books

Morning, Chopped

We made appointments, answered questions, filled out all the paperwork online, got out the door Tuesday morning…and an officious Walgreens “pharmacy tech” refused our entire family the Covid vaccine we qualify for (since we haven’t been boosted since 2022). Which was upsetting in the extreme–I could not sleep the night after, heartsick and vexed. I’m hearing anecdotally that this is happening to a lot of eligible people, being refused lifesaving and disability-fighting vaccines by pharmacists using “religion” as an excuse or who seem genuinely unaware of CDC guidelines and best practices. It’s fucking maddening. Perhaps the reason vaccine uptake is “low” is because our public health infrastructure has completely failed, mostly due to business interests gutting it because they want the serf class–no matter how sick or disabled–back at the mill for exploiting.

Anyway, I’ve filed complaints and we’re making arrangements to go elsewhere. Plus, I’ll never step in another Walgreens again so long as I live. And that’s all I’ve to say about that, because most of what I’d add is unrepeatable blue words.

I don’t know how long it will last, but it looks like the Gallow & Ragged trilogy is discounted in ebook. (I wish I were alerted to these things more consistently.) The first volume, Trailer Park Fae, is $2.99 for Kindle–again, I don’t know for how long, but I thought I’d mention it.

I finished Emily Wilson’s translation of the Iliad and it was marvelous. She makes the Greek sing through the English and her notes are a delight. Next up is her Odyssey translation. I am smacking my lips in anticipation–after a moment spent with Osamu Dazai’s No Longer Human, which I first read in a Junji Ito adaptation.

I was in bed this morning with the Dazai as Boxnoggin got his cuddles, and happened across a particular passage where the protagonist talks about how, when people say, “Society won’t stand for it…” what they really mean is “I won’t stand for it.” If someone says, “Society will ostracize you,” what they really mean is, “I will ostracize you.” The force of the passage, addressing a “you” since the book’s in first person, was like a thunderclap. I had to set the book down and think about things for a bit–which Boxnoggin adored since it meant chest-skritches, always a favorite after a long night spent snoring in comfort.

Of course the protagonist is a bit tiresome, but the feeling Dazai describes of being an imposter in one’s own life, of clowning to hold back the despair, of utter alienation beginning in childhood, is extremely familiar. I sought out the book after Ito’s adaptation because of that definite, echoing familiarity–nausea in the Sartre sense, I’d call it. I’ve the urge to watch Breathless afterward, just to see if the existentialist throughlines I’m seeing hold.

It’s good to have some bandwidth for reading again; not-reading is almost as uncomfortable as not-writing. For a short awful while I was so emotionally and physically exhausted by the struggle around a certain series I couldn’t manage more than a paragraph before passing out at night; thankfully, the commitment to protecting the work (and myself) in this Year of the Real is paying off by granting me a little breathing room. Funny how that works out, ennit–when one starts enforcing one’s boundaries, one finds out rather quickly who was taking one’s kindness for weakness, and one acquires far more energy to spend on one’s own affairs.

It’s been a chopped-up sort of morning, as you can see by the separators. I’m about to begin another push to get the Sekrit Projekt past the point of no return, where its own momentum will take it over the finish line…but it’s rough, and various other considerations might intrude. The month of April’s going to hit like a freight train, since I’m rather behind, what with so much time eaten up by health concerns and struggling to get That Particular Series born. At least the stress nausea (I’m detecting a theme, and a rather unpleasant one at that) is receding bit by bit.

It’s not the end of the battle, but I can see it from here. And that is a welcome development indeed, my friends. The relief is damn near depthless.

Books and Connotations

Catkins are coming off the magnolias and I saw an actual cherry blossom yesterday, though not on the tree down the hill who’s usually first past the post. I suppose I might be able to relax a bit instead of dreading a sudden cold snap? (HAHAHAHAHAHA WHO AM I FOOLING.)

I got to a major character death in the Sekrit Projekt last night, broke down crying, and decided it was time for bed. Going back over the raw text today will be uncomfortable–up until the very last moment, I thought this character would make it. I always do, I’m always pulling for them even when I know it’s impossible. This one’s going to wreck me even more badly than it does the protagonist, but that’s pretty much always the case as well. Sometimes I even mourn my dead villains, because I know precisely what made them what they are.

