Gonna Go Back In Time

I spent three hours on the telephone last night/this morning talking with a friend about books.  We got caught up in a tangent about backlists.

I recently searched a favorite author to see if her latest release was available.  It wasn’t, but a lot of old titles I’d never heard of—or even seen—were available at really low prices.  Backlist! Stuff from her very beginnings.

I downloaded three books to plow through in order: her very first three titles.  It was fascinating reading.

They were awful.

(See why I didn’t mention the author’s name?)

They really were awful.  But they were also incredibly interesting and very educational.  Looking at those first three books I learned a great deal about the writer, or at least her journey.  Because these days she is a very reliable auto-buy.  She has been for quite some time.  I know (and obviously love) her voice.

It’s nice to know she had to develop it carefully and through a great deal of hard work… it gives me hope!  Those first three I read had moments, here and there, of absolute genius.  It was buried pretty deep.  Overly precious descriptions, meandering plot movement, attachment to phrases that were weighty and vague-- none of that exists in her novels today.  It positively strangled her early work.

Oh, how she has grown!  It’s not the first time I have gone back to older titles of my favorite authors to find they had become very, very different writers.  Almost every change has been for the better, I must say.  The muscle gets stronger with exercise. 

My friend Maria noted, too, how some of our favorite authors wrote toward trend in their earliest days.  Many (at least it seemed so to us) who were publishing in the late seventies and eighties included forced seduction or rape scenes that practically jumped off the page screaming “I hate this, but it’s required.”  We both wondered if writers in that time were being pushed that way, or assumed they were expected to include force.  A few novels have been re-released with softened scenes or, in a few cases, omissions.  Makes one wonder.  Who wanted it in?  Who wanted it out?

Backlists… many titles are very inexpensive in digital form.  I encourage writers to take a gander.  You’d be surprised how much you learn.

Mark Coker of Smashwords Speaks

I am far from a Konrath fangirl, but this interview was great.  Mark Coker, creator of Smashwords:

"I decided Big Publishing was broken. Big Publishing is in the business of publishing what it thinks it can sell, not what is good. Big Publishers operate in the rear view mirror. They try to acquire books similar to what was selling yesterday, and then they release the book in 12-18 months."

read the full interview: HERE.

Boston’s Steampunky Swerve is ON

The Boston Globe ran a cool article on the Steampunk Scene invading fashion in Boston a while back, around the time Castle featured it on tv, I believe.

I’ve always loved Steampunk.  There’s a wonderful blending of nostalgia, mystique, and whimsy.

Boston seems to be really going great guns with this revival of the genre.  There have been museum exhibits, a Furniture and Design show, and a lot of local clubs are holding dances, theme nights, and balls.

I dragged up a few local links that are pretty cool.

The Steampunk Empire, Boston

The Steampunk Society of MA

TOR's Blog-- Is Boston The HUB of Steampunk?

Examiner Article on Boston Steampunk Scene

Stuff Boston: Steampunk Hits Home

It will be interesting to see how this develops.  In the mean time—I’m loving the many opportunities to get my Steampunky Swerve ON!

Some Cops’ Takes On “True Crime” Fiction

I spent an afternoon with a room full of smart, incredibly dedicated police detectives this past week.  It was amazing.  I was giving a workshop on using language forensics in interrogation and review.  The amount of thought coming from the questions alone was a refreshing delight. 

Never one to pass up an opportunity to pick outstanding brains, I grabbed at the chance to chit-chat with some of the guys after the class.  They were kind enough to indulge me.

I’ve always been fascinated by how much “true crime” fiction and drama gets away with.  I mean, television becomes ridiculous in condensing for an hour show.  I already know how absurd “instant” DNA results are to professionals.  It takes months… if you’re lucky.  I know that the fiction I’ve read is riddled with shortcuts that would not only never happen—they would sometimes be firing offenses or get the criminal off scott free.

