Author: Jonathon

Moon, Darkness, and Dawn

I left my office last night with the moon riding high and bright through one of the skylights. The moon was bright as a full moon, though she was only three-quarters done. I woke this morning in the dark. If there were stars I couldn’t see them. It was just black. I cuddled close to the warmth of my husband, Jon, for a few more minutes, but my mind was alive with the writing. He wrapped himself around me and I forced myself to be present in the warm nest of our bed, our intermingled limbs, the sensuousness of his body pressed against me, the feel of his breath against my skin. I made myself be present, dragged myself out of my head and the words in it long enough to honor that moment, such a wonderful way to wake up. Sometimes, if I’m not careful, I will get so caught up in my work that I miss how amazing the rest of my life is, and these last two years, but especially the last year I’ve really tried to enjoy and be aware of the moments, the present joys, rather than rushing from deadline to deadline, goal to goal. Sometimes the writing engulfs the world and it needs to for me to be able to write, but I’m working equally as hard to be in the rest of my life. It’s a great life and I’ve worked really hard for it, not just the material things, but the emotional things. People always assume that if a couple is happy it was effortless, that happily-ever-after thing, but real love isn’t that. Real love is that Jon and I made a deal that he’d get up with me, so that I could get to my desk ASAP. So he could make sure we all got breakfast. Without this extra bit of planning some mornings he and I forget breakfast and then there’s that sugar crash later. Not good. I eat at my desk, and yes I know people say that’s bad for various reasons, I do it because even breakfast with my family derails me from the book now. I talk as little as possible to anyone, because everything distracts and takes me out of the mindset I need for this work, this calling, this thing I’ve been compelled to do since I was about twelve.

Today it wasn’t a problem not to talk to anyone, because the house was dark, no one up, but Jon and myself. I was in my office running water into my tea kettle with no lights turned on yet. I know my office in the dark. But there was this red glow against the drawn shade of the window, what was that? Why was it red? I opened the shade and, you guessed it – dawn. It was a crimson glow against the horizon, a bloody neon slash above the tree tops in the eastern sky. When I say goodnight to the moon high enough to see it through my skylights, and good morning to the red blush of dawn, I’m in the zone. But I also remembered to enjoy that first warm, cuddling wakeup in the nesting dark of my husband’s arms. I’m enjoying my office and the little votive candle I have burning on my desk. It’s two anthropomorphic ants having a picnic. It was part of the summer collection from Yankee Candle a few years ago. Why do I have it on my desk? To remind myself that when it’s lit, I’m working, but that I’m also supposed to be having fun while I do it. So worker ants, having a picnic – work ethic and whimsy. It helps me remember that I’m supposed to be doing both. And no, before anyone asks, I haven’t always had the ant votive. It was something I found a couple of years ago to help me remember to work hard, but remember to take some time out of the work to enjoy myself. Some mornings writing a blog, or something unrelated to the book for just a few paragraphs helps clear the morning garbage out of my head, and let’s me get to the scene in my head. I can see it, now I have to find the words so that, eventually, you can all see it.

Elsewhere

Chapter finished! Yay!!!

Have also managed to make my tea too weak, then too strong, then added hot water at suggestion from online fan, but now it’s too weak again. There must be some magical balance between tea, and added hot water I don’t understand. *hmm* In all the tea making I managed to spill tea all over counter, shut my skirt in the towel drawer, and generally make an absentminded mess, but I don’t mind. These are all signs that my concentration is elsewhere, namely on the book. I wiped up the spilled tea, opened the drawer and freed myself, and have put on more hot water for better made tea – see its all fixable. What isn’t fixable, or replaceable is this level of emersion in my writing.

There is a reason that the absentminded artist/scientist is a stereotype, because when that level of creation is reached, the inside of your head is so real, that your connection to the outside world isn’t perfect. It’s why we’re clumsy sometimes, and careless, and double book our appointments without help, because the laser pointer of our minds is being used elsewhere.

