Voting Now Open for LRC Best of 2009 Awards

Hey, everyone.

I'm just getting my pimp on for The Asphodel Cycle 4: Apostle of Asphodel's multiple nominations in the Love Romances and More E-Cafe Best of 2009 Awards.  If you want to vote, here's how you do it:

You need to send an email to dawn_roberto@yahoo.com with "LRC's Best of 2009 Awards" in subject line. Without that subject line, the email will be deleted. Then you vote by writing


Best Cover of 2009--Apostle of Asphodel (cover art by Renee George)

Best Fantasy Novel of 2009 -- Apostle of Asphodel by Celina Summers

Best Novel of 2009 -- Apostle of Asphodel by Celina Summers.

Feel free to copy and paste.

Voting runs from 2/15 to 2/23 and the results will be announced on 2/25. If you want to see the full list of nominees, you can do so at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LoveRomancesCafe/files/ but you have to be a member to access that page. You can join LRC by going to http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LoveRomancesCafe. It's a fun place to meet authors of all genres in case you're into that sort of thing.

Stay tuned, too.  I'm getting ready to roll out all kinds of great stuff for the first Mythos book, Bride of Death--which comes out in ten days!  Lots of excerpts and other fun this week, so let's get to it!

More Nominations for Apostle of Asphodel!

Well, awards season travels on apace and The Asphodel Cycle 4: Apostle of Asphodel has managed to pick up more nominations from Love Romances and More E-Cafe!  In today's announcement from LRC, Apostle was nominated for Best Cover of 2009 (cover art by the lovely Renee George) --

--and also for Best Fantasy Novel of 2009--

--and in a move that completed knocked me right off my couch, Apostle of Asphodel was also nominated for Best Novel of 2009!

To say I'm stunned is completely and irrelevantly inadequate. Over the years, I've had a great relationship both with Love Romances and More's outstanding review site as well as the incredibly fun and friendly denizens of the Love Romances and More E-Cafe.  I've done a lot of book release parties there, made a lot of great friends, gotten a lot of really fantastic reviews and generally have had a hell of a lot of fun.  So anytime, LR&M gives me a nod like this, it's a very special moment for me.  LR&M was the first review site to really believe in my work.  This nomination is the fourth nod LR&M has given to the Asphodel Cycle; every single one of those novels has been nominated for an award either by the E-Cafe or in the LR&M Golden Rose awards.

Thank you, LR&M.  Thank you from the bottom of my overwhelmed heart.

http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/more-hot-reads/apostle-of-asphodel/prod_263.html

Tamsen Ka’antira has grown into a woman of incredible power as the Virgin Huntress’ player in the game of the gods. After discovering the Hippolytes, a fabled race of women devoted to the arts of combat, she must lead them back to the plains of Ilia to fight the greatest war of antiquity again. The pantheon of gods awaits her in their Hall of Judgment, where the ultimate fate of the Elven Realm will be determined. Not only must she defeat her uncle, Gabril de Spesialle, but she must contend with a renegade goddess whose sole purpose is to overthrow the pantheon and rule over a universe wrapped in chaos. But when Tamsen finds herself standing alone against overwhelming odds, she is forced to make sacrifices that threaten everything she loves. Can she find the strength to complete the game and redeem the Elven people? As the Apostle of Asphodel, Tamsen must transcend from a wielder of magic into part of the magic itself.

Review from Love Romances and More (five out of five stars): "...Ms. Summers creates complex characters that continue to grow as you read this series. All the characters, new and old, will keep your attention as you try to figure out along with Tamsen, what her objective is and if she can overcome the obstacles placed in her path. I highly enjoyed this entire series but am sincerely hoping Ms. Summers continues on with Asphodel and her great cast of characters..."

Guess What????

We have cover art!

The cover for Mythos 1: Bride of Death was created by artist Tuesday Dube.  Ain't it cool???

And, as you may have noticed, the countdown clock is underway too.  Eighteen days?  Wow, that's close.  Might want to stay tuned--I have a feeling that tomorrow I'll have some exciting news to post. *grin* And, as soon as I get settled in after moving into my new house, I'll get back to blogging regularly too.

Eighteen days.  Wow.

