Cheating a Little/The Sunday Morning Breakfast Serial

Okay, it's Saturday morning.  I actually slept in to 6:30!!!  WHOOO HOO.

My schedule for the next few weeks is completely nutsoid.  There are edits coming back.  I'm finishing a book.  (Which is taking much longer than it should because of said nuttiness.)  There are Visiting Dignitary interviews to go out, come back, be posted, the blog, and, of course, this story. 

I am about to make a confession.  I cannot keep 3 worlds straight in my head for any length of time.  Just doesn't work.  I drop the ball somewhere.  Since I don't want any of the three to be crap I have made a decision.  (Don't panic.  It's not what you think.  Keep reading.)

Instead of writing the serial in segments off the top of my head for the next month or so, I'm going to do one massive(ish) shift of writing today on it, break it into chunks, and schedule it to post on the next several Sunday mornings.  Then I can get my head where it needs to be for the book and (toes crossed, fingers are for typing) have it done when the edit letter comes back.  Maybe.  I hope. 

But before I do that, I'm going to give you all a chance to catch up (or get started if you haven't been following yet).  Below is the Sunday Morning Breakfast Serial Boone Carter to date:
******************************
Who in the Hell is Boone Carter?

“This is Boone Carter. I have good news and I have bad news.” I spoke into the cell phone. It was an old one, a little bigger than they make them now, so I didn't feel like I was talking into a credit card. It also had the advantage of being cheap. It was a pre-paid model, the kind they call a“burn phone” on tv. But I've had it longer than my most recent apartment. Then again, that's not saying all that much. I tend to be pretty mobile.

“Tell me.” The client sounded tense. Then again, from what I could tell Melodee Bigbee was always tense. Probably the meth. But maybe just her nature. I didn't know. Didn't much care either.

“The good news is, I found your car. The bad news, the police are going to be asking you lots of question and I'm not sure you're ever going to get the smell out.”

She started swearing and hung up on me. I wasn't surprised. I'd be willing to bet that a visit from the cops would be a life-changing experience for Melodee, and not in a good way. Particularly not when they were going to be asking her questions about the murder of her dealer/boyfriend-maybe-commonlaw-husband Dirk. Ah well, not my problem. She'd paid me to find the car. I found the car.

I closed the cell phone and slid it into the back pocket of my worn jeans.

"Let me guess," Trey said "she hung up on you."

"Yup."

Trey shook his head, smirking. Let him smirk. I've got a thick skin. And I learned a long time ago to get paid, in cash, in advance. None of this "in trade for sex" or whatever crap. Show me the Benjamins or I walk. It's one thing Trey and I absolutely agree on.

Trey Jefferson is my current roommate. His full name is Theodore Thomas Jefferson III. He hates it. So he goes by Trey. Trey is everything I'm not: Small, wiry, and black, he's quick, and clever. He gets a lot of exercise jumping to conclusions. I stand 6'7" in my bare feet, am whiter than your average lily, and tend to think things through very carefully before I take any action. The latter is a product of my "colorful" upbringing.

I met Trey at my most recent job. I'm a roofer for Carmichael & Sons Roofing Professionals in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I wandered out here in search of sunlight and warmth after spending a couple years working on cleaning up the aftermath of Katrina and establishing my identity. We hit it off well enough. He needed a roommate. I needed a place. So far it's worked out better than most of my living arrangements. Trey knows enough not to ask too many questions.

Smart man.

###

Trey and I clattered down the stairs to my battered old pick-up. We needed to hustle if we were going to make it to work on time. No surprise. It's like this every day. Every day I swear I won't wait for his sorry ass; and every day as I'm headed to the truck to leave without him he comes dashing down after me, swearing under his breath and threatening a whole lot of shit he has no intention of actually doing to me.

When we reached the front door, though, I stopped in my tracks suddenly enough that Trey rammed into me from behind.

"What the . . ." he complained.

"We have company."

He shoved past me to look out through the lace curtains that adorned the window built into the front door. His eyes went wide. "A limo."

"Yup."

"And they've blocked in the truck."

"Right again."

He gave me a long look. "You know somebody owns a limo?"

"No. You?"

"Nope."

"Who do you 'spose it is?"

"Only one way to find out." I pulled open the door and we strolled out onto the porch. Trey waited as I pulled the door closed and set the deadbolt. It was a waste of time really--what good is a deadbolt on a wooden door that is almost half window? But old Mrs. Cunningham gets pissy if we leave it unlocked, and she's the landlady.

Trey and I walked over to the limo together.

The car was a 2010 Rolls Royce Phantom, cream colored with long, beautiful lines. Nothing tacky about this number. Pure elegance. The driver was pretty elegant too--a leggy blonde with wide blue eyes, her short hair slicked back under the traditional driver's cap. Her gray driver's uniform was fairly effective at hiding her figure, but there's only so much camoflage can do when a girl's got a body like that.

"Which of you gentlemen is Boone Carter?" She asked.

I raised my hand. "That would be me."

The blonde opened the door to the rear compartment. "Get in," she ordered. I stepped forward. When Trey started to follow she blocked his path. "No. This is a private conversation between Mr. Carter and the boss."

I took a look inside the passenger compartment of the limo. The only person there was a little white-haired old lady. Maybe eighty pounds, and probably at least eighty years old. I was betting I could take her in a straight-up fight. Reaching into my pocket I pulled out my truck keys and tossed them back to my roommate. "It's all right. You take the truck. I'll meet you at the job site."

He looked at me doubtfully. I've never let him drive the truck. It's not much of a vehicle, but it's all I've got. I don't usually trust him with it because he has the attention span of a gnat on speed. He's always distracted. He can't help it. But today I was willing to take a risk. Mainly because I was curious. Who was the old girl and what did she want with me?

"You're sure."

"Positive. Just don't wreck it."

"I," he assured me with a huge grin, "am a great driver."

Yeah, right. And if you believe that one I've got this land in Florida . . . I sighed and climbed in the limo. Either my truck would make it to the job site in one piece or it wouldn't. I'd made my choice. Still, I felt a little chill run down my spine when the driver closed the door with a solid, almost ominous, thunk.

I sat across from the "boss" my weight sinking into butter soft carmel colored leather that still had that new car smell. The woman across from me watched me with the bright dark eyes of a bird magnified only a little by the pair of rimless glasses she wore. She wasn't a beautiful woman, never had been. Even softened by age and wrinkles her features were too harsh for that. But she was striking, and impeccably neat. Not a wrinkle marred the dark rose suit she wore, and her jewelry was both conservative, and obviously expensive. Even if the limo hadn't clued me in, I would've known she had money. She wasn't being crass about it. Wealth was just a fact of her existence, like the sun and the tides.

"Mr. Carter."

"Ma'am."

I heard the front door slam, and the car started up. A moment later we pulled smoothly away from the curb. We sat in silence for a few blocks. I wondered if we were following Trey in the truck. The driver hadn't asked for a destination. I did hope I'd wind up at the work site eventually. I like my job, and Mr. Carmichael has no sense of humor about missing work.

"You're not much of a talker." She observed.

"I figured you'll tell me what you want when you're ready."

She gave me what might have been a smile, or not, just a bitter little twist of the lips. "My son is Jimmy Carpenter Carmichael."

"Jimmy" Carmichael, as in Mr. Carmichael the owner of the company I worked for. So maybe I wouldn't get in trouble for being late. Assuming, of course, she told him we'd met.

"Jimmy is a good boy." She told me. I didn't mention that at 56 he was twice my age and hardly a 'boy'. He was her son. He'd always be a boy to her. "A little weaker than I'd like. Not like his father was, or even his brother Ron."

I'd worked with James Carmichael long enough to know he wasn't exactly a sissy boy. Which meant that Mr. Carmichael Sr. had probably been a world class asshole. Ron, had been the Carmichael's older son. If rumors were to be believed he'd been killed in a bar fight. He may have been tough, but obviously someone had been tougher. Then again, there always is.

"So I can't count on him to do what's necessary."

I didn't like where I thought this was heading, but I kept my mouth shut. I've found I can keep myself out of an awful lot of trouble just by staying quiet.

She paused, waiting for me to say something. When I didn't she gave me an irritated look over the top of her glasses.

"I need someone smart, tough, and ruthless. I had someone check discreetly with the men working for my son. Your name came up repeatedly. They also say you do odd jobs for people, for a price."

"That would depend on the job."

"And the price I assume."

Not necessarily. But I wasn't about to tell her that---yet. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

###

The limo dropped me off a block from the worksite. Apparently Mrs. Carmichael didn't want her "boy" knowing what she was up to. I didn't mind. It gave me time to think. I had a lot to think about.

