travel Archives - Laurell K. Hamilton

Edits, Travel, and the Injury at the End

I finished the edits on the next Anita Blake novel, Serpentine at the beginning of March. Jonathon, my husband, and I were already on a romantic vacation, but he helped me take time out to finish the edits that I hadn’t managed before we had to leave for our getaway. At the end I went old school: writing the changes long hand on sticky notes and handed them to Jonathon for him to type into the manuscript edits. I hadn’t written that much long hand in years, but it felt right. I’d already written the book, the edits were small things, or a scene here and there that needed changed for plot or character development. I took out one side plot that had started off as a red herring, but turned out to lead nowhere, so it had to go. I even had to cut a great new character that I hope we get to see later in another book. Larry Kirkland was a character that was actually in one of the rough drafts of the first Anita Blake novel, Guilty Pleasures, but he wouldn’t actually get on stage until book three, The Circus of the Damned. One of my favorite things about writing a series is that characters and plot lines that have to be edited out of one book can still see life later on. Interestingly, Anita, Micah, and Nathaniel try to have a romantic trip in the book, but both her work and Micah’s interfere with it. I wrote that months before Jonathon and I would be on our own trip and my work would cost us the first few days of relaxation, as if my muse knew it was coming. Of course, Anita’s work was a missing person and murder, and Micah’s work was a type of lycanthropy that we’d never seen before. My edits seem so tame in comparison.

I proceeded to take the longest purposeful break from writing that I’ve ever taken. Jonathon and I finished our trip without more work interfering. Then I got to spend our daughter’s spring break with her. My sister and her wife were able to fly into the country and visit with us. I spent all my “vacation” traveling. I’d finally get on the first plane towards home, but in the all out run to make it, I fell.

I was running full out, I was even thinking, “Wow, I can really run now. I’m so glad I can move like this, yay gym!” And then I wiped out. I did a good job of it, because kind strangers came to stand over me, making that face you make when someone hurts themselves in front of you. Thanks to the kind man who offered me a hand up, because I could not have gotten up without help. I wasn’t even sure that I’d be able to stand at all, until I tried. I was finally able to limp to my plane like Igor from the Frankenstein movies, but I was just happy to make my plane. I enjoyed my travels, but I was so ready to go home. I made my plane discovering that I was bleeding from the skin I’d lost, but I was able to walk better as I moved more. I still hurt, but I got to my seat. The flight attendant got me bandages, alcohol wipes, and eventually ice bags to put on my knee. Thanks for the care and attention Delta. Thanks also to my seat mate, Charles, who was a gentleman in the best sense of the word, putting my bag overhead for me when he saw I was hurt and helping the flight attendant pass me things to do some first aid. He also kept my mind off how much I was hurting by having an intelligent and calm discussion about our different paths of faith.

The skin is growing back from the scrapes, but I’ve either scraped my meniscus, or got a micro tear in it, which means no gym or martial arts for awhile. The page proofs of Serpentine have come back for one last chance to read over and catch any small things. It hurts to even sit at my desk for too long without propping my leg up. Sigh.

I’m looking forward to finishing the page proofs and getting back to the gym and dojo, and onto writing the next story.

Missing Ireland

This week we had one of the hottest days of the summer so far, which means over 90F, very humid, and miserable for running outside, but I came downstairs with a jacket over my arm. I was convinced I’d need it. Why? Because the book I’m currently writing is partially set in Ireland and I’d have needed the jacket. In fact one of the working titles for the book is simply, The Irish Book. We actually flew to Ireland to research it. We were there for almost two weeks and then we flew to England to research another book. I’d never tried combining research on different books before; it was a little odd, especially because the book set in England isn’t the one I’m working on, or the one after that. It was especially jarring to have to take my head out of the Irish book, which I am currently writing, to a book so far down the road. It made sense to piggyback the research since the two countries were geographically so close, but as a writer it was harder than I thought it would be to try to juggle such different projects and different kinds of research.

The ferns in Ireland were almost as tall as I am.

England was having a heatwave while we were there: 70F with some days reaching 80F, unheard of there. Ireland ran between 40F to mid-60s. I don’t think it even reached 70F the entire time we were there. It rained, at least a little, every day in Ireland. The sun would come out and it would feel warm but if you stepped into the shade it was suddenly much cooler. We had to buy rain gear because our good rain coats were at home. It was wet, drizzly, and very autumn there every day. This was high summer, and the locals assured us this was summer weather for them. It was even a little sunnier and nicer on some days than typical for the season.

Lough Tay in the Wicklow Mountains.

Air conditioning didn’t work well the entire time we were traveling this trip, except for one room in England. In Dublin we left the windows open and ran fans, sometimes it was okay, but one night it was so hot and muggy in the room that it gave me a migraine. There are no screens on the windows, so if you sleep with them open to help with temperature you have to risk wildlife flying in, and if on a low enough floor, people maybe creeping in – not very comforting. In fact, when I first realized the window challenge I was quite unhappy with it, but once I was up and writing at the desk the damp and autumnal chill worked for me, worked for the book. One morning in Dublin I wrote 18 pages. The book was going well, and then we had to leave for England.

