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Nurturing the Muse

photo ©Leah Reindl 2014 used by permission

photo ©Leah Reindl 2014 used by permission

I come from a family whose creative muse is frequently expressed in music or in art. Musicians and artists dot the landscape of the old family tree. So far as I know, other than my daughter Leah, I am the only one who writes novels, but it may be that I am the only one who ever had the time to spend on such an endeavor.

When I watch children at play, I see the creativity that all musicians and artists know, that wonderful sense of “Ah ha! This is fun!” that comes with making something that exists only to bring pleasure to those who hear or see it. I see this sense of “I can do it!” in all the children, but by the time they are teenagers, much of that joy in creativity has been trained out of them. I wonder why and how it happens.

When I was young and working at dead-end jobs, I would come home and while my children did their homework or played, I would write, draw, or play the guitar. It was selfish, yes–in that it gave me pleasure. But it was not selfish, as it didn’t take me out of their world, and was something we could share. It taught them that they could take the time to be creative.

If there is any advice I would give young parents, it is to be creative in the presence of your children. You go to work every day, and by that you are teaching them that one must earn a living, yes, but the reward of earning that living is a life of love and creativity.

Some people will say bitterly that their job has burned all their energy and creativity from them. I say this is not necessarily so–you must take the time and energy you expend on hating your circumstances, and convert it into something creative. It’s amazing how many people I know who tell me they aren’t creative, but they doodle the most amazing  little pictures on the handouts during those requisite boring meetings-to-nowhere that we all endure in Corporate America.

That is creativity trying to get out.

The reason children are so creative is that they don’t do it for other people, they are doing it solely for the fun of it. Get out the crayons and a blank sheet of paper for a child who hasn’t been to school yet, and watch what happens. Add old magazines, round-end scissors, and mix up some flour & water paste, and the possibilities are endless. But once that child gets into a social environment where he begins to feel less talented than the child next to him, he shuts that creativity down.

science of relationships dot comInside every adult at the water cooler is kindergartner with a picture to draw, a song to sing, or a story to tell. Somewhere along the line, they began to fear they weren’t good enough and put it aside. Soon they have an “I can’t do it” attitude, because they fear failure and embarrassment. They have forgotten the joy of making a good, creative mess. They don’t remember how they learned as much from the failures as they did from the successes.

Don’t let the fact you have no money stand in your way. It takes very little money to draw a picture, or to write a story. You don’t need an expensive computer program–all you need is a pencil and paper.  And music?  You don’t need to play an instrument to sing. If you always wanted music lessons but couldn’t afford them, a great way to learn is to join a community choir. It’s free, and takes a little time away from your TV, but it is a way to jumpstart your joy of making music.

Our children are all artistic and creative in the most amazing (to me) ways, and I think that is because I never stopped making art or music.  They all sing or play instruments, or create art. Our older son, Billy, and youngest daughter, Meg, are working musicians. Billy is a drummer in a band with my ex-husband and my brother. Meg is a young mother and a working musician with several mp3s to her credit. If you are curious, here is her Facebook page where you can hear her work: Meg is Singing.

Meg and Billy are both incredible musicians, playing the drums, the guitar, keyboards, and in Meg’s case, the flute. Music is their passion. Son Dan is a guitar virtuoso, but he plays for his own pleasure. He is an incredible sports photographer, and his work can be seen here: SpotKazu

Christy and Leah express their art in other ways. Christy is an engineer who deeply loves her craft, and brings her sense of beauty into her home, designing an environment that is both serene and filled with color. Leah is an artist, one of her pictures can be seen at the top of this page, and a hair-dresser. She loves her craft as much as Christy does hers. They go to work, and art is expressed in their daily lives, enriching the lives of their children.

This is why I am and have always been a happy person despite the bumps and hardships of life–I did what I had to do to put food on the table, but I played and sang and wrote poems and goofy stories in my free time. My children were my audience and my co-creators. My husband’s children were raised in the same sort of environment (he is a trumpet player and she is an actress) and all 5 of our kids are sheer genius to me. They far outstrip me with their talents and abilities, and with their drive and ambition.

Tower of Bones Trailer, Music by MEG

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Little yurt in the desert

cavemanred_labelsforprint_cmyk4My friend Evonne is turning 60 this year. She’s not a girl to do things in a low-key sort of way, so she is partying all year. In an effort to keep the party rolling she booked a little mini vacation for 4 of us ladies at Cave B, on the east side of the Columbia River, near the town of Quincy, Washington. My dear friend Irene, my new friend Vaun, and I were more than happy to make the trip with her.

