Author: Jonathon

Ah, Valentine’s Day, the day when every husband, boyfriend, girlfriend, or hopeful lover feels serious pressure to be more romantic than they’ve ever been before. It’s the one day of the year when most women expect, nay demand, a major romantic gesture. For all of you lucky enough to be with a man that likes getting flowers, and other traditionally female gestures, you, too, are on the spot. I actually love that Jonathon, my husband, has always enjoyed getting flowers from me. He may get flowers this year, because the big sexy gesture/present I had planned for the coming weekend has fallen through. When your big gesture partially depends on any other person, or people, your odds go down of pulling it off. I think that’s why flowers are a usual. I’m pretty certain that no matter what I can get flowers delivered, on time, to my husband. It’s a no-fail, usually. The bad weather delayed flowers that some sent the last few weeks, so flowers are a no-fail barring acts of Mother Nature.

One friend calls this holiday, “Be Romantic, or else, Day.” I can’t argue with that definition for some couples. Another single friend calls it, “The Reminder that You’re Alone Day.” And yet, another, calls it, “Happy You Have No One in Your Life Day.” Even those of my single friends who are happy being single find the constant barrage of “coupleness” wearing after awhile. So, I propose a new tradition. Pick one of your single friends and send them, at minimum, a Valentine’s Day card. Or, maybe a single rose with a note? You know your close friends what would make them happy that is within the bounds of platonic friendship. One of my favorite gifts that Jonathon gave me was from Giant Microbes. They take actual electron microscope images of microbes and make them into plush toys. Jonathon got me a black plague bacillus (Yersinia pestis). It’s black and jellybean shaped with huge blue eyes. No, the eyes are not on the actual organism. The gift earned my hubby a big kiss, and put a smile on both our faces all day, but one of the reasons it worked as a gift is that we were friends for eight years before we ever dated, so we are romantic with each other, but we are also still friends, and buy gifts accordingly.

So, pick a gift that would put a smile on your single friend’s face and give it to them. No hidden agenda here; guys and girls. If you really want them to move from friend to friend with benefit then just send them a romantic gesture and be done with it. This is a gift for your single friend to make them feel better, not for alterior motives on your part. If you can’t send the gift innocently, then don’t send it. This works the other way, too, do not send to someone if they might have a crush on you. You don’t want to give them false hope when it’s the last thing on your mind. If there’s any doubt send a kind gag gift, or pick a different person. Maybe the elderly lady next door who seems so alone would like a card, or a small box of chocolates? Or pick someone who makes your life easier all year long, but you’re pretty sure they’re not going to get anything for Valentine’s Day. The person who cleans your office, and keeps it from turning into a overwhelming mess; maybe? A card with their name on it, and a thank you inside. Tell them that they make your job easier every day of the year.

I am going to put my money where my mouth is and pick an unattached friend to send something to, because I remember when this holiday was not my favorite. Mine was a marriage where I wasn’t getting exactly what I wanted on this romantic day. You can send a special present to your married friends where you know one half won’t come through, but be careful, you don’t want to show the husband up by being better at picking a gift. I find that for many women her friends know her better than her husband. The same is true for some men and their guy pals, but it’s usually the men under pressure to perform some romantic miracle today.

So good luck all you men and women out there that are desperately scrambling to figure out what the heck to get this year. I salute you everyone, because I’m in the heart-shaped, pink crepe-papered trenches, right along with you. Damn the chocolate boxes; full steam ahead!

 

I dreamed a murder mystery last night with most of the cast from NCIS in it. Since they were the only show I watched last night, I guess that makes sense. The setting was a gym which again makes sense because I’ve missed two days of gym this week and I am missing it terribly. Both my mood and my body are worse off for it. Every permanent ache I have aches more because of the lack of movement and the hours at the desk typing. Watching the character of Tony bopping on a treadmill with headphones on, singing to a song and pretty much dancing on the treadmill was a fun highlight. I knew who the murderer was just like usual on the show, and his motive made little sense in the bright light of morning, but in the dream it seemed logical. End of dream had me in a house that was supposed to be mine, but I’d never seen it before. I was sitting on a couch that had it’s back under a large picture window that looked out on a suburban neighborhood, again one I’d never seen before. There was a large spreading tree, maybe oak, maybe not, and I heard hooting very loud. A Great Horned Owl was in the tree somewhere. I reached for binoculars, but then saw the big owl very low in the tree. It was a real enough that I could see the tufts of feathers on it’s head that give the bird it’s name were ragged on one side, like lop-sided dog ears where one goes up and the other goes down. Then there was a second owl behind the first and I thought, a pair, we have a pair of Great Horned Owls in our yard. Then the owls started to sing in English and do little bopping mechanical dance, and had those mortor boards hats on from graduations, and they were round and plump and perfect mechanical owls. It was an advertisement for something. I no longer remember what, but one of those bad late night TV commercial things with the owls merrily singing the jingle, and then saying the address at the end with phone number for the business, though I can’t remember either now.