This is my fourth trip to England, to London, and I can finally say that I’m not a city girl, not even for London. Unfortunately all our business kept us in the city, and we only had one day to escape to Somerset, Glastonbury in particular, which is my favorite part of England. But I didn’t escape to the countryside until after I’d been a guest at my first European SF Convention, done an amazing 4 and half hour signing at Forbidden Planet, and finished the research for two books down the way. I’ll probably be blogging in more detail later about the convention and the signing. Thanks to everyone that helped make both a great experience! When work was done we could take a day to truly play, and we did, but one day didn’t make up for nearly three in the city. Though the research at the British Museum did its best to make up for anything and everything. Its my favorite museum on the planet to date, and the wonders on display take days to see. I felt very privileged that it was part of my job to roam about in such a magical place. There will be a blog just about the British Museum, but it will have to wait until this book is complete.

A tankard carved from amber. Just one treasure from the British Musuem.

I made notes and outlines for the book that will be set in England, but I was still trying to write on the Irish book. I’m not sure I wrote more than five pages at a sitting the entire time we were in Britain. Partly I was having to think of a different book altogether to do this research, and partly . . . a lot of things, but I only figured out one problem this week.

Do you remember where I said I wrote 18 pages in a morning in Dublin? When I hit that kind of page count the book is set and going well. Its very unusual for me to hit that high and then fade down to almost no pages. We were traveling, and that can make it challenging to write, and I was still making progress on the current book. We got home from Europe and I was making pages steadily, but never to the point I’d been in Dublin. Then, two weeks later we had DragonCon in Atlanta to attend, and though a wonderful and fun event, it was too soon after a month away from home. So tired, not even DragonCon could really fire me up. I enjoyed it, but not like usual. I wanted to be home for longer than two weeks. I have never been so tired of staying in hotels in my life. It ranked right up there with the 26 cities in 28 days tour of Narcissus in Chains in October of 2001. Yeah, not a great time to be flying. Hands down the hardest tour we’ve ever done.

This week Jonathon and I had to drive out of town and stay in yet another hotel, because of family illness. The family member is out of the hospital and back home, but it was serious, and accordingly stressful and scary. Normally, that kind of event derails me for days on a book, but not this time. I got up the next day and wrote ten pages. Yay! I did it again the next day, and the next, and the next. It’s not eighteen pages, but ten is a good daily page count. So I’m finally back into the swing of the book after nearly a month. I know I am, because I brought my jacket down to wear on a day that was so hot I didn’t need it. I brought the jacket downstairs with me because I was thinking about Ireland. I’d have needed the jacket there.

Stream in the Wicklow Mountains. Flower is a wild foxglove.

I’m missing Ireland because the book had settled into being written there. When a novel hits a certain productivity for me I need to stay put. I need to finish writing it where I am. Which means I should have stayed in Dublin with the rain, and the autumnal mist, and the trips to the mountains where everything was so green and lush, but not a tropical kind of lush. Ireland is different than I thought it would be in some ways, and in others exactly as I’d dreamed. Maybe if I wasn’t writing a book set there, and reading tons of books I bought there for more research, I wouldn’t be missing a country that I visited for less than two weeks; but all the above has combined and I’m homesick for a country that isn’t mine.

When I explained that to Jonathon he offered to bring a hose to my office, so I could have the constant rain. I said, thanks, but no thanks. *laughs*

When I type ‘The End’ on this manuscript I think this strange nostalgia for an alien land should pass, but I’m already making a list of things I didn’t get to see/experience in Ireland, so maybe not. It didn’t feel like home when I was there, Glastonbury, England feels more like home, but it’s not Glastonbury that keeps calling me back.

I have stood on the Hill of Kings and touched the Stone of Destiny at Tara! Amazing energy, amazing moment! I have walked inside Newgrange with its swirls and spirals, which is hundreds of years older than the Great Pyramids. We saw both on the same day, and it deserves a blog to itself soon. I have seen the mummies of St. Michan’s Church in Dublin, which was probably one of my favorite things we did there. I’ll talk more about St. Michan’s in a different blog. We walked around Dublin until we began to know the city and were able to find our way around. I kept mishearing St. Stephen’s Green, as St. Stephen’s Gallows, which gave the beautiful park in the middle of Dublin a very different meaning. I’ve seen Irish deer and watched two tiny, spotted, fawns play fight as if they already had a rack of horns atop their heads. I’ve seen lakes, forests, or what’s left of them, peat bogs, moors, and more streams and waterfalls than I’ve seen in my entire life. I’ve stood on the cliffs above the Irish sea, and found caves there, and then watched the tide fill them back up and make them too dangerous to enter. I could not have written this book if I hadn’t gone, or I would have gotten it wrong, and every person who knew Ireland would have known I hadn’t walked the streets, eaten the food, drank in the pubs, listened to the stories, seen the people, touched the bullet holes in the post office. Ireland isn’t something you can fake. It’s not the travel ads on television. It has nothing to do with American St. Patrick’s Day. I’m not sure how to explain it all, but as I write the book I’m figuring it out, because part of why I write is to discover, to clarify, to understand, and finally to share the adventure.

A few of my favorite things . . . from Ireland and England

A month long trip to Ireland and England and the most asked question since we returned to family and friends in the states is this: What was your favorite part? I’ve answered it differently, by simply throwing out whatever first comes to mind like a word association.
What was your favorite part of the trip?
The Wicklow Mountains in Ireland.

