Thanks but No Thanks...

Photo by: artur84/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

You know what is a really inappropriate thing to tell a writer? How to write their book. Why is it that these 'helpful hints' only come from those who DON'T write for a living?

 Easy. No author or journalist appreciates it when someone else, who is NOT working on the project thinks they know better than the creator of that work how to get our point across. At least not without being asked first. That's what critique partners are for.

I don't go inside other people's offices and organize their desks. I don't sneak into restaurant kitchens and advise chefs on which spices I prefer to use.

Plot advice is right up there with suggestions on how to beat Writer's Block when you don't have Writer's Block...I can say, "I haven't had time to write lately." and suddenly I'm bombarded with ideas on how to get my creative juices flowing. Like I didn't know...I've got two completed novels (actually four, if you include the unpublishables) and another on the way. Golly gee whiz, I had NO IDEA that a quick nap or a walk or maybe if I work on something else might be helpful. (Head hits desk.) Can you say 'condescension'? Better yet, can you SPELL it without autocorrect? 

Many of us work on multiple projects, blogs, interviews, blurbs, marketing and more. Very few of us have days where we simply cannot write. When it DOES happen, trust me we know how to handle it.

Last week I said, "I finally figured out that last scene switch point and I know who's POV I need to be in next."  My friend said, "Good for you! Now you might want to think about where this character is going..."

"I know. I got it."

"He or she could-"

"No REALLY. I GOT IT." I'm trying not to bite his head off... "I know where she's going and what happens to her." I'm a plotter, but I don't think Pantsers appreciate the advice any more than I do.

Why do non-writers seem to think we need their help? Do they think we are such emotional misfits that we need assistance with our own craft? Okay, maybe some of us are a little weird...But we're perfectly capable of plying our trade better than anyone else. We're also capable of doing other things, such as dressing ourselves and ordering pizza. And we didn't ask you.

Whew! I know I said my next post wouldn't be negative, but I actually feel better for ranting, thank you, and I hope I haven't upset too many people, but it needed to be said! ...At least it wasn't about cats, right?

Goodnight, Sweet Sully

Sully--November 15/2010-July 31/2013

I knew this day would come sometime, but I never expected it so soon. It's the most painful thing I've ever experienced. I've had loss before, but never anyone so close--Two grandfathers, one long distance, one never known. A long time ago aunt 36 years gone, a grandmother only seen two or three times a year, and one uncle, with all appearances counted on my hands. Sully's death is killing me. My friends keep telling me, "It's not your fault." But it is...

It actually happened last Wednesday, the day before Spartacus' birthday, but I couldn't say anything, because Sully's original mommy was on vacation and didn't know yet. Besides, Spartacus should have his day too, and I tried to hide my pain.

Sully escaped the house at 11 p.m. Tuesday night. I heard "Damn it, Sully!" as my husband came through the door after parking the truck. Our Siamese was up and over the fence in a flash and gone.

We'd been out with friends that night, and were too tired. "Let him go," I said. "His stomach will bring him home. If not, then it will teach him a lesson about running out at night." Neither of us had the energy to search the neighborhood looking for him.

It was the last time we saw him alive.

At about seven the next morning, Dan left for work, but came back in after only a few minutes. "What did you forget?" I asked.

There were tears in his eyes, and he looked grief-stricken. Distraught.  In seventeen years together, I've never seen that expression on his face before, and I hope I never see it again.

"Sully's dead."

Sully's first day at our house

I raced outside and when I saw the body I started screaming. I didn't know I could scream so loudly and so raw. Now everyone in our neighborhood three blocks over knows his name.

Someone had wrapped him in clean baby blankets and left him outside our gate, placing his collar and tag respectfully on top.

I later found a message on my cell phone from a blocked number placed at 3 in the morning. A young man's voice asked if I could come outside because he had to tell me something. I missed that.

I'm not angry with the guy who ran over Sully. It was an accident, and he was clearly remorseful. At least he had the decency to bring our boy home and treat his body with respect. He tried to phone me. As far as I am concerned, his karma is clear. Thanks to him, Sully was not alone when he died.

How did he know where and what phone number? He checked the back of Sully's name-tag. It had our address and my cell phone number. My answering message gives my full name.

I need to be very careful what kind of energy I send out it seems. I thought maybe I'd like three cats and the cosmos delivered. Three months later I mused about how I almost wish I could go back to two cats because three was such a handful. I shut the idea out of my mind--I love my furbabies more than anything-- but it was too late. The powers that be heard me, and now Sully is gone.

It's ME I hate for this. I wonder, did he suffer? Would it have made a difference had I answered the phone? I should have gone out there, shaking a bag of treats until I got him safely inside. I shouldn't have left him out there. My husband and I feel awful because our last thoughts of him were 'irritation'. Dan hates how the last words he said to Sully were yelled in anger.

Did he know how much we loved him? As he died did he know how much we'll miss him? Or had he run away that night, trying to escape life with us and two other cats? DID I LOVE HIM ENOUGH?

