It doesn't take an alarm clock. I go to bed, exhausted, some time before 10 PM. It is stormy outside, and the staccato of the rain soothes me rapidly into unconsciousness. To sleep...perchance to dream...aye, there's the rub...
Somewhere around 2AM I''m awake again, the siren call having nudged me back into wakefulness, back into touch with the Muse who controls my time and tides, and I find myself once more at the keyboard of the computer, taking dictation from Dubhghall or Stephen or Kevin, or whomever is out there eager to talk, eager to have his story told. Seldom a woman, seldom anyone whose story is something to which I can relate, can tell the tale from a woman's point of view.
Often I argue with them, tell them it's ridiculous, they can't have done that, can't say that...and invariably I am told to shut up and take down the dictation I am receiving...I will see why later.. It always turns out that something at which I have scoffed, something I wanted to delete, something that I have thought was an impossible piece of rubbish turns out to be an important plot point, not aleays in the book I am writing, but perhaps in another book down the line.
Last night was no different. Went to bed at 9:30 PM, and at 2:30 I was up again, plunking away at the computer till 4:30 AM, turning out pages which took the story in a direction I had no conscious notion it would be going,
C'est la vie.
I have a Muse who lives on Greenwich Mean Time. I'm on Pacific Daylight Time. Somewhere along the line we get together and pages are written.
Sleep is for wimps.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
So Much For The Holiday...
It was ill-conceived, I suppose, now that I think of it, a serene and glorious long weekend signing books and rubbing elbows with those I knew, those I hoped to meet and utter strangers at PantheaCon 2011. After all, what could be simpler...riding up with and spending the weekend with two of my dearest friends? Linda I have known for nearly half my life; her husband Peter, my wonderful publisher, for nearly two decades. And then, on the verge of packing, on the verge of having another dear friend house sit and look after the adorable kittens, Peter fell ill, ill enough to land him in hospital.
Of course we were concerned. All the scenarios we had been through up to this point had not made any room for illness, any shadow of a possibility that we would not be going, and above all for the fact that there was a potentially serious set of conditions affecting two such dear and wonderful friends. And so we visited him in that utterly impersonal and dreary cubicle where he lay in pain, praying, hoping, knowing he would be well, and quickly too. At first there was a chance, a thought, a dream, a flicker of a hope that miracle drugs were indeed miracles and that he would be well enough in hours, even in a couple of days, and that we would all have a fabulous weekend together in San Jose...but soon the hard truth of the matter that such things took time became starkly evident and we realised such things were not to be.
What did happen was we realised several things about ourselves. We are a resilient lot who care deeply for one another, and this resilience has made us strong in both our friendship and in our lives in general. When things go awry, we know we have each other to turn to. We have also once more had a close encounter with our own mortality and the fact that no matter how we live our lives and how positive we may be in our thinking, sometimes we are not the boss of us. Sometimes there are outside Forces which knock us up beside the head and say "No, you may not," and it may be for a really good reason. The weather this weekend was wild, to say the least. Road conditions were unsavoury. None of us would have wanted to be a statistic.
Peter is now home, on the mend, well on his way to total recovery. I rediscovered and was delighted to help him and Linda discover the joys of one of Johnny Depp's priceless gems, "Don Juan De Marco" which we watched on DVD this evening. The world is turning as it should be, though not as we had expected. We are alive, fairly well, and warm and dry in the crazy inclement weather which lashes out around us.
PantheaCon 2012 will be all the sweeter for having to wait for it. Meanwhile, life is what we make of it.
Life is good.
Of course we were concerned. All the scenarios we had been through up to this point had not made any room for illness, any shadow of a possibility that we would not be going, and above all for the fact that there was a potentially serious set of conditions affecting two such dear and wonderful friends. And so we visited him in that utterly impersonal and dreary cubicle where he lay in pain, praying, hoping, knowing he would be well, and quickly too. At first there was a chance, a thought, a dream, a flicker of a hope that miracle drugs were indeed miracles and that he would be well enough in hours, even in a couple of days, and that we would all have a fabulous weekend together in San Jose...but soon the hard truth of the matter that such things took time became starkly evident and we realised such things were not to be.