Until then, GO COLTS!

Preditors & Editors Readers Poll Results Are In!

I'm really proud and humbled to share this year's 2009 P&E Readers Poll results with you.

My short story collection, Metamorphorsis, finished in the top twenty five in the Best Anthology category and 17th in Best Cover Art.  Congratulations to my fabulous cover artist Renee George for that cover, which is one of my all time favorites.

Lovely, isn't it?

The last book in The Asphodel Cycle--Apostle of Asphodel finished fourteenth in Best Sci Fi/Fantasy Novel.  The Asphodel Cycle as a whole, then, has finished high in the polls for three years, garnering two top ten finishes in Best Sci Fi/Fantasy and a top five finish in Best Novel.  The absolute loyalty Asphodel fans have shown over the past three years is a humbling thing to witness.

And, finally, the first book of the Covenants trilogy, Breaking the Covenants,co-written with Rob Graham finished in fifth place in the Best Erotica category.  I now have a new banner to add to my collection:

So over the course of the past three years, collectively I've amassed five Top Ten finishes in the P&E Readers Poll and eight top twenty five finishes--all due to you!  Thank you, thank you, thank you--I cannot adequately express how amazing it is to me that I have readers who consistently appreciate my work enough to shower honors like this on it.

Thank you.

And one more bit of news--I will be attending the RT Book Lovers Convention in Columbus, Ohio from April 28-May 2. I'll be signing books, giving away e-books and lots of other goodies.  Drop by and see me at the Book Expo or just flag me down if you see me!  I'm looking forward to having a great time!

And now...I'm off.  This is moving week in the Summers household and I have to find a way to somehow get all of my books into portable receptacles.  I'm planning on spending tomorrow afternoon settling my books and getting my kitchen in order--the two things I love most about moving. After that, it's all drudgery.

And again, thank you. Get ready, though--there's going to be a lot of fun news this week from me!

Contentment

Contentment is...

...writing for most of the day with a cat on my lap asleep and the rest of the house quiet.  The kind of day where I can take a long bubble bath, while reading a new book, and then get all my laundry done in between writing sessions.  The sort of afternoon where I exceed my word count for the day and just keep going because the story is flowing so well. The phone isn't ringing like mad with perceived crises in five states. My email is oddly empty, considering I've been averaging thirty real emails a day for the past few weeks.

What a fantastic day.  The new 76" cat tree I ordered even came in today.  Unfortunately, the box weighs a ton and I can't get it into the house.  Oh well. That means the cat on the lap contentment for another afternoon until the husband gets home, carts it in and puts it together. 

Nice.

It's bitterly cold outside--like maybe 10 degrees--but the big snow and ice storm is tracking south and we'll only get sideswiped by it. Maybe a couple of inches of snow, that's all.  That's great anyway--it makes the silence out here in the middle of a national forest reserve a lot more crystalline and pure.  It means I'll go outside tonight, bundled up in my coat and gloves and scarves, and actually be able to hear the whisper of snow sifting down upon the trees and the ground.

One of my favorite sounds in the world. Some people would call it silence; I call it symphonic.

So now a nice big cup of hot chocolate, a piece of vanilla cake (because I'm just like that) and back to a writing surge that reaffirms my love of telling a story.  Let's see where my afternoon of near perfect contentment leads me.

And to the weather gods--if you want to send the storm further north, that's fine by me.  I can assemble the cat tree and hang out right beside it while they perch on it and play on it and stalk the birds on the other side of the window glass who are gorging themselves at the bird feeder.  I'll strike you a deal--I'll make sure the birds are fed and you can dump a foot of snow on my house.  That way, everyone's happy.

I won't even let the cats out after them.  It's a promise.

Clearing Out My Vision

Yeah, I know.  The post title sounds like I need to get new contacts.  That's not what I'm talking about though. First off, I don't wear contacts. Twenty twenty vision, thank you very much.

Second, I'm talking about writing.