Don't blame yourself, they say. How can I not?  I can still hear his voice outside our door. In my dreams I chase him through a maze-like house, hoping to catch him and bring him home so he won't get killed again. There's a list of close friends and family who have tried to convince me otherwise and I'm grateful. But it's going to take a LONG time before I forgive myself.

In the meantime, I'm going to pull myself together and change all my bios. I am now the keeper of TWO cats and a troll. We've picked up his ashes, in his tiny little box, and I'm going to take Kevin's advice and talk to his spirit. Then we're going to take Ashley and Kathleen's advice and plan Sully's memorial, with the baby's breath he liked to chew on, and a roll of toilet paper he'd love to shred but will be used instead to dry tears.

Hopefully, my next blog will be more positive and not about my cats. Wish me luck and I'm sorry about all the negativity lately. This just really hurts.

We love you, Handsome Boy <3

Damn You, Facebook!

Freya in a box

It's Wednesday, eight o'clock at night and I'm just writing my next blog now. I never procrastinate, but I had yet to think of something to write about.

I thought, "Maybe I'll skip this week, after all I have a special one planned for August 1st. and no one hangs on their computer in the summer. I should work on that one."

"But FIRST I'll just quickly check my Facebook." Can you guess what happened next?

Yeah...It took me over an hour, but I managed to escape social media's slorping, suctacious grip.

I made a quick post about being so tired I kept trying to text with my remote control. Of course I had notifications...like, thirty of them I needed to check out.

My favorite photo of Dan and Sully

Aaaand of course people liked and commented on my post. I made a comment back about how when I did the opposite, all I get is the 'Freya Channel.' Thinking some people might not know who my pretty girl is, I posted the screen shot for my cell phone, a photo of my white cat wearing pink wings. (I didn't give it here, because it's been done to death and that one isn't published. Exclusive to this blog only!)

THEN it occurs to me that that particular picture wasn't in the album for my kitties, and it really should be. So I updated the album with that photo and a few more including the one above of Sully. Suddenly, there's more comments, mostly about the adorability of my furbabies.

Next thing I know, I'm having conversations with three people about cats, and I'm not getting any work done. All this for CATS. Yeah, I got it bad for felines.

Spartacus Jones, first week

I had to yank myself away...Even now, I swear I can hear the chime that tells me something new is happening. I'll have to go back soon...

But I think it's kind of funny. My frustration with Crackbook led to a topic for my blog! What do you know...I DID find something to write about. Gee! Thanks Facebook...sorta.

Dear Spartacus Jones...

Spartacus the first day we met him.

It's your birthday, Spartacus Jones. Or at least it's the one we've given you, August 1st. You are approximately 12 months old now. We've presented a new toy just for you and tuna popsicles. You can have all the cuddles you need. My day is yours.

If I knew what your favorite wet food is, I would have given you that too. But your favorite is still, after three months, anything that anyone leaves unattended.

I wish I could tell you, little warrior, that you don't have to fight anymore. Your battle for survival is over, and you are Home.

Safe and Loved.

It rained as well as snowed on April 29th, 2013. You followed my husband and my best friend home from a cigarette run. You have Auntie Darci to thank for coaxing you here.

I didn't want you. My husband didn't want you. We already had two cats we love like children. But I couldn't bear the sound of your cries outside the window. I thought of Freya and Sully, lost and alone in weather I was unwilling to endure myself. So I brought you inside. I planned not to get attached.

I avoided you while Auntie Darci buried her face in your fur and called you 'Tom Jones'. We watched you devour kibble like you hadn't eaten in days. Judging from the count of your ribs, God only knows when that was. You were so small, we thought you were only four months old.

Still, we made plans to deliver you to the Humane Society, even though Dan insisted he should finally get to name a cat. He chose the name 'Spartacus'. For my husband the name represents bravery, and I think it 's appropriate.

In the morning, I gave you every opportunity to leave, but understood when you didn't. Alberta weather is cruel. Two winters,No spring. A tidy suburb was no place for a young stray, with lidded garbage cans and sparse restaurants and few dumpsters. You remained inside our warm house while I tried to find your owner in some non-committal, haphazard poster way.

Three days after your arrival, you climbed onto the couch with me. I watched you tiptoe your way to my side. You put your head and paws in my lap, pleading silently with your green and gold eyes for some shred of affection, and I surrendered.

It was then I knew. There was something about you. Karma. You belonged with us. You needed to be Safe and Loved...and you were already here. Why should I put you through loss again? If I gave you up now, would you ever know the love you very much deserved? That there was NOTHING WRONG with YOU?

I found your scars. I found your fear as well. Please know, precious Spartacus that Mommy will never hit you, no matter what you've done.

The story is much longer than this, but all the unanswerable questions of your past taunt me and bring tears to my eyes.

Why do you cringe when I say 'no'? Where did those scars come from? Why would someone go through the trouble of neutering you, only to abandon you? Why aren't you angry and feral? Who were you, and what did you endure?

I think how ferociously I love you. How you are learning to play again--both with me, and your new siblings. I see your anxiety dissipating, your night whimpers becoming less frequent.