What did happen was we realised several things about ourselves. We are a resilient lot who care deeply for one another, and this resilience has made us strong in both our friendship and in our lives in general. When things go awry, we know we have each other to turn to. We have also once more had a close encounter with our own mortality and the fact that no matter how we live our lives and how positive we may be in our thinking, sometimes we are not the boss of us. Sometimes there are outside Forces which knock us up beside the head and say "No, you may not," and it may be for a really good reason. The weather this weekend was wild, to say the least. Road conditions were unsavoury. None of us would have wanted to be a statistic.
Peter is now home, on the mend, well on his way to total recovery. I rediscovered and was delighted to help him and Linda discover the joys of one of Johnny Depp's priceless gems, "Don Juan De Marco" which we watched on DVD this evening. The world is turning as it should be, though not as we had expected. We are alive, fairly well, and warm and dry in the crazy inclement weather which lashes out around us.
PantheaCon 2012 will be all the sweeter for having to wait for it. Meanwhile, life is what we make of it.
Life is good.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Torn Between Two Lovers
It has always been difficult for me to work on more than one project at a time. Dubhghall as been nattering at me to start Volume III of TALES OF THE DEARG-SIDHE: THE PALE MARE"S FOSTERLING, which is due out June of next year. I am about two pages into it. And then there's this detective novel which has been in the back of my mind for about fifteen years, featuring P. C. MacGregor (the P. C. stands for Phillip Culloden) and his partner Nancy Higashida.
Somewhere around chapter four in this one Dubhghall was adamant he be heard, spewed forth eloquently, and totally distracted me from my original intentions of finally bringing the detective novel to life. My publisher loves it, I love it, but Dubhghall can be...most persuasive. How do I tell poor P. C. MacGregor he will have to wait...again...to have his story (hopefully the first of many) told? Poor dear, he has been so patient with me, and Nancy (that's Nancy Higashida, his partner, not Nancy O'Connor, his High Priestess), well Nancy Higashida is a Buddhist and a very patient person. MacGregor, on the other hand, is not, especially when a murder has been committed and he is in the midst of an investigation.
Perhaps over Presidents' Weekend, as I sit at a book signing table at PantheaCon at the Doubletree Hotel in San Jose, I will be able to plunk away on my new laptop computer and give MacGregor the attention I have not been able to give him this week at home.
But then, what if Dubhghall finds out?
Somewhere around chapter four in this one Dubhghall was adamant he be heard, spewed forth eloquently, and totally distracted me from my original intentions of finally bringing the detective novel to life. My publisher loves it, I love it, but Dubhghall can be...most persuasive. How do I tell poor P. C. MacGregor he will have to wait...again...to have his story (hopefully the first of many) told? Poor dear, he has been so patient with me, and Nancy (that's Nancy Higashida, his partner, not Nancy O'Connor, his High Priestess), well Nancy Higashida is a Buddhist and a very patient person. MacGregor, on the other hand, is not, especially when a murder has been committed and he is in the midst of an investigation.
Perhaps over Presidents' Weekend, as I sit at a book signing table at PantheaCon at the Doubletree Hotel in San Jose, I will be able to plunk away on my new laptop computer and give MacGregor the attention I have not been able to give him this week at home.
But then, what if Dubhghall finds out?
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Here We Go Again
The June 21 release of Volume II of Tales of the Dearg-Sidhe, THE GREAT QUEEN'S HOUND (aka Dubhghall 2) has been edited and is on its way to the publisher.
I had promised myself at least a weekend off before I started anything new. I was going to go to archery practice today, to work it all our with the feeling of the bow in my hand and the hand-eye coordination it takes to hit the target with that all-fulfilling sound of arrow piercing paper.