One of the many waterfalls we saw in Glendalough, in the Wicklow Mountains.
What was your favorite part?
Writing in Dublin. (I wrote better there than anywhere else.)
What was your favorite?
Introducing Spike and Genevieve to pate in Dublin. They have dubbed it smooth, creamy, spreadable meat butter.
Your favorite?
Eating at Gordon Ramsey’s flagship restaurant, Restaurant Gordon Ramsey, in London. It has three Michelin stars and now I know why. An amazing experience and will likely get a blog of its own later.
Favorite?
British Museum. Jonathon summed it up, “Every little emperor’s dream of avarice.” It was beyond amazing. It will also be getting it’s own blog later.
Fav?
Glastonbury Abbey, where the calling of crows led me to my first ever badger sett hidden under a huge oak tree. It turns out I followed the birds in the wrong end of the path. If I’d come in the proper way there was a sign to tell me the badgers were there, but honestly I prefer having found it the way I did. I followed the birds trying to see what they were fussing about, and then suddenly, badgers! I often find the most magical moments are the unplanned ones.
?
That moment when I stood in a town I’d never known about, at a ruin I’d never heard about, and knew that my muse had been right. This was the place to put the monster. My imagination had whispered the name of this place to me when, to my knowledge, I had never known it even existed. I haven’t had that happen since the ninth Anita Blake novel, Obsidian Butterfly, when Edward insisted he lived in New Mexico, even though I’d never visited the state. I remember arguing with him, “I created you, how can you live somewhere I know nothing about?” I lost that argument, because he was absolutely right and I knew it the moment I stepped off the plane in Albuquerque. He still lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Ireland took me longer to get my research feet under me, and I’ll be blogging in more detail about that process later, but once I got into the swing of things it was like that moment in New Mexico – this was it. I know where the monster is, where the bodies are buried, where the crime will happen, and who Anita follows to Ireland.
Are the above really my favorite moments of the trip? Yes and no. They are some of my favorite moments, but not all of them. I’ll be blogging about more highlights and moments of inspiration, craziness, research, and sheer happy accidents over the next few weeks, but this gives you a taste of the trip. Yes, I have been deliberately vague about where the Irish book, as I called it for a long time, is set, because I’m not ready to share exact locations yet. I have a book to finish writing and it feels like if I give too much detail now on the blog that it will derail some of the energy that is driving the book forward. I need to be immersed in the fictional version of the town, countryside, ruins, etc . . . before I discuss the reality too much. In fact, I have pages yet to write today, a scene to complete, a fight to finish, but first, the reality of dogs and breakfast for them and myself and then back to my fictional world where dogs never interrupt and breakfast rarely seems to happen.

Ireland Here We Come!

Blog – Irish trip & research

I wrote this blog before we left for research, but security issues being what they are, I’m going to be posting some of the blogs out of order. It’s a shame a few bad apples spoil things, but there it is.

I’m sitting in my office, just after dawn. The sky is still all light and shining with the blue color only now fighting its way through all that LIGHT! The air feels cool and calm, the day stretching ahead full of promise and possibilities, and yet . . . but . . . There’s always an, and yet, or a but, or so it seems of late.

We are supposed to be getting on a plane for Ireland today, yes you read that right. We are headed to the Emerald Isle. We’ll see you all in London in August, but we’re leaving early for research. The book I’m currently working on is mostly set in Ireland, and because I’ve never, ever been there I’d put off this story for years. Wait, I kept telling it, and it waited. Don’t push, I said, and it didn’t push. Other ideas pushed hard and fast and paid no attention to my orders, or my requests, or even my pleading with them, because they were ready to be born, so I wrote them as they clamored to be written. Story ideas for me are like baby birds in a nest, the loudest voice and tallest held mouth gets the worm, and will fledge first, but unlike real life where the tiniest nestling can starve and die while it’s bolder siblings thrive, ideas don’t die for me. They live, they wait, and they bide their time.
This book has found it’s time. It’s eager, excited, demanding to be written, and the damn thing is set in Ireland. It’s set in a specific part of the country that I have never seen or even read about before the book decided it was set mostly there. I’ve only had this happen once before and that was with my book, Obsidian Butterfly. It is set in New Mexico, which I’d never visited. My character, Edward, insisted that he lived in New Mexico. In fact he insisted he lived somewhere between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, New Mexico. I argued with him. “You’re a fictional character. I made you up. You cannot possibly live in a place that I’ve never seen or even read about. You’re part of me, how can you go some place I’ve never been?”
When I stepped off the plane in New Mexico and saw those low, black mountains, that desolate, near alien landscape, I said, “Well, son of a bitch, you do live here.”
I have no idea how Edward, alias U. S. Marshal Ted Forrester, decided he lived in a place I’d never seen or read much about. He’s always been a character that went off on his own, and then would come back and tell me what he was doing, and some of what he had done. He keeps his secrets, even from me. Which is a very peculiar feeling for a writer, since I’m supposed to be making him up as I go, but somehow he has enough life of his own that he tells me what he’s doing, and surprises the hell out of me, a lot.
I should have known that Edward would be in a book that was insisting on being set in a part of the world I had never seen. I can’t say I haven’t read much about Ireland, because I have been a serious lover of this section of the world for a long time. I’ve read the myths and folklore of Ireland, Scotland, England, and though I know they are part of England now, Cornwall, Wales, and almost every part of these myth-ridden islands. I was a serious Anglophile in my teens and dreamed of visiting all of it someday, though I don’t think I ever believed I’d manage it. Traveling to such far off places was for other people, not for girls living in the middle of farm country, raised below poverty level, so it turned out. I knew we didn’t have money, but I never felt poor in the sense that the word, “poverty”, makes me think. I never felt impoverished, I just knew we didn’t have money. I’m not sure anyone I ever knew as a young child ever traveled out of the country for anything except military service.
I’ve been to England twice. I’ve seen Rome and Milan in Italy. I’ve been to Paris and found it as romantic as advertised, which I didn’t think possible. Admittedly, I was with Jonathon and almost anywhere I go with him is romantic. But we both really enjoyed Paris and look forward to going back and taking Genevieve and Spike with us. I could live for a few months in Rome, or Paris, but strangely didn’t enjoy London all that much. What captured me in England was the countryside. Glastonbury, Avebury, and all the Salisbury Plain area spoke to our heart.
The closest we came to Ireland on that trip was seeing it from the air. I remember thinking, wow, it’s so green. This time we get to see all that verdant green in person. I’m so excited, and a little intimidated. First by the flight, because I’m terrified of flying, and second, by trying to write about a country I’ve never seen before. There’s always a pressure to get it right on paper. I’ve already started making contacts with people I need to help me with researching the book I’m writing, the book you’ll read next summer, and research in England for a book after that. Though both of these books are Anita Blake books, I’ve also had Merry Gentry whispering around in my head, or rather other characters from her books. Merry is silent, content with her new babies and trying to find happiness after grief. But her world is moving around in my head as I look over the books on Ireland that I used for research in her stories. This trip might make the Merry fans get the next story sooner, might, I don’t know yet. All I know for certain is the two books I am absolutely researching while I travel across the pond.