I’m back to elsewhere. *waves bye*

Best Laid plans . . .

The morning started off with me checking off items on my To Do list, and about to head to office for finishing up the latest chapter and then . . . we’re at the vets. Mordor, our youngest Japanese chin, danced on his hind legs for his treat in the office, then yelped loudly and was suddenly limping badly. He finished his treat with his rear leg out at a bad angle. Keiko and Sasquatch, chin and pug respectively, finished their treats with no sympathy at all for their wounded comrade. We hoped it wasn’t bad, but when Mordor walked he was putting no weight on the leg. *sigh* So, Jon and I are at the vet with our pup. I’m beginning to remember how a multi-dog household can complicate things. The dogs are totally worth it, but the To Do list is totally out the window, until we learn something about our fuzzy boy. He’s sitting on Jon’s lap now, smiling his chin smile, and he’s totally stopped shaking because no one had done anything bad to him. He’s a very social dog, and is willing to believe anything will be fun eventually. When he came to us he was so under weight you could count his ribs, but now he’s filled out, and his coat is coming in longer and fuller, and he’s just a pretty dog.

Did we remember to eat breakfast . . . um, no.

Mordor’s kneecap slipped out of socket this morning, and went back on it’s own. Our pug, Phouka, had this in both knees as a young dog and eventually had to have surgery, after that she was fine. Vet says, Mordor needs to lose about two pounds. He’s not overweight by breed standard, but apparently the more slender, dancer like build of the Japanese chin will not take weight gain. I do remember reading in the breed information that they can have issues with hips and knees if they gain weight, but we’re used to pugs. They can put on a great deal more weight and be perfectly healthy. Phouka’s knees problems weren’t about weight, but the socket where the joint fitted into being too shallow. Vet wants us to give Mordor a week to heal up any issues with the knee and then next week we start with more cardio. More cardio for everyone!

If loosing a couple of pounds and putting some muscle around the joint clears it up, then great. If not, we’ll eventually have to have surgery for him, but here’s hoping that exercise will do the trick. It’s likely that it will, and now we know that what we’ve learned about pug physique doesn’t really translate to chin physique. Lesson learned, we have little track stars, not just miniature heavy weight boxers. Different “workout” routines for different body builds, true for people, and true for dogs.

Laurell K Hamilton July Audio Book Winner

Congratulations to Tiffany Christou from Alberta Canada. She was our lucky July Random drawing winner! Her favorite quote was “Can the Sarcasm”  “Please. I always use fresh sarcasm, never canned.”  Quite a few of Laurell’s other fans had chosen the same quote. 2nd most favorite quote chosen was “Stupidity is not punishable by death. If it was, there would be a hell of a population drop.” Tiffany chose the “Skin Trade” audio book for her prize.

Watch for the email in August for your chance to win a free audio book.