Anyway, getting to that particular plot-knot means that I am definitely past the halfway point in this particular book, which means there’s a bit of a slog before the slipsliding race to the finish. I know a lot of things will have to be expanded in revision, but that’s a completely different problem. Now it’s me and the book trapped in a cage, and only one of us will emerge victorious.

Technically we both win–it gets born and I get another notch on the belt–but at this stage it always feels an awful lot like a zero-sum game. And after this week I have to split working time so I’m not solely focusing on pushing this bloody great boulder up the hill, Sisyphus-style. It will also mean I say a more definite and thunderous no to a great many things people have grown accustomed to demanding from me, always a fun time.

I finished Amitav Ghosh’s Smoke and Ashes this morning, listening to the rain on the roof as Boxnoggin’s nose was buried my armpit. (Don’t ask me, our dog is a weirdo.) It’s an eye-opening read, and I particularly enjoyed both Ghosh’s careful tracing of how a great deal of colonialism was built on opium as well as the connections between that trade and the fossil fuel addiction leading to climate change. His positing of the humble poppy as a force in and of itself is extremely valid as well. All in all, a fantastic read, A+, absolutely recommend.

Next up, Emily Wilson’s translations of the Iliad and the Odyssey, since the Princess wants to read both as well and talk about them. She’s loved the Odyssey since childhood–Odysseus is, in her words, a picture-perfect explication of “that fuckin’ guy”, and not in an entirely pleasant sense either. As in any household, in ours there are a few terms whose connotations are completely dependent upon tone and context, and that’s one of them. It’s said with extremely loving and positive overtones when it’s, for example, “that fuckin’ chocolate guy“; however, when it comes to certain political figures it’s overwhelmingly negative.

I can’t wait to hear her takedown of Achilles, frankly, who I always found a bit of a jackass.

Okay, a lot of a jackass. I kept reading the Iliad going, “Wait, this guy is supposed to be a hero? But he’s a douchebag, Hector’s much better!” My feelings on both Helen’s husbands are a bit unrepeatable, as well, and don’t ask me about either of the Ajaxes. (Ajaxi?)

This is going to be amazing. I can’t wait.

The rain is taking a bit of a breather, so I should probably amble into the kitchen for some toast. Before then, though, I’m going to absorb the last half of my coffee in something approaching peace.

Pushing the boulder another few inches can wait for a bit while I do so. It is, after all, a Tuesday.

Bureaucratic Duck-Nibbles

It’s been trying to snow for days now, producing sleet and spatters between bouts of very cold rain. There’s the occasional edge of huge, wet flakes, but those disappear soon as they hit the ground. If we get a strong east wind through the Gorge we’ll have a deep freeze, but it doesn’t seem like that’s on the cards. As it is, we’ve had just enough below-zero this winter to cut down on some summer insect (or slug) infestations, and while the snowdrops are beginning to fade it looks like the hyacinths and cherries are holding off for a little while longer. Resentfully, in the hyacinths’ case, but at least it’s something.

The daffodils are out in force though. Little yellow YOLO trumpets, absolute mad lads.

Thankfully, I’m beginning to get some bandwidth back. The Junji Ito phase (one graphic novel after another) was apparently just what I needed, and this past weekend I also finished Dower’s War Without Mercy, which was a fascinating read, especially tracing how racist propaganda symbols can be inverted. I’m about fifty pages from the end of Lakota America, though that’s hard going–any real American history is. If one is not nauseated by the invasion, genocide, and racism, one isn’t paying attention.

There’s plenty to keep me occupied afterward. My next-to-the-bed TBR has swelled dangerously and needs some attention.

I spent Saturday doing administrivia–there’s been a lot of that lately, tax season and the change of year both conspiring–and setting up the framework for that anthology of my short stories I’ve been threatening for, oh, a year or more? Since the Jolene or My Rebbe’s Wife stories didn’t fit elsewhere, I decided I might as well put them in my very own antho to sweeten the pot. I had been holding off because the entire project seemed like too much to handle, but finally the bright idea of (wait for it…) cutting the entire shebang into small, easily-accomplished chunks and formatting one short story (or two) per weekend struck.

I don’t know why it took me so long to arrive at that strategy, since it’s my standard suggestion to others. Like Alice, I suppose I rarely ever follow my own good advice. But I have the stories chosen now–eighteen, all told–and even have ideas of putting a few which can’t be sold for cash (as they have other characters, like the Kolchak and Jill Kismet story, or the Zombies, Run fanfic) into a free ebook just for funsies.

