Sixteen Days and My First Series Reader Completes All 4 Books

Zoinks. Sixteen days until Redemption. I'm getting a little verklempt now!

I'm even more verklempt because someone, finally, has read the entire Asphodel series. A friend of mine, Lisa, loved the first book a lot. I thought it was cute--she started doing the "I'm your number one fan!" bit which, considering Misery, could be creepy but from her was just endearing.

Then she got sick with the flu, so I sent her a copy of Redemption. She loved it too--I think a little more than Asphodel--and immediately started pestering me for Book 3--Temptation. I hemmed and hawed for a while, mostly because I'm in the middle of my final rewrite on it, but eventually I gave in because she's just so adorable. Then, last week, she went on vacation and hinted strongly that she'd really like to finish up the series.

By that point, I was immune to the extraneous dialogue tags and adverbs, so I sent Apostolate on to her. I also wanted to make certain that the series finished up with the *pow* it was designed to. Only the first two books had been betaed in my crit group, and Lisa is a smart girl with a good eye. I figured that if there was a flaw in the story resolution, she'd let me know.

She did. Apparently the *pow* works as well as I hoped it would. I took quite a few risks when resolving the overall plot conflict of the series, and the fact that she zeroed in on it AND loved it has given me a great deal of confidence. I feel MUCH better now.

You can find out more about Lisa at her website. I think you'll love her artwork--I know I do. And, if you want to read the opening prologue for Redemption, it is up and live on my website. AND, don't forget that you can chat with me ALL DAY at Love Romances & More Cafe on Friday, May 23rd.

All my plugs done? Hooray! Sixteen days left to go! Lisa Dovichi rocks! Go read my prologue! Chat with me on Friday! Anything else?

No?

Talk to you later.

When You Don't Know What You Think You Know

Hurray! AW Blog Chain made it here! Looks like Terri in NYC went from travel to her journals from when she volunteered in India, and ended up relating an episode where she didn't know what she thought she knew about a man who helped her when she was lost.

Sounds like a good place to start.

Everyone starts off with first impressions. Some people, like my husband, are so accurate with their first impressions of other people that it makes me want to kick something.

"He's an asshole, Celina. Boot him out."

"I can't boot him out, Shannon; he's just sitting there drinking."

Fast forward to ten minutes later.

Shannon: "I told you to boot him out."

Celina: "How was I supposed to know he'd put a chair through the jukebox?"

So annoying. Here's my question: what happens if you don't know what you think you know? What if the assumptions you make about a person, a story, an entity, a governmental policy--what if those assumptions are wrong? Are you big enough to admit it?

I'm usually not. *shrug* Of course, maybe that's what I want you to think. I could be fibbing. *snerk* Okay, getting serious now.

I've been known to admit that I was wrong. I admitted I was wrong to my daughter when the only boyfriend she's ever had that I wasn't tempted to ram his head through drywall turned out to be a bigger jerk than the other assholes. I admitted I was wrong about a novel I wrote a long time ago--but that took distance and time before I was willing to trunk it. I think I even admitted to misquoting someone the other day online--I'd substituted an 'a' for a 'the.'

If I can do it, anyone can.

If, specifically, you're making assumption about people online--you're doing yourself an inservice. In this blog, for example, I let you know what I want you to know--no more, no less. You know nothing about the few redeeming qualities I have as a human being in real life unless I give you a glimpse in. I think it's probably safe to say that most of you reading this now don't know who I'm going to vote for for President, what I think of yesterday's oil reserve vote in the Senate, who I'm for in the Stanley Cup, or probably even what color my hair is, right?

You know what I want you to know; if I don't tell you, then you don't know squat. I've seen a lot of people make assumptions, one way or the other, about people they meet online. With one extreme, it's dangerous. With the other extreme, you look like a jerk. Try to keep some perspective.

And if you're calling someone names, attributing things to them publicly on a message board, you might be surprised to discover that you had no clue who you were talking to. Makes you look like an idiot.

