Scarlet Letters

Today's Guest Star post is from Sela Carsen, romance writer and the newest Underlord with the Literary Underworld. She has some wise words about being ready to publish - i.e., not as soon as you think. -ekd I read a post this morning from a young writer who couldn't understand why no one was buying his book. Pricing was certainly an issue, which he fixed, but he was still puzzled. I clicked over to the book and read the "Look Inside" feature. Ah. I saw the problem. He's not ready. Every author I know wrote for years before we even considered putting our work out for publication. We acknowledged that our first works were not up to par. Their quality was not at a professional level and not ready for publication, but we kept writing. Not publishing, writing.  We spent years learning our craft: plotting, characterization, word choices, sentence structure, pacing... honing our most basic grammar and punctuation skills. And finding your voice? For many of us,...

ME: I cannot believe he ate all those cookies. MAN: What? ME: There are several chocolate chip cookies missing this morning. MAN: Well, I had a few. ME: James!* MAN: They were there! I thought they were for the family! ME: They were not for you! MAN: Who were they for? ME: The Relay team! We have a meeting! I bake for meetings! MAN: There wasn't a note or anything! You know, the cookies were just sitting out there looking all delicious, and there was no note or force field or magic spell protecting them so... ME: That's what I forgot. Next time I need to cast a magic spell over my cookies. How many did you eat? MAN: Four. ME: James! That means Ian didn't eat any! You have less self-control than a teenage boy! MAN: You should've cast a spell. SCENE: Boy has just completed his nightly shower, complete with musical renditions from the late 80s. ME: One of these days I'm going to record you singing in the shower. BOY: Okay. ME: And put it on the inter...

SCENE: Getting ready for work after sleeping on the couch last night. The reasons for this will shortly be made clear. From behind the closed bedroom door... MAN: *sleepy cry of protest* ME: *enters bedroom* Problems? MAN: You went away. Why did you go away? ME: I did my best, dear. But I gave up about five a.m. and slept on the couch. MAN: Why? ME: I can hang in there through snoring, and the CPAP makes interesting hissy sounds. But when you started growling and humming in your sleep, that's when I gave up. The couch is not comfortable, but at least it's quiet, and I got to say goodbye to Ian.* MAN: Growling? ME: Seriously. You're a werewolf now? MAN: Am not. ME: Are too. You were growling. MAN: I can't help it! I was asleep! ME: Growling! I knew it. I married a werewolf. I should have known when you were writing your series that it was autobiographical. MAN: Andrew is not a werewolf. ME: Honey, he's a werewolf. MAN: He is not! ME: He's a shape...

Boy: Can we watch another episode? Me: No. Boy: Why not?  Me: Because it's 3 a.m. Boy: Oh crap. Me: Yeah.  Man: *snore* Boy, watching evil ventriloquist episode: "Uh uh. Boarding the train to Nopeville." CHARACTER: Well, we didn't get a busy signal, so we know she wasn't online. BOY: Huh? ME: *press pause* Okay, back then when you wanted to get online, you had to dial up through the phone line. BOY: Wait, what? ME: *long technical explanation* BOY: Why didn't you just use wifi? ME: Okay, let me start again. The Buffy Binge has now reached season two, "Innocence." Boy says he now understands why everyone says Joss Whedon is so mean to his characters. Me: I told you it got darker. Boy: And they delivered. Me: Right between the eyes.  Boy: And then they all went home to kill themselves? Me: What is taking so long? Boy: I'm getting a snack! Me: Again? You're missing Xander/Cordelia k...

I have pretty much one inescapable talent: Choosing hobbies at which I suck. I love to hike. I am the world's slowest hiker, and was even before my health issues. I used to weight-train before the Knee Incident, but you'd better believe I'm not posting my lifts. We won't even get into my "dancing." I played the cello from second grade until midway through high school, and still have my cello (albeit in grave need of repair). I was a terrible cellist. I learned the basics of piano from my mother, a virtuoso classical pianist who has performed at Carnegie and Tanglewood. The apple fell very far from the tree. I like to do needlework, and color, and decorate cakes, and keep plants, and various crafty things that help keep Michaels in business. I suck at all of the above (and I'm so slow on needlework I still haven't gotten to Boy's Christmas stocking by age 17). I have the creative heart of an artist without the... what's the word... talen...