We’ll see.

Today will be all about even more administrivia–I swear I am being nibbled to death by bureaucratic ducks–but once that’s done I can take a look at a second escape attempt in the Sekrit Projekt, and maybe get an election into the serial. Our favourite sellsword is about to have a moment of “if nominated I will not run, if elected I will not serve–whaddaya mean I don’t have another option?” Plus, one of the last pieces for this second season fell into place during some intense doodling and planning last week, so that’s a worry shelved, one I didn’t even know I was brooding over.

Plenty more where that came from, but I’m grateful nonetheless.

There are a few sales going on right now–many of my ebooks are 50% off during the Smashwords Read an Ebook Week, She-Wolf and Cub is a Kindle Monthly Deal, and Incorruptible is $2.99USD in ebook through these retailers for a few days more. And of course, A Flame in the North is still going strong–which provides some validation, even if I am still exhausted and burned to the ground by the effort to protect the series itself.

Dawn has risen while I’ve been typing, and the lacework of dark clouds under higher, lighter ones has turned into a soft infinite grey. Trying even harder for snow, I suppose, and though it’s too warm for any to stick it’s still chill-raw out there and I’ll be conservative with Boxnoggin’s walkies. His back leg appears to have healed completely but I’m still discouraging indoor parkour or any nonsense outside–the rabbit who has decided our backyard is now his notwithstanding.

But that’s (say it with me) another blog post. I had not believed a mere bunny could give me such a filthy look, but this one managed while also taunting 65+lbs of furred and muscled himbo terrier-boxer. The development does not bode well, though there was no sign of Compere Lapin this morning.

He’s perhaps just biding his time. Into Monday we go, boots on and eyeliner thickened. And with the baseball bat firmly to hand…

Leap Day Bitch Break

Selene

I turned my alarm clock off for yesterday and today, and boy howdy was it ever the right choice. Insomnia hasn’t been biting as hard as it used to, but a night and a half of it is a danger sign I’m not going to disregard. Plus, today’s February 29, which only rolls around every four years.

When a bitch needs a goddamn break, a leap year’s extra day will work as well as any other. I’m only going to work on things which please me today, and that might mean fanfic. It certainly won’t mean anything I have to strain over. Oh, and also in honor of leap day, Selene is $2.99USD in ebook through these retailers (it doesn’t go on sale often, but I heard the pleas of my Danny Valentine fans…), Rose & Thunder is $3.99USD through these ones, HOOD‘s Season One is $1.99USD through these, and The Complete Roadtrip Z (all four seasons) is deeply discounted to $9.99USD in ebook here. There are other sales in March and April, but since this is a frabjous day I went all out scheduling these.

We’ve had hours of rain and it looks like the trend will continue through the weekend, which pleases me to no end. Of course I’ll be physically miserable halfway through my morning run, but that’s more than balanced by the joy of getting home, slithering into a warm shower, and drawing dry socks over my lower paws. I have officially reached the age where good socks are a blessing, a luxury, and damn near a courtship gift.

You may have also noticed the site looks subtly different; there’s a lot of work going on behind the scenes to get rid of certain plugins and services provided by companies who have drunk deep the “AI” Flavr-Aid. No more Google, thank you very much–I am weighing even turning off Analytics–and I’ve done a lot of work over the past few days to make sure I can switch away from the Jetpack plugin wholesale if Automattic tries scraping sites where it’s installed. To be strictly honest I don’t think the latter will happen, but I’m not leaving any openings. “AI” and “machine learning” enthusiasts have proved themselves so rancid and exploitative they will never be welcome in my house, world without end, amen.

It’s a huge goddamn grift and I’m tired of it. Even the faintest whiff of that nonsense is enough to turn me away entirely.

On the bright side, my coffee tastes exceptionally fine this damp grey morn. I mean, the first hit of caffeine is always a blessed event, but sometimes the stars align and one receives a superlative jolt. Perhaps some of it has to do with also getting a decent night’s rest after a week of uneasy-at-best toss-turn, or the fact that the Muse has turned away from certain types of input and is back to history books. The latter is a profound relief. I’m not me when I’m not writing, and I’m even less me when I can only get a quarter-hour’s worth of uninterrupted daily reading.

Boxnoggin will not enjoy beginning our walkies in these conditions, but he’ll like skipping them even less. I suppose I’d better finish this marvelous set of espresso shots and amble for the toaster.