Trust me.

And so the blog chain moves on. Next up is Rotating Bear.


Auria Cortes

Life in Scribbletown

Polyamory From the Inside Out

For the First Time

Family On Bikes

Writes in the City

Elf Killing and Other Hobbies

Rotating Bear

Fantastical Imagination

Asian Business

Spittin' (Out Words) Like a Llama

As Yet Untitled

Mad Scientist Matt's Lair

Peregrinas

Delirious

The Countdown Is UP!!!

Wow, it's starting to feel official. The countdown for the release of The Gift of Redemption is up! Only 26 days to go until Book Two of The Asphodel Cycle.

Book releases are nerve-shattering, finger-gnawing ordeals. Every time you cut one of your babies loose on the world, you sit back and wonder: Is it all right? Will people like it? Hell, will people buy it? What if it's released and it sits there like a clod of dirt, moldering away in the darkest recesses of cyberspace and no one cares?

*shiver*

Of course, my biggest worry is that the people who read Asphodel and loved it won't feel quite the same way about Redemption. I've had a few people who have already read it and they seemed to like it. Hopefully, that trend will continue. I think that Tamsen grows up quite a bit in this book; she spends a lot of time dealing with politics and war and love and hate and gods and mortals. She's not always right and she learns a lot. I want my characters to always learn in my stories--that makes them real and helps them grow.

Of course, Brial learns a lot too--mostly about his wife.

Poor Brial! For some reason, I always end up on Tamsen's side. Sometimes when I write contentious scenes between them, I feel like there's a disapproving Elf standing behind right behind me muttering, "You just had to do that, didn't you Celina?"

Why yes, Brial; as a matter of fact, I did.

He worries too much. He needs to lighten up a bit. Unfortunately for him, Redemption is as much about Brial's growth of character as it is Tamsen's--and in some ways, his path is harder. Naturally, that's all I'm going to tell you about that. You'll have to read the book when it's released.

In twenty six days.

Good Lord.

Stuff And ...Well...Stuff

I actually stayed up last night to watch election results from Indiana.

Part of the reason was that there was really NOTHING on after Hell's Kitchen. Another part had to do with the fact that when I'm doing the 'business' end of writing, I need noise that won't distract me. Music is out because I write to music, and I find the endless drone of news channel anchors boring enough that it almost becomes white noise.

Except for last night.

Now, before anyone gets up in arms here, I am an INDEPENDENT MODERATE. That means I don't really care about the election until November, or mid October at the earliest. But last night, I found myself drawn into the drama of a primary election with two candidates that have really done nothing but annoy me.

When Hillary Clinton went out to give her 'victory' speech, I was struck by two things. First, the overwhelming cheerfulness of the crowd around her. I mean, I knew it was a bad night for her--how could they not figure that out?

The second was the expression on Bill Clinton's face. he looked like he'd been sucking rotten eggs through a straw for the entire day--his face was beet red, his eyes were piggy, his mouth was puckered up like a kewpie doll. In other words, he looked like he knew his wife had lost.

His was the only face in the crowd that reflected this. Everyone else in the building continued on their blithe celebration, but the candidate's husband, the man who ran successfully before, had an expression on his face that let the whole world know what he thought his wife's chances were of pulling out the nomination.

You find character studies in the strangest places, don't you?

Blogging From The Bar

Nothing quite as much fun as a Sunday afternoon at the bar.

It gives me time to blog. It's a lovely day; I have all the windows open to let the spring in, which in a place that's smelled of beer and whiskey for 80 years is a good thing. I had my Sunday morning regulars here, as always, bitching about their double bogeys and the price of eggs. I had my pre-Poker-run bikers in here, informing me, as always, about how cold 60 degrees really is at 55 mph.

Life at the Fairview goes on.

A gentleman came in yesterday afternoon with his wife. After seating himself at the bar, he said, "I haven't been home in eight years; I've been living in Cincinnati. We're on our way home after our son's graduation from Pitt, and I had to stop in Lancaster and show my new wife my old stomping grounds."

