From Every End

I finally have coffee this morning, no thanks to the dogs. Now I just have to wait for it to cool to a drinkable temperature.

It’s always something.

I spent the weekend doing housework and watching Buzzfeed Unsolved videos. (I like the true crime ones; life is always, always weirder than fiction.) It was pleasant to stay away from the news, though I made the mistake of looking Sunday morning.

The murderous carnival continues, piping merrily down the road to fascist hell.

Anyway, Season Two of HOOD starts this week. I’m going to try to get everything done in two seasons for this serial, but there’s no promises–there’s the Fête and then the Rescue, and they might need a season apiece. After that, unless a publisher buys it, we’ll start Rook and Rose, the first book of which is Hell’s Acre.

That’s the plan, at least. Things are all up in the air here. It would be nice if a Certain Publisher would pay me what they owe; that way I could get the bank holding the mortgage in a fractionally better mood. Writers get it from every end, from theft of our work by piracy or plagiarism to credit woes because we’re basically freelancers. If we don’t pay our bills we suffer consequences, but if publishers/distributors don’t pay us we have little recourse unless we’re already wealthy enough to afford legal representation. It’s a shitshow, frankly, and though I’ve hustled to keep body and soul (and children and dogs) together for multiple years now I’m beginning to get a bit tired.

Just a bit.

In any case, I have plenty of cardamom in my coffee, everyone here at least has their health, and I have more work coming out. I even started writing a story last night, longhand in a spiral notebook as if I was still in high school. It may want to be written entirely that way, which means it’ll already be half-revised by the time the zero’s done, since I’ll have to type it from the handwritten pages. That will be interesting, I’ve rarely had a book come out that way before. Much of Rattlesnake Wind was written that way, and some of She Wolf and Cub. The lucky book choosing to come out that way this particular time is Memory Game, where a woman wakes up in a hospital bed and doesn’t know who she is.

I need to research trauma amnesia now. Hm.

Anyway, best to keep it sharklike–keep swimming or I’ll drown, and wear a big smile. At least there’s coffee, and I can worry about the stack of paperwork on my desk later.

Over and out.

Bear, Storm

Polar bear
© Sailorr | Dreamstime Stock Photos
Pouring rain one moment, blinding sunshine the next. It’s definitely spring.

Along with muting a few Certain Keywords for a week, I decided to take yesterday mostly off social media. It was nice to sink fully into a story and not check what new beast was slouching to Bethlehem and Armageddon at the same time. I also turned my phone off once the Little Prince was home. That was welcome, let me tell you.

This morning I’m listening to an old radio show featuring Lead Belly and Woody Guthrie. Guthrie admits to not reading Grapes of Wrath, but “I seen the movie three times.” It may be time for a reread, now that I’ve listened to Ballad of Tom Joad with my mouth slightly open and my eyes closed, hearing history.

Maybe it’s the hail and the occasional thunder, but I’m curling up inside my shell this week. The sheer amount of hatred in the American air is overwhelming, and I have very little left to fight it with. I’m sure I’ll feel better after I recharge, but right now I’m channeling a polar bear–leave me alone, or I will stand up in a blizzard and wallop a head or two clean off.

Which reminds me, I’ve never seen John Carpenter’s The Thing. I hear the remake was dismal; should I even bother with it, or only admit the existence of the original, like I do with Star Wars? (No, I refuse to watch any more of those movies. You lost me with Jar Jar fucking Binks, Lucas.)

ANYWAY. Polar bear. Spring storms. My hackles are up, and I’m not even in my final fighting form.

Over and out.

RELEASE DAY: She Wolf and Cub

It’s time! It’s finally time!

Ever since they gave her a new cyborg body and a steady stream of murderous work, she’s known the rules. Keep your head down, do your job, don’t get involved.

Then they sent her to assassinate a child.