Give yourself a wee bit of a break today if you can, my beloveds. You’ve earned it.

For Different Elves

We’re on the downward half of the week, and I’m very close to the point where everything is funny again. That’s the stage right before I crawl into the cave for shelter and only reappear once a book is finished; considering there’s 50k (at least) left to write on the serial and way more than that on the Sekrit Projekt this does not bode well. Of course, it could be the urge to retreat into fictional worlds and never come back out, since there’s so much truly heinous shit going down outside.

I’m sure some Internet Rando will sneer that escapism doesn’t help anything, but I have ol’ JRRT on my side. Tolkien drew an explicit line (in an interview) between escapism in fiction and the duty for a prisoner of war to attempt escape in any way possible; I think about that a lot. I also think about his insistence, in at least one famous letter, that he was creating a mythic sandbox he desperately wanted other people to play in.

That last bit helps with the hatemail I’m starting to see now. I knew it was only a matter of time before some neckbeard or another got mad about me getting my girl cooties all over “Real” Epic Fantasy™, by which they inevitably mean White Male Power Trips. It was so expected as to be hilarious, actually arriving a little bit later than I thought it would. So far the dudes seem really upset that the protagonist isn’t the Valkyrie analogue in the book, that said Valkyrie isn’t banging one of the werewolves, and that the actual protagonist prefers sewing, negotiation, and peace to just about anything else.

They’re going to be real mad when the third book hits.

Those bemoaning the fact that the writing is dense, the language is sometimes archaic, and the narrative moves in ways they didn’t expect were also anticipated; I was asked several times to water the language and the complexity down, and largely refused. I will be precisely as recondite and playful as I wish in this particular trilogy. I’m not writing for those who cannot handle or suss out implications, or those who claim confusion when a character thinks one thing but says another. (It’s called lying. Shockingly, both real and fictional people are capable of it.)

No, I have created this for different elves, as the divine Austen might mutter.

The good news is, Boxnoggin’s completely fine. Indeed the dog’s only problem now is my insistence that he not scrabble-run crazily down the hall or engage in calisthenics all over the living room furniture to reinjure himself. He is most annoyed at the short, very easy daily rambles, too, even though I allow double the usual generous allotment of sniffing time. Fortunately the weather has been filthy enough to keep other dogs inside most mornings, which means he does not exert himself proving his chivalry by acting a damnfool and needing close harness-hobbling. Plus he gets to sprawl on a heated bed for the majority of the day, which does him a great deal of good and will probably cut recovery time down a bit. Small mercies.

The Muse is demanding a steady diet of manga and Donnie Yen movies at the moment. I have no idea, I just give her what she wants. Personally I’d prefer to go back to the stack of history books waiting at my bedside, but she’s voracious and I need her kept happy. Plus there’s the Gamble revision looming, and one for Chained Knight when the editor sends it back. I’m considering a Roadtrip Z series sale next month, too, but that’s a whole lot of setup and I’m not sure I have the hand free to juggle it.

There are also some reader questions hanging fire; I really ought to do a post from the mailbag soon-ish. I do read everything sent, my darlings, I just don’t have a lot of time to respond. It’s either reply to all your lovely missives or write the books you all want, and only one of those pays my bills. I do what I can, yet am perpetually behind the eight-ball, so to speak.

In any case the morning mist is lifting, the coffee is down to dregs, and I should gnaw some toast before the ramble and shamble, the first for Boxnoggin and the second for my silly mental and physical health. There’s an army to get moving in the serial, and actual flying monkeys to unleash in the Sekrit Projekt. I have been looking forward to the latter for weeksnow and have a shot at getting to actually write it today, which provides me with a great deal of anticipatory glee.

Best to get started, then. Excelsior, and all that…

RELEASE DAY: A Flame in the North

It’s here. I have alternately longed for and dreaded this day! For lo, today is the day the Viking Werewolves are set free.

Well, Book 1 of the trilogy, at least. That’s right, my beloveds. The very first salvo of The Black Land’s Bane is now released into the wild!

An elemental witch and her shieldmaid leave home…

The Black Land is spent myth. Centuries have passed since the Great Enemy was slain. Yet old fears linger, and on the longest night of the year, every village still lights a ritual fire to banish the dark.