Jacob Chester.

Shit.

I really hoped it wasn't him. But it probably was. And if it was, Mrs. C was right. Jacob is, was, and always has been, someone with his "eyes on the prize." Just not the prize Mrs. C was thinking of.

Not that he wouldn't take the girl's money. He would. In a red hot second. He'd also take the girl, up to the mountains, to the Children of Abraham encampment where she would be indoctrinated so thoroughly that, if she ever was seen again, her own parents might not even recognize her.

I'm a big fan of God, think he/she does great work. I mean, take a look at the Grand Canyon, a waterfall, the average sunset. Pet a kitten, watch a puppy romp. Look at a newborn baby in its mother's arms. God is good. The Children of Abraham are not. They are a cult, pure and simple, created by Abraham Keene out of his enormous ego, greed, and lust for power.

I'd know.

I was a Child of Abraham. 

# # #

I arrived at work fifteen minutes late, and caught hell from the foreman for it. He was standing toe to toe with me, pointing his index finger into the middle of my chest and shouting when Mr. Carmichael came up.

"That's enough Joe. He gets the message."

Joe turned, mouth open to argue, until he realized just who it was talking to him. His eyes got dark, and narrowed, but he didn't argue. He just stepped back a couple of paces, giving me a look that said as clearly as words that this isn't over. I didn't doubt that. Not for a minute. Joe Sanchez hates me. Pure and simple. Don't know why. Don't particularly care, either. I show up every day, on time, do a good job, I keep my nose clean, don't argue or mouth off. So he doesn't have any ammo to fire me. But he would if he could.

"Boone, come with me to the office. We need to talk." Mr. Carmichael smiled, nice and friendly. It just pissed Joe off more. Carmichael cared even less than I did. Old Mrs. C might not think he was tough, but everybody on the site sure did. If Joe crossed him, Carmichael would fire his ass faster than you can say jackrabbit, despite the fact that Joe's worked for the company twenty years and has a passel of young kids to raise.

I followed Carmichael to the corner of the site where one of those classic silver Airstream travel trailers was parked. For small jobs it stays on the company lot. But we'd won the bid to re-roof all of the dorm buildings for the local college, so we were going to be here a while, and the old man wanted to be on site making there were no grounds for complaint about how we behaved around the co-eds. Thus far, everybody'd been behaving pretty well. A couple of guys got injured because they were distracted by some sunbathers, but that had been bound to happen.

Carmichael climbed the trio of metal steps and opened the door "Darlene," he called. "Go buy yourself some breakfast or something."

"Yessir." Darlene hustled up from the back, where the bedroom area had been converted into an office. She took the twenty he pulled from his wallet with a big smile. "Can I get you anything?"

"Naw. I'm good. And Boone here won't be staying long."

"All righty then." She squeezed through the doorway past the boss with a little extra wiggle and teetered off toward the parking lot where the "BurritoMan" truck was waiting. We both watched her go. Today she was dressed in jeans that were practically painted on, and that had been bedazzled as heavily as one of Elvis' jumpsuits. Big hair, big boobs, high heels: she was flashy, a little trashy, and hard as nails. But somehow the whole thing worked for her---at least as far as Carmichael was concerned. I pretended not to see his hand twitch as he fought not to patt her on the ass as she passed.

"Come in. Sit down." He gestured through the door at the built-in dining area across from the miniscule kitchenette.

When I was comfortably seated he pulled a pair of cups from the cabinet, pouring us each a cup of coffee. He set mine in front of me and took a seat.

"So, tell me Boone. What did my mother want you to do that she doesn't want me to know about?"

###

I took a long pull from the coffee, buying myself time to decide how to answer.  The drink was smooth, rich , but with enough caffeine to give me the requisite kick in the ass to start the day.  You'd think it was a completely different beverage than the harsh brew the "BurritoMan" serves of the same name.

Carmichael stared at me.  He started out with a good, hard glare.  But as I took my time his eyes started to sparkle, and the muscle at the corner of his mouth began to twitch.  A relief really.  I didn't want to piss him off.  I like my job, and I'm good at it.  Also, unlike a lot of the folks I've worked for he doesn't have 'cash flow problems.'  He makes his payroll.  On time.  Every time. 
"Let me guess, she told you not to talk?"

I smiled.

"Okay, fair enough.  I'll tell you what I think.  You just sit there.  Don't say a thing.  I'll know when I'm getting warm."

I wasn't too sure about that.  I'm an excellent poker player.  On the other hand, keeping the boss happy is seldom a bad thing.  So maybe I'd be a little less stoic than usual.  Or not.  Either way, I was stuck here.  Might as well enjoy the coffee, make the best of it.

"It's a family thing.  Mom only sticks her nose in on family business." 

I sipped my coffee.

Carmichael smiled, sure he was right.  "Okay, it's not me.  She knows better than to interfere in my life."

I doubted that, but kept my mouth shut and wished, heartily, for something to eat.  If it hadn't been for Mrs. C I'd have arrived in time to buy myself a breakfast burrito.  Now I wouldn't be seeing any food until lunch.  Dammit. 

"So, I have three daughters.  Amanda's married, moved off to Utah.  No problems there.  Paid off the ex and she's remarried, so she's out.  That leaves the twins -- Cookie and Candi."

I didn't say anything, unless you count my stomach growling, which it did . . . loudly.  Carmichael rolled his eyes.  Hauling himself awkwardly up from his chair he strode down to the door, threw it open and bellowed loud enough to be heard in the next county.  "Darlene, grab me a couple burritos."  He glanced back at me, taking in my size and changed his mind.  "Make that four of 'em, and a couple of donuts."  He slammed the door and stomped back over.

"Where was I?"

"Cookie and Candi."  I prompted him.  After all, he was buying breakfast, and the coffee really was excellent.  I'd have to find out what blend it was.  Maybe I'd get some for the coffeemaker back home.  Of course I'd probably have to share it with Trey.  But still, it might be worth it.

"Right."  He turned the chair backward and swung his leg around it.  Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on the chair back.  It was supposed to look casual, tough and masculine.  But he was too short to really do it well.  He looked uncomfortable as hell.  But I didn't say anything.  Nope. 

"Cookie is tough and smart.  She can handle herself."

I didn't laugh.  I didn't snort.  Hard as it was, I maintained my composure.  Even when the words 'a tough cookie' flashed through my mind. 

"So, it has to be Candi."

Bingo.  Right on the money.   I took another sip of coffee and prayed he wouldn't say Candi was sweet.  I mean, my self control is good.  But there's only so much a man can handle---boss or no.

Carmichael stopped talking. Just . . . stopped. He was thinking hard enough that I could almost hear the gears whirring, half-expected smoke to come out of his ears. After what seemed like an eternity he looked me straight in the eyes and asked a question I had no answer for -- yet.

"How much trouble is my little girl in?"

# # #

SATURDAY EVENING POST/VISITING DIGNITARY BRAD SINOR

ALL RIGHTY GUYS -- The "rain" has let up.  SO I can now post a bonus Visiting Dignitary.  I give to you a wonderful guy and terrific writer.  BRAD SINOR (WILD APPLAUSE AND CHEERING PLEASE).

Hi Brad!  It's been a while, but I hope you and Sue are doing well.  Thanks for stopping by the blog.

I’m glad to be here

So, what have you been up to lately?

Writing like a madman at times. It seems like I finish one story and there are several more that are waiting to be done. I’m currently editing a novella, attempting to get a long delayed collaborative story finished, working on another collaboration (my collaborator just sent me her additions to the manuscript), I have one novel waiting to be edited, another waiting to be finished and I’m researching and outlining another. Spare time? Hmmm…isn’t that between 3:10 and 3:15 a.m.?

Any new projects out? 

I had a new collection of stories come out last year, along with a Where The Shadows Began and Other Stories from Merry Blacksmith Press, along with a bunch of short stories in various anthologies; like the revived Heroes in Hell series

What's your calendar like for the next few months?

I have a story in The Many Faces of Arsene Lupin (Black Coat Press) coming in the next couple of months, I’ll also have a story in the next entry in the Heroes in Hell series, Adventurers in Hell which will be out soon. There are several other things but I don’t have release dates for them yet.

You have a pretty substantial backlist, when did you start writing?

The earliest thing I can remember writing was scripts for comic books when I was in grade school. I started submitting stuff in high school but that all got rejected. Thankfully copies of what I was writing then no longer exist.

Can you give us a link to your full backlist and where we can get copies? I’ll be setting up a new website in the next few months and will have a full bibliography there.

