Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Master Procrastinator

So no one's hugely surprised that I failed NaNo, right?

I have reasons. Real, legit reasons.

I have a fear of endings. It's true. Tell is the last Heckmasters novel and I'm terrified of what will come after that. Which is currently...nothing. I talked to my editor about a sort of spin off, but I don't have any solid ideas yet. Endings are scary. Also, I have the horrible fear that I will fail the readers who love the Heckmasters. Wystan is good, Eban is going to be epic, and I don't want to flop with Tell. I have to shake this off. But never fear, because Jano is coming up. Maybe I can finish it for Jano. The good news is: I did write 15,000 words. So it's a great start. That's more than I'd have written if, say, I didn't write anything.

I made this in case, like me, you flopped spectacularly:

The original pic is by: tnimalan
I almost think I plotted too hard (in my head) over what was going to happen in Tell and that much plan scares me. Not that being a pantser is a super-brilliant idea.

Over the weekend I had a meltdown over part of the plot in Her Heart's Surrender. I wrote a fill-in chapter that didn't work. I revised to my original idea. It wasn't the greatest. Then D'Ann Lindun saved my sanity. She maybe not think she's the greatest crit partner, but she totally is.

You are, D'Ann. You are.

What have I been preaching all along? A good author support network will save your brain from chaos. So, anywho, to be perfectly honest, I revised, checked my work, and I might have sent that MS off to another editor. I felt a little sick about at first, because I feel a little sick about it every time I send one of the babies off, but later that afternoon, I started feeling better. It's good stuff. No worries.

Then I started thinking, free at last, free at last, I can do whatever I want! And then I remembered, no you can't, dummy. You failed at NaNo!

So...there's Tell looming, waiting for about 55,000 more words. And I've missed writing historical westerns pretty bad. And that next contemporary novella I'm thinking about. It's good to have a half-assed plan. I mean, the only thing worse than that would be having no ideas at all. Can you imagine? *shudder*

Stay busy, keep writing, let the ideas flow. It's Tuesday and if you're in America land, we're heading toward Turkey Day! Four day weekend! Whoo!

Monday, November 24, 2014

Cover Reveal - His Country Bride by Debra Holt

Release Date: June 22, 2015
Format: e-book
Recommended for ages 18 and up

A burning wedding dress, a runaway bride dancing around the flames in her satin undies, and one unsuspecting Texas lawman trying to do his duty—all ingredients for trouble with a capital T.

Sheriff Lucas McCann has been burned once before by a city woman and is bound and determined never to be in that position again. Until Ellie Perryman comes along, with her china blue eyes and feisty attitude, in need of his protection from her ex-fiancĂ©, Thomas, who won't take no for an answer. When Thomas turns to stalking and endangers Ellie's life by running her car off the road, Lucas' lawman instincts take over. His head keeps telling him to keep things professional, only his heart won’t listen. Why does it seem the best place for her is locked in his arms?

Ellie Perryman was ready to write off all men when she ran away to the country—not find another one. However, the by-the-book sheriff won't stay out of her business. He claims it’s his duty to protect her. She doesn’t want to be anyone’s responsibility. It doesn't help that the townspeople and one special canine protector have other ideas about what they think she needs...a happily-ever-after with their sexy as hell town sheriff.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014


"Grief is forever. It doesn't go away; it becomes a part of you, step for step, breath for breath...  Grief and love are conjoined, you don't get one without the other." -  Jandy Nelson, The Sky is Everywhere 

I put off writing this letter this year. I've been busy, which would be a good thing, if I was busy with creative projects or a hobby I loved. But I think you might know that's not the case. So I'm writing it now, on a cold, cloudy day. The kind that reminds me of the day we found out you were never coming home. Don't worry, I'll get through it, because you taught me I can get through anything.

The good news is, the memory of this day didn't dog me through the last year. Eleven years didn't carry the solid throb of grief the way 10 did. It wasn't an every day, all the time sadness. It hurts. It won't ever stop hurting--in fact, it's sort of killing me right now, but I'm up, I'm breathing, I have plans for the future and if I've learned anything in the last 11 years, it's that if I don't feel like smiling, I can fake the hell out of it.

