Flamethrower and Swan

I’m in a Mood today. It might be leftover from last week, which was full of non-optimal stuff; it might be the weather, it might just be generalized anxiety. I’ll decide after coffee and a run.

At least I got all my Sunday housecleaning chores sorted, and I have a list of things to get done today. The attack of the don’t-wannas is deep and toothy, but if I nibble around the edges I might get to evening without feeling like a giant useless lump of pudding. Which is devoutly to be desired.

The Little Prince is reading The Great Gatsby in English class, which means I should probably take a spin through it once I finish the Francis Young I’m working through. So far the Young is really great, except for an assertion that accusations of witchcraft leveled at the marginalized means said accusations are “depoliticized.” Which is a bunch of bullshit, but then again, I don’t think the author is a witch and definitely doesn’t identify as female.

I told the Prince that everyone in Gatsby is awful, and so far he agrees. I don’t think there’s a single reasonable person in the entire novel. The Prince thinks Fitzgerald would really have liked to be Gatsby but sensed on some level how that would go terribly wrong, so he invented the narrator to keep some distance. Not a bad analysis at all; I’m so proud of my young reader I could just about burst.

So there are good things–chief among them the coffee soaking into my tissues and making me much, much less murder-y. I’m not quite sucking on the chewy stuff at the bottom, but it’s close. I should get the dogs out for walkies; Boxnoggin needs a short run to get his fidgets worked out.

Who am I kidding? I need a short run to get my fidgets out, too. Today will be full of proofing, always a fun time, but I have enough else to do that I can switch to other tasks when fatigue hits and go back to the text when I’m renewed. Once the proofing’s done there’ll be incorporating changes in the text, then I can upload, schedule, and call it dusted.

None of that will happen if I don’t bid you a civil adieu, though, my friends, so off I go. Bad mornings can turn into bad days, but this one I think I have a chance to fight off.

It is a Monday, after all. Grab the flamethrowers, get on the swan, and let’s go.

Perspective and Rescue

Good morning! I woke up with Hall & Oates singing about your kiss is on my list, and whichever one of you gave me that earworm, I will have my revenge.

Ahem.

Yesterday was super productive, mostly because I got a run in. I just work better when I can pound the pavement, for however short a period. Yesterday was also nerve-wracking–Haggard Feathers goes paid-subscription this month, so I was doing the last bit of prep for that. One free post per month, the rest will be paid-subscriber-only, and I’ll be doing an open thread every Thursday for paid subscribers to ask me about writing and publishing.

I figure I’ll try it for a year and see how it works out. I like Substack‘s terms way better than Medium’s, and the fact that the former makes a point of not “owning” my data/content and the latter makes a point in the opposite direction has a lot to do with my willingness to experiment.

I also spent some time procrastinating (after the productivity, of course) with Canva templates. Graphic design is so not my strong point, but I like playing.

Isn’t that nice? It’s something I say a lot–sooner or later, the muscle inside your head that sees good writing material gets hypertrophied (and there’s a great deal of hyperplasia, too, but that’s beside the point) and everything becomes material. Which is great when something hurts like hell–thinking this will be great material helps provide perspective and gives the pain meaning, which is a step in ameliorating it. It’s not so great when one is relentlessly questioning one’s own happiness, but I consider it a small price to pay.

Of course other people’s mileage may vary, but the warning still stands. Sooner or later, all things serve the work.

Anyway, I’ve more Sons of Ymre to get done today–one character is about to rescue another from a burning car–and I’ve got to get some characters in HOOD rescued in their little escape pod. Rescue seems to be the theme of the day, which might bode ill for the dogs’ walk. If all else fails they can drag me home, though.

Let’s hope it’s not necessary; I’ve got so much to do today.

I’d best get started then, hadn’t I.

Maintenance and Morning

So last night, while I was doing some site maintenance, a plugin choked and tossed about twenty old, old posts–from 2017–into the blog-subscription-queue. I’m so sorry about that, guys–I hate getting my inbox snowed under, and I can only imagine how much you guys do. I apologize; that plugin has been told to go sit in the corner and THINK about what it’s done, and that was the end of my Wednesday.