That is Solveig’s duty. Favored by the gods with powerful magic, Sol calls forth flame to keep her home safe. But when her brother accidentally kills a northern lord’s son, she is sent away as weregild—part hostage, part guest—for a year and a day.

The further north Sol travels, the clearer it becomes the Black Land is no myth. The forests teem with foul beasts. Her travel companions are not what they seem, and their plans for her and her magic are shrouded in secrecy.

With only her loyal shieldmaid and her own wits to rely on, Sol must master power beyond her imagination to wrest control of her fate. For the Black Land’s army stirs, ready to cover the world in darkness—unless Sol can find the courage to stop it.

They thought the old ways were dead. But now, the Enemy awakens…

Now available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Apple, and independent bookstores.

(The series soundtrack is available here.)

These books are very much a love song, and before anyone asks (again), yes, this is a trilogy, Amazon simply refuses to list the third book yet for weird reasons that have no basis in reality. (Book 2 is out in June.)

Anyway, I fought like hell to write these books against what felt like a tidal wave, and a huge heaping helping of thanks goes out specifically to beta readers K.A., J.P., and K.W. (you know who you are) who read Book 1, assured me it was good when many told me it wasn’t, then read Book 2 and did the same thing. A few dedicated people can absolutely help one fight the good fight. I don’t know if I would’ve made it if not for the small but persistent cheering section who absolutely got what I was trying to do and backed me to the hilt.

I’m extremely nervous on this release day–yes, I know, that’s nothing new. I set out to do something very ambitious here and hope it sticks for the people who like what I was aiming for. In the end, that’s all a writer can ask.

And now I’m going to go stick my head in a bucket. It’s going to be a long day, full of nervousness. But I’m very, very grateful to have gotten this far; my dear Readers, I hope you enjoy Sol and Arn’s first adventure.

Exhilaration, Trepidation

Tomorrow is a release day, so true to form I’m nervous as a long-tailed cryptid in a room full of rocking chairs. I spent last night largely sleepless reading Junji Ito manga, especially his adaptation of No Longer Human, and watching bits of 80’s Hong Kong action flicks. Consequently my head is in a rather interesting space right now. Today’s going to be an endurance contest, and I hope to reach the end thoroughly exhausted–or at least tired enough to sleep.

I did a list of history books I found useful for writing Western epic fantasy over at Shepherd, if you’re interested in that. Oh, and the Monthly Sales page has been updated, since I was notified of a few other price drops over the weekend.

At least Boxnoggin wasn’t restless last night as well. In fact, he snored rather gently into my armpit or ear for almost the entire duration; it’s kind of outlandish to be reading horror manga while 65+lbs of deeply relaxed canine predator burbles moistly against one’s skin. I mean, I’ve had far worse insomniac events, and every time my nerves spooled up I could at least glance over at the dog and think, well, he’s unconcerned, it can’t be all that bad.

Small mercies, indeed.

Part of the problem is the difficulty this series has had getting through the publication process. I feel like I’ve been fighting alone for so long, there’s no possible way to relax. The third great push is still before me, and it’s going to be the most arduous one by far. The exhaustion goes soul-deep this time around; I’m damn near numb, which is hardly a cause for celebration. Of course, choosing to have this be the Year of the Real contributes, and I had to laugh when I found out we’re in Year of the Dragon again as well. I was born in a Dragon year, so hello, let’s pour jet fuel on the burning coal seam!

Jacking into the universe’s flow and riding the wave is great, really. It’s just that when the wave is a monster, the exhilaration is almost as exhausting as the trepidation.

In any case, there’s a few more odds and ends to prep for tomorrow, an entire unrelated to-do list to address, and I think I’m going to let the novella sit and think about what it’s done even though I have a solution for the problem it presented me late Friday evening. I want to get the pitched battle in Highlands War at least settled, so the bulk of today’s writing time can be spent on the Sekrit Projekt. Powering through the mess on that last one will take what limited priority energy I can scrape together.

Boxnoggin isn’t stirring even though I’ve chewed on the dregs left in my coffee mug, probably because I decided not to stay in bed and brood so we’re technically up early. (Technically.) If we get out the door for walkies soon we’ll see the dawn come up together, and he’ll have fun lunging at the feral rabbits who have worked their way up the hill–climate change means we’re seeing territory changes for both them and coyotes.

Monday beckons. I suppose I’d best get started. There’s a long way to go until I can toss myself in bed again and hope for some rest.