Sometimes, you get so caught up in the story that you're writing that you almost become willfully blind about it.  Yeah, the words may have rolled easily from your brain onto the page, but you can't really see the whole picture when you're writing that first draft.  I know I can't. Building a good story is like baking a great loaf of homemade bread--you have to let the dough rest for a while so that it can rise to its fullest potential.  Something I'm noticing a lot in manuscripts from new writers (and even some not so new writers like myself) is that overwhelming urge to rush that story into the oven, to serve--continuing my culinary metaphor--a half-baked loaf of bread.

Let me explain.

Once you've written that first draft, put it away. Don't immediately turn around and start editing it.  Let it sit for a few days. Write something else; outline a new project or revise an old one.  Once that daily dose of the completed story wears off from you, take the first draft back out.  Go to your favorite reading chair--someplace away from where you work--sit down and read what you've written. Read it like, well, a reader would. Someone other than you who might have come across the story in a bookstore.  Don't make notes on it, don't start editing with your red pencil.  Just sit down and read all the way through without stopping.

Then, you need to come face to face with what you've written.

Is it enjoyable? Did it hold your interest? (Here's a hint: if your fingers start itching to rearrange sentences, the answer to these first two questions is 'no.') Is the main character credible.  Do you like him or her? Do you care about what happens to her? Is the conflict tense? Is it easy to figure out the solution to? (especially important for mysteries.  If you send me a mystery and I peg the bad guy within the first few pages of his introduction to the story, then it ain't much of a mystery if you know what I mean.)

You have to be totally honest with yourself. If you're not, you're not doing yourself any favors.  You'll send your poor manuscript out to someone like me who will give you all the honesty you never wanted. A writer has got to teach themselves not only to take the cold, hard facts an editor or agent would, but to recognize those flaws first and correct them.  If you have even the smallest niggling doubt about how something is working out, don't wreck your story's future and send it out.  Keep it at home, work on it some more, entrust it to some critical (and brutally honest) eyes other than your own.  Learn to not only accept criticism, but to yearn for it.

Clear out your vision.  Sure, it's your baby but you have to be able to look at your baby with wide open eyes and say, "You know--I don't think it's ready yet." Then take it back to your desk, open the file back up and work on it some more.

Before you think I'm just spouting off advice because I think I'm entitled to, let me correct you.  I'm spouting off this advice to myself more than anyone else.  I am not infallible.  As a matter of fact, I have numerous, grievous flaws as a writer.  And every time I think I have one hell of a story and get excited about shopping it around, I've sent it out too soon and watched it die beneath a pile of rejections and a surplus of 'unfortunatelys' in my inbox.

Trust me. I know of what I speak. Don't make the same mistakes I make--do better than me. Clear out your vision about your manuscript.  It's a hell of a lot easier to do that before you send the story out than to try and disinter it when it's almost--but not quite--too late.

Picking Yourself Back Up After That Rejection Email

Every writer has at least one of these days--you know, the horrible days where you check your inbox, see that agent or publisher's name on an email and excitedly open up a message that begins with some version of "Although your writing shows great promise..." or "While I enjoyed your writing immensely..." or "Unfortunately, I just didn't connect with your protagonist/hero/heroine/conflict/plotline/narrative style/sneakers/chia pet/favorite television show..."

You get the picture.

Rejection is something writers have to deal with every single day.  This isn't a business for the thin-skinned. Sure, those rejections hurt--especially the one that starts off with "Dear Author" or has your name misspelled on the form. Believe me, I've seen every variation of the name "Celina" that's possible: Celena, Selina, Selena, Saliva, Sleestack--you name it, I have a rejection with that name set on the wrong line, in a different font and bigger than the rest of the form typed out by some unpaid intern ready to make it big in the publishing industry. Yep, I get it. It sucks. It sucks badly.

But, are rejections necessarily a bad thing?  See, I don't think so.

Every rejection teaches me something about my writing.  All form rejections? My writing didn't stand out enough in the agent/publisher's mind to warrant a personal rejection. It just plain wasn't ready, or the entity I submitted it to wasn't the best source to turn to.  Lots of requests, no offers? Those rejections hurt the worst. It means my query letter was good and did its job and my first two or three chapters were really strong--strong enough to get someone excited about the work. But, in the end, the story didn't sustain itself for a full read for either the agent or the publisher--and that means it probably wouldn't keep a reader's interest either. Rejections off requested manuscripts indicates there's something wrong with the story--but that it's probably fixable. And then there are the personal rejections, the ones where you know the agent/publisher really wanted to like your work but it fell just short.  And in these times, that tiny bit of shortness was an acceptance or a revise/resubmit letter.