I decided, after that, it was time to go to bed.

This morning went from fog to a pink-striped, cotton-candy sky. I watched the sun rise while lying warm and safe in bed, Miss B snuggled against my side and Boxnoggin snoring in a furry lump, as he is wont to do. Both dogs were worn out after yesterday’s rainy fun and games. I found out that yes, I do still need breakfast on running days, and furthermore found out that Boxnoggin can practically drag me home if necessary. (He didn’t have to… but he could have, and it was a comfort.)

Now I’m up, and have a few toads to swallow before I can get back to Sons of Ymre. I think that’ll be the thing I finish next. I have an idea of what I want to do with the story, which hinges on the fact that the Sons can’t really trust their own perceptions in certain cases. Being under constant siege from the whispers of a mad god has a certain effect on one, and it’ll be a hat trick to delineate the mounting dread of a certain main character. Especially once their safe haven is broken into and it becomes a road-trip book.

Other than that, Damage is with a beta reader, I’m clearing my submissions queue by the end of February (which means nothing will be out on sub come April), there’s Season Two of HOOD to CE, proof, and format, the third installment of Hostage to Empire to write now that I have the structure of the book decided, a monthly price on my writing advice column to decide upon–I’m thinking $6/mo–not to mention Season Three of HOOD to get underway–and Guilder to frame for it.

I’m swamped.

You know I like the feeling of having too much work; it’s oodles better than not enough. Some exciting stuff I can’t talk about is coming down the pike, and I might, might be able to squeeze in writing a good chunk of The Highlands War (that’s a fresh new Kaia Steelflower book, natch) for upcoming serial purposes. Don’t get your hopes up yet, though–I’ve so much else to do, I might not be able to, and of course the people who write to me demanding (not encouraging, not telling me how much they like Kaia’s adventures but flat-out DEMANDING) more of that world are doing more harm than good.

I haven’t forgotten that one person who was extremely vocal about demanding other Steelflower books/chapters was the person putting them up on thieving torrenting sites. (Yes, I include a nag and specific typos in certain things, so I can pinpoint who’s listing my stuff on pirate/thievery sites.) So, outright demanding that I write more Kaia makes me want to dig in my heels and is extremely counterproductive.

Anyway, the dogs need a brisk walk to shake off morning fidgets, and I need it in order to shake off the logy feeling of not nearly enough caffeine. I might make myself another jolt if I still feel woolly-headed when we come back home.

Again, I’m super sorry about last night’s snafu, guys. I take being invited into your inbox very seriously, and accidents are embarrassing. You can bet your sweet bippy I’ll be deleting that plugin during the next scheduled maintenance session.

And tomorrow’s Friday. It can’t come soon enough…

On the Holidays

I hate the holidays. Publishing shuts down, you can’t get an answer out of anyone–unless it’s “I’m salaried and clearing my desk before I get a vacation, but you can work right through because you’re freelance, can’t you?” Also, the shops are full of overstimulated children with misbehaving parents clamping down quite unreasonably upon them, both stressed because they can’t service the TV-fueled expectations of gross consumerism. And let’s not even talk about the racists at the dinner table that nobody will challenge because “holidays” and “let’s all get along.”

Fuck getting along. Racists deserve to be challenged wherever we find them, kids shouldn’t be dragged through holiday crowds, no parent should be tormented into stress-related breakdown because they can’t afford whatever toy is hot this year for their spawn, and I won’t repeat what I think should be done about publishing.

You can tell I’m in it today. I’m pushing to get the zero of Finder’s Watcher done, or at least hit the 50k mark for NaNo that will give the book enough critical mass to drag me across the finish line, then it’s straight into bloody revisions for that epic fantasy. Which means I’ll be producing a novella’s worth of text in just under two weeks; tell me again why I do this to myself?

Oh. That’s right. It’s my job, and if I don’t write, we don’t eat. Simple!

I’m not complaining, mind you. I’m simply remarking upon suboptimal conditions.