He then proceeded to tell me, as everyone else does when they come back to town, that "I had my first beer in the Fairview when I was sixteen."

(the ages range from fifteen to eighteen in other homecoming tales)

Life at the Fairview, evidently, is just the same as it ever was--except for the sixteen year old drinking beer thing. I card. I promise.

Darkshifters is about to head out for its first retrial in the world of agent-seeking. I had my tarot cards read the other day and evidently this is the propititious time. *grin* Always good to know that the cards are in your favor. Without all the mysticism, however, I have to say that this last version of Darkshifters is worlds better than the poor mutilated draft I sent out previously. I scrapped every single word and rewrote the darn thing from my old plot outline. (well, not exactly--I still have that version saved to the hard drive of the desktop) It's amazing to look back and see exactly how many changes you've made in your writing style over the last few months--or, as in this case, years.

So here I sit, surrounded by beer I can't drink, liquor bottles that I can't serve from (legally on Sundays), blogging for all that I'm worth while the sun pours its strengthening joy into the spring air. Life, for all its turmoil, is still good.

One month left until Asphodel 2 is released--get ready for The Gift of Redemption! You can find out anything you want to know about The Asphodel Cycle at my website Shoot The Muse! or at my publisher Aspen Mountain Press.

Oh, and I'll be doing the Absolute Write May blogchain! Follow it to find other great writers at all stages of their careers and find out how we all think. You'll love it, I promise you!

Spring Returns...

...and with it our annual sparrow tenants, Ozzie and Harriet, are once more in the garage, dive-bombing us if we go to get into the cars. They've come back for the fifth year, using the same old undisturbed nest in the never-will-be-fixed-now garage door opener, and their first batch of eggs has been laid. They'll switch back and forth sitting on it, and when it's their turn to fly free they perch on the huge birdfeeder in the back yard and stock up. Occasionally Ozzie, being braver than his wife, will come and sit on the rail of the deck while I work at my table, and chirp at me. That's very cute, but the hunningbirds will be back soon and that's where their feeder is.

This year we also have a resident mockingbird whose specialty seems to be imitating animals other than birds. Yesterday, it was crickets. The day before, it was the pack of coyotes who are marauding through the neighborhood. Just now, it's yelling at the dove that's gleaning from the spillover under the bird feeder.

My flowers are thriving: my crocuses and daffodils are in full bloom, as is the ancient lilac tree in my side yard. I call it ancient because while in full bloom it has a diameter of probably 12 feet. I sit underneath it sometimes to hide from the world; the boughs are so heavy with blossoms that they bow all the way to the ground. I'd probably LIVE there for these two glorious weeks of spring if I didn't have sinuses. All of the flowering trees are having an outstanding spring--dogwoods, tulip trees, magnolias, the cherry trees---our hill and the cliff behind it are streaked with violent hues of purple and pink and red.

It is lovely--lovely and warm and breezy and fresh. After the winter we had this year, it's a welcome change from the monochromatic greys that were left after the snow melted. Fortunately for me, spring is also a time of creation.

While Ozzie and Harriet have been divebombing me, I'm up to 58k on my new project.

GUESS WHAT I HAVE FOR YOU?

Coming June 8, 2008 from Aspen Mountain Press.

The Muse Beckons Again

I'm back.

It's time for me to snap out of the real world and back into my own quiet, sheltered, dear little space where I am at one with the universes in my mind. I've spent the last month dealing with the sorts of things that stifle creativity, only to wake up the day before yesterday to discover my muse: well-rested, impatient to begin, she sat on the edge of the bed and swung her foot irritably until I got out of bed and went to my study.

And for the first time in months, I locked the door. This is the universal signal of "Mom is busy; don't knock until you've lost two pints of blood."

I have missed my divinity, my absolute omnipotence over the worlds that drift through my study. I have five of them pinned to my walls at the moment.