But the Gods had other ideas. Last night it started to rain. OK, granted it was wet at Agincourt, but that was Agincourt. We who live in Southern California have forgotten what rain is, for the most part, even if we have come from wetter climes and our appreciation of historical precedent does not factor into the desire to avoid mud and the craziness of drivers who have no idea what cars do in the rain.
So last night I stayed up way past the hour I would have stayed up till had I really supposed I was going to be on the range this morning, and The Muse bent my shell-like ear and said those magic words "What if" again, and I, resolute as I can be, said "NO!", but not before I had, in fact, typed the dread words "Chapter One" into the electron stream which has become my life.
And then I erased it, determined to go to bed.
She was not finished with me yet, however.
Somewhere, in the deep dark recesses of my brain there lurked a memory of a novel had started some 16 years ago, a mystery novel entitled "AROUND IN CIRCLES" and The Muse guided my hand to the file, somehow preserved and transmitted to this computer, several generations newer then the one upon which this had been written, and I opened it and read the first chapter and saw that it was good.
The words "CHAPTER ONE" were already there, in caps, and about 10 pages of text which needed a few changes to bring them into this century, but I was hooked and my publisher was hooked when I sent him the chapter this morning, and...
...and I face this with a smidge of trepidation on many fronts. First, I have never written a real mystery before, though I have had mysteries surface in the course of my other novels. Second, the style of writing is very noir, something not my usual style at all. Third, I am taking on the persona of Yank detective, based in Los Angeles., which means I have to change my spell check to U. S. English and hope for the best.
Sigh.
At least I'm a Gemini.
I had promised myself at least a weekend off before I started anything new. I was going to go to archery practice today, to work it all our with the feeling of the bow in my hand and the hand-eye coordination it takes to hit the target with that all-fulfilling sound of arrow piercing paper.
But the Gods had other ideas. Last night it started to rain. OK, granted it was wet at Agincourt, but that was Agincourt. We who live in Southern California have forgotten what rain is, for the most part, even if we have come from wetter climes and our appreciation of historical precedent does not factor into the desire to avoid mud and the craziness of drivers who have no idea what cars do in the rain.
So last night I stayed up way past the hour I would have stayed up till had I really supposed I was going to be on the range this morning, and The Muse bent my shell-like ear and said those magic words "What if" again, and I, resolute as I can be, said "NO!", but not before I had, in fact, typed the dread words "Chapter One" into the electron stream which has become my life.
And then I erased it, determined to go to bed.
She was not finished with me yet, however.
Somewhere, in the deep dark recesses of my brain there lurked a memory of a novel had started some 16 years ago, a mystery novel entitled "AROUND IN CIRCLES" and The Muse guided my hand to the file, somehow preserved and transmitted to this computer, several generations newer then the one upon which this had been written, and I opened it and read the first chapter and saw that it was good.
The words "CHAPTER ONE" were already there, in caps, and about 10 pages of text which needed a few changes to bring them into this century, but I was hooked and my publisher was hooked when I sent him the chapter this morning, and...
...and I face this with a smidge of trepidation on many fronts. First, I have never written a real mystery before, though I have had mysteries surface in the course of my other novels. Second, the style of writing is very noir, something not my usual style at all. Third, I am taking on the persona of Yank detective, based in Los Angeles., which means I have to change my spell check to U. S. English and hope for the best.
Sigh.
At least I'm a Gemini.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Birthing A Book
For some reason this one went easier than the last. No more 4 AM feedings of the Muse, no more coming to bed at the crack of dawn with the words "Finished another chapter" on my lips. This one left my keyboard yesterday afternoon, with no sense of post-partum depression, only the sense that I had taken another step along the journey as my characters took theirs.