So, need to stop listening to murder mysteries as our books on tape while we sleep, and maybe less NCIS, or any other murder mystery before bedtime. And, I need to get back to the gym in a serious way, though maybe too tired for weights today. Maybe a very gentle treadmill here at home. I have looked up Great Horned Owl in the Ted Andrews animal books. They are one of the prime predators of skunks, and often the prey/predator relationship of an animal will tell you it’s balancing medicine/magic/message. They are fierce predators and can break the neck of a full-grown woodchuck with their talons. Crows mob them, because once night falls the owl will raid their nests and in the dark the owl has the serious upper hand. Crows will sometimes be joined by Red-Shouldered Hawks in the mobbing, because Great Horned Owl will raid their nests at night, too. Normally crows will mob the hawk, but I guess the enemy of your enemy, can turn your enemy into an ally. Common safety makes friends of us all.

I can hear birds singing in the background. A Cardinal is singing his spring song, though since the female Cardinal also sings, it could be a her, too. Cardinal is one of the few song birds where the female can sing as much, or close to as much, as the male. Just as the male will dim his colors to help sit on the nest, so a totem that is all about sharing gender roles more evenly. But the big thing about the Cardinal singing it’s heart out behind me is that it’s singing it’s spring song, even with snow on the ground it’s marking territory and sending that hopeful song into the cold January air. I saw a pair of Mourning Doves mating yesterday. We’ve had a pair of Red Tailed Hawks tolerating each other in the neighborhood, which may mean they’re looking to be mates this year. It would be so cool if they nested nearby this year. Spring songs, mating, the birds are letting me know that winter will not last, and that warm weather is coming. Winter will not last and neither will this book. I will finish it just as the snow will melt and spring will come. It’s all part of the cycle of things. I can’t decide if equating me writing books to the seasonal cycle is a hopeful, egotistical, or depressing. Hopeful I’ll be done soon, egotistical that me finishing a book is a sign of the turn of the year for me, or depressing because I always seem to be eaten by a deadline in the winter.

Spring is on it’s way, and this book will be done. Winter never stays, it melts into spring, and the book never stays forever on my computer, it just seems that way sometimes.

 

I am officially too tired to still be working. How do I know this? It’s taken me two attempts to get a stick of gum out of a pack, because I keep putting the still wrapped pieces down somewhere and then losing track of them. I got on-line briefly to try and think about the fight scene that’s up on my screen. My brief time on-line turned into nearly an hour. I was upset with myself for wasting so much time when I’m so tired, and then I realized that I honestly had come up with a better idea for the fight choreography. Apparently, I really did need to step away from the work computer for a bit. But there is always a slim line between stepping away from the keyboard to refresh your mind and pure procrastination. So, such breaks must always be viewed with suspicion.

I started the day with Christmas music which means that the writing is going very slowly. I was finally able to move to musicals late in the day, which is a step up from holiday music, but when I’m still listening to musicals at 1AM, then the writing is still hard going. You’ve heard of pulling sentences out of thin air, well hard going means I’m pulling sentences out of thick, messy mud. It is exhausting and ultimately discouraging even if you make progress on the book. I am sick of every musical I own now. I don’t think there’s any music that would please me at this point, but did you ever notice that “Brigadoon” has some very long dance numbers that are riveting on stage, but not very interesting with just audio? Or is that just me?

I have had the last cup of tea I want for the day. I’m drinking water, because I need something to hydrate me, not because I want it. I have thrown out seventeen pages of the last two days work, and the book is better for it, but this close to the deadline it is a hard thing to have to trash nearly twenty pages. But the book is finally moving forward again, and the pages had taken us down a very dark and very blind alley, so I can’t regret not following it all the way down a very gloom-filled rabbit hole.