Asphodel: huge, still-growing, and vibrant. Asphodel beckons me, compels me. It seems that she still has stories to tell.

The darkworlds and dreamworlds of Darkshifters: nebulous, sinister, twining around my head as I stare at the infinity I tried to encompass there. It screams at me, demands that I complete its tales.

Terella: bound and captive, clustered at my knees. Still in its infancy, pleading with me to help it take its first steps into fulfillment.

And then, there are the other two. These embryos develop daily--a little here, a little there, and now I can see the twisted paths they follow. Their lives are still uncertain, clamoring for my attention away from the worlds that have enslaved me for years.

I find myself breathless at the prospects before me. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff just before you make the jump, wondering if the bungee cord will break under your weight. The adrenaline is amazing. The anticipation is agonizing. Even now, I sit outside on my deck as night descends over the hills that cluster along the horizon and I hear the muse calling me impatiently.

It is time to begin.

In Response to a critique

...here you go. One dead Elf, courtesy of http://www.gamespot.com/. You were right, Polenth--the old blog needed more dead elf imagery. This one's for you:

she TOLD me to do it.

So anyway, my daughter has ORDERED me to write a blog entry tonight, despite the fact that towels are now molding on her bedroom floor, and anxiously awaits what I will say. I got a grudging "You're pretty funny, Mom!" from her earlier while she read through two years of posts, so I guess I should comply.

Today, I've been doing spring cleaning. Not normal spring cleaning, oh no of course not. I've been moving the living room to the study and the study to the dining room and the dining room to the living room. That way I can scrub all the baseboards and steam clean the floors and move all the furniture, which is the joy of my existence. Seriously. I love rearranging rooms, and I'll fiddle with them once or twice a month just for the hell of it.

At any rate, I threw out my back and broke a toe on my left foot.

Couch confinement may not be a choice when I wake up in the morning. It may be a requirement. Isn't that pitiful? I shouldn't give up so easily. The fact is that I can't be bothered to follow my doctor's orders. Hell no! I have editing to do, I have new books to write, I have to get my oldest daughter drunk for a week. I have too much to do, so I'll just lay on the couch and do my writing stuff and let the house fall into the seventh circle of hell without my assistance or preventative measures.

That's right. Fuck housecleaning. As long as the hubby dragsz the furniture where I want it, I guess I'll get to it in my own good time.

Perhaps.

It's really funny, isn't it. *shrug* I really don't give a rat's patootey about doctor's orders any more. all my doctor does is charge me a buttload of money and brings me no pain relief. I'm already a week ahead on my meds. Damn. Not like I can call him for more percocets. Maybe I'll have to have a hospital visit or something. I have a feeling, though, that if I went to the emergency room tomorrow they'd slap me into a room with a gaseous octagenarian before I could hobble to the door. I hate those idiots too.

However, as I lay here and glance around at my disordered house, I just have to shrug.

*shrug*

I think I'll finish it up tomorrow just so it won't bother the bejesus out of me. I think I'll get up at seven, wake up the brat...oops, I mean by beloved, saintly, would NEVER drink with her parents daughter Meredith...to get off her lazy ass and hop to it. That's almost literal but she lost the crutches a week ago. It's about time for her to earn her keep...there's those flower beds to be weeded...and daffodils in the front bed to be thinned, and lots of stick left over from winter to be picked up. I understand that tomorrow is supposed to be in fifties with rain and high wind.

Sounds like a PERFECT time to pick up sticks. I can sit on the front porch with a beer and a cigarette. I can point and laugh as she staggers by with her Hefty bag of dead tree. What fun! What bliss!

*evil grin*

And then she can wash the van. It's not THAT big after all. Since the hose doesn't reach though, that's going to be a lot of trips back and forth with a bucket of soapy water. In the rain. And the wind. And past Mom sitting on the front porch and giggling while she eats a handful of vanilla creme cookies.

Am I evil? Oh, yes. Am I funny? Naturally.

Oh, by the way Meredith...