I love to inhale the clover-cat musk scent of you, and hear your rumbling purr. I adore how you always seem so excited to see me, jumping and tossing your head like a puppy. I love how you stay so close to me, sometimes spending entire days by my side, whether we are writing or weeding the garden. I love how you seem to know I'm writing to you right now, because you keep jumping up on my desk and saying "RRRrrrrr?" You always ask me that.

People tell me all the time how kind your Daddy and I are for taking you in and how lucky you are to have found such a loving home. We are the lucky ones, and our family is complete.

Happy Birthday, Spartacus Jones. Know that for the rest of your life, you are Safe and Loved. I promise.

Spartacus Jones today

Am I Evil? Maybe just a Little Bit...

Best Villain EVER!! www.ibeta.eu

I LOVE to write villains. Every time I write a villain, I'm surprised by the outcome. They always say or do things that kind of shock me.

I wasn't sure, when I wrote Dr. Stuart Thompson from 'Thoeba', what I had in mind. No worries. That little bastard had plenty of creepy things to say. I remember my critique partner being delightfully disgusted over how he got wood about some dasterdly possibilities...If you want to know what kind, you have to buy the book :P

I wish I could tell you I didn't write him, that he didn't come from me, but the blame is solely on myself, and I was a little appalled as well.

And it carried on to 'Aphrodite's War'.  I imagined Ares to be a irrepressible handsome rouge type.  Instead he said ," Harpy Slut! No one needs YOU to teach humans how to f*ck."

I remember hauling my hands off the keyboard, and putting my hands up like I'd done something I should be arrested for. Maybe I should be, because something in my head 'clicked' and I knew who he really wanted to be.

Right now, I am writing a villain so heinous my husband doesn't want to hear another word about him. When I met my future beloved he often asked me, "How does such a sweet girl like you listen to such awful music?"

Two years later he cracked jokes about putting me through NAIT to be a Meatcutter.  "I can't believe I'm putting you through school to learn how to use KNIVES." Well, I did that for ten years, and he's still alive.

Now I am a writer and I create characters that profoundly disturb him. Poor guy...How does he sleep at night? How do I?

Maybe it's my love of ugly music. Maybe it was my mother's True Crime paperbacks. Maybe it's the people I hang out with., and the odd things we have in common.

It may be weird, but it's kind of a nifty gift for a writer. And I won't change who I am or my experiences for a spot at #1 on the Bestseller list. I'll earn that myself, thank you.

Speaking of which, I have more writing to do. To quote a cliche: "No Rest for the Wicked."

Wish I Could Make Everyone a Winner...

Honestly, I would really love it if I could just give EVERYONE a little gift for participating, but I would go broke! I don't even have that much swag or even bookmarks right now.Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU all for making this my most successful contest to date. I am truly grateful. You all rock!

I would particularly like to thank the following people for submitting the most entries: My first official fan, Kevin Warren for NINE entries. My good friend since highschool Kelly Moen for SIX entries, and my sister Jody Lean for SIX entries as well.

But this is a random draw, and these are the winners chosen by Troll, not Rafflecopter.

1. KEVIN WARREN!! Big surprise, huh? With nine entries, I was sure he'd win.

2. DERINDA LOVE!! Nice! Way to go, girl!

3.KJ PARTRIDGE!! Happily met KJ!

Again, THANK YOU everyone. I'm planning at least one more contest in September for the release of 'Aphrodite's War', and I hope you'll participate then too. Hopefully I will have e-books to give away as well. <3

Kevin and ladies, I will need mailing addresses and will be contacting you via Facebook soon.

Next blog will appear next Thursday, so we'll see you then!

My Sorta Emergency Blog Post

Don't worry, the contest is still on, and the rules are the same.
I'm just a little concerned about recent things I've learned about my blog.
1. My blog no longer tells me when I have comments. I did that post called, "I'm not trying to be Obnoxious...Honest." I had a record 14 replies and I NEVER KNEW! The only reason I discovered them is because I went back to look at what I'd written lately.

2. Why does everyone log in as Anonymous? Was it something I did last time I messed with my gadgets? Thank God many identified themselves, or I'd never know!

3. I have two new blog followers. Did anyone else have issues trying to follow me? I feel I should  have a few more than that.

I am the first to admit that I'm not very computer literate. I learned all my good stuff in the eighties, only to find it all obsolete the minute I left school.

The contest is going on as planned...Spread the word about this blog, this contest, and anything else about 'Thoeba' or my next novel 'Aphrodite's War'and tag me. 'Likes' don't count.

But I'll make you a deal. Comment and tell me what kind of issues you've encountered trying to enter, share, follow, or otherwise, and I'll enter you too. I need to know what's going on. Again, enter as many times as you like. Please still share and tag, notify me if I din't acknowledge it.  I'll be watching. <3

Winners will be drawn at random on July 11th.

And I'll give a keychain and signed bookmarks to the first person to comment and identify the blue and white square object on the top portion of that photo. Love you, and thank you <3