Instead, she took him out of the City and into the Waste. Of course they’ll be coming for her, and for the strange, quiet, thirsty boy she’s rescued. Because he’s not just a child — he’s a profitable experiment. Bounty hunters. Fellow cyborgs. Cannibals. Monsters. They’re all after him. All she has on her side is an almost-invulnerable body, a lifetime’s worth of stubbornness, and the willingness to kill whoever she has to.

It’s going to have to be enough.

Now available for Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and in paperback.

Mucho thanks are due to Fireside’s team of fabulous people, especially Brian White and Pablo Defendini. And now my cyborg-assassin-Western is out in the world, rolling around and racking up a body count. See if you can spot the names of original Patreon backers in the book! Also, I’ve just found out that even a release day for a re-edited serial makes my stomach knot itself up with nervousness. Something about a paperback makes it seem all too real.

If you read the serial and enjoyed it, you could do both me and Fireside a huge favor by leaving some stars or a review on the platform of your choice. We’d both muchly appreciate it.

And now I’m going to finish my coffee and see if my running togs are dry yet. A good hard half-hour at full speed will either settle my stomach or empty it to the point that it has nothing left to complain of.

Over and out.

SHE WOLF AND CUB Preorders!

GUESS WHAT.

NO, GO ON, GUESS.

Oh, I can’t stand the suspense. I’ll tell you.

She Wolf and Cub, re-edited, is now a book you can preorder!

Ever since they gave her a new cyborg body and a steady stream of murderous work, she’s known the rules. Keep your head down, do your job, don’t get involved.

Then they sent her to assassinate a child.

Instead, she took him out of the City and into the Waste. Of course they’ll be coming for her, and for the strange, quiet, thirsty boy she’s rescued. Because he’s not just a child — he’s a profitable experiment. Bounty hunters. Fellow cyborgs. Cannibals. Monsters. They’re all after him. All she has on her side is an almost-invulnerable body, a lifetime’s worth of stubbornness, and the willingness to kill whoever she has to.

It’s going to have to be enough.

Ebook available for preorder from Kobo, iBooks, and Amazon; paperback and Nook will be added on Release Day, March 28.

Longtime readers will remember She-Wolf was originally a Fireside serial. (They’re committed to paying writers a working wage, so show them some love if you can.) I had a ton of fun writing it, and I love the heroine. She’s one of the few characters I actually like personally, for reasons probably best left unsaid. Longtime readers will also remember PACK, an e-short out through Orbit, that was one of my first attempts at writing the short story that eventually became She Wolf and Cub. Just in case you wanted to see how a story can change, and morph, and become something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT.

Not Dead

vinicon Nope, I’m just resting. I think I’ll go for a walk.

Frau L came down with a bit of a travel cold, and the Princess had a resurgence of her almost-flu. For the last few days it’s been kind of sickbed central around here, and I’m feeling none too perky myself today. Trying to slow down and take a day off is almost as stressful as gathering all my resources and bringing t hem to bear on a copyedit in order to turn it around in the tiny timeframe allotted by the production department. Look, I love every single Production Department that’s ever handled my books, they just have some really small windows and I am no longer as spry as I used to be, sliding through them.

So! Today I am cleaning, doing laundry…and revisions on yet another book loom. She Wolf and Cub is going to be a book instead of a serial! I am revising now, packing even more cyborg-assassin-Western goodness into my homage to one of the greatest goddamn manga ever.

I’ve glanced over the manuscript in order to prep the revision engines inside my skull. I’d forgotten what it was like to slip inside that nameless narrator’s head. She’s very crisp and very efficient, and I find myself thinking in more clipped terms, moving with a different precision around the house. No, my characters aren’t me, but sometimes wearing their skin bleeds over into my life. It’s a funny job, this balancing between the outer world, the inner world, and the worlds one creates.

And that is my deep thought for the day, because I really need to get to work now. There’s some sunshine, so maybe I’ll even get a bit of spring weeding done if I can get enough inside work out of the way.

Here’s hoping.