HAPPY APRIL FOOLS DAY.

silly wench.

Creating a New World

Ah...worldbuilding. Creating a fictional world is where most young authors fail. So, I though I'd post about how I build my worlds and how the process works.

First, what do you need to create a new world? You need the geography and a map. The geography will help to lay out the climate. It will also dictate the type of people who live in particular part of the climate--and the critters. You can't put a reptilian critter into a climate that is arctic, for example. After you've figured out the physical aspects of the world, it's time to populate it. As you're populating, you're laying the foundation for the cultural aspects of the people. A large city on the coast (which I personally would map if it was the central location for my story), for example, would be a conglomerate of many peoples. The emphasis in the city would be on trade. You'd have a financially prosperous merchant class, countless sailors, a fairly strong military presence in the city (guards) and probably a very seedy underground group of people who are a syndicate of thieves. Next, you'd build your political scenario--a scenario whose foundation consists of the make-up of citizens in this seaport city. Is it a monarchy? A republic? An oligarchy? A medieval style fantasy would probably be a monarchy, and any time you deal with a monarchy you'd have to known exactly how the ruler came to the throne. That means that the next thing you'd do is the history of the city. How long has the ruling house been in power? How did they get there? Did one of the monarch's ancestors found the city? If not, gig this ruling family come to power because of a civil war? You need dates--a timeline of events. Is there a constitution? What does it say? What is the official religion of the city? Which leads us to religion. Religion is, in my opinion, one of the more important aspects of fantasy. Is this a monotheism or a polytheism? is there a protector god of the city, like Athena was to Athens? If so, why? What kind of organization is there within the religion? Are there temples? Monasteries? How do people become priests or priestesses? Are they acolytes (novices) first? Are they 'called' by the god? Are they recruited by the senior clergy? What do they study? For how long? Are they celibate? What are the rituals of the temple? Are these rituals mystic?

That was just the preliminary work for ONE city in your world. Just one. If you have five or six locations that you use in your story, you need to do the same amount of work for each one. The goal when building a new world is simple: know the answer to any question someone else (agent, editor, reader) might ask. If someone asked you where the slum are of the city is, know the answer.

Second, it's time to build your characters. Character development is just as important as creating the world ... and it's an integral part of world building. This is what I do:

Let's say I've decided my main character is female. Since I always write about strong female protagonists, that part really isn't much of a decision. (hahaha--giggle break) So the first thing I do is decide upon her characteristics at the time of the story. Create a physical description and be specific. Tamsen, the main character in the Asphodel Cycle, is 5 feet 10 inches and weighs 128 pounds or so. She is slender, but extremely muscular. Her eyes are silver and so is her hair. She is fleetingly beautiful, a woman who inspires polarized opinions about her looks. Her personal charisma is such that, in the end, men are convinced that she is the loveliest creature they've ever seen. She is brilliant, with a logical mind and the ability to make decision quickly. She has a temper, the kind that rarely gets to the point of fury but once she's there you'd better run. She is 18 at the beginning of the story and ages a year in each successive book.

Now take that description and explain how each characteristic came to be, just as follows:

Tamsen is tall because both of her parents arre half-elf. Her father (and now I had to name him) Prosper de Asphodel is descended from the Elven royal family (name it) of Ka'antira, and the Ka'aantira are, to a man, tall, slender, and muscular. Prosper himself was almost 7 feet tall. Tamsen is muscular-not in the femlae bodybuilder sort of way but in the tai chi, yoga kind of way--because as she was growing up with her Elven kin, she had to learn archery, how to climb the trees and move through the forest canopy in order to escape the notice of enemies, and how to run for long distances without stopping--a daily workout from hell. Her eyes and hair are silver now, but they didn't used to be. Originally, she had long black hair and light blue eyes that were ringed with silver. When she fought a duel with an enemy sorcerer in the forest, she was knocked unconscious. While she was unconscious, the goddess (name her0 the Virgin Huntress came to her and offered her the opportunity to be the champion of the goddess. Tamsen agreed, and over the next few days while she was still unconscious, all of the color leeched from her hair and eyes until finally they turned a bright, almost iridescent silver. Tamsen unwittingly attracts the interest of several men. In particular, there were two (name them): Brial Ka'breona, a scout from the Elven Realm (name it) Leselle with a hatred of humans and sorcerers; and Anner de Ceolliune, a young Duke of the human realm(name it) of Ansienne. They both vie for her attentions, but her heart is lost fairly quickly to the taciturn, bad-tempered Brial. Anner spends the rest of his life as her best friend and brother in arms to Brial, but continues to nuture his love for Tamsen without comment or complaint. Tamsen, on the other hand, finds herself in the position of defnding her family lands and Leselle from the predatory army of her enemy (name him): her hated and despised uncle Gabril de Spesialle. Brother to Tamsen's mother, Spesialle loathes Elves. Upon discovering the true parentage of his sister, he travels to Asphodel and murders Tamsen's parents while she watches, hidden in the orchards. When Spesialle discovers that his niece is alive, he launches attacks on both the forest of Leselle and the county of Asphodel. Tamsen has to raise an army, one comprised of both humans and Elves. She must overcome their heriditary distrust of each other. Her success in doing so leads the men around her to respect her abilities and leadership, thus binding them to her in loyalty. They tend to overlook her temper, mostly because she loses it so rarely and when she does lose it it's for a very good reason. They watch as she uses too much of her magical power, weakening herself to the point that her body is completely debilitated. This, too, inspires them to look upon her in awe and to look to her for answers. In such a manner, she becomes the leader of a small but influential group of men--and she uses that group to insinuate herself in the highest levels of political power, despite her young age.

See how it layers itself? I use this process two or three times, the descriptions of the whys and wherefores not only devloping the idiosyncracies of the character, but giving me parts of the storyline to pursue. In this manner, your character development can also begin your outlining of the plot.

Finally, you have to create the central conflict of the story. Tamsen's conflict is with her uncle Spesialle. Because he's attacked the Elves, she becomes involved in Elven politics--and conscious of her royal status. Because he's destroyed the monarchy of Ansienne, she dives into their political turmoil as well. Because he throws his army at his enemies, she learns the ways of war and becomes a strategist out of necessity. Because he's a sorcerer with great power, she develops her own magic to unforeseen heights. She reacts to his moves, and in the process matures her only abilities in order to counter them. a confrontation between them is inevitable. Tamsen builds herself up to the point where she can confront him as his equal. It is her sole motivation initially, but she gradually grows to care about the problems of both the Elven Realm and the human world and seeks a way to reconcile them while healing them both.

Now we're done with the main character. That's great, right? Well now it's time to do the same for the rest of the major characters. Here again, you want to know the answer to any question someone else might ask BEFORE they ask it.

Actual question from a reader...and my answer:

"Hey Celina. Why does Tamsen have all of these older men who are experienced in war and politics looking to her for answers or instructions?"

"Well, because as she comes to terms with the fact that she is the sole heir to the Elven throne, she becomes more incisive. She's the unifying factor between the Elven and human realms; the only half-elf left in existence as far as anyone can tell. They look to her because she has great magical power. They look to her because if it weren't for her, there would be no chance of defeating Spesialle in his bid to take the throne of Ansienne and to annihilate the Elves."

Now just off of this exercise, we've developed a world and character with true complexities. After you're done, you have a world map, a history of the world, a central conflict in the present timeline of the story, characters that have intricate histories, motivations, and situations in life, and outlined political systems and religions. Now you're ready to take what you've created and write out the story that this work compels you to write.

The more development you put into your world building, the more credible and intersting your story will be. Pay attention to the details, down to what kind of shoes a secondary character is wearing or what the weather patterns will be over the course of six months. Those details are the piece de la reistance; they snatch up the words on paper and transform them into a new reality. That reality is what your readers will sink into as they read your story, and THAT is the goal of every writer.