So I asked the guys about their pet peeves.  I wish a few women had been there, but it was just me and the boys.  Here are the biggest bitches, in no particular order:

1. Cop gets shot, then proceeds to chase the bad guy while clutching his bleeding arm.  Umm… nope.  Blood loss, even from a graze, would have him out cold pretty fast.  Not to mention… gun shots tend to sting a bit.

2.  Revisiting a crime scene for evidence not only doesn’t happen… it can’t.  Once the tape is taken down, anything left behind is NOT admissible as evidence.  That’s why scenes are kept live for so long.

3.  Cops who act like, talk like, or think like lawyers.  Cops know procedure inside and out, but they don’t try the cases on the job.  They get the collar, and let the lawyers prosecute.

4.  Cross-departmental contact happens on television, but not in real life… at least not often.  Gumshoes don’t sit around slurping coffee while the medical examiner has his or her arm buried in the dead dude.  Also? Gross!

5.  Unfortunately, almost ALL romances between cops and victims, cops and other cops, and cops and suspects just would not happen without people getting fired, people getting prosecuted, or criminals getting away with the crime. 

Which means the willing suspension of disbelief is going to need to pick its battles!  If you are writing a romance, let that be your bend in the rules.  Because if they pile up, you have committed the crime of crappy writing—that’s a 475, buster!

(It’s not… I have no idea what a 475 is… and I’m not looking it up.  But I just KNOW somebody will.)

Happy writing, catz n kittenz, and thanks again to the guys!! 

Return Skully and Nobody Gets Hurt

I want to start off by saying that I can take a joke.  Ha ha.  See?  I laughed.  But enough is enough.  Skully, my much beloved good-luck-citrus-and-sage air freshening medallion has been kidnapped.  He is, as you see, pictured here.  This was a warm, sunny day we spent together along the Ocean Bluff.

Skully is silver, approximately three and a half inches high, with a warm spring green liquid center.  He was last seen in my car, hanging from my rear view window, making me happy.

IF SKULLY IS NOT RETURNED, UNHARMED, AND WITH HIS ESSENTIAL OILS UNDIMINISHED BY MONDAY THIS WILL BE CONSIDERED A TURF WAR.

Are you listening, people of Mount Skirgo?  Two of your residents were spotted in the vicinity of the vehicle shortly before Skully vanished.  Should these individuals fail to return him, your entire community may suffer.

Take heed, Skirgonauts.  This means war.

Kindle Apps? TRY NOTEPAD!

You absolutely, positively MUST try this app—which loads the same way a game does, but is wayyyy more than a game—for your Kindle.

Notepad is only 99 cents, but it’s an invaluable tool.  You can edit, scan, and search your notes, which are dated and stored right on your kindle.  The interface is simple, but cool—it looks like an actual spiral notepad.  

If, like me, you dislike smartphones, or just drag your kindle everywhere, and often need a place to jot things down—best buck you’ll ever spend!  I also found it a terrific way to keep my grocery list on me, pharmacy list with dates, and more.

DOWNLOAD IT HERE

From the Back of a Horse

The world, as far as I can tell, is significantly better from the back of a horse.  MO-- Mosaic Dreams, but he’s really humble about his magnificence—is my favorite back from which to view the world.

Right now the snowdrops are up.  Daffodils are just starting to show gold around the cocoon shaped tops, rolled up like cigars.  Crocus will be showing soon.

Mo doesn’t care, really.  He plods along with his ears flicking forward at the birds, backward at me, forward at the wind, sideways at things I can’t hear, see, or smell.

He’s so shaggy with winter coat, even with arm-busting brushing, he looks almost roan.  I can’t wait til his gorgeous rusty coat comes clear and his blanket and blaze pop white.  We make a flashy pair.

Spring is coming!  It may be dragging its feet, but so are Mo and me just now.  Winter wore us down.  But we’re crawling up through the mud… and we’ll unfurl soon enough!

Maureen McCarrie’s Telling Moon

The Telling Moon

by Maureen McCarrie

• Format: Kindle Edition
• File Size: 92 KB
• Language: English
• Erotic Fantasy Romance
• 125,315 words.
• BUY IT NOW

Hallia never dreamed when she called the Telling Moon to reveal her one true love that she would find herself falling through a magic mirror and into his very arms. But her wild night of passion with the mysterious stranger changed her forever.

