Haus of Rhi

[For Oleg.] Once upon a time there a was a bird. But the bird was born into a skin that didn't feel right. Wasn't shaped right. Didn't look anything like it should, in fact. Bird spent decades listening to others denigrate the shape and look of the skin that didn't feel right. It was too fat, it was too thin, it was too pale, it didn't have enough shape. Was too many hard planes and solid muscle to fit in over there, missing too many pieces to fit in over here.

Today is winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. The first day of winter. It marks the beginning of the worst time of year for me: the sun is hiding, it's cold, and ... yeah, I think that's sufficient. I've often wished I could have a huge castle, with a great hall and a massive hearth large enough to burn a yule log this time of year. Celebrate the longest night the way it was always intended to be. I'm not much on holidays, but this one isn't about a specific religion or set of beliefs -- solstice is just the rhythms of nature, of the planet, the inevitability of the seasons. A reminder that all things have their time, this too shall pass, and without the bleak death of winter, we'd have little appreciation for the budding new life of spring. Balance. Change rarely happens swiftly, but instead in small increments over time. And if I want to escape the snow, I really should start planning to relocate. To Bora Bora, or something.

It's Saturday! And I'm editing! So, definitely time for a snark break! And this week, I've decided to tease you with a sliver of Blacker Than Black , since my brain isn't able to really come up with much else. And, you know, only two weeks to go... This is what you get when you push two equally snarky individuals into sharing space. No black and white sides here. I study the vampire. Just Black . . . and blacker. “I get the impression you’re not pleased with this development.” Garthelle takes a step back. And then another, as if abruptly aware of my proximity. “What leads you to that conclusion?” I wonder how long I can goad him into retreating. “You seem disturbed.” “Disturbed by the sudden inability to sense your very existence?” He turns away. “Indeed. I would not put it past my opposition to facilitate such.” “And you’re unbalanced by the prospect of my death. At hands other than yours, I presume.” He glances at me, a quick furtive look over his s

*clears throat* Drum roll, please. In a three-way tie for first place, Dark Edge of Honor. My thanks to Aleks Voinov the Best Co-Author Ever (and CONGRATS too, Darth Vader -- you rock), Deb Nemeth the Editor of Awesome, and all the very professional staff at Carina Press. Cue the Snoopy Dancing, Streamers, Confetti Parade and Sundry Noisemakers.

Sitting here with the morning winter sun streaming through my living room window, crusted with half-thawed frost. Trying to get my brain in gear so I can dive back into some writing and editing. Sipping hot coffee, doing the usual internet trolling routine: *stretch, sip*, email, *yawn, fire up the trance mix*, tumblr, *perk*, fresh soldierporn images, *scratch, sip*, goodreads... Today's Goodreads "quote of the day" caught my attention. “Only when he no longer knows what he is doing does the painter do good things.”  ―  Edgar Degas Oh, that. Yes. I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that both DEoH and BTB were created this way. Behold the writer, finally surrendering, throwing up their hands, and admitting, "I have no fucking clue what the hell is going on." It's like opening a release value on a sluice gate. Shit starts moving, after that. Fast. Sometimes so fast you can't keep up. It's another way of saying, get the hell out of your ow

They're my friends, I call 'em Larry, Mo, and Curly. Death has never been a subject that overly concerned me, not even when I was young. It's always hovered on the periphery, the inevitable, the natural course of existence, the unavoidable conclusion to the story. Those that fear death, fear life, the warrior philosophy goes. So say the soldiers, who won't set foot in a hospital unless they're dead, or unable to fight their way off the gurney under their own power. They don't fear it -- but they sure as hell don't waste much energy talking about it either. But the stories in my mind, the untold sagas, the muses who haven't yet had the opportunity to be born, to stretch their limbs, to wander through the minds of a hundred readers, and live ... present something else entirely for me.

Today's the 12th -- only one month until the release of Blacker Than Black . To celebrate the countdown, I've started a Q&A group on GoodReads (hopefully I've done it correctly) where you can come and ask questions about Black, the book, or anything else you'd like to discuss with me. Including the subject matter and content of my recent post, Ones and Zeros: Breaking Past Binary. Yes, it's pertinent to Blacker Than Black , as I mention in the post. I don't want to 'spoil' the reading experience for anyone, but if you're confused as to why and how the two connect, or what exactly it means, please feel free to stop by and ask a question. Here's the link to the GR group. It's a public group, you don't have to be a member to read the discussions -- though you will need to be in order to post a comment.