When I first started writing with the goal of publication, I created my Wall of Shame.  It started off as a joke: I wanted to see how many rejections it would take before I got that first acceptance. (It took over 80, by the way) But since then, I've printed off and tacked up rejections that were either particularly helpful (ie-the agents I would query again) or particularly funny. (The lovely mistakes one can make with a form rejection--like sending one to Mr. Celina Summes. Those are always hysterical) Every once in a while, I go through and weed through them, getting rid of ones that have lost their charm and re-reading the personalized ones for clues as to what I need to be concentrating on. Those rejections never fail to cheer me up in a perverse sort of way.  Maybe it's because I'm a masochist. Maybe it's because I'm reinforcing my drive to continue.  Who knows?

But it works.

It's easy to get discouraged.  It's even easier to use those rejections as a sort of weapon, battering the entire publishing industry and thinking that it's 'unfair' or 'biased' or 'stupid.' It's not. Writers--all writers, including myself--have to learn eventually that rejections are actually tools you can use to gauge the market, evaluate your writing and determine which agencies or publishers are most amenable to the way that you write. So instead of getting depressed because you got that rejection in your email, get off your ass and get back to work.  Write something new or rewrite what just got rejected.  Search for a new market for the story or query the next agent on your list. Never allow yourself to get so depressed that you just can't bear the thought of one more "I'm sure another agent will feel differently and best of luck" email. Use it as a spur to perfect and hone your craft.

Because in the end, that's what it all boils down to. Success, in the end, depends upon your ability to persevere in the face of rejection.

Teddy Roosevelt once said, "Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat."  Good ol' Rough and Ready was absolutely right. If you want to be a career writer, you've got to recognize failure as your greatest teacher.

Success won't come to you; you have to go after it.

Now, if you'll excuse me--I have a novel to rewrite.

Recharging My Creative Batteries

Yep. I really need to.

That could have been the entire post, honestly.  I'm producing words--quite a few of them in fact.  I'm kind of stuck on determining what my next big project is going to be.  I want to focus on fantasy, maybe, or perhaps another paranormal.  Whatever it is, it's not the things I'm working on at the moment.  I want the project that's going to get me excited, the one that's going to crank into high gear and drives me to produce.  I want the idea that takes over my life and forces me to write about it.

Yeah, I know--I want, I want, I want.  It's all about what I want.  That's not what it should be about. It should be about what wants me to write it.

I think I need a vacation.

Sometimes, even seeing something new can get the creative juices going.  That's what I need. Something to stimulate that one great idea.

So, I think I'm going to take a virtual vacation.  I need to look at some new places, maybe read something that jogs some sort of inspiration. If that doesn't work, maybe I'll take a real vacation and see what that does.  The one thing I know for certain is that I can't sit around and wait for that next great idea to take me.  I need to go after it and find it.

Google images, here I come.

Heroism in Silence

I saw something very unusual today and I thought I'd share it with you.

My mother in law and I were on our way to lunch when we saw a whole mess of flashing lights on Memorial Drive, which is the main thoroughfare through Lancaster, Ohio which is were I live.  My mother in law, noticing that the police had blocked off the entire road, turned onto a side street, went a couple of blocks up and started on a path parallel to the one we were originally taking. We hadn't gone two blocks when a patrol car pulled into the intersection one car ahead of us, lights flashing, and stopped. 

My first thought was that there was some kind of dangerous situation. And then, I saw the first fire truck, draped with black gauze buntings and with a firefighter's protective jacket on the front grill and I knew what was happening.

On January 2, firefighters in Lancaster responded to an apartment fire. While supervising the crews battling the flames, Lt. Joseph McCafferty collapsed.  He was taken to the hospital, and eventually passed away on January 16. He was only 59. He was the first Lancaster firefighter to fall in the line of duty since the days of horse-drawn fire engines.

What we were witnessing was his funeral cortege.  And even then, it took me a few minutes to recognize the magnitude of what was happening in front of me.