Jon had stayed in his office through the weekend and Monday’s late night sessions in case I needed anything, but he woke tired this morning. Yeah, me, too, but I’ve got to stay up and write the book. So Meerkat, friend, and assistant was tapped and is in her office next door while I toil away here. She’s already given me a pep talk and made tea until I don’t want anymore of either. There isn’t enough caffeine on the planet to keep me wide-eyed and bushy-tailed at this point. But when I keep misplacing sticks of gum before I can unwrap them and chew their pepperminty goodness up, well, it’s time to go to bed. I have a few more pages done, and a better handle on the plot. I think it’s the best I’m going to get tonight. And “Brigadoon” does have some nearly endless dance numbers that just drag without visuals to match the audio. I’m taking it off the musical play list tomorrow.

 

First win for the day: Woke from a dream that had Micah and Nathaniel in it. No, not one of those kinds of dreams. Not erotic, but more about friendship and family. Since this was the very first time I’d ever dreamed about them, and maybe only the second time I’d ever dreamed about any of my characters, it was a good dream. I woke at 5 AM with the dream vivid in my mind, and an idea that flowed from it so smoothly that I can no longer tell you where the dream ended and the idea began, only that it grew as I typed it into my iPhone. Yes, my iPhone, because unlike a notebook the phone makes it’s own light. I now have a secondary idea to go with the main book idea I’ve had for years but never had enough to coalesce it all together. Maybe this new idea means the book is close to being soup?

Second win for the day: was being able to crawl back into bed beside my very warm husband, Jon, since I’d been out of bed long enough to be chilled. God, he was so warm, and so snuggly, even in his sleep. I tried to get back to sleep, but my head was too full for anything that stationary. I had to get up and move.

Third win: Coming downstairs to release the pug – just doesn’t have the ring of “release the hounds” *laughs* – but it’s what we got. Sasquatch cannot go out by himself right now, not because of the snow but because I’ve seen a coyote in the yard twice now. Pugs are about the size of a rabbit, so no more escorted outings for Sas. Seeing the coyote race across the fresh snow with the sunlight sparkling down around it as it ran was amazing, but I don’t really want the two canids to meet.

Fourth: Seeing the Rice Crispy Treats that Chica and Trinity made earlier this week and not eating the treat for breakfast. I actually said out loud, “I am a grownup, I will not eat rice crispy treats for breakfast. I am a grownup, I will not eat rice crispy treats for breakfast.” I had Ezekiel toast with organic nut butter and a half cup of fresh berries. Water topped off breakfast and healthy won over sweet. *whoo* It was a close one though.

Fifth: a small slice of Rice Crispie Treats that I get to have for afternoon snack.

Sixth: Talking to my daughter, Trinity, for a couple of hours just us two, before Jon finally rose for the day.

Seventh: Jon groaning and moaning, and making zombie jokes as he came into the kitchen. *grin*

Eighth: Getting to my desk and being able to continue to work on the last few chapters of the latest Anita Blake novel.

Ninth: Seeing my very first Gold-Crowned Kinglet. Tiny bird you could fit three of them in the palm of my hand, and I have small hands. They’re smaller than a warbler, and have a strong eye strip. Though they’re called gold-crowned, it’s not always visible as a field marking. It was just a small almost nondescript bird with an eye stripe, but I finally figured out that it was a Gold-Crowned Kinglet without it’s crown. If it had a been a Ruby-Crowned Kinglet, it would have had a eye ring, not a stripe, but the ruby crown is no more easily visible than the gold. Tricky little birds.

Tenth: Having lunch with my family.

Eleventh: It only being 2 o’clock and I still have most of the day before me to write.

 

Doubt kills more writers than suicide. It may not kill their physical body, but it will destroy their spirit, their will power, their muse. No muse is so powerful than they can fight alone against a cloud of doubts. I doubt the end of this book. I doubt the turn it’s taken. I’m not sure. I’m always sure, like a wolverine that decides it’s going up the mountain instead of around it, I let nothing and no one stop me from my goal of reaching the top and seeing the view from the highest, coldest, freest point. But now, I hesitate. I’ve been stuck at the same point for days, because I am not certain that this is the way to go. Anita and I aren’t having a good time, but then this book has been a serial killer case and though it’s fun to hunt monsters with Edward, aka, U. S. Marshal Ted Forrester, it’s still a lot of blood and pain. I think that Anita and I are having that ten years on the job and tired of looking at this shit.

People ask why the sexual content went up and the crime went down, maybe it’s because she and I are both tired of looking at murder victims. How many crime scenes can you look at before it seeps into the very pores of your skin and you can never get the images out of your mind? Who wouldn’t rather wrap a warm, willing body around them, than stare down at carnage?