At least the dogs let me sleep in a wee bit today. Though I have to leave the house to pick up last-minute supplies for Thursday I can do so at my own pace, and–thanks be to all the gods–it’s raining. Which means the dogs will be miserable during walks and hurrying to get home, but at least I’m in a good mood.

What’s that? Good mood? Oh, yes. This is just a particularly sharp-edged good mood. I’m not upset, I’m just testing my sword’s keenness and eyeing the battlefield. And I don’t have to spend my holidays with racist fucks because I stopped speaking to those “family” members long ago. Not only that, but I did finish a zero lately, so I can use that fact to batter at imposter syndrome.

You can tell it’s the last week of NaNo; my Week Four guide will go up around 2pm PST. You can sign up to get it on my Substack, Haggard Feathers; I’ll be taking next week off while I recover and choke up a steaming lump of revisions. I’m thisclose to writing “Rocks fall, everyone dies,” and throwing up my hands.

We all know I won’t, but threatening it makes a book behave most of the time, so one works with what one has.

It’s Tuesday. If I buckle down now, I won’t have to leave the house again until next week. Wish me luck, dear ones, and I hope your day goes smoothly.

Me? I’m buckled in my armor, my sword is sharp enough, my charger is ready. Onwards and upwards, indeed.

My Favorite Game

There’s a filthy haze lingering on the horizon today–an air stagnation advisory until next Tuesday, for gods’ sake. I can already feel the weight in my lungs. This is going to make running a little more difficult than usual.

Admittedly, hauling my ass at a fast shamble is never easy, but still.

There also hasn’t been rain for ages, and consequently I’m a bit out of sorts. It’s winter, there is supposed to be water falling from the sky, and I feel rather as the dogs must when the weather doesn’t suit them and they expect me, as the Human in Charge, to do something about it.

The only trouble is, even the Head Bitch in Charge (that would be me, thanks) can’t do a damn thing about it.

Ah well. Sooner or later the rain will return and I’ll be productive again. As it is, I spent yesterday prepping the weekly subscription offerings. The great race and big heist are happening in HOOD, and non-serial subscribers got a little bit of Broken Profile, which I keep going back and staring longingly at in between finishing other stuff.

I also prepped next week’s NaNo post. There’s a series of four to inaugurate the Haggard Feathers Substack, which should take us through the month. (A “haggard” is a term for a hawk caught in adulthood, as well as a descriptor of my usual state, thanks.) Once December hits I might hive off all my technical writing-about-writing posts there. It’ll be fun. I’ve decided to stop offering formatting and cover copy as well as editing; I just don’t have the time while I’m working at this furious a publishing pace. At least all my clients are cleared and happy.

I suppose I should drain my coffee and get out the door with the dogs. Yesterday I managed wordcount on Finder’s Watcher, and I’m getting near the end of the revised bits, almost ready to start adding fresh chapters. I have the whole shape of the book inside my head, and the characters are beginning to speak much more clearly. I might not find a publisher for it, but there are Watcher fans out there who are excited about the book, so it might just be a case of tapping my beloved cover artist for a pretty cover and damning the torpedoes.

Always my favorite game.

I woke up with Queen playing inside my head–Who Wants to Live Forever, in specific. Which means at this moment I’m jamming along to Another One Bites the Dust, because I really don’t want Connor MacLeod in my head. Not today, thanks.

The music just shifted to We Will Rock You, so I guess that’s my cue to hop to the day. Let’s kick Thursday in the throat, my friends, and shake a living out of him.

Over and out.

Slow Meatspace

Good morning, chickadees! Today I’m over on the good ‘ol Substack with a post about NaNoWriMo. I’ve decided on a schedule of Soundtrack Mondays, Writing Tuesdays, and Friday Photos, which should keep stuff around here hopping.

I’m not just an author, I’m a damn experience.

It’s foggy this morning, the inversion and Stagnant Air Advisory combining to wrap the world in cotton wool. Yesterday I could smell the sea in little pockets, bits of rank salty kelp rotting on a shore. While there’s a scrim of welcome moisture on the ground–yesterday was so dry my hair rose up in staticky rebellion–I still can’t wait for rain. We’re having a dry, cold autumn, which is not usual.