It was a beautiful, peaceful spa, and we had a great time. The scenery was amazing to us who live in the forest–to be in a desert environment is really unique.  Once you go over the Cascade Mountain Range, you are in another world.

Jones Wine logo-hmNow just so you know, Washington State is not your regular state in the US–we’re divided by far more than just a mountain range. I live in Western Washington, and Quincy is in Eastern Washington. While there are no armed guards at the border, hippy-liberal-Obama-loving westerners are encouraged to leave their money and go back home–quickly. Anyone from the West Side is automatically labeled as being ‘from Seattle’ which could mean you are a liberal, tree-hugging, atheist, gay communist. Since there are more people living on the West side than on the East, and the West is generally more Democrat than Republican, during election years there are frequent discussions about the Republican East side seceding from the West, but so far nothing official has occurred and like an unhappily married couple, we muddle along.

White Heron winery labelEven so, they welcomed us and treated us well. Since two of us are vegan and one is a militant, evangelical vegan, their suspicions as to our identities as West-siders were confirmed, but they were raised to be polite, and Jesus loves everyone, no matter how misguided. (Leave your money here, thank you.)

My friend is a woman who works hard and likes to treat herself to an occasional luxury, such as a spa-vacation. She expects a really good return for her money, and could be considered demanding, if you fail to measure up, but she is lavish with her business and cash if you meet the test.

Thorp Fruit StandWe stopped in Thorp at the historic fruit stand for cherries, and continued on to the Columbia Gorge. Despite a minor hiccup the first night, the chef managed to provide a vegan option both nights, and it was a merry adventure.

Over the course of the stay, we toured the tasting rooms at four vineyards: Cave B of course,which was the best value with 10 samples & a glass for $5.00.) I am a non-drinker, but was along as the designated driver. Evonne was in love with their late-harvest wine.

At Cave B, we stayed in yurts, which was really fun. Our last night there we sat out on the deck in front of our yurt and sipped champagne (not me–I sipped water) in the warmth of the desert evening. The sunsets over the Columbia Gorge are sheer beauty–there are no words to describe them. All in all, four ladies, four wineries and no hubbys to provide restraints–it was a rolling party.

Cave B Inn Yurt Village sideshow1

 

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Update from the Realm of Fantasy

cover_art_Billy_39_s_RevengeI live in a fantasy world, hence the name of this blog. What better way to immerse one’s self in fantasy than in a good book? I love to read, and everyone who follows this blog knows I read anywhere from 1 to 6 books a week.

I also love writing, and right now I have 4 projects in the works:

1. The remastering of Tower of Bones  at the very capable hands of Eagle Eye Editors.

2. Finishing the final draft of Julian Lackland so that it can be made submission-ready.

3. Finishing writing the first draft of Valley of Sorrows.

4. Getting Mountains of the Moon through the editing process at Eagle Eye Editors.

These projects take all my time that isn’t occupied with publicizing Huw the Bard (or editing for other authors, or blogging , or beta-reading, or…)

IMG727Just so you know that I really am writing when I am holed up in the Room of Shame (my office.)

Many of the stories in Julian Lackland evolved from The Last Good Knight, and while there is a great deal that is new, it incorporates all but two chapters of the old book. It details the large events from his life, covering 40 years, beginning as he is leaving court as a very young man, hoping to join Billy Ninefingers and the Rowdies.

Young Julian is a strange mix–incredibly naive about how the world really works but at the same time he is quite worldly-wise about the way people are, and incredibly forgiving. He has a wide view of sexual morality, and a sharply defined view of good and evil.

The other writing project that occupies my time is Valley of Sorrows, the third book in the Tower of Bones series.  I have struggled with that tale, trying to keep it confined into one book.  However, there will be a fourth book that comes out of the mountain of words I have written here. Edwin’s quest will be resolved first, and I hope to get it into print in 2015.

It’s a crazy existence, being a writer, but it’s so fulfilling. I wonder how I ever survived before I had such a wonderful way to spend my time.

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On Happiness

Be KindHappiness is like dark-matter. It is all around us, permeates and surrounds us.  You cannot measure it–it’s something that can’t be seen by human eyes, but once you know it’s out there you can look for and measure its effects.

1. Attitudes are muscles. The way we use them is the way they grow strongest.

In the beginning, you must consciously exercise a positive attitude at all times but as time goes on it become natural, a part of who you are. Project positivity at all times, and see how the environment around you changes.

be happy 22.Miserable people are poisonous. They want to spread the poison as far as they can, because they don’t know anything different. In order to remain happy in an environment where miserable people are lurking you must  accept the fact you cannot change toxic people. You can only step away from them.

