Hellebore, In Rain

All vivid now…like hellebore in rain…

It’s been a strange, sometimes frustrating week. I had one–one!–very good working day, and it has given me a hunger for more. I should be content that the Sekrit Projekt has not been killed outright, and has indeed passed what I think is the middle of its curve. Well, not really, the true break-point is the death of a major character…but good enough.

I’m still deeply tired of all the bullshit that isn’t writing, and there are two books I want very badly to get to. I just have to finish the two I’m writing now, revise the half-a-dozen in the pipeline, get a great deal of administrative work out of the way, and and and…

No rest for the weary, the wicked, or the writers. Ever, world without end, amen. Thank the gods for coffee.

It’s hellebore season, and I love everything about these plants. I could be content with a mostly-hellebore garden, frankly, save for the irritating fact that slugs consider them a delicacy. And I’ve already got hostas and roses about so I might as well continue with those too. Still, maybe this is the year I’ll get a few more Lenten roses in. It’s nice to think about, as well as the prospect of a blueberry bush or two where there’s now a surfeit of sunlight since the cedars are gone. (Which irks me to no end even now; they were wonderful and someone else’s neglect did them in. Alas.)

At least it looks like we’ll be back to proper rainy weather after a bit of a freeze; I knew we were due for at least one more heavy frost if not a downright east-wind howler. Even the cherry trees are Getting Ideas now, and I can see hints of purple on a few magnolias. The season marches on, and today I have to write an Uncomfortable Declaration of Affection in the Sekrit Projekt.

There’s that to look forward to. And the weekend will see more incremental progress on the short-story anthology. Slow and steady will win my particular race, even if I near expire of annoyance.

See you next week…

Almost Daffodils


Walkies have grown a little stressful since Boxnoggin is in the phase of recovery wherein he would really like to Do Something Foolish to Reinjure Himself, For He Is Feeling Ever So Much Better. Keeping him tightly-yet-gently reined is a constant endeavour. Plus, it’s been uncharacteristically warm so several plants are attempting to get a head start on spring; this is both heartening and deeply disturbing. I keep telling them perhaps a little caution is called for in these times of climate change and general trashfire everywhere.

The cherry trees are not yet causing me woe, for once, so maybe they understand. I don’t worry too much about the snowdrops, since it’s right there in their name. But the magnolias, the roses, the hyacinths, and the daffodils are driving me to distraction–like these fellows, not quite bloomed but certainly past the point of no return. I am heartened by their cheerfulness but also full of nail-biting tension, hoping against hope we won’t have a plunge in temperatures to blight early risers.

They are hopeful creatures, daffodils. Let us devoutly pray ’tis warranted.

Also, it’s a first of the month, and that means the Monthly Sales page is updated–including a sale on an entire series later in March. (Remember to check the dates!)

See you Monday, my dears.

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.

Catkin, Half-Drowned

Half-drowned, still protecting.

As the Icepocalypse faded we had a few days of soaking rain–really, Pacific Northwesterners need a thousand names for the different types of liquid precipitation we get–at relatively balmy temperatures. 50F is not usual for January, and several trees are putting out catkins or outright flowerbuds.

I’m not so worried about the camellias and that one cherry tree down the hill always goes earlier than anyone else. But I do whisper to the others–please, be reasonable. We could still get more ice, or worse. Try not to get too excited.

They’re not listening. I got this snap of a half-drowned little fellow, tousle-ragged, protecting tender new growth underneath. I hope they make it.

I hope we all do.

See you Monday.

Ice Dragon

Very happy to be frozen, actually.

Another picture from the recent Icepocalypse. This fellow is a concrete dragon, and he lives at the base of the birch tree. You can see how he–and the vegetation around him–was coated with absolutely clear ice. (Which he was thrilled by, being a creature of all weather.) I got this snap while taking Boxnoggin cautiously around the yard since the street was a solid sheet of “oh hell no”. If I slip and almost go down thrice before getting to the end of the driveway, I’m not setting even a toe upon the street; fortunately, I was able to break through the crust where there was vegetation. Box, of course, was busy smashing his nose against the freeze and huffing it like an addictive substance, his eyes rolling back with ecstasy.

I don’t even know.

The melt is long past and we’ve had storms more appropriate to April than January. There was even some weak rotation in a few squalls, or so the meteorologists said. (No wonder my sinuses have been throbbing like a brass band.) I’m seeing insect life that normally doesn’t appear until March-April as well, and that disturbs me. We’re going to have a lot more crazy weather as corporations continue to cook the planet. I hold out no particular hope of them being forced to stop.