The funeral procession, including the fire engine that carried Lt. McCafferty's casket, stretched a mile in length.  It was comprised of fire engines, ambulances, emergency squads and fire chiefs from all over the state of Ohio--some from as far away as Canton and Dayton. All along the funeral route, flags were lowered to half staff--not only at government facilities but also in the front yards of private citizens.

Those private citizens also lined the streets.  School kids watched in front of their schools.  Police officers who were cordoning off the route stood at attention and saluted.  The cars before and behind us all shut off their engines--and so did we.  And we all watched as fire truck after fire truck passed in front of us.  The fire chiefs in their red-painted cars looked out at us, rows of gold braid striping their sleeves.

There was a store on the left corner of these shops with a big display window, and the store employees stood in a row, witnessing the procession from indoors. And still the fire trucks kept coming.  Some of the firefighters I saw were older men, salt and peppered hair brushed back neatly.  Yet others didn't look old enough to drive much less drive a fire truck or carry people out of burning buildings.  While there were many trucks from Lancaster and I saw lots of firemen I know, the majority of them were from other counties.  They couldn't have had more than a passing acquaintanceship with Lt. McCafferty, but still they came to pay their respects to a man who'd literally given his life in the course of doing his duty.

The last time Lt. McCafferty had seen a rescue squad, he was a patient. Now they drove behind his casket to honor him. It got me thinking.  We all remember (and probably always will) the incredible courage and gallantry of the first responders in New York City on 9/11.  That bravery is now indelibly tattoed upon the men and women who serve in our fire departments or police departments all across the country, no matter where they serve.  It doesn't matter if it's in a huge metropolis like NYC or a small town like Lancaster, we still look at our first responders the same way, a way that has changed since 9/11 and strengthened our respect for the people who risk their lives in order to save ours.

Lt. Joseph McCafferty didn't die while rescuing people from a burning building.  He wasn't shot by a criminal. But still, his death is tragic.  He is not a hero for how he died.  He is a hero for how he lived.

The local newspaper, the Lancaster Eagle Gazette,  related the final tribute to Joseph McCafferty in their article this afternoon about the funeral. The 911 dispatchers sounded the tones for the fire department three times.  Three times they called for Lt. Joseph McCafferty.  Three times, they received no reply.

Finally, the dispatcher said, "For all fire personnel, this will be Lt. McCafferty's last call."

Rest in peace and good voyage to you, sir.

Driving In The Fog

A few nights ago, I was driving from Ohio down to Louisville, Kentucky.  It was one of those dark, misty kinds of nights--not raining, so windshield wipers were of no use and yet still wet enough to pixellate the windshield with water.  It's been a long time since I've driven that far by myself at night.  On top of that, I was in my new car (did I mention my new PT Cruiser yet? No? Well, some other time) and wasn't that familiar with it yet. So, I was driving tentatively--both hands on the wheel, moderating my speed so I did just the speed limit and not an MPH more (something that would never have happened ten years ago) and being very careful around other cars. 

One of the bad things about that particular stretch of road (71 to Cincinnati, 75 to Louisville, 65 to the exit closest to my daughter's house) is how difficult it is to find a good radio station. And, being too stupid to live, I neglected to take any CDs with me.  So, I had two choices: I could either listen to static, or I could use the long, quiet trip for contemplation.

Contemplation wins out over silence every single time.

Then, only about an hour into the drive, fog settled in.  It wasn't even that late; it was just after sunset on a very gray day, but the fog that gathers in the river bottoms around the Ohio River extends all across the southern quadrant of the state.  It was thick fog--yellow tinged in places from the streetlamps--the kind of fog that clings to everything and makes it clammy and almost morbid. The fog suited my mood perfectly.

I think I've been driving in a fog for a long time.