Right now you can find most of my stuff through Amazon. Also if you check the Grantville Gazette website, which is part of the 1632 series created by Eric Flint you will find stories I have done, in collaboration with the highly talented Tracy Morris, in various issues.

If you had to be stuck on a desert island for say, a week, with one of your characters, who would it be and why?

Now that’s a tough one. Probably it would be Lancelot du Lac (yes, the dude from Camelot). I’ve done 5 stories about him and have more planned. Yes, he’s a vampire but I don’t hold that against him. Besides he’s survived for over 1,400 years so he would have to have some serious survival skills, not to mention some really neat stories to tell; he did hang out with King Arthur and Merlin after all!

Who are some of your favorite authors? 

You mean besides myself or Sue? (Grin). Seriously though in SF/Fantasy that would probably be C.J. Cherryh.. In mystery/thriller that would have to Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. In the horror genre Christopher Golden, Brian Keene and Jonathan Maberry.

 What draws you to their work?

They create characters that you care about, that you want to see survive even though the world itself is teetering on the brink, and in some cases has gone over the edge, of totally insanity.

Do you listen to music when you write?  Very rarely.

If so, what?

When I do it’s usually instrumental stuff, Celtic and jazz with a mixture of some movie sound tracks thrown in.

What one bit of advice would you give to aspiring writers? 

Write, write and then go back and write some more. Don’t try to look at a market and see what the hot trend is, write the story that you want to read.

Would it be all right if I post this onto the website I share with Cathy?

Of course.

I have to admit I had huge fun doing The Rosie Hughes Project (for those of you who don't know what it was, I did a "blog ring" with Brad, Sue,  Cathy Clamp, Rachel Caine and Jackie Kessler that was based its very own vampire mythos.  It was a HOOT.  You can follow it by looking in my blog for "The Rosie Hughes Project" and following links). 

I had a blast doing my part of it. Maybe at some point we can come up with a way to do a print version or perhaps an e-book.

What other fun things have you been doing with other authors, if any? 

Actually I am. Sue and I are collaborating on a new story. Tracy Morris and I have started work on the 5^th story in a series we are doing, people keep telling me its funny and I credit that all to her.

Will you be at any of the cons this year for appearances?  (Note to readers -- 'Rosie' was cooked up in the computer room of one of the cons.)

Sue and I will be attending ConDFW in Feb., then there will be several cons in May and June.

Thanks so much for coming by.  Hope to see you and Sue soon!

VISITING DIGNITARY - FAITH HUNTER!

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN -- Faith Hunter is our Visiting Dignitary this week and has decided to give us a very different take on the usual "interview".  Instead of interviewing Faith, we will have a Chinese Portrait of Jane Yellowrock and Beast.  ENJOY!  And thank you so much Faith!

Chinese Portraits have been around for years, but they are a Q&A interview unlike any other. Instead of the usual, “Tell us how you got started writing,” type of query, the questions in a Chinese Portrait dig deeper, into the psyche of a person (or a character) and reveal the hidden depths. Or, God forbid, the lack of them!

Jane Yellowrock is the main character of the series that bears her name. Skinwalker, BloodCross, Mercy Blade, and Raven Cursed are the current books, with out in Oct. 2012. Author Faith Hunter

Chinese portrait of Jane Yellowrock and Beast

If you were a work of art?

Jane: A fine, handmade blade, with a crosshatched handle for a good grip. Oh yes!

Beast: (Chuffs in displeasure. Flicks ear tabs, annoyed.) What is art? Beast does not need blade. Beast has claws and killing teeth. I am not some word I do not understand. Not silly game I do not understand.

Jane: Art is like a painting or a … Never mind.

If you were a quality?

Jane: I would want to be strong, like the oak that bends but doesn’t break, or the willow that flows with the wind rather than trying to stand up to it. Lately, my life nothing but fighting and trouble and I need the calm strength of nature. I need a vacation, maybe camping near a river.

Beast: (Chuffs.) Silly Jane. Jane cannot be tree. Jane is animal. But Jane is alone and needs mate. Strong mate. I would look for good mate for Jane.

Jane: That’s not what a quality is, Beast. A quality is—

Beast: Good hunter. I am good hunter. (Turns nose away.) Hunter is good quality. Silly humans.

If you were a flaw?

Jane: for the last few months I’ve been nothing but guilt, even though most of the poop-hits-fan-stuff has not been my fault. Hmmm. I need to stop being guilty.

Beast: Beast is good hunter. Beast has no flaws. (Flicks up ear tab and looks away, bored. Spots movement out the window. Squirrels racing around tree.) Squirrels are small and tasty but hard to catch. One bite and gone. Need deer.

Jane: We’re in the middle of an interview, here.

Beast: (Huffs with disdain.) Want to hunt.

If you were a sound?

Jane: Hmmm. The sound of blades clashing.

Beast: Jane needs mate. Should be sounds of mating. Want Bruiser. And Leo. And Rick. (Chuffs and shows Jane image of very big bed. Covers are slashed by claws.)

Jane: Oh crap. We can talk about this later. Later!

If you were a song/music?

Jane: (Shakes off irritation with Beast.) I like drums. Something primitive and building in tempo and intensity. Something I can dance to.

Beast: Scream of Puma concolor. Scream–song that challenges, that claims hunting ground.

If you were a word?

Jane: I would be persistent. Unrelenting and determined. Of course, when my writer was growing up, she was told that persistence was the Devil’s finest quality, so perhaps that isn’t such a good word after all.

Beast: I am Beast and beast. Do not understand this game. Need to hunt, to bring deer. (Looks around. Squirrels are gone.)  No deer here. Rabbit? Goat? Writer wrote new scene. She let me eat a goat in book 5.

Jane: She did what?!?

Beast: (Huffs with laughter) I like writer. She feeds me.

If you were a book?

Jane: (Looks back at previous question-and-answers. Worries. Shakes head. Sighs.) Dangerous question, that. You know. Since I’m in a series. If I pick one I’m not in, will I disappear?

Beast: Not a book. (Lifts lips to show killing teeth.) Not a book.

If you were a motto/a quotation?

Jane: Have Stakes Will Travel.

Beast: Embrace Your Inner Beast.

Jane: (laughs)

If you were a movie?

Jane: The Vampire Lestsat. Or the Buffy TV shows.

Beast: Born Free. (Huffs with amusement.)

Jane: (Rolls eyes.)

If you were a time period?

Jane: Anytime where women can wear pants. Fighting in a dress is just stupid.

Beast: Time before yunega came and made Cherokee to leave land in mountains, and then took trees, and burned the land. White man is evil. Time before he came was good time. (Turns away.) Stupid question.

If you were a personage of fiction?

Jane: Hmmm. Cat woman?

Beast: (Snorts with amusement) Jane is cat woman.

If you were an animal?

Jane and Beast look at one another.

Jane: Ummm. Have you not read my books?

Faith Hunter

www.faithhunter.net

https://www.facebook.com/official.faith.hunter

Life, the Universe and Everything

Okay, went back to the oral surgeon.  The incisions are not infected, just healing a bit slowly.  Good news.  As long as it's not infected I'm going back on the exercise track.  Which is cool.  All of the weight I had re-gained over Christmas is going (although more from my bust than anywhere else AGAIN) or gone from the whole "oral surgery" diet.  So I might as well continue the healthy trend.

Life right now is interesting.  I am at a stage in my life where I need to think hard about direction and my future.  What do I want?  What don't I want?  What am I willing to do to get it?  What am I not willing to do?  These are the big "directional" questions I ask myself periodically to make sure I am headed where I need/want to be and not letting life sweep me off somewhere I consider less acceptable.  Simple questions.  Not such simple answers.  

But being seriously thoughtful takes time.  Which is important.  But which also means that something else is being shoved out of that time slot.  I am behind on EVERYTHING.  It's annoying.  So as I am now coming close to having my current batch of answers I am scrambling to get back on track. 

I THOUGHT I had the interview in my file for the Visiting Dignitary today.  Darned if I can find it.  I wrote the said Dignitary.  If SHE can find it I will post it today.  Otherwise, this will be the second week with a rain delay as it were.  My fault.  Should have been on top of things.  But I have come to the conclusion that I can't do everything perfectly all the time.  So we will fix it and move on.

I also can't undo the past.  If there's a screw up back there, all I can do is fix it to the best of my ability and move on. 

I am not perfect.

Ah well.  Today, at this precise moment, I like me anyway.

So there.

Saturday Evening Post

"Good Evening, and Welcome to Masterpiece Blogger, I'm Alistair . . ."

Yeah, right.