Fear of Flying

I loved to fly on airplanes until I was on a flight that experienced wind sheer, or something like it in the middle of a flight coming back from Mexico. One minute, the nice flight attendant was serving us all coffee and soft drinks, and the next minute the plane was diving for the ground so hard that the flight attendant was plastered against the ceiling of the plane above us. People were screaming, and then people started to pray. I had a death grip on my then husband’s hand, and the woman beside us began to recite The Lord’s Prayer in German. I don’t speak German, but I knew the rythmn of the prayer. I offered her my hand, we locked eyes, and she took my hand, because in the end, when you think it is the end, you offer a hand to the person next to you, because that’s what you do. I started saying the prayer in English with her. There were other languages reciting in the plane, in among the screams.
Then, as suddenly as it began to dive, the plane righted itself. The flight attendant dropped to the floor of the plane, shaken and covered in coffee from chest to almost thighs. She staggered to her feet using the seats to stand, some people offered her a hand. She said, “I’ve flown for six years and I’ve never seen anything like that.”
The Captain came on the speaker and said, “I don’t know what just happened, but we seem to be fine now. I’m going to keep heading for our original destination. If it happens again I’ll set us down somewhere closer.”
The rest of the flight was perfect, other than the crew kept commenting to the passengers about it. When the flight crew is saying how scared they were, and yes, thought we were going to die – you know it’s a rough flight.

A picture out the plane window on a much calmer flight.

I never really liked to fly after that. I didn’t like how few options I had if things went critical. Fast forward a couple of decades and another flight, this time for a book tour. We took off, and there was a loud mechanical knock that shook the plane a little. It happened just as the landing gear went up, so I thought that had gotten stuck. I’d researched planes by then in a vain attempt to get over this phobia and I did not want a belly landing for the plane – I really didn’t. I prayed, just let the landing gear work. Like many times in my life, I should have asked Deity for more.
The plane never gained much altitude. I’ve flown out of St. Louis a lot, and this was not how you did it. We barely cleared some trees and then it was too quiet. I realized, we’d lost an engine. But I also knew that this type of airplane could fly with the engines it had left. We were okay, but we never gained the sky, not really, we were too low and we began to circle back towards the airport. “Please, let the landing gear work,” I whispered, and then the smoke began in the cockpit. They had to open the door to keep the smoke from filling the cockpit so I could see white smoke and them using a fire estingquisher on the general direction of the smoke inside the plane. More smoke began to come out of the engine that had ceased to function, when I say we lost, I don’t mean it fell off, it just stopped working, and now apparently it was on fire. Perfect. Now, did the landing gear work?
We got lower and lower, people were beginning to freak, and the Mississippi River was there way closer than I wanted it to be. I started praying, “don’t let it be a water landing, please not the river.” I don’t know why, but that thought really scared me. But we made a runway; yay!
They taxied the plane to the far reaches of the airport. People were asking, “Why aren’t they taking us back to the terminal?” “Why are we in the empty part of the airport?” Here’s where too much research can hurt you: I knew why the plane was sitting in the middle of no man’s land. We were still on fire, or they thought we were and they won’t take the airplane near the terminal and endanger more people until they’re sure it won’t blow up. The fire trucks and ambulance came whirring towards us and stopped at a safe distance. Each airport only has so much equipment, and again they aren’t going to risk it getting blown up with the airplane. Finally one smaller truck drove slowly by us, while other passengers asked, “Why aren’t they letting us off?” It was like you were bleeding in the Emergency room and the doctor walks by and says, “You look fine,” and just keeps on walking. Finally they started spraying the plane with white foam, which meant they thought we weren’t going to blow up – Yay!
I still don’t have the words for how relieved I was to step off that plane and be back in the airport in St. Louis. My first thought was, “I’m going to have whipped cream!” Because I’d refused to get a rich, creamy Starbucks coffee drink (Lets just call them what they are, a coffee shake), I’d been all virtuous and not gotten the extra whipped cream I’d wanted and after the adventure we’d just had my first thought was that damned whipped cream, so I went to Starbucks and paid full price for a cup of whipped cream. Yes, the barista was confused.
I don’t know what it said that the first thing I thought after I realized I was safe was something sweet and creamy, maybe it means I don’t drink. It would take six and a half hours to get another plane and arrive in Chicago where the next tour event was scheduled for the next day. I could have driven faster, but I got there and the tour went on as scheduled, but the whole plane on fire thing didn’t help my fear of flying, though weirdly I hadn’t panicked either during or afterwards. I think I’m always more surprised that nothing goes wrong when I fly, so when something happens it seems like, “Oh well, of course.” Either that, or I have nerves of steel and I don’t think that’s it.