There's a miasma hovering over my life, concealing my way down the road my life's journey is set to travel.  Whereas once I thought I was going to be driving through a flat, open expanse where all the pitfalls could be detected far in advance and where the horizon was far away and level with the stretch of road I was traveling, I know now that I'm not.  My life's journey has never reached that plain--you know the plain I'm talking about: the one where you can set the cruise control to ten miles above the speed limit and open the sunroof (did I mention my PT cruiser has a sunroof? No? More on that later) and just drive, thrilling in the prospects before you. The road is level and well-paved, offering the traveler a smooth ride and comfort. The end of the road is nowhere in sight, but it will be soon. That last exit, the one you're going to get off on, is the one with a sign that reads "Your Ambition Begins Here; 80 mph" and that sign is so big and so prominent that you can't miss it on this vast plateau. It's the only guidepost there; it's the only guidepost needed.

But that's not my life road.

My life road began in a small valley, one with hills just tall enough on either side that I couldn't see over them. All my life, as a child and a young adult, my only goal was to get over those hills and see what was on the other side.  But when I did, I found more hills. And after those, even more.  And as I drove on, desperately seeking some avenue with purpose, some road that led to the plain I'd always dreamed about, the road grew more treacherous.  The curves were difficult to negotiate, the traffic was bad but moving fast and recklessly and the road itself was pockmarked with pits and cracks, the hills became heavily forested mountains and bulging, baked asphalt that sent my car flying over them.  Big trucks would suddenly change lanes and veer into mine, never knowing that I was there, and I had to manuever my car onto the bern and execute a video game driving trick to keep from wiping out. (This really did happen to me the other night, by the way. Damn truck. Did I mention how fabulous my new PT Cruiser handles the road? No? More on that later) And now on that road I'm trapped upon, it's night.  It's a moonless night, with nothing to light my way, and then the fog rolls in over the mountain tops. So I drive quicker, all the while keeping one anxious eye on the road (looking for more big trucks) and the other on the fog that is creeping down the faces of the mountains on either side of me.  It seeps through the trees, clinging to the fungus-spotted trunks, continuing its inevitable crawl toward the road with thickening fingers of mist.

All I can do is slow down.  All I can do is to take the steering wheel in a firmer grip and try to keep my vehicle on the road. As the night strengthens, the fog grows whiter against the pitched color of the skies and woods and mountains.  My headlights only illuminate the road a few feet in front of me.  I'm driving slowly, so slowly that if a car is one curve behind me and speeding, it will plow into the back of my car and knock it off the road into the steep ravines now on either side of the road. I'm terrified now and I don't know what to do.  I can't stop; there's nowhere to pull over.  I can't go back; there's nowhere to turn around.  All I can do is drive on, ever forward, always praying I make it around the next bend, over the next mountain, through the next stretch of road. The windshield wiper blades rocking back and forth sound like the toscins in Paris the night the Bastille was stormed, pounding out my death sentence in rhythmic squeals against the mist-draped glass.  And then, I glance at the fuel gauge and a new worry materializes. I have less than half a tank left.  What if that's not enough gas? What if there's no service station before I run out? If I do run out, what will I do? My cell phone doesn't work in the mountains (or, apparently, anywhere near my daughter's house.  I had it plugged up to the charger in the car--did I mention that my new PT Cruiser has two power sources? The standard cigarette lighter style one and a regular plug in kind of outlet? No? More on that later) and there's no one I can call for help.

So my only option is to keep on driving. In a little while, I'll gain the courage to take these curves and mountains at regular speed, trusting to my abilities and my vehicle to keep me on the right road.  Eventually, I'll find a gas station. I'll stop there, fill up with gas, call someone on my cell phone and get directions to the closest hotel. I'll get to that hotel, get a room and finally pull up in front of it.  Then I'll turn my car off, wait for the lights to turn themselves off (did I mention that my new PT Cruiser has those really cool halogen headlights? No? More on that later), go into my hotel room and get some rest.

Then the next morning after a good night's sleep (despite the recurring nightmarish dreams of fog and homicidal 18-wheelers), I'll get back into my car. I'll turn it on, open the sunroof, crank up the stereo system (did I mention that my new PT Cruiser has a kick-ass sound system? No? More on that later) and jam to some really good music--Pearl Jam, maybe, or old REM. I'll put on my sunglasses and light a cigarette and drive out of the hotel parking lot with one hand on the wheel and a smile on my face.  I'll be able to face those mountains better in the daylight, for all the fog will be gone. I'll appreciate the beauty of the scenery and congratulate myself on not taking that boring old road across the boring old plain. And as I drive, all the fear and uncertainty of the night before will fade in the glare of a new day's sunlight.