Okay, it's Saturday, it's evening.  It's time for the Saturday evening post.  If only I had something scintillating, titillating or anything else lating to post.  Alas, not so much.  So I'll just blather a bit.

First, the neighbors across the street are moving.  He got promoted and relocated.  They haven't sold their house yet, but they're making a leap of faith.  This is fine.  Wish them well, etc.  Except the movers have been going back and forth in front of the house and it's driving Lucky the Wonder Dog absolutely bug bats.  In order not to endure that, I packed my purse and headed off to the nearest city and did some serious grocery shopping.  Spent too much, which right now is just about unavoidable because of prices and the fact that it's the beginning of the year and all the beginning of the year stuff is due.  But there you go.

We've gotten some of the reviews in on The Isis Collar and it's a mixed bag.  Some are wonderful.  Some are not. But until we hear from the actual readers I don't get too excited or too worried either one.  The readers are the ones who count.  I know that I don't look at reviews when I buy a book.  In fact, only one person I know does.  But be sure to let me know what you think when the book comes out, and those of you who got ARCs might let me know now if you get a chance.

The proposal has gone out.  I am excited.  I'm hoping to get the first draft of the silly thing finished before the edits come back on The Eldritch Conspiracy.  I HAD hoped to get it done before the end of the year, but it didn't happen.

Okay, I'm running out of blather and I am HUNGRY.  I missed lunch.  So off to an early dinner.

Later!

Cie

WHOOO HOOO!

All righty then.  First, the teeth are improving.  Still draining/seeping a bit, which is a pain in the patootie (well, actually a pain in the mouth) and tastes foul, but every day they hurt less and the swelling is going down.  Still, I think I'll call the oral surgeon and see if he thinks it's taking too long, or that the foul taste might mean an infection.  Better safe than sorry. Still haven't had a Pepsi, which is HARD, but while this oral surgeon said I could have carbonated beverages, all previous ones said NO, and I do worry until it stops seeping.  But I DO miss my Pepsi. 

On the other hand, the oral surgery diet (which doesn't exist officially, but has, in fact, consisted of a lot of soup) has done wonders for getting me back on track.  I'd re-gained some of the weight I'd lost over the holidays, and it is mostly going the way of the dodo again.  Yay.

It has been a rough couple of weeks for the Adams clan.  My father is (YAY, YAHOO, YIPPEE) out of the hospital and recovering, but a bit slowly to his tastes; my son fell at work and sprained his ankle (and has been trying to use crutches in snow and ice); my sister had oral surgery to remove one tooth; I had oral surgery to remove two.  But we are all recovering, and I'm grateful.  Here's hoping Mom and Tim both stay healthy!

AND THE GOOD NEWS IS -- got the proposal and pages back from the agent.  She actually LIKES them.  :)  Yes, there were edits.  There are always edits.  But while I can write a book (and have been do so for a decade now), I normally suck scum covered pond rocks at writing proposals (even after the book is written, which would technically make it a summary for sale I suppose, but they call them proposals).  I mean, seriously, you want me to summarize an entire novel, the world, all the characters and show any future plans in a couple of pages?  AND you want me to do it in a way that hooks professional editors who are notoriously wary of said hooks?  Oh, CRAP. 

But it is done.  It is edited.  It is back with the agent for a second review.  Toes crossed that I have addressed the concerns she had.  (Fingers are for typing). 

And now I must get back to life, exercise, get ready for the day job, and all that happy schtoof.  But today it is HAPPY schtoof. 

Everybody have a great day.

Cie

Visiting Dignitary/Brad Sinor - Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa.

For those of you who aren't old and Catholic, and/or haven't brushed up on your Latin.  Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa is very loosely translated to "my fault, my fault SOOOOOOO my fault."

Today my friend Brad Sinor was scheduled to be the Visiting Dignitary.  It's been on the books for a while.  But then the holidays came.  And my oral surgery came.  And guess what?  I didn't get the questions for the interview out to  him.  Nope.  Just didn't.  Complete screw up. 

The only thing I can say in my defense is that I'm completely and totally phobic about the dentist.  So oral surgery was a HUGE bad thing for me.  Took up all my thought processes just getting myself geared up and doing it.  That I did is a BIG PROUD MOMENT for me.  BUT now my schedule is screwed and the resting and recuperating, while necessary, aren't helping me get back on my feet.

SO, instead of a clever interview with Brad, you get an apology from me, and a note that I DID finally get questions to him, and as soon as he sends them back I WILL put his dignitary post up, it just may not be on a Wednesday, and won't be today. 

I'm sorry. 

Cie

Teeth are Healing, Life is Pretty Good

Had the oral surgery I was dreading on Friday.  It went well and quickly.  I have spent the weekend recovering.  It'll be a few more days, but thus far it's going well.  I no longer need the pain meds unless something stupid happens (like the cat stepping on that side of my face when I'm asleep).  

Once it's healed then I have to move on to the next things.  I'm behind on everything because, oddly, when I'm having all sorts of panic about something I'm not good at taking care of ordinary business.  And yes, I'm phobic about the dentist.  There's a long story behind why.  But it doesn't matter.  I am.  That's enough.  So I am also, oddly, proud of myself for digging up my courage to take care of this. 

I did post on the blog over the weekend, including the Breakfast Serial.  I'm not sure how good it was (pain pills and all), but I did it.

But now it's time to get ready for work.  Be well, be happy.

Cie

Sunday Morning Breakfast Serial

Who in the @#$% is Boone Carter?

I arrived at work fifteen minutes late, and caught hell from the foreman for it.  He was standing toe to toe with me, pointing his index finger into the middle of my chest and shouting when Mr. Carmichael came up.

"That's enough Joe.  He gets the message."

Joe turned, mouth open to argue, until he realized just who it was talking to him.  His eyes got dark, and narrowed, but he didn't argue.  He just stepped back a couple of paces, giving me a look that said as clearly as words that this isn't over.  I didn't doubt that.  Not for a minute.  Joe Sanchez hates me.  Pure and simple.  Don't know why.  Don't particularly care, either.  I show up every day, on time, do a good job, I keep my nose clean, don't argue or mouth off.  So he doesn't have any ammo to fire me.  But he would if he could. 

"Boone, come with me to the office.  We need to talk."  Mr. Carmichael smiled, nice and friendly.   It just pissed Joe off more.  Carmichael cared even less than I did.  Old Mrs. C might not think he was tough, but everybody on the site sure did.  If Joe crossed him, Carmichael would fire his ass faster than you can say jackrabbit, despite the fact that Joe's worked for the company twenty years and has a passel of young kids to raise. 

I followed Carmichael to the corner of the site where one of those classic silver Airstream travel trailers was parked.  For small jobs it stays on the company lot.  But we'd won the bid to re-roof all of the dorm buildings for the local college, so we were going to be here a while, and the old man wanted to be on site making there were no grounds for complaint about how we behaved around the co-eds.  Thus far, everybody'd been behaving pretty well.  A couple of guys got injured because they were distracted by some sunbathers, but that had been bound to happen. 

Carmichael climbed the trio of metal steps and opened the door "Darlene," he called.  "Go buy yourself some breakfast or something."

"Yessir."   Darlene hustled up from the back, where the bedroom area had been converted into an office.  She took the twenty he pulled from his wallet with a big smile.  "Can I get you anything?" 

"Naw.  I'm good.  And Boone here won't be staying long." 

"All righty then."  She squeezed through the doorway past the boss with a little extra wiggle and teetered off toward the parking lot where the "BurritoMan" truck was waiting.  We both watched her go.  Today she was dressed in jeans that were practically painted on, and that had been bedazzled as heavily as one of Elvis'  jumpsuits.  Big hair, big boobs, high heels: she was flashy, a little trashy, and hard as nails.  But somehow the whole thing worked for her---at least as far as Carmichael was concerned.  I pretended not to see his hand twitch as he fought not to patt her on the ass as she passed.

"Come in.  Sit down."  He gestured through the door at the built-in dining area across from the miniscule kitchenette.

When I was comfortably seated he pulled a pair of cups from the cabinet, pouring us each a cup of coffee.  He set mine in front of me and took a seat.

"So, tell me Boone.  What did my mother want you to do that she doesn't want me to know about?"

Saturday Evening Post (a little early)

Hi Guys!

Okay, I'm currently awake and not due for the pain meds for a little while, so I am coherent enough to post. 

Had two broken teeth surgically removed yesterday.  I was very good, and reasonably brave.  (Which considering I am phobic about dentists was very good indeed).  Once these heal up I will be able to get my mind back on other things, but my life sort of stopped when I was worrying about this and all it entails.