You're making my life difficult, and not in the usual leaf-on-the-wind manner. (Too soon! Too soon!) We're in the middle of a Buffy rewatch, which doesn't really count as a rewatch when Boy has never seen it. Well, technically that's not true. A few years ago I tried to introduce him to the ways of the Buffster, but it seems I tried a little too early. He couldn't relate to "high school as a metaphor for hell" when he hadn't been to high school. He gets it now. It was fairly simple up to the end of Season Three (which was just as awesome as I remember). But now we have the complication of Angel.  It's a good show as well - it had its stumbles, but it's a bit more mature, a bit less black-and-white with its morality and has some interesting and complex storylines. There's also mega crossovers. And this is where you're making my life difficult. How do we handle it? Do we watch all of Buffy  through (uck) Season Seven, or do we sto...

In early December, I ordered a gift for my stepson. Time went on and it didn't ship, and it didn't ship, and it didn't ship. Finally I got an email that said it was backordered. By now, I knew it was far too late for the item to arrive in time for Christmas. Therefore, I replied with my wish that the order would be canceled, and the money restored to my account. We offered our apologies to my stepson, and waited for the refund so that we could order a replacement, belated, Christmas present. Imagine my surprise when I got an email this evening that stated the gift has actually shipped. Even better, the tracking shows that it is estimated to arrive on December 28. Oh really? Does Amazon now ship via The DeLorean? Or perhaps they use a TARDIS to deliver packages. I guess we'll see if the gift finally shows up, or if I get my refund instead. Either way it will officially be the latest present I've ever sent a family member. Probably. Maybe.

It's that day again, the Epiphany in which I became a mom and boarded the rollercoaster. I already wrote about how my Boy came into this world , and the requisite newborn picture , and a few years ago I did the Life of Boy photo slideshow on Facebook. What else can I say on the occasion of his birth, considering that he doesn't read blogs or Facebook because "that's for old people"? (What a mouth.) I remember when I turned seventeen. It's got this misty fog all over it, because it was a long time ago in a galaxy far far away and there was about half as much of me and a whole lot more energy and brainpower. I'm pretty sure there's a picture somewhere... My friends threw me a giant surprise party, and yes, it was a real surprise. The official plan was eating out at a restaurant with my family, but I was staying after school to donate blood. Yes, I was very excited that my seventeenth birthday fell on a blood drive day (NERD), because I was finally ...

No, this isn't just ads, I swear. You can trust me! First, the ads. *ducks* Seventh Star Press is putting my latest on sale for the post-Christmas season: Nocturne Infernum  for 99c. Ninety-nine cents, people. That's three novels, an entire trilogy, for less than a dollar. I personally am pretty proud of this book, which is really three books. If you bought the original trilogy, know that this isn't the Lucas Edition with extra CGI and annoying plot changes. It's the Director's Cut, with the dreck cleared out. Buy it on Kindle, or better yet: gift it to a friend. (Yeah, you can do that with ebooks, and it's awesome.) The ebook is regularly $4.99 - still a bargain for three novels. The paperback is $21.95 if you buy it from Amazon, $20 if you buy it from Literary Underworld . Which leads me to the real purpose of today's post. I think I've done a poor job in telling people what the hell LitUnd is, and that's ironic for someone in the communicati...

In the last few weeks, I've had to do more than the usual amount of fighting with medical insurance, the clinics and companies that provide us with health care. And frankly, I am royally sick of it. This shit was supposed to end when we got the "good" insurance. • My "winner" this round is the mail-order prescription service contracted with our insurance. They have reached new levels of incompetence. One of my medications was running low, so I put in an order in November. Two weeks went by and it hadn't arrived, so I called to find out my status. I was informed the order was canceled. Why? There's a form my doctor is supposed to file with my insurance company verifying that I really need the medicine he has prescribed. Otherwise they won't cover it. First: If I were a doctor, I'd be goddamn insulted that form exists. "Yes, she needs the medicine. That's why I wrote the prescription. I didn't write it because I love the sight of m...