Driving in the fog makes you more alert. Driving in the sunlight makes you complacent. Or, as Robert Frost put it:

I shall be telling this with a sigh



Somewhere ages and ages hence:


Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--


I took the one less traveled by,


And that has made all the difference.

Oh, by the way, I got a new car.

News! News!

Well, I told you this was going to be a busy year for me so let me clue you in on something.

I have a new series coming from Aspen Mountain Press.  No, it's not another Asphodel series.  The series is entitled Mythos and it's a collection of reimagined Greco-Roman mythology.  You all know how I love my Homer and my Ovid. Well, now that love is bearing fruit.

Allow me to explain.

When I was in high school, I learned Latin and the classics from probably the best teacher I've ever encountered in my life--Grady Warren.  Because of Mr. Warren, I went to four state championships and three national championships and placed (or won) in the category of mythology.  I loved mythology. I adored it.  I was the mythology specialist on our certamen (quiz bowl) team and my nickname was Fauces, which is Latin for Jaws.

Yeah, I was a meek, shrinking flower even back in the day.

At any rate, that love of classics has stayed with me to this day.  Asphodel was a reimagining of the Trojan War. Mythos is comprised of modern retellings of classic Greek myths.  I wanted to write a series of novellas about some of the forgotten romances in mythology, the love stories that might not be as well remembered as the big ones like Helen of Troy and Paris or Odysseus and Penelope.  I wanted to look at minor deities like Persephone and Amphitrite, at surprising love affairs like Pygmalion and Galatea or Peleus and Thetis.  And above all, I wanted to breathe new life into these myths.

I wanted them to live again.

And so, Mythos.

The first book in the series is entitled  Bride of Death. It's the story of Hades, the god of the Underworld, and Persephone--how he abducted her and made her his Queen.  I always thought it was fascinating that a goddess of Spring could morph into a goddess of Death. I also thought it was such a lovely story in many ways--how the Spring Maiden could bring light into the realm of Death and its lonely ruler. 

And so--the big announcement: Bride of Death will be released by Aspen Mountain Press on Friday, February 26th!

These reimagined myths remain true to the original classical sources but they are definitely told in a modern narrative style.  A little bit smartass, a little bit elegant at times, but always told from a tight perspective and somewhat true to their original forms in that these myths are decidedly spicier than the classical sources the Victorians and medieval monks cleaned up beyond all recognition.  These are most definitely NOT teaching aids for children. The myths are R rated beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Which, of course, makes them a hell of a lot of fun to write.

So, keep an eye out for them! I expect to release a Mythos story every month this year.  I'll keep you posted on this blog and my website Shoot The Muse! about more pertinent details. 

Organizing Like Mad

Just when I thought my life couldn't get any crazier, it has.  Naturally, my body's response to this was to shut me down for about forty eight hours, huddled under every comforter in the house shivering with fever.  I feel better now--weak, but better.  So now, I have to get myself ultra-organized if I'm going to survive the next few weeks.

My writing schedule is heavy already.  It's been suddenly made heavier, however.  I have no more time to play.  My five hour writing blocks are not only sancrosanct, but scheduled almost to the number of how many words I need to crank out during those times.  My editing schedule is, fortunately, well under control.  I've got my writers' books spaced out well at the moment and I'm ahead of schedule.  The ultimate fly in the ointment, however, is going to be the books of mine that will be going into edits soon.  I can't permit myself to get so caught up in those that my schedule suffers.

And all of this is because of why, you may ask?

Let's just say that Aspen Mountain Press will be making a big announcement soon and after that announcement, every bit of spare time I have will be sucked up like a dust bunny into a Hoover.

I'm excited; I'm worried; I'm chomping at the bit. I've always said I like to be busy and that's the God-honest truth. Hopefully, I'm up to the challenge. We'll find out soon, I suppose. So for now, I'll get my boxes and drawers and shelves and paper completely organized and spend the remainder of my evening writing.  After all, it is my first love.