So, my fear of flying is trauma based according to the therapists I’ve seen about it, and phobias that originate in trauma do not respond to typical phobia therapy. In fact, I saw my current therapist before we left and she had no strategy to share that I hadn’t heard before, so I’m stuck with being afraid of flying. I could live my life without flying, but that would mean most touring for my books wouldn’t happen. You guys wouldn’t see me much, at all, but I could do the whole recluse thing, I guess. But . . . there are places in the world that I want to see that flying makes possible.

I’ve seen Rome and stood in the beautiful ruin of Palatine Hill, I’ve stood in the museum hush of St. Peter’s with all the mummified pope bodies with their begging boxes next to some of the most amazing architecture in the world. I was finally able to weep for my grandmother’s death in Milan at the Basilica at the Mary altar with it’s hundreds of candles. Paris is actually as romantic as its supposed to be, which I didn’t think was possible. Having my husband, with me may have influenced me on that, but it really is a beautiful city. We found the Parisians friendly and happy to help as we spoke our few words of French to them. Apparently my pronunciation of French is really terrible, but they appreciated my effort. Jonathon’s accent was so good that if I kept my mouth shut no one realized he didn’t speak the language even better than he sounded. He has a real ear for languages and I seem to be tone deaf unless I’m singing.
I’ve stood on the white sand of a tropical beach and seen the ocean roll out to the offing until sky and water merged into one blue line. I love the warm ocean spread in turquoise, and aquamarine waves. It’s like magic to this midwestern girl. It was so worth the planes rides to get to spend weeks staring out at that view while I finished my latest book.

If I wasn’t willing to get on a plane I couldn’t go back to England and do my first ever signing in London on August 8! I’m so excited to sign books for all you patient fans across the pond. You’ll have another chance at seeing me on panels at Nine Worlds Con on August 9th. This is your chance to see me in person and hear what you’ve been missing at the American conventions I attend. There will be other great writers on the panels with me, as well. I’ve been to England twice before, once on a family trip with our daughter and Jonathon’s parents. If I hadn’t faced my fear of flying I’d have missed Trinity when she was so small she could curl up completely in the Devil’s Seat at Avebury, or climbing the Tor together, and having tea at the Abbey Tea Room across from the Abbey Ruins at Glastonbury. Hampton Court was fabulous and the Tower of London is a must see! The British Museum is one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. We’ve had two days there on different trips and we’ve only seen portions of the treasures inside each trip. The sun really didn’t set on the British Empire.
As we prepare to fly back across the pond, I’m just as scared as I was last time, but I know that it’s worth the it. Every time I’ve gotten on a plane the destination has been worth the trip. I just have to hold onto that thought and keep moving forward. Somehow we missed Stonehenge both times, so maybe this time.

The Woods Were Lovely, Dark and Deep . . .

I’ve gone from 80s & a warm Caribbean Sea to below freezing and snow, from tropics, to the buckle of the Bible Belt, to the East coast, back to the Bible Belt, to upper west coast, all within two weeks. We’ve been home about 96 hours in those last two weeks. Jon has been with me throughout & we were even able to keep the dogs & our other significant others, Spike & Genevieve, with us until this last trip to Seattle, which helped a great deal to make everywhere we went feel like home. But now with them back in St. Louis with the dogs, I am feeling more cut adrift.

This year is an experiment in travel, in saying yes to adventure & new places. Its our daughter Trinity’s first year in college, in the dorms, so Jon & I decided we’d travel like we’d been wanting to but couldn’t because of being tied to her school schedule. It’s an experiment & Spike & Genevieve have agreed to try it with us for this first year of cohabitation. Thanks to technology their jobs can travel with them and it’s a telecommuting fest. We also decided to do a major remodel in the St. Louis house, because Jon & I had been planing to anyway & now the space will be our space, all four of us have picked the colors & style of everything. One of the reasons we went to the tropics for me to finish writing Dead Ice was to have a working kitchen, TV room, and living room, while the remodel happened. It’s still not done. We’ve been eating take in, in the Solarium on a table meant for leaning on in the summer, but we’ve done it cheerfully and with a lot of laughter, which bodes well for many things.

We all liked the two months in the tropics, and I may try finishing every book somewhere else from now on, because wherever I type “the end” I want to runaway from it; I seem to need a change of scenery. I think it works better wanting to run to home rather than away from it. I was so happy to walk into my office in St. Louis. It looked beautiful & sunny, surrounded by trees at the top of my three story eyrie. I miss my ocean view terribly, but I was still very happy to be home. Usually, I finish a book and don’t want to see the office for weeks afterward.

I’m typing this in Seattle, Washington in our room before my first panel of the day here at MythicWorlds. It was FairieCon West once upon a time, but they’ve changed their name to reflect a more diverse myth and folklore interest. All wee and not so wee beasties are now welcome from all walks of the between spaces, not just the wee folk of the fey. The vendors area is fabulous here. I’m wearing a necklace I bought yesterday from Touchstone Runes. We have already committed much commerce! Fairecon East, that we did earlier in the year, had a fabulous vendor’s room, too.