Me: Would you pour me an iced tea? Boy: Iced tea.... Me: Giant pitcher, in the fridge. Hard to mistake for the OJ. Boy: Please? Me: Would you please bring me an iced tea? Boy: Thank you. I'm going to teach you manners. Me: Oh shut up.  Me: On Saturday, we have to take the car to the repair place to get the estimate on repairing the damage.* Boy: Okay. Wait, Saturday? Me: Yes, sadly we will have to reschedule our Star Wars tickets. Boy: What. Me: Then we are bringing you back here, since the Pezzas are picking you up for the Christmas pageant rehearsal - Boy: WHAT. Me: - because that's the night Jim and I are doing our annual Christmas shopping date - Boy: When are we rescheduling Star Wars! Me: 😈 Boy: When. are. we. rescheduling. Star Wars. Me: We're not. I'm just messing with you. Boy: 👺 Why? Me: Have we met? Boy: 😝 Me: I tried it on Jimmy. You would have thought I asked him for a divorce. Boy: One of my New Year...

You must understand, Jim is working on a paper comparing sexuality and the vampire mythos in Bram Stoker's Dracula  and Stephen King's 'Salem's Lot.  King himself addressed this dichotomy in his 1980 nonfiction overview of the horror genre, Danse Macabre.  My copy has mysteriously vanished from my library ( damn you isabel)  and copies of older King books are silly expensive. After the write-in, I stopped by BSR Books in Granite City to chat with the owners and check on their stock of my books. I managed to buy only four books, which is restraint for me. At one point, I texted Jim. Fun times with autocorrect. ME: Warning. I am hanging out in a used bookstore. JIM: See if they have dance Mac. ME: ? JIM: The boom I bedbugs JIM: The book I need JIM: Dance macrame JIM: Shit you what I need for the book report JIM: Know what I need ME: This is going on Facebook. JIM: Nooooooo! Alas, they did not have Danse Macabre.  Or Dance Macrame,  a Stephen ...

All media reports indicated that there would be a gigantic storm this evening. Meetings were canceled; it was right up to the deadline whether the Veterans Day parade would go on. This was important, because Boy's Scout troop helped carry the giant flag with the Edwardsville Lions. The evening turned out marvelously. BOY: By the way, it didn't rain a DROP on the parade, you liar. ME: Hush you. BOY: You were all about the rain. ME: Look, Spawn, it's not my fault. We in the press actually know squat-all about predicting the weather. Air pressure, humidity, whatever. All we know how to do is read the National Weather Service report and tell you people what they say. File your complaints with them. BOY: Rain. Hail. Tornadoes. Stormageddon. ME: National. Weather. Service. BOY: YOU said - ME: I said what the National Weather Service said! So everybody go out and buy milk, eggs and bread,* and the worst thing that happens is everyone has French toast for a d...

"If you want to take an author's hard work, and then use it to generate a profit, but you are not willing to pay that author in any way, shape, or form besides allowing them to sign their name to the piece, then you are exploiting that author. Pay them by the word, share your ad revenue, and by all means try to get a good deal on the work, but do not simply swipe it, post it online, and then roll around in the money like some kind of political cartoon." This terrific quote comes from Neal Litherland's blog The Literary Mercenary , which is an awesome blog name I wish I'd thought of using. It's drawn, of course, from the ongoing discussion about paying authors, as if that's such a radically bizarre concept that we just started questioning whether people should be paid for their work. I've seen Uncle Harlan's famous "Pay the Writer" clip from Dreams With Sharp Teeth about twenty times in these discussions, because it's exactly...

... or, please don't. It seems I will end up running a version of this column this every year, because ever since Alan Moore's damn graphic novel became a damn movie, we're going to see people running amok in  V for Vendetta  masks advocating freedom from oppressive evil government forces because popular culture is more important than, y'know, historical fact. Or something. We are  a fact-aversive society  now, and wearing a cool-looking mask now takes the place of useful action. So let's get this straight: • Guy Fawkes was not trying to overthrow a theocratic, repressive government; he was trying to  create  one. King James began his reign by offering religious freedom, at least the best that time period could envision. Only after constant threats of violence if he did not convert to the Catholic faith personally, and the Bye Plot, which was a failed plan to  kidnap  the king and hold him until he agreed to reinstate the Catholic Church as ...