Grief is a funny thing. Some days I only think, God, I miss him, and I imagine your smile. But there are days like yesterday when it was getting dark and I heard a bunch of geese honking. I thought, Geese. There were so many geese that year. And that's the last time I saw you, looking at all those geese flying overhead. And I kind of hate them. I don't think much about them when I see them gathered around ponds or at the lake, but when I hear a flock of them, it takes me right back. That hurts. The realization that November 13, 2003 was the last time I heard your voice jolted me pretty hard this year too. If I could go back in time, I'd keep you on the phone forever.

The best part of this year is that the anger is finally loosening its hold. Grief's stupid stages don't have to make sense. They're just a jumble of bad feelings that come and go without any kind of order. They can leave me devastated or really pissed off or simply unable to care. I know, you hated the pyschobabble. I think it's kind of interesting. I just wish there was a time when there really was a stage where you wake up one morning and grief is no longer there. That's it, the end, happy now. To just be thankful that I had such a good dad when other people had lousy ones or none at all. Mostly, I'm not mad that you died. Not mad that you did it so far away. It wasn't like you died on purpose. It was bad luck, bad timing, a quirk in the universe that very obviously doesn't care if I think life's fair or not.

I think about the good things. Things you taught me and moments we shared. Now they're enough to tell the anger to take a flying leap. There's so, so much good to remember. I think about you almost every time I fold socks. I still can't believe I let you let me win that game of who could fold the most pairs. How dumb am I? I'm laughing right now, but it hurts a lot. And you would laugh too if you were right here.

The anger might be gone, but hope never dies. It never floats away, it never abandons me. In all things, I hope. If it's for a good afterlife where I get to see you again. If it's for a sign from you that a rough patch is going to be smoothed over. I hope and I won't stop. And I believe you know all the heartbreak we've felt since you left and that you'd have done anything in your power to make it not hurt so bad, but it was never your power to lift that burden. From grief comes strength you can't teach, it has to be experienced, because life isn't fair. It hurts, but it's not a deadly hurt and that's a little victory. I can still laugh and I know that would make you happy.

Sorry for the pyschobabble. What a terrible gift. I should've got you a card with a fart joke in it instead. Maybe next year.

There might be words to express how grateful I am to be your daughter, but I can't find them, not in strong enough words to tell you how lucky that makes me. Thank you for doing your best and loving me. I only wish I'd thought to tell you years ago. I love you.

I miss you like crazy.

Happy birthday, Daddy
Robert L. Cox
11/19/53 - 11/15/03

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Tuesday Teasers, Because I'm Frozen

Brrr. It is so cold today! My hands are like icicles. How can I be expected to work in these conditions? I don't know.

One thing I do know is: Celia and Turner don't have any trouble keeping warm while they're playing in the snow. 

Get it at:
Amazon || ARe || Bookstrand ||Smashwords || Kobo

Monday, November 17, 2014

Winter Woes, NaNo Blows (Up)

Good morning! Did y'all get that snow? We got some ice-like pellets in addition. Made for tons of fun clearing off the windshield. Not enough snow to justify staying home on this very cold morning. 
There were a lot of these. Ugh.
Photo by: wind27gis

Suddenly I feel like I'm writing an article for the local paper, you know, one of those weird gossip columns. Let's get away from the weather. Although I would like to declare that I find the weather ridiculous for the middle of November. What madness is this?

I didn't get a lot of writing done this weekend. My NaNo train has totally derailed after some serious issues in which the engine didn't want to start anyhow. I did a little work on Tell, but mostly I was reading the galley for the print version of Wystan, which is supposed to come out in October next year.

I also spent a great deal of time entertaining the PeeWee Monster, who was very rowdy this weekend. We spent the night with my mom Saturday and watched a lot of My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding yesterday. I'm extremely weirded out by that show. When I got the PeeWee Monster home, he immediately went to bed and slept soundly all night. I hate to admit it, but I think he's turning into a little old man. He always sleeps in bed with us, but lately he's taken to jumping down and getting into the laundry. Makes me think the mattress hurts some part of him (I know the damn thing kills my hip). I'm going to end up buying him a dog bed way nicer than our mattress. My heart breaks into a million pieces every time I think about him getting old. He's the baby one and I want him to live forever.

Besides the minuscule amount of work I did on Tell, I also attempted to finish a chapter on my next Viking romance. It's not finished. I did good effort though. It's about 3000 words long now. Nice try.

The weather (yeah, back to that) is supposed to warm up a bit this week. If you can really call upper 40's warm. Ugh, you mean there are five more months of this nonsense? Some days I'm still tempted to run away to Mexico. I just want to be warm.