Thus, I did not have a visiting dignitary this past week, did not mail prizes to winners, and did not get the artwork so that I could make the revisions and get the individual website up and running.  It will happen.  Just not for a few days.

Sorry, but just couldn't.

Cie

Sunday Morning Breakfast Serial Thoughts

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Okay, that's done.

Now, at this point in a story I usually ask myself a couple of questions.

1)  How's it going?
2)  Does it have legs?  (i.e., is it going to be a marathoner [1 or more novels] or a sprinter [short story], or is it falling on its face and need to be put down like a rabid dog?
3)  Do I like the character?  Does he/she interest me?   Do I "know" him/her?  (In the best stories the characters come to me pretty much fully formed.  As I write I get different perspectives on them, learn various complexities, etc.)  I figure if I don't find the character interesting, why should readers?
4)  Do I have ideas as to where the plot is going?  It's very easy to get caught up in character and forget that there's supposed to be a story going on. 
5)  Is this making sense?
6)  Should I continue, or drop it?

SO, looking at Boone.

1)  Not bad.  Not perfect, but I'm having fun.
2)  Yup.  This one's a runner.  In fact, I've actually had ideas for a freaking SERIES of books off of him.  Don't know if I have time to pursue it, but it definitely has legs.
3)  Yup again.  Boone is unique.  Tortured past.  Shady present.  Very male. 
4)  Yup.  Can't seem to write the silly thing fast enough.  Which I CAN'T afford right now.  I have a book to finish, and all sorts of work to get done.
5)  To me, yes.
6)  I would like to continue.  But should it continue on the blog?  The blog is a freebie, and doesn't have much of an audience?  BUT, I don't have time to do this as a book right now, and the blog lets me explore and get input from my few faithful followers. ("FFF's")  And it's wrong to be a tease, to start here and then leave people hanging.  Do that any I may not have even FEW FF's. 

So, for the moment:  Decision made.  Continue with Boone & Co. here on the blog.

Sunday Morning Breakfast Serial

HAPPY NEW YEAR ALL!

(Hey Cathy - rabbit, rabbit, rabbit.)

People make New Year's Resolutions/Goals.  I have lots of them.

It's good to have goals. 

One of my goals was to be in an anthology with Neil Gaiman.  Neil Gaiman is one of my son's favorite authors.  He (and Jim Butcher among others) are freaking brilliant.  Since at one point Mr. Gaiman and I had the same agent I pulled together my courage and tried to interest him in participating in an anthology. Sadly, since I have the social skills of a rabid skunk, I wound up sounding like a particularly deranged fan girl.  Drove him away (in a Maserati doing 90.)  Sigh. 

BUT as luck would have it.  I WOUND UP IN AN ANTHOLOGY WITH NEIL GAIMAN.  Pure luck, fate, kismet.  Whatever.  It didn't sell worth a damn as far as I can tell, but I was (and am) delighted.  I have a copy (it's a HARDBACK no less).

I have a new goal.  I would now like to wind up in an antho with Jim Butcher, Charlaine Harris, and Laurell K. Hamilton.   (Not necessarily all at once.  I'd probably swoon and make a fool of myself.  At least the Maserati could only seat two of them as it sped off.)  Besides, I actually have met and spent time with these three folks.  They know I am no danger to them.  (Even if I do have the social skills of a rabid skunk).

Okay, enough of that.  I am in a wonderful mood and it is time to write.  My first project, the next installment in the serial. 

************************************

Who in the @#$*&@#$ is Boone Carter

The limo dropped me off a block from the worksite.  Apparently Mrs. Carmichael didn't want her "boy" knowing what she was up to.  I didn't mind.  It gave me time to think.  I had a lot to think about.

Jacob Chester.

Shit. 

I really hoped it wasn't him.  But it probably was.  And if it was, Mrs. C was right.  Jacob is, was, and always has been, someone with his "eyes on the prize."  Just not the prize Mrs. C was thinking of.

Not that he wouldn't take the girl's money.  He would.  In a red hot second.  He'd also take the girl, up to the mountains, to the Children of Abraham encampment where she would be indoctrinated so thoroughly that, if she ever was seen again, her own parents might not even recognize her.

I'm a big fan of God, think he/she does great work.  I mean, take a look at the Grand Canyon, a waterfall, the average sunset.  Pet a kitten, watch a puppy romp.  Look at a newborn baby in its mother's arms.  God is good.  The Children of Abraham are not.  They are a cult, pure and simple, created by Abraham Keene out of his enormous ego, greed, and lust for power.

I'd know.

I was a Child of Abraham. 

Saturday Evening Post

This is the Saturday Evening Post. 

Today I'm talking about the 'death of the blog'. 

I've been told that blogs are "dead."  Nobody's interested.  People have short attention spans and would much rather friend you on FaceBook or follow you on Twitter.   It's like newspapers in a digital world. 

I've watched much beloved blogs with big followings bite the dust because the authors of them really, seriously don't have time to devote to them.  I've watched clever group blogs go the way of the dodo---again because the authors decided they'd get more "bang" for their buck on FaceBook and Twitter.

I am not killing this blog. 

There may only be a couple of followers.  I may be shouting into the vacuum.  But I will be SHOUTING into the freaking vacuum.

Because while I like FaceBook well enough, and do occasionally stop by there.  I find it's a time sink.  And they have changed the rules.  Now I have all these people I'm evidently getting updates on who I have no clue who they are (I think they're readers who friended me first, but I honestly am not sure) and all of the people I actually know I get nada on.  Now, I grant that it is kind of cool to meet the new people, and they do have interesting lives with drama and so forth.  But I don't KNOW them.  It's like watching reality TV.  I don't get the point.  I realize this makes me odd.  But, well, THAT'S not exactly news.  I mean COME ON, I've been "odd" since the day I was born.  One of my favorite tee-shirts (that I need to buy when I find it again dammit) says:

                     "DON'T GET EVEN.  GET ODD."

I believe it was an "Emily the Strange."  I LOVED Emily.  So very me.

I do not love Twitter. 

Yes.   I know.  There are those who would now put me before a firing squad AFTER lecturing me on how WONDERFUL Twitter is.  It is the latest/greatest/new ohmiGAWD thing. 

But it's SHORT.  You have to be pithy.  

I do pith.  But not at 4:00-6:00 in the morning.  Which is when I usually wind up posting.  Too, most of the people who I would like to have tweeting conversations with are not UP at 4:00-6:00 in the morning.  (Have I told you I'm jealous?  If not.  I'm telling you now.  I'm freaking JEALOUS of people who don't have to squeeze in the writing and internet stuff before they get ready for the day job.)

So I say PITH ON IT.  So there.

Besides which, Twitter, for reasons only known to computer gurus and God does not like working on my computer.  Nine out of ten times when I try to post it gives me the "We're sorry.  Something's wrong.  Try again in a few seconds."  DUDE I only HAVE a few seconds.  You are being sandwiched in between feeding the animals, taking my meds, writing and getting ready for the day job. 

I do not need to be frustrated at 4:38 in the freaking morning.  It sets a bad precedent for the whole day.  It also destroys what little pith I may have managed to dredge up from the bowels of my psyche.

"BUT" you say, "typing the blog actually takes LONGER."

"DUDE" I say, (yeah, I'm old enough to still say dude.  Laugh if you want.  I can quote Hill Street Blues and The West Wing too.  Even the original Sherlock Holmes, in PRINT, from before when Robert Downey Jr. was even born.)  "I can do the stream of consciousness stuff in my sleep." (And have.)  I type between 100-120 WPM.  This is easier than falling off a greased log.

SO, I will blog, into the darkness and the void.  And I will cherish the folks who actually read and (gasp) LIKE longer formats.  But one of these days I will actually go onto FaceBook and try to figure out how to follow the people I actually know. 

But not today.  I have a to-do list to get tah-done. 

Guys, have fun this New Year's Eve, but "Be careful out there."

Stuff.

It's really sad when "sleeping in" is 6:00 a.m.  Nobody told me when I was a kid and wanted to grow up ever so fast that this was part of being a grown-up. 

Got some serious stuff on the schedule today.  First, I have to get cooking on the book.  I had wanted to get it finished by the end of the year, but I sent the first half to my son for a read through (before it goes to the other beta readers) and he had some things he wanted to see, so I had to go back and do some edits.  I think it's stronger, but it did put me behind schedule.

Next, I have to actually PAY for the art for the new launch of the individual website, then revise said website.  And YES I can do websites, but I'm SOOOOOO slow at it.  So it's going to take a big chunk of time. 

AND I need to go through all of the e-mails from my various author friends and put their releaeses on the calendar on the new website, and NAG the other friends who haven't responded. 