When I'm building a world, it takes me several weeks. I built Asphodel in three weeks, working eight hours a day. My world building resides now in a file in my cabinet, a file with about 250 pages of information. Will I use all of it? Hell, no. BUT, I have it. I can pull things out of it at will. And, in the long run, if I answer every question put to me about my world, then I have won.

Work on your world building. Build it up to the point that you think you're actually writing a non-fiction history book. And don't be afraid to swipe from our own history--a notable historical event from Roman history can be transformed into a profound plot twist in your story. Research thoroughly. If you're writing about a war, you'd best know how the weapons work, how heavy a sword is, how a bow is made, what kinds of strategies have been effective in the past, how armor weighs upon a man swinging a 20 pound weapon, how far horses can travel in a day (and you'd better be sure to walk them, rest them, feed them, check their feet and pick out stones, and rub them down before covering them for the night).

The more you know about the elements in your world, the more realistic it will seem to your readers. Don't slack on this; don't leave it to chance and the undisciplined proddings of the muse. Because once your stage is set, the play depends upons the characters who strut and fret their moment.

Your audience will applaud. Trust me.

Privy Pithiness--A New Story Has Begun

I've been thinking a lot lately.

Usually, this is a dangerous thing. When I get into thoughtful moods, I isolate myself from most of what I normally do, retreat into my study, close the door, and ponder. It's usually the type of mood that allows me to build a new world, or develop a character as thoroughly as possible--hoping for the idea that will spark a new project. If I find a conflict that interests me, I plug it into a world that's been brewing on my world-building wall and give it to a character who resides, patiently waiting in my character files.

Sounds odd, doesn't it? I have whole worlds plotted out, mapped, and peopled waiting for a story to tell upon it. Universes reside in my study, which is a place where books and cats fight for space and I, sitting in my antique rectory leather chair, take up my pen and sketch out the disasters that some unlucky character gets to live through--or die in.

Two days ago, I wrote the first sentence of the project that's bubbling in my head.

My soul is dead.

As soon as those four words got their end-of-sentence period, I paused. I glanced around the study--at the maps of worlds teetering on the brink of existence. I chose one of the maps, unpinning it from the wall and propping against the books on my desk. As I stared at it, my mind was already putting small red marks on it: here is where the first battle will take place, the confrontation with the romantic interest, the blizzard, the injury...

While I was doing this, I reached for the character files. I spent an hour or so flipping through the characters and finally selected my main character. As soon as I did, I gave her her antagonist, her lover, her best friend, her distrusted ally--laying the sheets in a line on my desk just below the map.

I started a pot of coffee, made myself a sandwich, turned on my writing music and locked the door to my office. By the time my lunch was over, my world, my character, my conflict and my first line coalesced into the beginnings of a story.

The start of an existence: a place of turmoil, a character of doubts and fears and passions and ambitions, a world where the people are now living and breathing and walking about their daily routine and I, the ever-faithful scribe, record those events as they happen in my mind.

So yes--I've begun a new book, a new history of the galaxies that exist in my mind. And you, my friends, are now privy to the creation of it.

Welcome to Violenzia.

More News

This will be a brief post, but hopefully fun. To start off with, my short story One Hell of a Cat was published today in New Myths Ezine. You can check out the magazine here.

There are some fun stories (besides mine) and I like the concept of the magazine. As a myth-fanatic, I just thrive on the type of venue that promotes the perpetuation of old archetypes and encourages the creation of new. Great stuff.

And then, Love Romances and More selected The Reckoning of Asphodel as its staff pick in Fantasy for Winter of 2008. I can't tell you how thrilled I am. I absolutely LOVE the wonderful folks at LR&M and really have to thank them all for their continued support and encouragement. Not only are they a well-respected and widely read review site, but they're just a hell of a lot of fun.

Did I mention how much I love them?

That's about it. I'm working on a very pithy post for later--maybe I'll see you around.