Gavin is haunted by the red-haired temptress of his dreams. He knows he must wed. Knows he must fulfill his destiny as a prince. But how can any woman rival his phantom lover?

The Telling Moon is not finished with her spell... and soon Hallia and Gavin are reunited. Intrigue swirls, questions abound, and trust eludes the young lovers. Yet passion will not unbind them, and they are powerless to resist its lure.

Can she bear to be his mistress and nothing more? Can he trust her to be his soul mate? Spells cast under a misty moon bring two bodies, two souls, two lives crashing together.

Not Dropping Names

I recently bumped into a person of note—and no, I am not going to drop the name.  It was an odd experience for me on several levels. 

First, he seems to genuinely like me, seek me out, and want to be of help to me.  Because I admire him a great deal, I still find myself surprised when he shouts my name, grins, and rushes over to greet me at events or just popping around town.  I even get the real-deal kiss on the cheek nowadays.  Not that long ago I finally confessed to my friend that I’d been star-struck by him for a long time, and that I’d only recently become comfortable with him as “a real friend.”  Thank gawd he thought it was hysterical.  It’s one of the reasons I not only admire him professionally, but personally.  He’s an incredibly talented, ridiculously successful, REGULAR GUY you’d want to have a beer with even if he was the counter dude at the donut shop.

It gets interesting in the second bit…

I was in public this past week and ran into my friend—we’ll call him Spike.  That’s not his name, but I’ve always wished I had a friend named Spike.  I mean… the street cred alone.  Wander into the House of Blues and head up to the Founders Room only to hear “Olie!!”  Turn around and shout “Spike, you old so-and-so!”  How cool is that?

So Spike yelled “Olie!”  I just so happened to have been cornered by a person I really don’t like.  She’s a snob.  She’s a social climber.  She thinks a great deal of herself, which is most likely necessary, since nobody else seems to.  Here comes Spike, and Matilda (I hate that name, so she’s Matilda… tough shit) turns twelve shades of red.

Now… this was fascinating.  Spike asked me about a book I was working on.  He had been kind enough to open a few doors for me and wanted to know what I’d heard back.  (Nothing, it turned out, but I am into another project and Spike is the kind of person who not only asked, but actually wanted to know.)

Matilda wants very badly to get Spike to STOP looking at me, and START looking at her.  Personally, I don’t fight anyone for attention or regard.  But if I were going to do so, I might… I dunno, try to actually make points.  I’m no Doctor Phil (thank you baby Jesus), but I know enough to figure this one out.  I know you don’t make points by insulting the person your target-social-rung is praising and responding to with warmth and affection.

Hello?

Matilda interrupted four times to take a very obvious shot at me.  Were my feelings hurt that she didn’t go buy my “little book?”  (I had no idea she knew I’d put a novella out… so no.)  Was anyone buying my “little book?”  (A few people… subject change.)  Well, SPIKE could give me a few pointers, couldn’t he?  (He actually gave her a filthy look at that point and said something along the lines of “that’s kinda what we’re trying to do here” but politer… Spike’s like that.)

The last thing Matilda said to me, before leaving with a face like she’d just licked ear wax, was she was “sorry I had a bad week.”  I am still trying to figure out where she got the idea I had a bad week.  I’ve actually had a lovely week, and was in a spectacular mood.  Spike hung with myself and my actual friends long after she had parted our company… alone.

I guess what stayed with me was how un-self-aware Matilda is.  She made not one positive impression and forty-five minutes worth of social blunders, then left with a puss on her face.

But later that evening, when Ahmed said to me “she’s going to be tearing your back up to everyone later this weekend,” I disagreed.  No… I think Matilda is one of those people who lives in a world that only exists in a three foot radius around her own warped head.  She’s going straight to the next café or trendy watering hole to tell everyone how she “spent the evening” becoming VERY intimate friends with THE Spike.

And she will believe it when she says it.