"THE GREAT QUEEN'S HOUND" is the second installment in the saga of Dubhghall mac Cu, "Tales of the Dearg-Sidhe", who finds himself in the midst of the 12th Century anarchy between Stephen of Blois and Empress Mathilda, both claiming the right to rule England after the death of Henry I, but there are darker forces at work than mere politics, forces which have been lurking for centuries, forces which Dubhghall first encountered during Boudicca's rebellion against Rome. With the fall of the Roman Empire being succeeded by the new Holy Roman Empire in which the Old Faith has gone underground, will The Morrigan, the Great Queen of Battle and Sovereignty and Her foster-son Dubhghall be able to protect Britain against this old evil which threatens annihilation of all that stands in its way, or will the Dark Ages return in an even darker, even more sinister fashion?
Find out June 21, when "THE GREAT QUEEN'S HOUND" is released by Pendraig Publishing.
"THE GREAT QUEEN'S HOUND" is the second installment in the saga of Dubhghall mac Cu, "Tales of the Dearg-Sidhe", who finds himself in the midst of the 12th Century anarchy between Stephen of Blois and Empress Mathilda, both claiming the right to rule England after the death of Henry I, but there are darker forces at work than mere politics, forces which have been lurking for centuries, forces which Dubhghall first encountered during Boudicca's rebellion against Rome. With the fall of the Roman Empire being succeeded by the new Holy Roman Empire in which the Old Faith has gone underground, will The Morrigan, the Great Queen of Battle and Sovereignty and Her foster-son Dubhghall be able to protect Britain against this old evil which threatens annihilation of all that stands in its way, or will the Dark Ages return in an even darker, even more sinister fashion?
Find out June 21, when "THE GREAT QUEEN'S HOUND" is released by Pendraig Publishing.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Into The Electronic Age
It takes some getting used to, just as writing on an electric typewriter and using a copy machine replaced slogging away on a manual typewriter with carbon paper, and just as that gave way to electronic word processing and the ever-easier use of the computer and word processing programmes with discs and CDs for back-up, just as the thought process made the transition between writing everything out first in black ink in a lined yellow pad to being able to actually compose on a keyboard...now I have to get used to reading my own books on not just the computer screen, but...oh the incredibility of it...on my iPhone.
Yesterday "Uneasy Lies The Head", Volume I of the Glastonbury Chronicles went up on Kindle on Amazon.com and I am told "The Sword of The King", Volume II of the Glastonbury Chronicles and "Son of Air and Darkness" (although it is not advertised as such, Volume I of Tales of the Dearg-Sidhe) are not far behind. Books, months of writing and editing, all available on that tiny little screen of my cell phone as well as on my computer or a Kindle reading device. What once was printed on hundreds of sheets of paper, now electronically sent to my phone and computer and now truly the size that can fit into my pocket or purse.
What would the great authors I grew up reading have thought? William Shakespeare? Mark Twain? Charles Dickens? Even Robert Heinlein and Isaac Asimov? J. R. R. Tolkien? Would they have been amazed at this new frontier of publication? Would it have been considered wizardry or witchcraft? For that matter , how would Mr. Shakespeare have felt about motion picture versions of his plays? Or Mr. Dickens about audiobooks?
Oh brave new world that hath such contraptions in it!
And now this brand new e-Author has to go find her book...it's ringing in the background.
Yesterday "Uneasy Lies The Head", Volume I of the Glastonbury Chronicles went up on Kindle on Amazon.com and I am told "The Sword of The King", Volume II of the Glastonbury Chronicles and "Son of Air and Darkness" (although it is not advertised as such, Volume I of Tales of the Dearg-Sidhe) are not far behind. Books, months of writing and editing, all available on that tiny little screen of my cell phone as well as on my computer or a Kindle reading device. What once was printed on hundreds of sheets of paper, now electronically sent to my phone and computer and now truly the size that can fit into my pocket or purse.
What would the great authors I grew up reading have thought? William Shakespeare? Mark Twain? Charles Dickens? Even Robert Heinlein and Isaac Asimov? J. R. R. Tolkien? Would they have been amazed at this new frontier of publication? Would it have been considered wizardry or witchcraft? For that matter , how would Mr. Shakespeare have felt about motion picture versions of his plays? Or Mr. Dickens about audiobooks?
Oh brave new world that hath such contraptions in it!