And that's just the writing stuff.  The "real" life has all sorts of things that have reached "critical mass."

For example, because of the drought, all summer there was no grass, so no need to mow.  NOW, in DECEMBER we got rain and I have weeds up to my knees that have to be brought low.  Since I refuse to mow in the rain, or the cold, today's going to be a good day to do it.  Weather said sunny and 70ish.  

There's so much more that it depresses me just thinking about it.  So I won't.  I will just take it one step at a time.  And eventually it will all get done, or at least enough of it that I'm not losing my mind over it.

Everybody have a GREAT NEW YEAR!  "Be careful out there."  (Okay, how many of you are old enough to recognize that quote from Hill Street Blues?)

WHERE WE'RE AT

OKAY, I'm trying to get on top of things.  (Which is harder than it sounds.)  Things I've accomplished include:

Getting Visiting Dignitaries scheduled through April.

Finding the additional art for the new website and negotiating with the artist. (Now I have to pay for it and get it up online for the January 1 launch date).

Getting straight in my head where Boone Carter is going.  (It is written on the spot, but I can't help thinking about it.  "What if . . . "  I haven't made decisions, but I have a general direction.  I think.  Unless something more interesting comes to my head.)

I've got beta readers for when I have the draft of the first individual book finished. (Hoping for the 1st of the year, but I should've written this weekend and didn't.  Was fried.  Tried to write and wound up with smelly, stinking crap on the page.  So took a break.)

I have the paperwork for the beta readers (my day job is in a law office.  Of COURSE I have paperwork.  Duh.)

Still need to work out the January questions.  (I don't want to continue with the same old questions every month.  But I'm not Barbara Walters, so interviewing doesn't come naturally for me.)

Still need to go through and add the release dates for everybody new to the calendar on the new website and make sure I haven't missed anybody.

Lots more, but I want to stop now so that I can get to the actual BOOK.  Which needs to get written.  It is SOOOOOOOO easy to get distracted by all of the other "stuff" you need to do that you don't wind up writing. 

BAAAAAD Author.  No cookie.

Cie

VISITING DIGNITARY/COLLEEN COBLE

 

ALL RIGHTY LADIES AND GENTS -- PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR OUR MOST RECENT GUEST -- COLLEEN COBLE!   (WOOT WOOT)

HI! It's good to hear from you again. It's been a while. I understand you've been very busy. What have you been working on? Good to hear from you, Cie! I've been working a the first book in the Hope Beach series set in the Outer Banks. And of course I had to visit to make sure everything was accurate. :)

What releases do you have coming out in 2012? Blue Moon Promise ships in late January. It's a historical marriage of convenience story, and of course, has lots of mystery and suspense laced through it. In July Tidewater Inn ships. It's a contemporary novel that starts off with a bang. Libby is watching on a harbor cam and sees her friend and business partner kidnapped. When she arrives at Hope Beach, she discovers a family she didn't know existed. Lots of mystery and atmosphere. You have a fairly significant backlist? How many books have you written? Can you give us the titles?   Somewhere around 43 books. My Rock Harbor novels (Without a Trace, Beyond a Doubt, Into the Deep, Abomination, Cry in the Night) are very popular with my readers. There are 4 books in the Aloha Reef series set in Hawaii (Distant Echoes, Black Sands, Dangerous Depths, Midnight Sea) and Distant Echoes is available right now at Dollar General for $3. I did a historical romantic mystery series that's been very popular too called the Mercy Falls series (The Lightkeeper's Daughter, The Lightkeeper's Bride, The Lightkeeper's Ball.) My Lonestar books are hugely popular because they are all marriage of convenience stories set in Texas. My newest release, Lonestar Angel, is the 4th in that series. The others are: Lonestar Sanctuary, Lonestar Secrets, Lonestar Homecoming. The only series that needs to be read in order is the Rock Harbor one. The others can be read out of order. I also have several standalone novels: Alaska Twilight, Fire Dancer, Anathema. The other books are out of print mass markets.   If you had to be “stuck in an elevator” with one of your characters for several hours, who would it be and what would you talk about? I would love to chat with Bree, the heroine of the Rock Harbor novels. She has an amazing search dog, Samson, and I'm just fascinated with all the search dogs can do. Do you listen to music as you write? If so, which artists? What is your playlist? No, I can't concentrate with music playing, not even instrumentals. I wish I could! The business of writing is changing rapidly. Do you find the change scary? Invigorating? How (if at all) have you changed your career plans/path as a result?   Oh it is! The biggest change has been the rise of e-books. It's a great opportunity for us to bring back out of prints book though, and I'm in the process of making those old books available in digital. What is one key bit of advice you would give to a prospective writer? Read craft books. I always have a book on craft in my hand. I also study how other writers in my genre do it. I'm always reading. :)

Now Colleen being the gracious lady she is has offered a giveaway of her newest release for one commenter drawn at random.  So be sure to stop by and say hi, ask any questions you want, and generally make her feel welcome! 

(AND FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE CURIOUS THIS IS THE SYNOPSIS) For Eden, hope is rekindled when her estranged husband delivers the astounding news: that their lost baby girl has been found. Years ago Eden and Clay Larson’s baby was stolen. Kidnappers demanded a ransom, but something went horribly wrong at the exchange: the kidnapper’s car crashed into the river and was never recovered. Eden blamed herself, Clay lost himself in work. Their young and rocky marriage ended. Or so Eden thought. Now she’s met Kent. He’s everything Clay wasn’t: funny, stable, and eager to please her. Just as he’s about to propose marriage at a romantic dinner, Clay arrives and tells Eden she can’t marry Kent. She’s still married to him. He never signed the divorce decree. Even more earth-shattering than this news is that he’s never stopped looking for Brianna. Based on a tip, he thinks their daughter is in Bluebird, Texas, at a youth ranch. All five little girls there are the right age, but he’s not sure which is Brianna. To discover the truth, the couple becomes counselors to the girls at Bluebird Ranch. They move into small quarters in the bunkhouse and oversee the kids as they try to find out more. As they work together, their love for the children grows and their love for each other is rekindled. But as danger closes in, Eden and Clay realize they’ve been lured to this remote West Texas location; their lives and the lives of the little girls are in danger. But as Eden learns, “hope does not disappoint.”

Back from the Holiday/BREAKFAST SERIAL

Okay, I had a wonderful holiday.  Very rested.  Didn't do much.  (The to do list did NOT get ta done and I feel GOOD about it because I actually got to do things like READ and RELAX.)  Saw Sherlock Holmes with a friend.  I still want to see Mission Impossible.  Weirdness of mine---a while back when I was having a REALLY frantic day I caught myself humming ---the theme from Mission Impossible.  Made me laugh, which improved the day immensely.  Now I do it deliberately.

This week the Visiting Dignitary is Colleen Coble.  I have to FIND her post and get it ready to go up for y'all.  AND, since I promised, today I am doing a delayed breakfast serial. 

************************************

Who in the *W@$ is Boone Carter?


"My granddaughter has taken up with an inappropriate man. I want you to discourage him."

I sighed.  I couldn't help it.  As far as Mrs. Carmichael was concerned I was an inappropriate man.  And to my mind the granddaughter could 'take up with' whoever the hell she wanted.  Assuming she was of age.  Which she was.  My boss keeps pictures of the girls on his desk.  "No."

"Excuse me?"

It was a simple enough word, if one she hadn't heard much.  I didn't figure I needed to explain, even if she wanted me to.  So I gave her a beatific glance--all blue eyes and innocence.  Her eyes narrowed.  So did her nostrils.  Most people don't notice the latter.  I did, because it made her look like the hated word even smelled bad to her. 

"MISter Carter."  She said it just like that, heavy emphasis on the first syllable.  Being polite, but not really meaning it.  I just kept beaming at her.  Let her do the heavy conversational lifting.  "I am not young, and I am no fool.  If this were just adolescent rebellion, or a fling I would stand aside, however distasteful I might find the man."  She turned looking out the window for a moment before continuing.  "But I know a man with his 'eyes on the prize' when I see it.  Jacob Chester is after my daughter's money, plain and simple."

The smile froze on my face.  Jacob Chester.   No.  It couldn't be.  It just couldn't.  I'd put all that behind me.  But it's not a common name. 

The old woman turned away from the window.  Her eyes met mine, and it was a struggle to keep the fact that she'd rattled me from my face. 

"I want you to find him.  And discourage him.  And I don't want my granddaughter to know you did it.  Can you manage that?"

"I'll find him.  And I'll tell you where he is.  But I won't do any discouraging."