Anyway, we’re back on normal walkies schedule, I can eat a few bland foods again with 95% success, and if I’m going to avoid the incipient stress ulcer I need to continue doing what I’m doing. So these changes have a good chance of becoming permanent. Thank the gods my stomach concurs with the rest of me that caffeine is an absolute necessity for continued survival. I don’t know what I’d’ve done otherwise.

Have a lovely weekend, my friends. May we all be as serene as a dragon amid the foliage.

Ice Glass Globe

Rough ice, smooth heart.

This is a glass gazing globe in the garden (try saying that quickly ten times) and normally it’s completely smooth. The texture you see is from a few hours’ worth of freezing rain a few days ago. The sight was so arresting I had to stop, Boxnoggin investigating one of the deck’s iced-over support struts, and take a snap before going back to pleading with him to please just pee, it’s very cold out here and I’m worried for your paws.

We were supposed to be melted by now…but that hasn’t happened. The street was a solid sheet of ice with liquid water running over it at several points yesterday, then the temperature went back down and the rain turned back into–you guessed it–freezing rain. Boxnoggin hasn’t had walkies in a few days; we’ve made do with many circuits of the yard, trying to break the ice-crust and gain traction on snow underneath, and a whole lot of playing indoors with his many and various dog toys. On the bright side he’s finally figured out one of the easy canine puzzles left over from Bailey’s tenure. It took her five minutes, he’s been working on the damn thing for months. To be fair we never let him struggle for very long, patiently showing him how it works and waiting for a spark to bridge the gap. We’re ever so proud he’s finally grasped it.

The past two weeks have been sort of awful, to the point of losing weight from stress. At least it stopped before the hair-falling-out portion of festivities, though I suspect I may have acquired a few more grey strands. At least I have the consolation of knowing I’m not the problem; being able to go to trusted friends for a quiet word and hearing, “No, you’re right, this is fucked up and you’re being gaslit” is damn near priceless. For the record, these are the same people with carte blanche and encouragement to smack me right in the kisser should I ever Actually Be the Problem, so it’s nice to know that I remain unsmacked.

I may do a sort of self-publishing roundup next week, since I have hit my limit dealing with a couple corporations’ bullshit, but we’ll see. At the moment I just want all this to be handled so I can get back to work. Significant progress has been made–amazingly, once I stop taking any shit at all, many institutions which have been serving said faeces discover that they are in fact capable of acting otherwise in my direction. Funny how that works.

I’ll leave more Chaucer for next week as well, though I am now in the Pardoner’s Tale. I suspect I have acquired momentum and will be finished with ol’ Geoffrey soon. It’s been a marvellous ride.

See you next week!

One Last Mashup Rose

…left in my heart.

This rosebush has been singing a mashup of Yellow Rose of Texas and You’re the One Rose (That’s Left In My Heart) for a week or two, so I caught a snap of it in rare winter sunshine. The water drops are from heavy mist, the river and wet earth both breathing cold exhalation upwards. Now the rains have moved in again, so it’s a bit warmer…but just a bit.

Yesterday was Yule, and we dragged out the new tree–bigger than the old one, 75% off a few days before Samhain, my daughter didn’t expect my caving to the begging but really, our other tree was beginning to look seriously overloaded and this one has more space. It was a bargain, but it also means that every time I walk past the living room I flinch a little. Still, the kids are thrilled and my daughter’s bestie enthused over it during his visit yesterday, so at least they’re happy.

Later today the stove might be fixed. All phalanges are crossed.

I’m saddened that we’re past the darkest night of the year; I could have used more rest. This interstitial time–between Yule proper and the New Year of society at large–could be restful and restorative, but not this year. Or maybe it’ll turn out all right once the stove’s dealt with, who knows? All I want is to get through today and crawl back into bed with Chaucer, who is turning out to be a helluva good time. (I recommend the current Norton Critical edition–you know I love Norton Criticals as a whole, but this one really goes out of its way to make the text accessible.) I’m about halfway through Tale of Genji and am going to go back to it after the New Year, I just couldn’t handle more wet sleeves.

I suppose I should get some toast gnawed and Boxnoggin rambled. He’s not going to like it if the rain keeps up, but he’d like skipping walkies even less. Change is this dog’s mortal enemy, and he was extremely put out by the gleaming new thing in the living room until we came back from yesterday’s stroll and his short-term memory had been reset. Now he’s fairly sure the room has always been in this configuration…but he suspects, and it makes him nervy. Poor fellow.

I wish you a peaceful weekend, my dears. I may be back on Boxing Day, or I might decide to take until January 1 off, haven’t decided yet.

I’ll see you when I see you. Be safe out there.