I’ve learned to play and relax, but I finally realize that Anita needs a vacation, too. My imaginary friend needs a break, not a non-writing break, because she’ll just wait for me to return and still be stuck in this dark head space. So, what to do? Can I write a vacation story with Anita actually enjoying herself? Would you guys be interested in seeing her actually relax? If she did vacation would it be like Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot who couldn’t visit anywhere without dead bodies dropping around him? I swear, if he were real you’d just avoid any party he was invited to for fear of turning up a corpse. I suspect that the same thing will happen with Anita if she vacations, but maybe that’s okay? Maybe a few chapters of fun and sun, or something that isn’t murder, will refresh her enough to face the next crime without wanting to just throw in the towel. Even Edward is missing his family, and his kids. Maybe we’re all just growing up, and even hunting monsters isn’t as fun if it takes you away from the people and things you love?

I’ll finish this book, and then maybe play with Merry, or the new series idea, but the next Anita must have a vacation for her. Even if it’s just a short story, she needs a real, on paper, break. Me refreshed doesn’t refresh her, and vice versa – huh? Not only do I need recreation, but so does Anita, and so does Merry. Sex, though wonderful, isn’t enough by itself, we need to have sex somewhere the police can’t call us in and make us crawl from that warm, amazing partner, to look on one more dismembered victim. It is a serious mood killer.

 

Just before Christmas this year, a friend said that she was baking homemade horse treats for the horse rescue place she volunteered at, “Maybe that can be our holiday tradition. We don’t have children so we don’t have any traditions.” I let the comment go, because it surprised me. My friend is successful in a long time, and high-powered career. She’s charming, and kind, and lovely, and just an all around good person. She has a happy marriage of many years. They have a really wonderful, big, dog, that as most big dogs do goes from majestic beauty to be hairy goofball within minutes. Since she lives in the city and only travels to their country place periodically, she satisfies her love of horses by volunteering at the above horse rescue when at her second home. Until she made the remark about not having children, and thus a lack of holiday traditions, I’d never thought about what she might believe about having children. That she might believe certain things would have changed in her life if she and her husband had had them. I didn’t realize that this very intelligent and perceptive woman believed in the great fairy tale of what children and holidays mean.

Having children doesn’t automatically make you the Waltons. There is no secret handshake, no password to the inner santcum of perfection whispered in your ear as you take that first baby home. No one gives you the top secret notes on how to have the perfect holiday with children, because there is no such thing as a perfect holiday with, or without, them.

We have a child, but we have no hard and fast holiday traditions. Maybe it was because when I was a little girl the biggest goal for getting through the holidays seemed to be not having any relatives have a knock-down-drag-out fight. Part of the problem with our family get togethers was that one third of our family is Jehovah Witnesses; one third is Catholic; and then we have our handful of atheists with attitude. If the Jehovah Witness part of the family deigned to make an appearance at a holiday gathering, because they don’t believe in celebrating any holidays, not even birthdays, so the whole concept of Christmas is just not working for them. Jesus is not the son of God in their religion, and it’s his birthday anyway, and they don’t celebrate those. They also make a case that it’s very commercialized, and we couldn’t really argue that. So, no manager scenes, no baby Jesus decorations, and Santa Claus, don’t get them started. Then you have the Catholic contingent where they want to put the Jesus in the holiday. And the second most vocal religious group in our family after the Jehovah Witnesses, and second most likely to start a religious argument over holiday turkey were the atheists with attitude. One uncle in particular was very adamant in his lack of faith, and thought the rest of us were ridiculous for believing in anything. Strangely, he spent more time trying to convert everybody to his lack of faith than anyone else did to their religion. It made for a less than jolly holiday, since the big family gathering was usually held at my grandmother’s house where I lived with her, and we slaved for hours over food just to have a religious war break out over all that delicious and hard won food.

After a few memorable family dinners, my grandmother persuaded them all to not talk religion when we all got together. She did this by informing them of her religion, which was “Angry at God”. One well meaning soul at my mother’s funeral had told her it was the will of God. My grandmother decided then and there that if it was His will, she would have nothing more to do with him. She would also see that I had nothing else to do with him either. Yes, my grandmother had a vendetta against God for over twenty years. Say what you like about her, but that’s some serious moxy, how many other people will throw down against the Creator of Everything as if they have a chance of winning this fight. I guess we did have a holiday tradition, it was fighting. A lot of families, for many different reasons, have that as part of their holiday every year.