Love them, pray for them, but hold them away from from you as you guide them to cultivate a positive outlook. Embrace them and comfort them, but do not allow them to infect you, because misery is a parasite always looking for a new host. You may have to love them from a distance.

be happy 33. Share your bounty with those who have less. Never lend money–if you have it to spare, and and want to give it to a needy loved one, GIVE it. Never LEND anything. Give it and do not expect to receive it back, with or without interest. Instead, give it as a gift and ask that they one day do the same for someone else. Conversely, do not become a private bank for anyone, no matter how beloved they are, as this will make them weak. Give to local charities or give to the world charities. Living a life of generosity is a key to true happiness.

Three small ideas, but three ideas that made all the difference in my life.

 

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Dial-a-Plot

No matter how careful I am when building my outline, there is always a point where I am writing by the seat of my pants.  As I am normally rather a linear plotter, this can really change the direction a tale goes in.

I hear people whining all the time about this character or that one dying right and left in Game of Thrones. I don’t have HBO, so I’ve never seen it, but I have friends who seem to find this distressing.  I suspect that winging it and writing to a deadline is why people die  so frequently in George R.R. Martin’s world–it’s certainly how they meet a messy end in my world.

But how do we fly freely with our narrative, and yet not destroy the awesome story arc we have created? How do we avoid having to hide the mangled corpses of our beloved characters when they might be useful later?

Enter my home-made Dial-a-Plot (sustainably powered by dark matter).  It’s just your standard circular thingy that can be printed out and taped to your desk.  Whenever you have lost your way writing your epic fantasy, rather than resort to a sudden influx of something as far-fetched as cannibal fairies, feel free to refer back to this little gadget to remind you of those elements that really drive a plot.

Dial-a-Plot

When your writing mind has temporarily lost its momentum and you are stretching the boundaries of common sense, it can’t hurt to take some time to consider the central themes that inject true tension into the story, to keep the action moving and the heroes swinging their swords.

Hopefully you won’t have to resort to killing anyone you might need later, and cannibal fairies won’t take your tale in a direction you can’t recover gracefully from…unless…heh heh…Cannibal FAiries

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Dear Sir or Madam

GerundsThere are times when the vagaries of modern English (previous error in capitalization edited by Stephen Swartz) get in the way of reading what could be a great novel.  Some weeks I see six or seven books, both indie and traditionally published, before I find one book worth reviewing for my book review blog, Best in Fantasy.

As authors, we are all overcome with the urge to shout to the world, to immediately show the world our precious child, to rush to publish it now.  It is the rare author who can write prose that is fit to read in his first draft–if that author actually exists, I’ve never read his work.

For the indie, this is fatal.

This is why I highly recommend hiring a reputable editorial service to go over your manuscript, even if you plan to submit it to a publisher. After all, why not submit the best work you can, rather than risk being stuck in the slush pile?

An editor will have several reference manuals at his/her hand, and will help you realize your vision, whittling away at the block of granite you gave birth to and love so much, carving away the unnecessary and extraneous words and cliches  until the book emerges in all its glory.

honorificsWhen I am editing, I refer to The Chicago Manual of Style, the Oxford A-Z of Grammar & Punctuation, and of course, Strunk and White’s Elements of Style. As I have been through the process of being edited and hate that horrible feeling of being called to task on silly things, I often refer to these books when I am second guessing myself in my own work.

What are the silly things, you ask?  They are things we learned in grammar school but forgot as we grew older and didn’t use them.  Small things like when to capitalize an honorific title, and when not to–something that crops ups regularly in my work as I often write in a medieval setting.

I’ve found it helpful to use the control -f (find) function in WORD to locate every possible mangling I might have made of a particular word. Then I look at and replace each instance on an individual basis. (NEVER click replace all!)

KinshipConsistency is important, so  we must know when to capitalize titles and honorifics–words like king, and majesty, or even lord. Also, when to capitalize familial titles such as father, mother, son and aunt.  If you are determined to do it wrong, at least have your roommate ensure that you have done it that way throughout the entire manuscript, rather than sometimes one way and sometimes another, which is the normal, natural way to write a first and even second draft.

Editors not only correct grammar, they check for consistency. They are worth their weight in gold. They’re more important than the fine artwork for the cover, more critical than the catchy blurb. We live in the wild west of the publishing business, and we find ourselves doing whatever we can on the cheap to get our book published. DON’T skimp in this area, if you value your reputation. Once you have published, it’s a pain in the backside to unpublish, have it edited, reformat it, and go through the launch all over again. Remember, we see what we meant to write, not what is actually there.