All the huge, dark trees here in the NorthWest make me think of the Robert Frost poem, “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening.” Especially the line, “The Woods are lovely dark and deep . . .” indeed they are here, so the poem’s title was more appropriate than ever.

The edits for Dead Ice come back from New York on Monday, maybe a few hours before we land in St. Louis, and we finally get home. I’ll have a week to see what the copyeditor, and my editor, Susan, have noted in the book. I know that I’m already reaching out to my police friends that help me keep my mistakes to a minimum, because I know I didn’t do one of the police scenes exactly right. I’m just not sure what I missed, but I finished the scene and then had that niggling feeling I’d dropped a ball along the way. That’s what edits are for, to catch the dropped balls and put them back into play

Genevieve has sent us pictures from St. Louis of the fish pond frozen so solid the big dogs can walk across it. Jon says, he’s never seen a pond frozen that hard there in twenty years, and he’s lived in Missouri all his life. We keep telling her and Spike that it’s never this cold in St. Louis, I think they’ve stopped believing us. *cross my heart* I say, and Genevieve gives me that look, you know the one, your wife/girlfriend has one, too. The one that says, she loves you, but . . . We’ll be home Monday and do our best to make it up to her and Spike. We’ll find ways to keep them warm through the long winter nights, but first – edits.

New Blog – Happy Winter Solstice from Our Family to Yours

Listening to Christmas carols and the ocean, as I sit outside and write to the glow of holiday lights. The windows are open behind me so the carols on the blue tooth speaker are background noise to the pounding waves. The wind has picked up from the gentle slap of earlier. The sea had sounded almost lazy as we walked along the shore, but now the sound alone makes me know there’d be no swimming off the beach and even a small boat would be a rocky ride tonight. The stars that had been so brilliant earlier are hidden behind a thick cloud cover. It’s a black night beside the sea and even with the glow of the Christmas lights I’m strangely melancholy. I guess it’s the time of year for it, remembering the people that aren’t here for the holiday and never will be again this side of the grave. Missing my mother is a constant, but I wonder what my grandmother would think about our tower by the sea, to my knowledge she never saw the ocean and never wanted to.

I can smell the steaks cooking under Spike’s watchful eye. Genevieve is helping Jon prepare fresh green beans for pan sauté with garlic and a few other spices. It’s nearly eighty degrees outside while Bing Crosby sings about a white Christmas that will never happen here. The ocean pounds, the carols sing, the lights glow, the dogs wonder why I won’t throw the ball while I type, and it’s almost time for dinner with my polyamorous foursome. Life is good, but there will always be those people who aren’t with me at the holidays that make it a strange time of happiness and sorrow.

Trinity, our daughter, will be joining us from college later. This is her first year away and the first time she has to come back for the holidays. It is both wonderful and a little sad, as well. She is off on her own adventure and we’re thrilled, but it’s another big change and all change can translate to loss in our heads and in our hearts if we’re not careful to remember the difference. It’s all good, but it is different.

Genevieve introduced me to the song, ” All I Want for Christmas is a Real Good Tan,” by Kenny Chesney from 2003. It was pretty appropriate for this year, though we all slather ourselves up with sunscreen in an effort to avoid sunburn. The idea of a tropical holiday isn’t new. Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters were singing about it with, “Mele Kalikimaka” the Hawaiian Christmas song in 1950. Ella Fitzgerald crooned, “Christmas Island,” in 1960. When I was a little girl I loved having a white Christmas with lots of snow, but I’m pretty good sitting here with a warm ocean just outside the door and palm trees swaying in the tropical breeze. White sand will do just fine as a stand in for all that snow.

The picture with this blog is from my office for the day where three of the dogs helped inspire me, just like they do at home.

I hope that all of you reading this will have a wonderful holiday celebration whether it is Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa, Yule, or Winter Solstice, and that family, whether of choice or of blood, gather round you. May you have friends, and if a solitary holiday is what you want I hope you enjoy your own company, because in the end no matter how many people we love, or love us, it is ourselves that we come to in the end and always.

New Blog – FaerieCon East 2014, After Action Report

First, thanks for everyone being so welcoming at our very first FaerieCon. You East coast fey are a very friendly lot. The vendors area was full of more wings than I’ve ever seen anywhere. Got some more great jewelry at The Crafty Celt, and two new places: Seth Maranuk Designs, and Remnants of Magic. Blonde Swan was there with the hats of awesome, and next door were the most charming fairy houses. They looked like things I used to make up in my head when I was in fifth grade and what my daughter loved for years, as well. I think I may need a tiny one for my office, and another for our daughter for Solstice.

The wonderful SJ Tucker was there to perform her musical magic along with Faun. SJ and I have known each other for years, and exchanged many hugs, though by the time we hugged on Sunday my voice was gone thanks to con crud that Jon and I both came down with. Got to wave at the members of Faun as we were all trying to leave for the airport.

I was on panels with Bruce Coville, Tamora Pierce, and Catheryne Valente, with surprise guest Melissa Marr who showed up for the Researching Your Fiction panel. Bruce and Tamora could do a delightful panel just the two of them. Their decades of friendship, being neighbors, and writing buddies totally shines through when they are on stage together. Emma Casale was on all our panels with us, at least briefly, as she ran all the writing panel track, the bookstore, and all the signings. She brought me hot tea on Saturday using her grandmother’s tea caddy. I was fearful I would drop the wonderful strawberry covered creamer once I learned it was a family heirloom. Jon made certain that he either carried it back to her between panels or stayed with it for her to return for it. Thanks again Emma, the tea was most welcome.