Don’t Let Perfectionism Stop You

When you got behind the wheel of a car for the very first time did you expect to be able to drive perfectly? Not only perfectly, but to drive so well you could drive in the Indy 500 and win? Of course you didn’t, because that would be beyond unrealistic, it would crazy talk; right? Right.
So why do so many people believe they should be able to sit down and write a novel the first time out, not only a novel, but that their first draft, first sentences, will capture exactly the brilliant colors and images in their heads. They seem to expect their day dreams and fantasies to spill out of their finger tips in a perfect flow first time out of the box. When this miracle of perfection doesn’t happen in the first few lines, or paragraphs, or pages, they get discouraged and give up, or start revising right away trying to make it perfect. I’ve now lost count of the number of people who have told me about the first chapter, or three chapters, of their book that they have been revising for the last three, five, eight, ten years. When they get the beginning perfect they’ll finish the book. The chances of them ever finishing their book is about zero, because perfectionism is damn near impossible to achieve in a first draft, especially the first time you try to write.
When I first started writing book length stories I found the 70/30 rule, or the garbage quotient. 70% of a first draft is garbage, 30% of it is gold, but I had to write all 100% to get that percentage of gold. The stuff I could keep and was actually good was scattered in among the crap of the rest. If I’d waited for a perfect first draft I’d have never finished a book. Perfection, if it exists, comes with editing that rough stuff into finished product. When I talked to the woman who would be my first agent, her first question was, “How many drafts of your first novel have you done?” My reply, “Seven.” That was an answer that let her know I was serious and not caught in the perfection trap. I went home and did one more edit of my first novel and sent it off. Months later she’d take me on as a client, and I had an agent. It would take almost four years for the book to hit the shelves, but that’s another story. The point is that writing, good, professional writing is rewriting.
I’ve now written over thirty novels and my garbage quotient has gotten lower just by practice and knowing my craft. Some first drafts are 80% gold and only 20% garbage, but not always. Sometimes it’s more like 50/50. It just depends on the book. I routinely throw out hundreds of pages in a book, winnowing it down through edits and that’s before it ever leaves me and goes to New York for my editor to read.
So, the next time you look at those great notes for your story, or novel, and think, “I can’t get it perfect. It won’t match the vision in my head.” And you get frustrated and stuck before you begin, or soon after you begin, just take a deep breath and keep going. Plow through like a bull in a china shop, break everything in sight heading for your goal of being able to type, “The End,”. You can clean up all that broken mess in the next draft, and put in new cabinets the draft after that, and when the room (the draft) is close to done buy new china and put it in just the way you like it, and know, just know that with every book you’re going to destroy your idea, your dream, and make you want to weep at the ruin of your bright dreams like broken porcelain scattered in bright pieces across your desk, but know, absolutely know, that you can fix it later, but to give yourself something to fix ya gotta break it first. You’ve got to be willing to be really bad, to be really good.

I’m Back!

A week ago I was in the hospital for my second day. I caught a virus, just a stomach virus. We’ve all caught plenty of them in our lifetime, but I’ve never had one like this before. I spent about two weeks throwing up, and a pretty solid week of being unable to hold anything down, including water. I now understand why they think dehydration killed many of the victims of flue epidemics in the early 1900s, before there was such a thing as intravenous fluids to give the sick, and stop that spiral downward. I was never so happy to be on an IV in my life. I’m feeling much better, though still surprisingly tired with very little effort to show for it. My doctor warned me to increase slowly back to a normal activity level. What he didn’t say was that I’d feel so weak and tire so easily that I would have little choice but to behave myself. But everyday is a bit better, and so am I.
A funny thing happened during this illness, it sort of cleared away a lot of mental debris. Put things into perspective, as it were. I found a quote that says a lot of what I learned, and what I’m still enjoying.

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.” – Mary Jean Iron.