You could always count on a fight between Granny and my one aunt, and a fight between her and my other aunt, and . . . well you get the idea. There were moments that worked and everyone showed that they loved each other, but it was not a Hallmark moment at the holidays for us. Many of us that come from less than perfect holiday backgrounds put a lot of pressure on ourselves to make it up to our children. It’s not the kids we’re making it up to, it’s ourselves. We strive for that perfection we saw on sitcoms on TV, or in movies, where the holidays were magical, and full of that television commercial dream where once a year everything was perfect.

That is way too much pressure to put on any one season of the year, let alone one family meal. Since I grew up with few traditions that I wanted to repeat, I didn’t make many when I started a family of my own. I have friends that do have traditions that they do with their children every year. I have friends that get to gather every year with their siblings and bake cookies, or go caroling. There are wonderful, warm, families that seem to manage that TV commercial holiday, but most of my friends are like me. We struggle through the holidays with deadlines and work that does not take a break for the holidays, or very little. Real life with all it’s pressures continues while you frantically shop, and wrap, and cook, and try to pull off a holiday that only, barely, worked for most people when one parent stayed home full time, or had an extended family to help with the meal, and all that baking. Adding children to the mix doesn’t simplify anything. Children are the great complicators, they make everything a new test of logistics, endurance, and expectations. Because, most of us are either trying to live up to holiday traditions that took decades for our parents to perfect, or we are trying to make that perfect holiday that we never had, and share that with our children. It’s a lot of pressure, and pressure either makes diamonds out of coal, or cracks the surface of the earth and explodes. Most of us don’t end up with diamonds as January rolls around and we’re finally through the long list of holiday tasks.

So, to my friend, and all of you out there that don’t have children, it doesn’t mean your holiday can’t be full of traditions and joy. To all of you with children, having them doesn’t mean you know how to fix all the problems from your own childhood. We can avoid some of the issues by working on them internally, and just learning from the mistakes we saw around us growing up. I got quite a bit of therapy before I would chance bringing a child into my life. The family traditions I saw growing up were mostly not things I wanted to pass on to my child. To those of you who had the Walton’s family Christmas, or the perfect Hanukkah, remember it took your parents years to get it right, so give yourselves a break and allow yourself a learning curve with that new baby in the house. To those who seem to have perfected the holidays with their children so that it’s Hallmark Card perfect . . . Do I tip my hat to you? Do I ask, how do you do it? Or do I simply say the truth. I love the perfect wrapped packages under your tree, but I don’t have the patience to do it, and it would frustrate me to watch the all that pretty work destroyed in moments by eager ripping hands. I can cook and I’m good at it, though not an artist in the kitchen, but I don’t personally have time, or desire, make that flawless turkey, those sweet yummy yams, and the plethora of deserts iced and waiting for belts to be loosened, and Santa’s sleigh bells to jingle. And that is the truth, I think you can come close the televised holiday, but only by making it a second, or a third job, for weeks, or maybe even months in advance. As for the perfect holiday tradition, well, hug the person, or people, you love, let them know how much it means that they’re with you this holiday season, and you wouldn’t trade all the perfect family moments if it meant losing one minute of the messy, frantic, joyful reality with them. Whether your family is just the two of you, or dozens, loving each other is a tradition we can all do.

 

For those who asked how are they to pick a gym if they don’t live close to Hammer Bodies where I go, well – You can come in for a couple of hours, or a day, get a fitness evaluation. It depends on what you want from training. Are you an athlete, someone just wanting to get in shape like me, a performer wanting that extra edge of lean muscle, or someone recovering from an injury, again what first drove me to the gym was trying to put muscle around an injury and avoid surgery. The trainers will run through the exercise routine with you. You can also get your nutrition evaluated that day, or do that over the phone later, though I’d do it all in well fell swoop myself. But make an appointment and come into town and you, too, can have Hammer Bodies helping you get in shape for the New Year. They have clients that come in regularly from Los Angeles, North Carolina, and other places far and wide. Come play, come work, come discover a whole new you, or maybe get back in touch with someone you’ve forgotten was in there.

Yes, there will be another Merry Gentry novel sometime in 2011. Please, stop asking about it though, I must drowned myself in the current Anita book until it is finished. I cannot afford to be distracted by Merry and her world; not yet.

No, this is not the last Anita Blake novel. Why does that rumor start with every, single book? I so don’t get that, but you heard it here, no, it is not, repeat not, the last Anita book. Okay?

One of my most unusual gifts of the year is from my agent, Merrilee. Yes, that is an M&M with the comic book character face of Anita Blake on it. I have a bunch of them and a candy dispenser. Is it not cool? Merrilee rocks for many reasons, but this gift ups her rocking factor by quite a few points.