She frowned.  "Why not?  I'm quite sure you'd be good at it."
I gave her a crooked smile.  Yeah, I'd be good at it.  I'm big, strong, and tough enough to be pretty damned discouraging.  But I don't do anything that might land me on the cops' radar.  I'm off grid and intend to stay that way.  And no amount of money she'd wave in front of me was worth the risks involved.  Particularly if it was Jacob. 

But I had to know.  So I'd take her money.  And I'd find him.  If it really was Jacob Chester . . . well, I'd burn that bridge if I came to it.

HOLLY HAPPY DAYS!!!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Due to the holiday, the breakfast serial and such are postponed until Monday. 

Hope you all have a wonderful holiday (and if you don't celebrate Christmas, have a wonderful day whether it be another holiday, or just a day of your choosing.  Live to the fullest. )

Best always!

Cie

GOOD MORNING

Good morning to all and MERRY CHRISTMAS. 

I have the day off from the day job.  In FACT the boss has been kind enough that I also have Monday off.  WHOO HOOO!  This means I can get the schtoof done in my life AND work on the book.  The goal is to get the book done by the end of the year and get it to the beta readers.

Heard from one of my artist friends.  I think we've worked out a piece of art for the new individual website.

I have a TON of stuff to get up here at the blog, and I have to let our webmistress know about new items for the Craft Corner on the joint website with Cathy.

I'm thinking I may (if I get the place clean!) put photos of my office on the individual website.  It seems people are curious about where the actual creating gets done.  Anyway, the individual website has a re-launch on January 1 and I HOPE it will be ready.

Okay, off to it.  Whether it is breakfast, feeding the critters, or going back to bed.

It's my day off.  I get to do what I want.

WHOO HOO!!

VISITING DIGNITARY CAROLE NELSON DOUGLAS

WELCOME CAROLE!!!

Folks, I want you to give a warm welcome to our guest today.  She's a good friend (and is going to be my roommate at RT this spring.  She's a veteran writer with a looooooooooong backlist and a great sense of humor.  I give you CAROLE NELSON DOUGLAS!  (INSERT CHEERS HERE)



All right Carole, the blog is acting up a bit and your pictures keep wandering all over the place.  I have no idea how this is going to look.  But we are all going to be good sports, ignore my technical difficulties, and move on with the interview.  LOL.

It's good to hear from you.  It's been a while.  What have you been doing to keep yourself busy?

I've been busy promoting my fifth Delilah Street, Paranormal Investigator, novel, Virtual Virgin, which has gotten great reviews from Publishers Weekly and RT Book Reviews. It's set in Delilah's very original and dark "Las Vegas from Hell," but the climax occurs in the desert outside Juarez, where Delilah and her partner, Ric take down a demon drug lord and his zombies on speed.

Then I've been ramping up my own imprint, Wishlist Publishing, to get out my first indie-produced e-book, an original short novel, A Wall Street Christmas Carol, now on Kindle and Nook.

I plan to e-book publish many novellas and short stories my readers probably don't know about, which are related to my three major series, the Midnight Louie feline PI mysteries, the Delilah Street, Paranormal Investigator, paranormal urban fantasies and the Irene Adler Victorian Sherlockian suspense series.

So I'm also getting out an earlier Scrooge take-off, Scrogged: A Cyber Christmas Carol, set around the Enron corporate scandal of a decade ago. And an Irene Adler tale, The Private Wife of Sherlock Holmes. With the new Sherlock Holmes movie coming out this month, that would be a good tie-in.

 I'm really excited about A Wall Street Christmas Carol. That subject is so topical now. The book has the feel of the Frank Capra movies where "the people" triumphed over heartless big business and Congress--Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Meet John Doe, and that other Christmas classic, It's a Wonderful Life.

Obviously, the Occupy Wall Street movement touched a nerve, no matter how it turns out. A Wall Street Christmas Carol tells how Caleb Gould, Wall Street billionaire, is confronted with a trio of unusual ghosts to help him find his soul . . . and help other people. Unlike in Charles Dickens' Christmas classic, this "Scrooge" is

a monster of greed, not a miser. It's wicked fun to watch him get his comeuppance, and to discover where that avarice came from.

 What releases do you have coming out in 2012?

Coming up is the usual Midnight Louie mystery double-header. His 2011 hardcover, Cat in a Vegas Gold Vendetta, goes to paper in 2012, and his 2012 hardcover, with smashing cover art, arrives in early August. It's called Cat in a White Tie and Tails.

The Midnight Louie series is alphabetically titled, so it's heading closer to the "Z" book. Readers are anxious to learn the romantic fates of the four leading human characters, PR freelance Temple Barr and her former and current boyfriends, magician Max Kinsella and the ex-priest now a media rising star, Matt Devine. There's also the fate of Las Vegas homicide lieutenant Carmen Molina to worry about, as well as Louie and his many four-legged "legmen" and cohorts.

Readers are also anxious about Midnight Louie disappearing with the Z book. I doubt a twenty-pound black alley cat-detective is leaving his famed, and often dangerous, life as a literary lion just because the alphabet ends with a Z. I do expect some closure for the human characters, though.

 

You have a fairly significant backlist? How many books have you written? Can you give us the titles?

When I was guest of honor at Malice Domestic 23 mystery convention last spring, they asked for my bibliography. I answered, you want just the mystery-suspense novels, of course.

No, they said, short fiction too. Okay, I answered, just the mystery novels and short stories.

No, everything, they replied. Everything? I had to update my listing, which was a good thing to have on hand anyway.

When I sent it in, the reply was: "When do you sleep?"

I've written almost sixty novels and forty pieces of shorter fiction. Most of my current readers don't know about my out-of-print earlier work. I wrote five books for the Loveswept contemporary romance line, including the Midnight Louie Quartet that introduced him as a mystery star. There are three unusual historical romances, a mainstream Gothic, Amberleigh, Fair Wind, Fiery Star (a female swashbuckler) and Lady Rogue.

The five-book Irissa/Kendric series and two Taliswoman novels are both high fantasy series. High fantasy is set in totally imagined worlds. I also have four mainstream women's fiction novels.

And . . . there are eight novels in the Irene Adler series, which is now on its second hiatus: Good Night, Mr. Holmes was a New York Times Notable Book of the Year and won American Mystery and Romantic Times awards. In sequence after that come The Adventuress, A Soul of Steel , Another Scandal in Bohemia, Chapel Noir, Castle Rouge, Femme Fatale and Spider Dance.

If you had to be “stuck in an elevator” with one of your characters for several hours, who would it be and what would you talk about?

That's a really good question. That's pretty much is what writing is, except the elevator is in your head. I think I'd most enjoy being sequestered with Sherlock Holmes and interrogating him to find out what Doyle really was thinking when he gave him the characteristics he did, including his distaste for women . . . except for Irene Adler, of course.

If you could change one of your characters, which one would it be and why?

Once you "build" your characters and set them in motion, they are pretty much their own persons and do surprise you. That's why I wouldn't change a one of them! I can't. It's amazing how you can drop a series for some time, yet always immediately get in the milieu if you write a short story about those characters and that time and place.

 

Do you listen to music as you write? If so, which artists? What is your playlist?

Everybody has a playlist these days, but I started writing in a busy news room, with typewriters clamoring away and my near neighbors interviewing people on the phone, and photographers and reporters swarming in and out. I learned to drown out ambient noise, so music would be wasted on me.

Also, my favorite songwriters are also poets, Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan, so you

have to concentrate on what they're saying/singing. I love Celtic music and songs, some Swing, and Jimmy Buffet and the Beach Boys for driving music.

I understand you do a lot of crafting to unwind. Any favorites?

Actually, Cie, no, but I'd like to. I don't have time to craft anything, and not much for unwinding. I collected vintage clothes and accessories for fifteen years before I quit my reporting job to write full time, so I picked up many gorgeous fragments of vintage velvet and beadwork I intended to repair. I started on a few items, but the writing and publishing processes soaked up all the spare minutes.

The business of writing is changing rapidly. Do you find the change scary? Invigorating? How (if at all) have you changed your career plans/path as a result?

The radical replacement of print media with digital forms has been a scary process. As an ex-reporter, I couldn't believe it when many newspapers 100 years old or more faded from physical existence, or existence at all.

Midnight Louie's newsletter is called the Scratching-Post Intelligencer, after the Seattle Post- Intelligencer. It's gone, but Louie's little newsletter is still here. Shocking!

Many people I worked with not only lost jobs, they lost another place to go, a profession that was hiring. I've heard heartbreaking stories. People with training who've learned ethics and wisdom from wielding the power of the word in any form have lost jobs and influence.