You would think I would have learned this lesson by now, but I hadn’t. I thought my mother’s death when I was six had taught me this, but maybe there was too much pain attached to that “lesson”, so that it taught me other things. Some things helped me appreciate what I had and take chances and set goals and DO THINGS! But it didn’t teach me to lay in the dark and listen to my husband’s breathing, and cuddle tight to the smooth, warmth of his body, and be grateful that I wasn’t hurting. They gave me morphine in the hospital for the pain, I’d never had morphine – warm, trickling through my veins, the weirdest feeling, like I could trace it through my body, and then the pain abated for the first time in days. I was able to sleep with enough medicine in me, and that, too, was a wonderful thing. Death didn’t teach me to appreciate sitting in my office and typing this to all of you, but life did. I love the view from my office now more than ever before, I no longer bemoan that it’s not a lake, or an ocean, which is the only thing my dream office lacks. I’m happy with my tall green trees now. I no longer think wistfully of that Dalmatian, or English setter, that I’ll never own because I’m not runner enough to keep them happy, but am thrilled with the silky fur of our two Japanese chins, and the comforting snoring of our pug. I realize that the desire for the Dalmatian that came when I was twelve, after reading Dodie Smith’s book “One Hundred and One Dalmatians,” is really a wish to be a different person than I am. I’ve worked too long and too hard to be who I am to wish for such changes. I go to the gym, but a marathon runner I will never be, and that’s okay. I guess there was still a tiny part of me that wanted to be tall, and blond, and gazelle like, but I am short, dark, and . . . and what? Certainly not gazelle like. *laughs* Zebra like? Something sturdy . . . a horse? Pony? In old vaudeville slang I would certainly be a pony, tall leggy girls were stallions.
When I was a little girl I wanted to be either tall, blonde and leggy, and a natural athlete, or darkly exotic and ethnic anything but my Northern European background. There’s still part of me that wants to be that tall athletic girl that I will never be. I am competent in the gym now, but it’s not natural. I will never put a hand out in a slow, easy arc and catch a ball, and throw it without thought, easy as breathing, but then those girls didn’t read much. They certainly didn’t write. I’m not saying athletes can’t be writers, but I think I would have made a choice, been different, aimed outward, rather than inward, and in the end that’s what a writer is – we aim inward. The real world effects us, Gods know, but it is our processing of that reality inside our heads, our hearts, our very souls, that makes the difference. In the last few years I’ve learned to live in my body in a happier, healthier way than ever before, and make peace with the fact that I have to work a little harder to do what some people take for granted in the gym, but that’s okay, they ask me, “How can you write a whole book?” I ask, “How can you run marathons? How can you lift four hundred pounds?” I guess, we all look at the other half and either wonder about them, or even wonder what we might be like if we were them.
It’s okay to wonder, even day dream about being other people, which is part of my job description, I guess. I put myself in other people’s lives, thoughts, what if . . . what if . . . But today I am grateful for what is, because what is, is pretty damn good. I will endeavor to hold this lesson tight and close and not forget that the ordinary is actually pretty extraordinary.

Being Sick is not a Crime, Damnit!

They say Europeans take vacations. Americans take sick days. I’m proof of that right now. A virus I had last week keeps getting better, so I keep hitting my day head on, full steam ahead with no hold back, or consideration that I might not be a 100%. I’ve had three setbacks after a day of feeling fine. What should this stubborn American writer learn? That a day of recuperation after being sick is ok. Anita & her men will still be waiting for me. The new project will still be editing. Even that first tentative whisper from Merry & company will still be there, if I will simply let myself rest one extra day. I hope not to have to learn this lesson again. I can be taught. To all you other sicklings out there, “It is not a sin to rest.” It is okay to lay in bed with books & stuffed toys (Yes, I actually do collect stuffed animals, just not penguins) sleep when you can & , weird as it sounds, enjoy being sick without worrying about everything you’re not able to do today. ” It isn’t exactly enjoyable today, but I’m trying to relax & just let myself feel what I feel. No guilt about deadlines, time lost with my daughter, or the thousand other things that eat away at me when I’m sick. No guilt, no worrying allowed, just be, let yourself feel & heal. Being sick is not a crime, damnit! I shake my fist at the Puritan ancestors & strike a blow for sanity. If this is not one of your neurosis, bully for you, but for the rest of us this is an issue that really hurts, sometimes quite literally. Now, I’m curling under the sheets with my non-penguin cuddle objects, a book on tape, & sleep – to sleep perchance to heal.

Fireworks thank you, and Muchness

Thanks to everyone who resisted the lure of fireworks this 4th of July! Thank you so much for not setting yourself, or anyone else on fire.

This is the link to the blog that I found so helpful earlier today. how to reclaim your muchness

Lately I’ve been feeling like Alice in Wonderland, or rather Alice, through the Looking Glass. I’ve been feeling like I’ve lost some of my muchness. But I found the blog above and it helped me realize, that I haven’t lost my muchness, or not much of it. The only thing I did as a child, that I don’t do now is hike and explore the outdoors. I loved being in the woods, and especially adored streams, or any running water. Not too long ago I was an avid bird watcher, but it seems like I just haven’t had time to do much more than look at birds out my office windows, or when we travel. So, if I just add more out of doors stuff, then I am actually the grownup my younger self wanted to be, and in fact have succeeded beyond my wildest expectations as a writer. That’s pretty cool.