We had more hot tea with Melissa Marr and our shared agent, Merrilee Heifetz, between panels, and then they went back to World Fantasy Con which was just down the road. I’d actually forgotten that the two cons were the same weekend; it’s been a busy year. Tamora, Catheryne, and I had a panel on, “Why are Strong Women in Fiction Still a Surprise?” We talked to a packed room about a lot of different questions. What divides men and women? Is it society more than actual physical gender? What brings us together? Is feminism a dirty word that divides women, or is it a perfectly okay word and thing to be? Is it true that younger is automatically more attractive? Is it true that getting older means your looks “go”? Tamora and I had to agree to disagree on the last two questions. I don’t believe that younger is better or that older is worse. I believe it is a false idea put out by ads and entire industries wanting us to buy their products to look younger, and thus, better. I find that as long as I hit the gym hard and watch my nutrition, that decade number five is pretty awesome; and I’m finding that holds true for my friends as they hit their thirties, forties, fifties, and sixties. I’m not a gym rat because I’ve always loved to exercise, I’m in the gym because I started asking the people older than me that looked fabulous and had almost no health problems, “What are you doing?” The answer, almost without exception, was serious gym and nutrition. My doctors are telling me that muscle around the joints is how I stay out of knee surgery, so that pretty much capped it as a plan of action for me.

Sorry, I digress, but I learned things on the panel that I didn’t know, like it’s still not considered cool for little boys to read books. Really? I asked my husband and best male friends and they all said that as boys they’d gotten made fun of for reading. I had no idea. The men in the audience confirmed that reading is still not cool for boys and men. That’s sad and ridiculous. Tamora said that if more fathers would read to their children, especially little boys, that it would help close this reading gap between girls and boys. Her point was very sound that most boys want to be like their dads, so if they read and enjoy reading with their sons than they can go into the world armed with stories and knowing that reading is cool, because their dads read, too. Since I grew up without a father, I had no idea there was a gender gap in reading. I’ve only dated men who read, usually men who read a lot, so I had no idea there was a double standard for reading. If you enjoy reading, you should read. Don’t let anyone make you feel bad about loving books. Stories are part of what makes us human, as far as we know it’s one of the only things that we do that the other living beings on this planet don’t; although since they’ve proven that animals will lie, maybe they do tell each other stories? Now wouldn’t that be cool, to hear the stories that whales tell each other and be able to understand them?

It was a very thought provoking panel for all of us, I think. When I say, us, I mean men and women, everyone in the room. I’ve decided that maybe I’m a feminist and a masculinist. I’d like everyone to be able to be who and what they are with no preconceived social baggage making us afraid to enjoy, love, hope, do, and be ourselves whatever that means for each of us. Remember that anyone that makes fun of you for doing something you love isn’t really your friend anyway, so what does it matter if they don’t like you? They don’t like you anyway, so screw it, screw them, or rather abstinance them, because you certainly don’t want to sleep with anyone that makes you feel bad about yourself or who limits the things that bring you joy.

Thanks to Robert for all the trips to the airport and the wonderful restaurant recommendation. Thanks to Tiger Torre, her wolf, and friends who redeemed Baltimore sushi by taking us to a fabulous place that washed away the memory of the awful sushi we had delivered the night Jon was too sick to go out and have fun. We all stayed in and took care of him, because that’s what friends and spouses do. You do not go out to concerts, or parties, or whatever, and leave your sick sweetie, or good friend, alone. We actually watched the new Hercules with Dwayne (The Rock) Johnson in the room the night of not good sushi. We all liked it, and I liked it enough I want to see it again. You do need to not expect the Greek mythology and history to be exact, but not as much was changed as in a lot of versions. *cough Disney cough* I actually liked some of the changes and how they explained the labors of Hercules in a fresh way. There were also some of the best fight training scenes for actual shield wall and formation practice I’ve seen in a movie in a very long time, maybe ever. There was even a double mystery plot that made total sense at the reveal, and I can name a lot of suspense movies where that is so not true.

Last and most importantly, thanks to all the fans that came to FaerieCon to see me. You were some of the nicest people and very understanding as I used a microphone on panels to try and not lose the rest of my voice. To the fans that said they’d come here just to see me, I’m still honored, but I hope you got to enjoy more of the con and see some of the other great guests.

