Category Archives: blog

The Next Big Thing Blog Hop, the Intro.

THE NEXT BIG THING BLOG HOP. It’s a hoppy thing. (See what I did, there?)

What is a blog hop? Among other things it is a way for readers to discover new authors. The path to publication has always been a tough one to navigate, and even when it is attained it is usually not that fabled pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Getting seen and read after being published is growing tougher by the minute. There are so many good books out there you’ve never known existed, so many amazing authors who are just not getting the attention their skill warrants. Bookstores are closing and publishers aren’t promoting new authors the way they did in the past. Despite all of our hard work, many deserving authors are simply falling through the cracks. It rests with us, fellow authors, and us, fellow readers, to discover the talent that lies in the big blue beyond.

My place in this little hop is to tell you a bit about my book, Resonance, and to direct you to more authors who deserve a chance to be read and appreciated. Pop back in next Wednesday for my Q&A about Resonance, and for links to five other deserving authors.

So, Resonance is my book. It is a dark urban fantasy with lots of demons and magic, and one very reluctant punk hero whose name is, you guessed it, Resonance. It is currently for sale exclusively through Amazon. Print versions are in the works.

A huge thanks to one of my first-ever writing friends, Sidney Williams, for tagging me to participate. He is a talented author whose work you definitely should be reading. Give him some clicky love and check out his book, Midnight Eyes, from Crossroad Press.

See you in a week.

Tagged 7-7-7

Sidney Williams tagged me in a fun meme, so I figured I’d play along. Well, at first I couldn’t, because I was supposed to go to page 77 of my work-in-progress, and the only thing I’ve been doing as of late are novella length, or shorter. But, my genius friend Kate Sterling said I could do what she was doing and go to page seven, and play that way. The rules are, go to page 77 (in my case 7) of your current work. Count down seven lines, and then post the next seven lines/sentences. As I’m a chronic long sentence writer, I chose to copy the sentences, not the lines.

This is part of a short story I’m writing for an anthology on sexuality in fantasy.  I’ve had some thoughts, lately, on the recent sociopolitical push to drag women back to the old prehistoric caves by our hair. It has caused me… Angst. Okay, rage. And you know me, go dark or go home, so this little dystopian piece of bad news was born. This scene is where our heroine, Cherry, is confronted by an official of her church commune whose twisted desires for her cause him to act out in unholy ways:

“To keep me chaste,” she sputtered past the blood.


“As a reminder the Destroyer is everywhere, and that his demons cannot be overcome with manmade Chemical, or the National Church’s polygamist whoring, but by purity’s resistance alone.” If Cherry desired her back as bloody and raw as the Warder made his own every night, she would have added, But, the government keeps pumping me full of hormones and Chemical so I can lure these earthly servants to them, and you let them do it, so how can I be pure when everyone demands something unholy of my virginity?  As she had no desire to be whipped, she remained silent.

The Warder had always been a devout boy, singularly driven to understand the world they had inherited, the life so unlike the antiquated photographs of men and women walking freely in the sunshine, holding hands and pressing together their lips and bodies. He had latched on to the church’s inane assertions that the mouth of hell had opened up and spewed forth the creatures that had one day appeared from underground and carried off the majority of the world’s chaste in less than a month’s time.


As I am very, very late to the game, all of my writing friends have been tagged, so I can’t play the “tag seven friends” part. But, if you’re a writer stopping by here and want to play, go ahead. Just let me know in the comments so I can read your 7-7-7.

Writer’s Block and Thinning Veils

Not writer’s block for the important things, luckily. No. I’m having blog writer’s block. I’ve been thinking for some time now that I need to step up and post another entry. The problem is, I can’t think of thing one to write about. Even as I’m typing this I have no idea where this entry is going or how it will ever become one coherent piece of writing. Maybe it won’t.

I’m having the same problems with my MySpace journals, too. There’s so much going on at this time in Resonance’s story I shouldn’t be having issues with getting an entry together for her. Still, I can’t seem to get one out. The same goes for my MySpace blog. I can’t think of anything relevant or even remotely important to say. Personally, I’ve been to see some really great bands, I’ve been making progress with the novel, my favorite holiday will be here in a week… There are tons of topics to write about. But, I feel like a kid in school staring at those dreaded words etched across the top of my double-ruled notebook paper, “What I did on my summer vacation.”

So, if I have topics, does that mean I can officially be diagnosed with Writer’s Block? I don’t think so. Then, it must be something else.

The wind is blowing today. The sun is in and out, leaving my desk in dappled brilliance one minute and then doused in shadow the next. It’s around fifty-five degrees and the chill is creeping through the un-insulated panes of my ancient windows.

I live in a historic neighborhood where there’s more sidewalk than lawns. Outside, the leaves from my neighbor’s trees are skittering down the street with that dry, rustling sound. I’d like to join them. Not that I’d actually enjoy tumbling down the street, getting tar, gravel and a random piece of glass or two embedded in my skin, but in fantasy-world, I think I’d like to be a wind-blown leaf, toppling around with nothing but the breeze for a guide.

Most people become distracted when the flowers start to bloom and the trees are all tinged with green and the first whiffs of warmth are tucked into the wind. But here I am, getting excited because the air has finally picked up that deep, earthy smell. I’m happy the time has finally arrived when the oppressive heat and rampant verdancy has given way to the brief period when the leaves become bright and then fade as they fall to the ground, when the air becomes chill and the stars in the sky seem to shine a little brighter (and a lot earlier). I have ‘fall fever.’ I’m in love with the newborn autumn and there’s no room in my heart (or mind) for anything else at the moment. If there were any deadfall other than pine needles decorating my six-foot wide backyard, I’d be raking and then jumping into them, pulling the leaves over my prone body like a blanket as I did when I was a kid. Only in the fall, only with leaves can death smell so wonderful.

Next week is Halloween, or, for the pagan-minded, Samhain (SOW-in, not Sam-HAIN). The veils between the worlds will thin and the spirits of those that have passed can again freely walk among us. It’s an ancestor night. A time of remembrance. It’s also grown into a night that is a mixture of fun and fright — for demons, monsters, costumes and candy. I respect and celebrate both traditions, and look with glee to the time when the hour falls back this Sunday in seeming preparation for Tuesday night. The spirits, as well as the ghouls and devils, will then have ample darkness in which to wander.

Maybe I’m distracted because I can sense the veil thinning, can feel the shades as they prepare for their bi-annual return to this plane. Or, more likely, I’m a writer, and live more in my imagination than I should. If that’s the case, though, why aren’t I writing when this time does so much to heighten my illusions? Why aren’t I taking the energy I feel with the fall and infusing it into one or more of my journals? I guess the answer is because this is the one time of year where I don’t have to pretend alone. Everyone else is finally with me, creeping through the darkness, squinting through the shadows, ever on the lookout for the denizens of the Other World. This is my Christmas and I’m happy to be celebrating it with everyone else.

I guess that’s a good enough answer for me. There’s probably some bullshit in there, but that’s what happens when one tricks oneself into writing an entire post. At least I had the chance to expound on one of my favorite subjects.

I was in Target a while back and they had just put out the costume displays. A woman pushed a cart past me. In the basket, leaning forward like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic was a little boy. With arms stretched out towards the far-off display, he yelled, “Halloween, here I come!” I couldn’t have said it better.