The blog above also reminded me of something that I’d forgotten, that books can teach us, touch us, and even when we’re writing about fantastic things, sometimes especially, there are truths that resonate and last. You’d think I’d know that with all the wonderful things you guys tell me about how my books have helped you, but sometimes in the act of creating the book the writer loses sight of the true magic of it all. Today I was reminded of that. I shall own my muchness, and not forget that I never really lost it to begin with.

May and June Audio book winners

We had over 1000 people enter the monthly drawing. It looks like almost ALL of you have read the Anita Blake comic books. Awesome!

Since we missed the May contest, we pulled 2 winners this time….one for May and one for June. Our May winner was Kat Avila from Irvine, CA. She chose The Killing Dance for her Audio book prize. Our June winner was Nilda Lopez from Bronx, NY. She chose a Hit List audio book prize. They were both so excited to have won. Congratulations to both our winners.

Keep an eye out for the July email for your next chance to win your audio book.

Are Fireworks worth the Risk?

It will be 103 to 106F on the Fourth of July tomorrow. Yeah, you read that right a hundred and freaking six degrees Fahrenheit. Like much of the country we are also in a drought. It’s so dry here most of the professional fireworks have been cancelled, and we are at a high alert for fire. After watching the Colorado fires on the news and on the internet you’d think people would understand what risk they’re running by shooting off fireworks this year, but even as as I type this I can hear them going off somewhere in the distance, so I’m doing this blog.
Are fireworks this year really worth burning down your house? If they are, then by all means go ahead. Some houses burn down every year in this country due to fireworks landing on roofs, and other parts, but this year . . . this year someone has the opportunity not just to take out their own house, but the neighbors, or the entire neighborhood.
I know you spent money on the fireworks, but they’ll still be good after it rains in a few weeks, and we aren’t under a fire advisory. Let’s all just have Fourth of July in August, surely by then this heat and drought will be gone. We can have the Fourth of August and shoot every damn firework you have, but now, tomorrow, please don’t.
Look around your house, right now, see all your stuff, now picture it gone. Picture all of it gone, what the fire doesn’t get the water damage from the firemen putting out the fire will probably destroy. Are fireworks for Fourth of July 2012 really worth losing it all? It is?
Okay, is shooting off fireworks for the actual date worth destroying your neighbors’ house, and all their stuff? How about if they have small children who go to bed early, and the fire you start in your yard jumps to their house, and they can’t get their children out in time? Is having fireworks tomorrow worth them dying and you living with the knowledge that because you just had to have those bottle rockets, children are dead.
You think I’m being harsh? How about the lives of the firemen and women that will be fighting the fire that your Roman candle set off? Do you care if they get burned, hurt, dead? Do you give a shit? Then, don’t set off any fireworks until the fire danger is past.
If you value the stuff in your house, the lives of your family, your pets, the property, and lives of your neighbors, hold off on the fireworks, please. And all of you know that every time you hear someone set off fireworks today, tomorrow, or the next day, that person is risking everything you’ve worked for, every memory from your family, those pictures of your grandparents, or great grandparents, all your memories are up for grabs, because someone near you just has to have fireworks while we are under a severe fire threat. So, every time you hear a firework go off, know that they not only are risking their own lives, but your life and the lives of your children.
We’ve already had one fire here in Mark Twain National Forest which was about 90 miles from St. Louis. So far the brave men and women of our fire service, and our forestry service have done their best here and out west, but I’m betting that they, and their families would ask you all, to please, just wait. It will rain, it will get cooler, and then we can all party, and blow the whole bundle of fireworks. We can light the sky red, white, blue, and purple, but not now. Not until it’s safe.
If you want to burn your own house down, I don’t advise it, but it’s your choice that having fireworks right this minute means more to you than your memories and your belongings, but please, do not make that choice for the rest of us. We want all of us to live through this holiday, don’t you?