And oh--by the way. I've had a very interesting thing happen.  The Ameican Editor blog has had some very good things to say about me in the past few weeks, especially this new post that came out this week.  I'm flabbergasted and flattered and ridiculously terrified all at once.  Go check it out if you have a mind to.

Then come back and tell me if I should send this kind gentleman a fruit basket or some chocolates.

An Open Letter To Lane Kiffin With a PS to The University of Tennessee

Dear Coach To Whom It May Concern:

Most of my friends and one of my daughters expected me to be absolutely livid today when the news came down the pike that Lane Kiffin, erstwhile football placeholder for my beloved Tennessee Vols, had proved the depths of his insane belief that everyone accepts the crap he does and done a shameful, Cleveland Brownsesque bolt in the middle of the night for the warmth of a NCAA-probation ready USC Trojans.

I wasn't.

I'm so glad you're gone from Knoxville.  It means I can now go back to a city I love without running the risk of hurling all over my orange and white patent leather sneakers.  It means I can take a drive by the Rock, where I can read various forms of graffiti that basically boil down to F*CK YOU KIFFIN, take a deep breath of that mountain-scented air and know that my University is back.  It means I can walk down Phillip Fulmer way with the absolute conviction that a loud-mouthed punk isn't sitting behind his desk.  As a matter of fact, I couldn't have been happier at the news that my athletic donation dollars are no longer going to pay your entirely-ridiculous salary.

And then I realized.

You bolted three weeks to the day before National Signing Day.

What a piece of crap.  You misled a slew of young football players. You misrepresented your commitment to the program. You flat out lied about your loyalty--not only to the school, but to their development as players and young men.  Who gives a crap about the fan base? Next year, Neyland Stadium will still be full of Rocky Top singing Volunteer fans and in a few years we won't even remember your name--until we beat you in a bowl game. We, the alumni and fans of Tennessee, will get over it.

But what about the kids? Huh? Did you think about that before you slunk out like a Smoky Mountain polecat clutching your son named Knox and hiding behind your Barbie doll wife? Did you spare them a thought before you called your dad to drive you to the airport in the hopes that no one would throw a molotov cocktail at an old gentleman's car?

No.

You see, as long as everything is about YOU, a team will not prosper. The story shouldn't be Kiffin, Kiffin, Kiffin. Maybe you should spare a thought for the players on your team, the athletic department that stood behind you and your stupid mouth, and the kids who were just yesterday really excited about attending a quality program like the University of Tennessee and now are floundering with a commitment they may or may not want to follow through on.

I hope you're happy. You've screwed over people on so many levels with this move that you've made Nick Saban, Rich Rodriguez and Brian Kelly look like freaking Girl Scouts. Congratulations.

Here's hoping that your level of success will continue to be what it has been as a head coach. That record is what now? 12- 21?  Good luck to you.

Celina

PS:  TO THE UNIVERSITY OF TENNESSEE ATHLETIC DIRECTOR AND UNIVERSITY PRESIDENT AS WELL AS THE ALUMNI FOUNDATIONS AND HIRING COMMITTEE

You know you guys screwed over Phil Fulmer, don't you? This is karma coming back to bite your ass and you deserve it.  When you threw over one of the greatest, winningest coaches in college football for a loud-mouthed punk who nearly dragged the program into probation disaster, this is what you deserve.  Seriously.

Unfortunately, the kids don't.

Do yourself a favor--do us all a favor: Call Coach Fulmer. Ask him to come back for ONE YEAR starting tomorrow. I don't care how much you have to pay him--do it.  Get him in the office and after our committed recruits TONIGHT. Save our recruiting class for God's sake!  Coach Fulmer loves the University of Tennessee.  He will do anything to save our football program and face it--you freaking owe him at least that much. 

Coach Fulmer will represent our school with class and dignity. He's also a hell of a coach. He can save our season and those recruits.  Just eat the crow. Beg him to help.  At the end of the season, you can judge his future based on what he's accomplished with the team. You'll have the opportunity to run an extensive and thorough head coach search and not land us with a bipolar publicity maniac next time.  But at the very least, there's only one coach that can save our football team, our season, and our recruiting class right now, which is exactly what has to happen.

Call him.  Call him tonight. And then pray that Coach Fulmer will be gracious enough to save your ass.