Finish and Insurance

The radio inside my head was tuned to Culture Club this morning. I stood in front of Horace de Brassiere humming and wondering if Boy George ever introduced himself as, “George, Boy George,” when ordering a martini.

My brain is a wonderland. An exceedingly weird one.

I’m six chapters away from uploading the end of the werelion book. I have to say, it’s absurdly freeing to know it’s semi-hidden, and not expecting anyone to find it. It’s an homage to VC Andrews and Cat People, and I expected there to be more erotica. But the book takes the shape it wants, not the shape I think I want, and apparently I was more interested in purple prose poetry and some of the underlying plot features of Andrews’s work. It annoys me to a certain degree, I longed to test my smut-writing.

Ah well. I still have the pseudonym, and once the book rests a bit I might do a “director’s edition” with all the stuff I didn’t put into this iteration. That’s the freedom of choosing another name. One pays for it by having to start all over with building an audience, but sometimes that price is acceptable. And I can view this as just one more lesson in letting the work take the contours it, in its infinite wisdom, desires. The story knows what it needs better than I do in some cases, and part of this career is knowing when those times are.

We’re in the last days of the April sale; Damage is no longer on sale but Rose & Thunder still is until the 30th. I should decide what I want next month’s sale to be, or even if I want to run one. I’m tired right now, from the end of a zero draft as well as the revision to get it into serial format, so I probably shouldn’t be making any decisions until the damn thing is done and I have a few minutes to breathe.

And we have an insurance adjustor coming today to view the storm damage. I am unhappy about this, since the insurance company has never done right by us, but I’m waiting to see if this will be the moment that bucks the trend. I know adjustors are just people trying to do their job and the real problem is the institutionalized nastiness of giant corporations, especially those which profit off human misery and fear (what else is insurance, really?) so it’s no trouble to be polite…and at the same time, I am nervous and so stressed the dogs can sense it, and are tetchy as well.

So today will be a great deal of fun, for a certain value of the word. At least there’s the prospect of one giant project finishing today, so as soon as the adjustor is gone upon their merry way and I upload the last chapter I can heave a sigh of relief and wander out of my office like the shell-shocked survivor of some great disaster. I might even be able to go to bed early, or at least collapse on the couch and groan with feeling while the dogs lobby hard to clamber up and use me as a cushion.

It will be a relief to get back to paying projects, especially if the insurance company tries to weasel out of their contractually obligated replacing and repairing. And I’m taking a week off the other serial before it starts Season Two, so at least there’s that. Maybe I’ll even get some real rest in.

It’s doubtful, but the hope keeps one going. I can feel the coffee soaking in and the dogs are eager for their toast-crust, so I should be about my business. I’ll be calmer, not to mention far more gracious, after we finish with walkies and I get my weary corpse prodded through a run. Exercise works wonders, and while I’m running I won’t have to chew over Great Life Problems, being entirely occupied with dragging in enough oxygen to fuel my shamble and untangling plot snarls in whatever story decides to torment me while I’m out of the house.

…I did have more to say, especially about that silly oligarch attempting to buy Twitter just so he can ban people who mock his silly oligarch self and invite an orange shitgibbon back in to stink up the joint, but I’m not in the mood for that. I do think it’s interesting there was a giant purge of bots along with a mass exodus from hellsite as the news began to filter out, and I have some (probably inaccurate, but I don’t think so since I’ve learned never to underestimate the greed of rich white men) thoughts on what that means. But why ruin my day (and yours) further by unpacking that?

Honestly, I’d rather finish my coffee and get started. Those final six chapters aren’t gonna revise themselves, more’s the pity.

See you around, my beloveds.

Sixth Time Friday

Snow? Ha. I scoff at such inclemency!

How is it Friday? Wait. Is it Friday?

…I checked, for the sixth time this morning. It is indeed and irrevocably Friday, and I’m pretty sure the recent freak snowstorm was winter’s very last gasp. Sometimes seasons like a long drawn-out death, like certain movie villains. Remember Alan Rickman’s death scene in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves? Everything about that movie was fantastic, except for Kevin Costner.