But you don’t have to listen to me–experience is the great humiliator.

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la vie fantastique

Map-pugetsoundMy hubby and I went to Victoria, British Columbia (Canada) over this last weekend. It was a wonderful two days, spent in a town that exists partly to govern the Province of British Columbia, but mostly to help you lighten the burden in your pocket book, and make you beg to let them do it again.  We got up at 3:00 a.m. and left our house at 4:45.

(Gah!)

I am often up at that time of the day, but not intentionally, so it was no surprise to me that I could hardly pry my eyes open. Then we drove up to Seattle, collecting two of his sisters along the way.

It’s amazing how little traffic is on I5 at that time of the morning–perhaps I will do all my traveling at ungodly hours. And parking…OMG, it was heaven.

(Sorry, too much texting the GKs lately. Makes me want to lol out loud. Might write my next book in textspeak.)

Anyway, I had my pick of prime spots in the parking garage, and found one I was easily able to maneuver the old minivan into with no trouble. I hardly gave my poor brother-in-law, Dave, a heart-attack  at all on the way up to Seattle. He  is a sweetheart of a guy but the man is a nervous and verbal passenger.  The trip back–well lets just say he wanted me to take the Alaskan Way Viaduct, and I didn’t want to.

I’m sorry, Dave. I’m afraid I can’t do that. 

I don’t trust the viaduct. It’s as shaky and narrow as a one-legged ladder.  I’d much rather drive in aimless circles around downtown Seattle hunting for a southbound freeway on-ramp, counting the number of times we pass Nordstrom’s and he doesn’t see the fun in such an exercise. But that’s another post (the one on how our family puts the fun in dysfunctional.)

Catamaran_Victoria_Clipper_IVSo we got on the Victoria Clipper at 7:30 a.m., which is definitely the way to go if you are traveling from Seattle. Victoria Clipper catamarans typically complete a one-way trip in less than 3 hours, in our case, 2 hours and 45 minutes.   To drive there would take 6 hours from our house anyway and we would still have to take a ferry, so why not just leave the car in Seattle and go in style? And we were flying over the water, traveling at 30 knots, which is just a hair over 34.5 miles per hour in landlubber-speak. That’s cruising pretty fast on the inland Salish Sea.

Then we toured the Butchart Gardens. THAT place is most definitely a fairyland.  I can’t even find the words to explain how beautiful it is.  My cellphone photos suck, to use a technical term, so I am using images cadged from WIKIPEDIA to illustrate this:

1200px-Butchart_Sunken_Gardens

 

1200px-Butchart-gardens-002

Needless to say, after a long day of hiking the most gorgeous gardens, and then trundling all over the downtown, spending money like water in Victoria proper, I was SO ready for a lovely meal in what is really a lovely, vegan-friendly city. A long soak in the hotel hot tub, and followed by gin & tonic in the hotel lounge (light on the gin and lots of lime wedges, thank you) and this old lady was ready for bed.  I got on the internet just long enough to check my email.  I wasn’t completely out of writer-mode–I did note my ideas down in my little book while I was on the ferry.

So, while I didn’t get any writing done I had a wonderful time with my in-laws, and that’s paradise, to me.

Victoria_harbour_-_Victoria,_British_Columbia_-_2014

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Lamed in the land of Language

IBM_SelectricMy first draft sits sullenly on my desk, glaring at me with repetitiousness and flatness of prose.  No matter how I grasp for words, a sword remains a sword, remains a sword…since to refer to it as a blade or weapon would require stretching the vocabulary…

…ellipses rise and fall with frequency across my page…boring, jarring frequency…

My characters are Angry!  Not mad, furious, enraged, excited, wrathful, indignant, exasperated, aroused, or inflamed–no–they are merely

‘angry.’

I frequently tell them how awesome they are, because my mind is inelastic, and awesome is all I know. Truthfully, they are amazing, incredible, unbelievable, improbable, fabulous, wonderful, fantastic, astonishing, astounding, AND extraordinary. But my lamed vocabulary shall forever deem them ‘awesome.’

Roget's Thesaurus 1st editionMy thesaurus has been used and abused, and still my lazy (indolent, slothful, idle, inactive, sluggish) mind gropes for words.

Inspiration has played me false. Fake, fraudulent, counterfeit, spurious, untrue, and unfounded? No! ’tis erroneous, deceptive, groundless and fallacious, this twisty beast, Inspiration.

I go quietly into the depths of the Room of Shame, that hall of horror that is my office, where I shall once again attempt to wrangle words in the desert of desperation.