The same thing with fiction writing. It's all out there, much of it not coming through traditional editing channels. That's a great freedom, but it also results in a lack of quality and responsibility.

That said, with the breakdown of print media has come a greater freedom for professionals who felt hampered by institutions and systems. Now people can publish themselves, and perhaps find a fan base.

So I think the end result is positive, even though the culture seems more chaotic.

What is one key bit of advice you would give to a prospective writer?

You must read a lot, oddly enough, to find your own voice. What you love, and hate, when you read can provide the drive you need to begin to write, and, more importantly, to keep at it.

 

 

 

THANKS SO MUCH FOR COMING BY!  Guys, to encourage comments I'm going to offer up a prize, random drawing of the names of all commentors for an ARC of The Isis Collar.

 

Again, big thanks to Carole for her time.

Sunday Morning Breakfast Serial

Who in the *@#$ is Boone Carter?
3

The blonde opened the door to the rear compartment.  "Get in," she ordered.  I stepped forward.  When Trey started to follow she blocked his path.  "No.  This is a private conversation between Mr. Carter and the boss."

I took a look inside the passenger compartment of the limo.  The only person there was a little white-haired old lady.  Maybe eighty pounds, and probably at least eighty years old.  I was betting I could take her in a straight-up fight.  Reaching into my pocket I pulled out my truck keys and tossed them back to my rooommate.  "It's all right.  You take the truck.  I'll meet you at the job site."

He looked at me doubtfully.  I've never let him drive the truck.  It's not much of a vehicle, but it's all I've got.  I don't usually trust him with it because he has the attention span of a gnat on speed.  He's always distracted.  He can't help it.  But today I was willing to take a risk.  Mainly because I was curious.  Who was the old girl and what did she want with me?

"You're sure."

"Positive.  Just don't wreck it."

"I," he assured me with a huge grin, "am a great driver." 

Yeah, right.  And if you believe that one I've got this land in Florida . . .  I sighed and climbed in the limo.  Either my truck would make it to the job site in one piece or it wouldn't.  I'd made my choice.  Still, I felt a little chill run down my spine when the driver closed the door with a solid, almost ominous, thunk.

I sat across from the "boss" my weight sinking into butter soft carmel colored leather that still had that new car smell.  The woman across from me watched me with the bright dark eyes of a bird magnified only a little by the pair of rimless glasses she wore.  She wasn't a beautiful woman, never had been.  Even softened by age and wrinkles her features were too harsh for that.  But she was striking, and impeccably neat.  Not a wrinkle marred the dark rose suit she wore, and her jewelry was both conservative, and obviously expensive.  Even if the limo hadn't clued me in, I would've known she had money.  She wasn't being crass about it.  Wealth was just a fact of her existence, like the sun and the tides.

"Mr. Carter."

"Ma'am."

I heard the front door slam, and the car started up.  A moment later we pulled smoothly away from the curb.  We sat in silence for a few blocks.  I wondered if we were following Trey in the truck.  The driver hadn't asked for a destination.  I did hope I'd wind up at the work site eventually.  I like my job, and Mr. Carmichael has no sense of humor about missing work.

"You're not much of a talker."  She observed.

"I figured you'll tell me what you want when you're ready."

 She gave me what might have been a smile, or not, just a bitter little twist of the lips.  "My son is Jimmy Carpenter Carmichael."

"Jimmy" Carmichael, as in Mr. Carmichael the owner of the company I worked for.  So maybe I wouldn't get in trouble for being late.  Assuming, of course, she told him we'd met. 

"Jimmy is a good boy."  She told me.  I didn't mention that at 56 he was twice my age and hardly a 'boy'.  He was her son.  He'd always be a boy to her.  "A little weaker than I'd like.  Not like his father was, or even his brother Ron." 

I'd worked with James Carmichael long enough to know he wasn't exactly a sissy boy.  Which meant that Mr. Carmichael Sr. had probably been a world class asshole.  Ron, had been the Carmichael's older son.  If rumors were to be believed he'd be killed in a bar fight.  He may have been tough, but obviously someone had been tougher.  Then again, there always is. 

"So I can't count on him to do what's necessary."

I didn't like where I thought this was heading, but I kept my mouth shut.  I've found I can keep myself out of an awful lot of trouble just by staying quiet. 

She paused, waiting for me to say something.  When I didn't she gave me an irritated look over the top of her glasses. 

"I need someone smart, tough, and ruthless.  I had someone check discreetly with the men working for my son.  Your name came up repeatedly.  They also say you do odd jobs for people, for a price."

"That would depend on the job."

"And the price I assume."
Not necessarily.  But I wasn't about to tell her that---yet.  "What exactly did you have in mind?"

Saturday Evening Post

Okay, it's Saturday, and I'm posting.  Probably what I'll talk about today is something of a dichotomy. 

CONFIDENCE IN THE ARTS.

Because, let's face it.  It takes big shiny polished brass to be willing to keep going against everything that everyone will say to discourage you and in light of the actual nuts and bolts work of practicing, practicing, practicing without knowing whether or not you're actually going to succeed.  But you believe in your dream and yourself enough to finish, to put your product your "baby" on the line, whether it is a painting, a song, or a piece of writing.

And (for a lot of people at least---including me) at the same time that you believe, and are proud and stubborn and KEEP polishing that brass there's this part of you that is afraid that it ISN'T brilliant, that maybe you AREN'T as good as you think you are and that maybe you should just give up.

SO, it HURTS people when for no good reason other than:  (1) they seem to enjoy it; (2) the fact that web is anonymous and they CAN bully without facing the consequences; or maybe (3) they're jealous; people rip into your art with razors, being as cruel as they possibly can in their criticism.  They seem to believe that "Well, if you can't take it, you shouldn't put your stuff out there."

And it doesn't stop if you get a level of success either.   It just means that more people see it, so there's more of a chance that that small (really, small) percentage of cruel people will see it and cut loose.

A lot of people deal with it by avoiding reviews and forums, not allowing comments on their blog and the like.  I can't say as I blame them.  Frankly, most professional writers at least (can't speak for other artists) don't have enough time to spare to spend a lot of it hanging out doing those things anyway.

I'm a grown up.  I know that what I create won't please all of the people all of the time.  Don't get me wrong, I'd love to see the top of The New York Times' bestsellers list.  But the fact is, that most writers never get there, and I want to be true to what I want to write and my characters.

But I have to admit that every time I see someone getting slashed on it makes me mad.  And every time I get ready to put something out in the world (or even just in front of an important audience of one, like the agent or an editor) I have to put on my "armor," and pump myself up with the equivalent of a half-time pep talk.

There are very famous authors who finally gave up on publishing their works altogether.  They didn't stop writing, they just stop publishing their work, choosing instead to let the manuscripts pile up in a safe, file cabinet, or desk drawer.  I don't know that I'll ever go that far.  I do want to share my stories and characters with people who appreciate them.  But if the publishing industry decided tomorrow that I was no longer publishable, I would still keep writing.  If the publishing industry disappeared as a whole tomorrow I'd still keep writing. It's what I do. It's who I am.

So I strap on the armor and send to the agent, the editor, wherever.  And I come back to the keyboard at 4:00 or 4:30 in the morning when a part of me would much rather be asleep (shut up body, I've got things to do) and pound out the words, or post to the blog, or do the interview.  Is it dedication? Maschochism?  A little of both?  I don't know.  But it is my life and my art.  And I try to ignore the people who look me straight in the eye and say "Well if YOU can get published . . ." (seriously, they've said it.  LOTS of them.) and the folks who rip into my work, or the work of my friends.

Nobody expects you to like everything you read.  But I have to go with Laurell K. Hamilton on this one.  Vote with your feet, with your pocketbook.  If you don't like what an author writes DON'T BUY THE BOOKS.   But don't be petty, and cruel.  That's just so . . . high school.

A DAY OFF! THINKING

I took a day off.  A whole day off of the day job to take care of all of the schtoof you can't do when you work the same hours that everything else is open.  WOO HOO.  Christmas shopping is done.  All but 1 package ready to mail.  Old prizes and replacements (the mail shredded my bookmark kind of thing) are going this afternoon.  The car is getting inspected.  The proposal and first section of the new individual book will be winging its way to the agent this afternoon. 

BUSY, but good busy.

OKAY, I had a thought.  Always a dangerous thing.  IF I were to start a blog (1 day a week) from the point of view of any character we have written (or if you want a sneak peek, from any of the characters of the new book being sent to the agent this afternoon) or which will be written, who would it be?

OR would you prefer to have one blog a week here (which would be handy since I wouldn't have to set up a new account) with a character visiting each week?  HMNNN???  Inquiring minds want to know.


Cie