And now this brand new e-Author has to go find her book...it's ringing in the background.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
SEQUELS
THE SWORD OF THE KING is the second installment of The Glastonbury Chronicles. It was a joy to write, as the main characters are not only identical twins, they were conjoined at birth...difficult enough, though the physical separation was fairly easy (the 22nd Century has marvellous medical procedures) but in this case extremely important, for it makes both of them the first-born son of the King and Queen of England, therefore both first in line for the throne. It doesn't make matters easier that they have not only the special communication twins are famous for having; these two, Kieran and Neil, are totally telepathic. Possibly this comes from the fact that in a prior life they had died together, Stephen and Kevin, King and King-slayer, and the bloodlines of both had merged when Stephen had married a descendant of Walter Tyrell and Kevin, a Watson of the Tyrell line, had married Stephen's sister Stacy.
The situation of course gets more complicated when they both fall in love with the same woman and mysterious deaths begin plaguing the royal families of both England and Scotland, and both brothers realise where their destinies lie: one must become the King, the other must eventually kill him...but which is which?
I was not even sure of the final outcome until about 5 pages before I wrote it.
Reading it is one thing; writing it is another, entirely.
When you finish reading a book you can put it down and go on with your life. When you finish writing a book you are left wondering what about the lives you have created in the book...what happens to them next?
When I finished UNEASY LIES THE HEAD I thought it was over. That was it. There was not going to be a sequel. I had effectively done everything in my power to clean up all the loose ends so there would not, could not, be a sequel.
Or so I thought.
The Lads, as I have come to call them, had different ideas. They began pestering me at all hours, wanting to come out and play again. I even started writing another novel, a book about Dubhghall. Somehow they worked themselves into it. And still they wanted more. Finally I gave in, and there was another book. A journal of Kevin Watson, called THE SWORD BENEATH THE ROSE (which is scheduled to be published at the end of the series) And that one was going to be the last. But no: There were more stories, and they wanted to tell them. THE SWORD OF THE KING is the second chronological story in the series. So far there are five books plus the journals, plus whatever else they cook up. (Did I mention the Tarot cards?)
The Lads are still nattering at me in the background as I try to put together the second volume of Tales of the Dearg-Sidhe, THE GREAT QUEEN'S HOUND. Poor Dubhghall is having a hard time getting a word in edgewise, but he will prevail. They have to sleep sometime. He doesn't sleep.
Neither, it seems, do I.
The situation of course gets more complicated when they both fall in love with the same woman and mysterious deaths begin plaguing the royal families of both England and Scotland, and both brothers realise where their destinies lie: one must become the King, the other must eventually kill him...but which is which?
I was not even sure of the final outcome until about 5 pages before I wrote it.
Reading it is one thing; writing it is another, entirely.
When you finish reading a book you can put it down and go on with your life. When you finish writing a book you are left wondering what about the lives you have created in the book...what happens to them next?
When I finished UNEASY LIES THE HEAD I thought it was over. That was it. There was not going to be a sequel. I had effectively done everything in my power to clean up all the loose ends so there would not, could not, be a sequel.
Or so I thought.
The Lads, as I have come to call them, had different ideas. They began pestering me at all hours, wanting to come out and play again. I even started writing another novel, a book about Dubhghall. Somehow they worked themselves into it. And still they wanted more. Finally I gave in, and there was another book. A journal of Kevin Watson, called THE SWORD BENEATH THE ROSE (which is scheduled to be published at the end of the series) And that one was going to be the last. But no: There were more stories, and they wanted to tell them. THE SWORD OF THE KING is the second chronological story in the series. So far there are five books plus the journals, plus whatever else they cook up. (Did I mention the Tarot cards?)
The Lads are still nattering at me in the background as I try to put together the second volume of Tales of the Dearg-Sidhe, THE GREAT QUEEN'S HOUND. Poor Dubhghall is having a hard time getting a word in edgewise, but he will prevail. They have to sleep sometime. He doesn't sleep.
Neither, it seems, do I.
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