I need falling water.

On the bright side, new shoes have made a dent in the plantar fasciitis. Barring hobbling in the middle of the night and right when I wake up, I’m actually feeling pretty good. I’m sure as my running mileage increases, slowly but surely, I’ll feel better and the pain will fade. The first few weeks are just going to be a bitch, because that’s how it always is before slight changes begin echoing through my carcass.

Meatspace is sloooooow, my friends. At least, mostly.

I’m toying with the idea of asking for beta reader(s) on Finder’s Watcher. The big thing is that I can’t pay an hourly rate; the most a beta could get is a free ebook of the unedited and edited versions. I’m hesitant because I don’t think it’s a fair price for the time spent reading and organizing one’s thoughts on a book, though I’m only asking for reactions, not critique or editing. If I can satisfy myself that it’s a fair trade, or add something to make it a fair trade, I might put out a call for applications.

That extra hour of sleep I was so happy to get has vanished, but I’m not upset. It was fun while it lasted. Now I just have to train the dogs in ten-minute increments to their new dinnertime.

I’ll probably fail, because I’m a sucker for their big brown eyes and hopeful snoot-boops. (AutoCorrect tried to make that snoot-goops, which is what Gwyneth Paltrow’s company shoves up rich people’s noses. Ugh.) Still, if one has to be a sucker for something, it’s not bad.

Time to shut this circus down, wrap the leashes around my waist, and take the dogs a-walking. I’ve wordcount on Finder’s Watcher and on HOOD to get done, a shower to take, plenty of hot tea to fuel me and keep the chill at bay, figure out the giveaway for this month, and and and. Yesterday the Muse wouldn’t let me go to bed until I made a few more stabs at Corvinus Reborn, which is Wangsty Dracula wanting more of my time than he’s getting.

He’s going to have to suffer. Which, being a Main Character of Wangst, he’s completely suited for. I only hope it doesn’t make him unmanageable.

Come, Tuesday. *chambers a round* Let us dance.

RELEASE DAY: Throne of the Five Winds

Did you ever want to do something really, really different? So different, indeed, nobody would guess it was you?

I did. And my publisher was willing. And now you can read it.


The warlord Garan Tamuron and his general Zakkar Kai have unified Zhaon. The crown to their conquest is the neighboring country of Khir, a dagger pointed at Zhaon’s heart—now bled white and dulled, forced to send tribute to the conqueror.

Two queens, two concubines, six princes—the palace complex is full of jostling, sly gossip, and danger. A hostage for Khir’s good behavior, the lady Komor Yala has only her wits and her hidden maiden’s blade to protect herself… and her childhood friend Princess Mahara, sacrificed in marriage to bring a tenuous peace.

The Emperor is aging, and only one of his many sons may take the throne. Whether they wish to or not, all six princes are locked in a deadly battle, and a Khir princess and lady-in-waiting are merely pawns to be used. Still, it will only take a single spark to ignite fresh rebellion in Khir. If that spark is the mistreating of their cherished princess, Yala’s beloved lady, war may be closer than a maiden’s blade itself.

And then, the Emperor becomes ill, and a far more deadly game begins…

Available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and independent bookstores.

I’ve seen a few people saying the book takes a long time to get underway. That’s true; it’s like every first book in an epic fantasy trilogy that way. Just sit back and settle in, my friends, there’s two books left and enough heartbreak, intrigue, dazzlement, tea, and gore to suit you all. Sip your drink and let me tell you a story of an emperor, six princes, three lands, a barbarian horde, and a lady-in-waiting with secrets sharper than her blade.

Originally titled The Maiden’s Blade (which some of you will remember pieces of for my dear subscribers) this first book has had a long hard road to publication. I sort of didn’t want to tell anyone, but it’s too good a secret to keep–especially according to my publisher.

So, my dears. Enjoy. I’ll be out for most of the day, trying to take deep breaths. Even a quasi-unannounced release day is enough to give me nerves.