mother loved had made me an urn for her. It was perfect, a deep iridescent blue.

I'd like to think it's a little bit of an apology for not remembering the hymns, and for many other things too numerous to talk about. I'd like to think that it's a sign, that things will start to come back, that I can stop sleepwalking. It's not that I want to forget my Mom, it's the opposite. I want to remember something other than ashes.