Christ, I’m old.

Anyway, it’s Friday. There’s an upcoming Tea with Lili today, where we’ll be talking about how to deal with snapback. (I will still be knitting on the same damn shawl.) I’m sure there will be other tangents and subjects, as per usual.

It is a hushed, dripping, misty morning, and the neighborhood is quiet. This is, I suspect, a mercy of short duration. Even the dogs are subdued (don’t worry, this won’t last) and I am only a third of the way through my coffee. The week is bouncing around inside me, trying to find a place to settle, and I dislike the feeling intensely.

I’ll be working all weekend, but at least I can take a deep breath while the fog wraps the trees–blooming or simply leafing out–in cotton and the birds gather on the Yankee Squirrel Flinger. I do really have to tell you guys about Boxnoggin and the windchimes, you guys will enjoy that story even if it’s embarrassing–for him, mind you, though he’s forgotten all about it already.

I was wearing shoes and thus escaped shame. (Mostly.)

Have a lovely weekend, my dears. May your weather be fair, your pets hilarious, and your relaxation epic.

See you next week.

Rest, Little Friends

Little friends.

I am brim-full of the world’s pain, and can’t look at the news or anything else at the moment. Consequently, I’m taking a social media break; I’ll be back on Monday (though probably not for a tea-and-gossip session, you can find old Teas with Lili here). I just…I was looking at something online, and I felt something inside snap like an old chickenbone wrapped in a thin towel. I realized I had to step away for a bit.

So I have. From the smallest to the mightiest, we all need a rest sometime.

Be gentle with yourselves and each other, my friends. I’ll see you soon.

Magnolia Path

Bruised petals.

Local magnolias, having burst into luxurious bloom, are scattering their waxy petals everywhere. Cherries are shedding petals too, but they float on the wind and don’t settle so snowdrift-heavy. They and the plums fill the air with tiny drifting things–along with the pollen from the evergreens, a fine yellow dust-grit–and the kids and I joke, There’s crap in the air, it must be elves.

The dogs aren’t as interested in the petals as I thought they’d be. It’s corners that interest them, not the carpet. I suppose relatively sharp edges catch and collect scents better. I feel a little bad treading on the petals, though avoiding them is difficult with both dogs so set on taking our usual path. Ritual and habit are their guide rails, their comfort.

The tipping point of spring passed in the middle of a night, unnoticed, an invisible balance shifting. Winter’s fingers are no longer brushing the skin; they’ve fled to wherever the cold goes when it isn’t here. As usual, I thought I’d never see this again–this time because of plague and coup instead of personal disasters. Renewal is always a surprise.

Have a lovely weekend, my dears. Be gentle with yourselves, and each other. Kindness, like spring, is never wasted.

RELEASE DAY: The Bloody Throne

That’s right, my beloveds–the third and final Hostage to Empire book is officially out today!


The Bloody Throne

The great Zhaon empire is in turmoil. The emperor is dead and the crown prince has fallen to hidden schemes, leaving his most dangerous brother to assume the throne. The imperial court is seething, and whispers of war grow to shouts. The once-vanquished kingdom of Khir marches again to regain their honor, the savage Tabrak raid the borders after ravaging the South, and assassins lurk in the shadows seeking imperial favor. 

Komor Yala, her own position uncertain, finds shelter in marriage to the cunning Third Prince. But there is little safety in Zhaon. Death and destruction mount as a blood-drenched summer ends, and to the victor will be left an empire—if it is not turned to smoking ruins first. 

The wheel of destiny is turning, and all will be caught under its weight…

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


The entire series has had a difficult path to publication–no book is easy, mind you, but some are a little more challenging than others. Plague, uncertainty, changes in the editing team, all sorts of outside events all conspired against the entire trilogy. I’m rather surprised to have reached this point, frankly. There were several times during the writing, let alone the production process, where I thought it couldn’t possibly be finished.

But, like all love songs, it managed to reach triumph in at least one way.