Nope, not talking about the KKK "outing" that should have caused waves of shame across the internet, but the internet is shameless. Or my annual rant about Guy Fawkes masks, though I'll probably be unable to resist reposting my column yet again. Not even whining that Halloween is over and I am officially in Holiday Mode, but everyone else is still in Grinch Mode, so I have no one with whom to sing Christmas carols. No, I'm going to complain because my wrists hurt. Yeah, somebody toss a fiver to Joshua Hart with the X-ray eyes, because last week I gave in and went to the ortho clinic in Chesterfield. There is a tiny fracture in the right wrist and there is serious tendon damage in both, thanks to my graceful pratfall in front of the Doubletree Hotel during Archon. So I'm supposed to spend four to six weeks in matching wrist braces and undergo physical therapy twice a week. There are a few problems with this plan. One: I find it damn near impossible to type in...

There is something magical about the quality of light in the early morning when it is filtered between trees that weren't planted by any landscaper. I came late to hiking and backpacking; my parents took us on one or two camping trips when I was young, but Dad's idea of camping was (and still is) a four-star hotel on a golf course. I didn't really start camping until I was in college, a few rowdy trips when I didn't know what I was doing beyond the instructions in a book I found in the library. But my first husband was not particularly fond of the outdoors. He said his family's idea of camping was a sleeping bag and a fishing pole. If you didn't catch anything, you starve, and you can just sleep out under the stars and eat bugs like a man. No wonder I could never get him into the woods. The call of the wild. Eventually I took it upon myself to begin hiking and backpacking solo. And I fell in love with it. The light, you see. That strange ethereal qua...

Since I'll be leading a group of diligent Nanowrimo folk, I suppose I ought to work on something myself. I know many people dislike Nano, and I wouldn't try to argue it with them. For some people it works as a kick in the pants to really dig in on a project. For some people it's distracting and leads to lousy writing habits. And for some people whose lives regularly interfere with their writing, Nano provides them with an escape to give them leave to work on their passion - the spouse and kids can't tap them on the shoulder if they're at a write-in. For me, it is an opportunity to focus on writing, as opposed to the business of writing. I am sorry to say that between my daytime profession, my own promotion, travel, the Literary Underworld and the Eville Writers, I spend probably 2-3 times as much time on the business of writing as I do on actually writing. For Nano, that gets flipped, and if that is the only benefit I draw from it, it's very much worth the ...

This is one of those "hell weeks" when we have something going on every. single. night. Tonight Boy is knocking on doors to sell popcorn. Which is due... today. It's only half his fault. He missed a meeting or two when I was on tour, because Jim works nights and neither of them thought to arrange his transportation to and from meetings. Then he sort of forgot that "gee, it's fall, shouldn't I be selling Boy Scout popcorn?" I looked at the calendar and saw "popcorn forms due" for today, which means he is scrambling to get some sales before his Scout meeting, where they will be untangling - er, sorting - Christmas lights for the city of Collinsville and turn in their popcorn forms. Note: Family and friends, if you would like to buy popcorn from Ian, you can still do so online. You can go to the Trail's End website , enter ZIP code 62025 and select Ian S - Troop 1031 St. Andrew's Episcopal Edwardsville as the Scout you would like to s...

Two years ago, my husband did the hardest thing he's ever done. Something so difficult, so traumatic, so impossible that many people live and die never managing to do it. And we did it with him. Never think that something this hard affects only the person involved. If anyone has ever brushed up against the monster of addiction, you know that the whole family goes into the shredder with him. Jim smoked for more than 30 years. He came from a family where smoking was as natural as eating or drinking, from a region where 23 percent of adults smoke, well above the national average. It was part of him long before we met the first time, before we re-met years later on the book tour.  It's not like he didn't know it was bad for you. You can't grow up, live or breathe in the United States without knowing that cigarettes and nicotine are unhealthy. We can shift it onto vaping as much as we like, and it's still just muting the impact of an unhealthy, expensive habit...