Our luggage was fine, the airline lost us

Moline, Illinois has a lovely airport. It’s small, maybe twelve gates, but it has some nice comfy chairs, and an area of cubicles with plug-ins for your electronics. There are some very nice people there that helped my husband, Jon, and I, on Monday when United Airlines lost us.
Yep, you read that last part right. United Airlines lost us, not our luggage, but us. We got off the plane from Denver and there was nothing in our paperwork, or in the computer, that said we should have been in Moline. So, according to the airline we weren’t there. Yes, we were standing talking to the nice gate agents, so we were obviously there, but the computer said we weren’t, or rather, said we should have been in Chicago and there was no mention of the stop in Moline.
How did United Airline lose us? I’m not really sure, but I can tell you how we got to Moline.
Sunday night was our original departure, but the direct flight to St. Louis was cancelled, because the crew timed out. What does it mean when a crew times out? That they’ve flown too many hours and now legally can’t fly again until they’ve had some rest. The airline did try to find a crew to replace them, but had no luck. Jon actually got notification on his phone that the flight was cancelled, before they announced it at the gate. We learned later from several employees that the new computer system often gave information to the customers before letting the agents know that flights were cancelled. We would be hearing complaints about the new computer system, a lot in the next twenty-four hours.
There were no more flights to St. Louis that night anywhere, on any airline.
United did put our entire flight up at the Double Tree, and we were given food vouchers for forty dollars. We were told to give up on getting our luggage for the overnight stay, because it would take at least two hours to get it. Jon and I wanted our luggage so we found plug ins for the electronics and sat down to wait. A lot of the people from our flight decided the same thing. While we waited for the luggage we texted and called trying to find someone to take care of our daughter, Trinity, for Monday. Normally, Jon’s family would pitch hit, but his parents are having a well-deserved second honeymoon, so we got hold of my sister, Chica, and she was able to rearrange work to pick Trinity up from school. She was with her father for the weekend, and he was dropping her at school, but nothing after that. We did finally get our luggage and most of the flight went out to grab the shuttle to the Double Tree.
Thanks to everyone at the Double Tree that made the night and the breakfast next morning as pleasant as possible.
Next morning and we’re back at the airport. Now the real fun begins, as we talk to the ticket agent, Peggy. She seemed confused by why we were there, and what we wanted. We’d been first class on the cancelled flight, but the only flight they could get us on Monday was economy, so the computer wanted us to pay for checking the bags, which you don’t have to do in first class. Peggy called over another agent trying to figure out how to convince the new computer system to stop trying to be so efficient and be a little bit more user friendly. Finally, we got our boarding passes. I noticed a problem, so I said, “There’s no mention of Moline on any of this, shouldn’t the boarding passes, or something, say Moline since we’re going there next?”
Peggy said, “No, you’re fine.” There was more reassurance from both her, and the other agent helping her. They made several more mentions of the new computer system and how confusing it was. We’d gotten to the airport with over two hours before the flight, by the time we finished talking to Peggy and her friend, we barely made our flight.
But we did make it, and we were happy to be on our way home. Except that home was through Moline. The new computer system knew exactly where our luggage was, but we, we weren’t supposed to be there. The computer either kept thinking we wanted to go back to Denver, or were already in Chicago. In fact the very nice gate agents Barry and Becky were puzzled why we weren’t on the Chicago flight leaving then since there were two seats left. Peggy had assured us that there were no seats on any Chicago flight earlier than early evening flight we were scheduled on. But the new computer system wouldn’t let Becky, or Barry, change our flight time. We watched the noon flight to Chicago take off, and waited for someone to figure out if we were waiting for nearly four hours in Moline, or if there were other options.
The maddening thing was that we were closer to home in Moline than we would be in Chicago. We could have driven home faster than waiting through all the flights. In fact, we had suggested that to Peggy in the first airport of the day, but she had assured us that if we jumped ship, or plane as it were, that our luggage would not be loaded onto the flight in Chicago and would never get to St. Louis, because if they couldn’t match up our luggage to us, they wouldn’t load it. Now, everyone who’s ever had luggage lost in the airline system knows that this sounded wrong, but the more we debated with Peggy, the more adamant she, and her fellow agent, were that if we didn’t do all the flights our luggage would be trapped in Chicago. If we had continued to debate we might never have made our plane at all.
We told all this to Barry and Becky, and they were puzzled, and didn’t agree with what we’d been told. In fact, our luggage was happily in the system and would eventually end up in St. Louis, it was only the two of us that were not making the new computer system happy. We were not supposed to be there.
We could wait for nearly four hours in Moline, then fly to Chicago, and have thirty minutes to make our connection. How many of you have seen the movie Home Alone? Do you remember the scene where the family goes running madly through the airport to make their plane? We think that someone at O’Hare International Airport decided that must be part of everyone’s experience in Chicago, because they are infamous for last minute gate changes, and especially for just putting your arriving plane and your connecting plane too damn far away to make at a reasonable pace. Our record in O’Hare is four gate changes for one flight. The chances of making a connection in Chicago in less than forty-five minutes is slim. So, we could wait forever in Moline, and then still miss our last chance to get home in Chicago. Or . . . We could rent a car and flee.
Through the grace and kindness of the wonderful people in Moline we were able to rescue our luggage, rent a car, and start driving for home. Jon and I were almost giddy with just being in charge of our own fate without the new computer system, or misinformed ticket agents, or pilots with too many hours, derailing our trip home.
We put on the album Avengers Assemble, cranked it up and drove towards St. Louis. Jon and I hadn’t been on a long drive just the two of us in years. We talked about the movie, The Avengers, and how much we loved it. We discussed favorite parts, and that maybe seeing it again on the big screen would be fun. We talked about comic books, where Jon is by far the expert. I asked how much of the movie matched the comics. He said, it’s closest to the Ultimates. We talked about birds that we saw as we drove, and that’s my area of expertise. The male red-wing black birds had set up their breeding territories along the road, so that there were red-wings set up every dozen yards, or so. The roadside ditches in the Quad City area of Illinois must be prime territory, because I’ve never seen so many of them so close together outside of a marsh. We saw a peregrine falcon zipping beside the road. Killdeers, our inland plover, flew like small falcons themselves. Jon and I talked in a way that we have almost from the first time we met. We talked other movies, comics, myth, birds, wildlife, mountains, and I read him bits of what I’d written on the plane. Even with bathroom breaks, and stops for food, we beat the flight we were originally scheduled on into St. Louis, and it was a lot more fun than waiting in airports for hours, and then flying home. Modern air travel is great and makes a quick weekend getaway possible, but sometimes a good old fashioned road trip is just the better way to go. Hmm . . . Maybe my Mustang needs to strectch her wheels soon?