Release-day nerves have me firmly in their grip. A run might blunt the sharp edges, but only a little. I’ll be hard pressed to settle to any real work today; I might try my hand at a livestream around lunchtime if I can scrape together the energy and ignore the anxiety. (But don’t bet on it.)

There’s a certain sadness to seeing years of work–not just my own, but that of the editorial and production crews–come to fruition. Of course there’s a great deal of joy and relief, I’m just feeling the pangs of separation. The book (and the series) has to make its own way in the world now. Publishing means that I’m already working several books past the end of this one; it’s like seeing one’s past self encased in amber. If not for delayed gratification, there would be none at all in this industry.

Anyway, I’m halfway through my coffee and the office is quiet. So is the grey morning outside my window. The dogs have not yet started lobbying for me to make toast and get underway, so I suppose I’ll take a deep breath and enjoy the peace while I can.

Have a lovely Tuesday, my dears. See you around.

Catkin Cycle

Shed skins.

The magnolias are shedding catkins because the waxy white, sometimes blushing, blossoms below are bursting free. The flowers are lovely, yes. But I love more the spent skins, the tough furry guards, scattered on sidewalk and lawn. Their time is done; they stood watch and now may rest. Even if the bed is stony, they take sleep gratefully. My heart hurts at their bravery, at their discard, at their service ending so ignominiously–but they don’t seem to mind.

I think they’re so tired they don’t care where they’re dropped.

To create means to understand that everything is already and always alive, and also that everything will perish and transform. The great wheel spins on, flickering through bright waking and dark sleep–the catkins will provide nourishment as they rot, the tree will blossom again next spring, and when trunk and branches fail their decay will fuel some kind of new growth no matter how humans poison the atmosphere.

They’re still fuzzy, the catkins, but it’s the wiry brush of an old animal’s fur. They’re survivors, grizzled and experienced, shielding the tender beneath them. Now they are leathery grey peels, Spring’s first windfall, and the cycle moves on.

Happy Friday, my beloveds. Remember to protect yourself so you, too, can rest.

Blank Day

Woke up to snow–winter’s last gasp, and will probably be gone by tomorrow–and normally that would be exciting. Normally I’d be thrilled, and watching the dogs cavort in a frosty wonderland would make me smile. I might even try some sort of tokking and tikking, or Insta reeling, in honour of the weather.

But not today. The news was horrid last night and just keeps on getting worse and worse today.

There’s no sense to be made of it except the fact that bullies suffering no pushback will continue to escalate. Large or small, a bully just…keeps going, until they’re met with actual consequences for their actions. Caving doesn’t work. Attempting to “understand” and console the bullies doesn’t work–and I say that as someone who firmly believes understanding brings compassion.

Compassion should never be mistaken for weakness. Yet bullies consistently do just that, and the cost mounts to a terrible level before humanity mounts an immune response to the infection. The idea that the sickness might be endemic torments me.

From the local to the national to the international level, we’ve put up with bullies, coddled and propitiated them, for far too long. They’re great at divide-and-conquer, of course–bullies use the method because it works. Yet their playbook is thin. Domestic abusers, bigots, and dictators all work off the same timeworn strategies, weaponizing the empathy and distraction of the rest of us. It’s an effective set of tactics because it strikes right at the heart of the cooperation that is humanity’s biggest feature and advantage. It works partly because we have a deep need to get along, and partly because sociopaths and malignant narcissists do not feel the shame the rest of us do. Rather, they are rewarded for their brutality, turned into highly paid CEOs and lauded as “strong rulers.” Then they terrorize the rest of us, even though we outnumber them by several orders of magnitude.

You’d think we would have learned by now. You’d think history would have taught us.

My heart hurts, and so does the rest of me. I can’t look away, and while I know I need to focus on telling stories so others can find some hope or relief, I just…I can’t. I don’t know what to do today.

The dogs are, of course, unconcerned. They are simply, wildly ecstatic at the fact of snow, even Boxnoggin, who downright loathes being cold. We’re all safe at the Chez, but for how much longer? And how much more of this can I watch before I break?

I don’t know.

I just don’t know.