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Maya Angelou April 4, 1928 – May 28, 2014

Caged_bird2Today, Maya Angelou died at the age of 86, a true hero to me and to women all over the world. She is best known for her series of seven autobiographies, which tell of her childhood and early adult experiences. The first, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (first published in 1969), tells of her life up to the age of seventeen, and brought her international recognition and acclaim.

From Wikipedia: I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings is the 1969 autobiography about the early years of African-American writer and poet Maya Angelou. The first in a seven-volume series, it is a coming-of-age story that illustrates how strength of character and a love of literature can help overcome racism and trauma. The book begins when three-year-old Maya and her older brother are sent to  StampsArkansas, to live with their grandmother and ends when Maya becomes a mother at the age of 16. In the course of Caged Bird, Maya transforms from a victim of racism with an inferiority complex into a self-possessed, dignified young woman capable of responding to prejudice.”

Beyond her struggles with the obvious bigotry and ignorance of the times, she represented to me the most beautiful thing of all–that a girl with very little education, who was blessed with a love of reading, could rise above the place society wanted to put her.

Some things I learned from her: “One isn’t necessarily born with courage, but one is born with potential. Without courage, we cannot practice any other virtue with consistency. We can’t be kind, true, merciful, generous, or honest.”

“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.”

“We may encounter many defeats but we must not be defeated.”

The world is a better place because of Maya Angelou and what she represented. The literary world is a better place because of what she wrote.  Heaven is a better place, because she is there.

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Cats and the Physical Laws of the Known Universe

ceramic cat and cupI realized the other day that I am a cat-lady. Oh, I don’t own a cat, or even a dog for that matter, but I am still a cat-lady.  I love cats…ceramic cats. I have 3 of them.

They are the perfect companions. Their demeanor is a little aloof, but what do you expect from a cat?  They rarely meow, eat very little, require only an occasional dusting, and never try to hijack my laptop.

I’ve never yet had to clean up a hairball.

That said, there is something lacking in my relationship with these strangely well-behaved creatures.

Alas, I am a lazy woman. The amount of vacuuming a living cat introduces into my life breaks the laws of physics. Let’s do the math–I’m an author so we’ll do it with a story-problem:

Mr. & Mrs. Catpeople  are humans who currently have 0 cats. They are ordinary people, not too messy, and not too tidy. Normally, they only have to vacuum their bungalow once a week. One spring day Mrs. Catpeople  loses her suburban mind and decides to bring home a cat. If she only had to vacuum the house 1 time a week when two humans resided in her home, how many times will she vacuum with the addition of a cat?

Cat on MozartOkay… 2 people + 1 cat = 3 creatures.  so, if she cleans once a week when there are 2 creatures in the house, with the addition of a third creature, and assuming you can’t half-vacuum (although you can vacuum half-assed), it should mean she has to vacuum twice. But the fur on the sofa appears every day as if by magic, increasing exponentially with the arrival of guests, which requires her to vacuum morning and evening…. so that = 14 times a week that Mrs. Catpeople must haul out the Hoover.

See? I’ve done the math and it doesn’t add up. Of course, I failed traditional math classes regularly, but according to my calculations,  Mrs. C will be up to her eyeballs in cat fluff inside of two weeks, because no normal human being can keep up with that amount of flying  fur.

The only reasonable conclusion one can come to is that cats clearly do not obey the same rules of physics as humans do. After all, when it stands on your chest at 3:25 a.m., does your 7 lb cat not gain 25 lbs?

And when they see an invisible object of their desire at the top of the new drapes, are they not able to travel faster than the speed of light?

These are proof to me that cats are like subatomic particles.  They are here and not here, both before and after, and only exist when you are looking at them.

Cat with attitudeBut, while math, or indeed physics, was never my forte, extrapolating stories always was, so here is the true ending of our story-problem, the one math teachers never tell you:

One day while eating his organic Cheerios, Mr. Catpeople suddenly realizes the cat is speaking to him. At first it seems fun, but gradually he realizes the evil creature is shooting feline  thought-rays at him, trying to take control of his mind. Every where he turns, the cat is looking at him.   “Get an ax…Kill the dog….”

Mr. Catpeople sets his spoon down and his remaining Cheerios go soggy while he wrestles with this directive. It seems reasonable, but… “Um, we don’t have a dog.” 

“Did I say ‘dog?’ Sorry. I meant kill the annoying woman with the evil vacuum….”

So the true answer to the problem is ‘0’ because after the funeral Mr. Catpeople will be vacuuming.

 

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