I'm sitting here at my writing desk, trying to get some edit/rewrites done. The words don't seem to be coming. Not for that, at any rate. I'm finding plenty of inspiration and words, just not for actual writing projects, it seems. And I look up to see this. Caused by the afternoon fall sun coming through the living room window, and hitting the wall just so. A strange reminder that timing is everything. And no amount of flailing will make things come out right, not the way they're intended, until their time has come. And when that time does come, you need to be prepared to seize the moment, freeze it and hold it, and make the most of it. Don't rail that the words won't come. Wait, and prepare for the moment when they flow forth like a geyser. It'll happen, it's just a matter of patience and preparation. Nothing good has ever come of forcing it. It's why I'm editing/rewriting, as a matter of fact.

I recently stumbled across a blogpost on the official OIIUSA website that made me hackle, hard . For those that don’t know, OII is Organization Intersexual International, the international awareness and rights organization for intersexuality. I began following the blog some months ago as a result of Black’s imminent release, doing research for content—news and otherwise—to feed onto a subject-related page. The content of the blogpost in question was to be commended, actually: 8 November was Intersexuality Awareness Day, and the post was the biographical information of one of the first known and documented intersexuals. What set me off was that the blog also stated the following:

This month marks the fifth birthday of my muse, Black, from "Blacker Than Black." It was in the early fall of 2006 when I found a submissions-call for an anthology with a "Red Light District" theme. A fellow writer had challenged me to write something new and different, completely removed from anything I'd done before. Up until that time the bulk of my writing revolved around an epic fantasy which, these days, I fondly call the Trunk Novel . Okay, I remember thinking. Something completely different. The wheels churned in my head, as I visualized the divergences and extrapolated.

Mike's handler is looking at a black and white print of  Sergei and the Doctrine general at a meeting. He can tell there's something going on. Smoke billowed from his nose as Mike exhaled in one long stream. It hung in the stillness of the room, layered above the floor like incense in a temple, glinting in the sunlight. “Not sure what.” He shrugged his shoulders, the simple observation a completely honest assessment. The man’s bark of laughter reminded him of a hacksaw against steel, and Mike took another long drag. “Find out, then...there might be a way to exploit it.” Get your copy of "Dark Edge of Honor" and read the rest, over here .

This one's from a WIP that I'm working on, and this is a piece of the scene I'm currently editing today. I stumbled across this bit of #soldierporn snarkiness and just had to share! Their fingers tangled as Hamm palmed Marc's cock through his trousers while Marc tried desperately to focus on undoing the buttons. How many thousands of years of military refinement and nobody had devised anything better than buttons?

This one's working title is "Fifth Sound, Sixth Sense" and is the story of a forward scout on what was thought to be an uninhabited planet. Silly humans. But he knew his rifle well, how to eke the most out of what Mat had to give. Mutilate All Tangos. “Time to play, sexy.” He stroked the trigger guard with his forefinger. When the tango shifted back into sight, the shape of a forehead, cheekbone, and temple were unmistakable and definitely not one of his fellow scouts. He squeezed the trigger, watched the tawny shape disappear in a pink mist. “Oh yeah, Mat. Just like that. I knew you liked it dirty.”

For this week's six, a sneak-peek at Black, on the boulevard in the opening scene. A vampire just eased up to the curb in a snazzy little coupe, its glassy curves refracting the blue-lit glow from the buildings. I soak up the sensation, willing the stranger not to move, or speak; I want to stay in this moment for a while.  To freeze this pristine instant of unrealized potential.  Before the vampire flaps his lips and makes an ass out of himself.  It happens every time, without fail, and every time I manage to conceal the sigh of disappointment and refrain from putting voice to whatever sarcastic comment pops in my head. Silence, magical energy.  May it last, please, for just a little longer? Like what you read and want the rest? Pre-order your copy of "Blacker Than Black" over here at Riptide . Check out the rest of this week's Six-Sentence offerings, over here .

I'll admit I have no clue what I'm doing when I put the digital camera on "manual" -- one thing's for sure, the picture isn't too dark (auto setting in existing light) and doesn't have flash-flare, either. Isn't that a yummy looking cup of coffee, with hand-whipped cream (spiked with Godiva chocolate liqueur) and cocoa and cinnamon sprinkled on top? Mmm, yum, yes it is. *takes another sip* Okay, back to editing. I swear for every page of corrections I do, I'm adding two pages of new content. Oh well. Means more story to read, yeah? The longer the better. No deep conversation is ever just two inches. Not the really good ones, anyways. Oh, was that my out-loud voice? Oops. Godiva and I are really good friends, I'll blame him .

I will be the first to admit that I don't celebrate holidays with the same gusto or ... flair ... that many employ. I also hate carving pumpkins. Knives and I, we don't get on too well. Never mind the guts, and the gross rot thing that always happens. I love roasted pumpkin seeds more than the next person, but the mess just isn't really worth it... Jack & John O'Lantern. They're just friends. So this year I substituted with a couple plastic decorative pumpkins, which were indiscriminately attacked with a Sharpie marker. Say hello to Jack and his slightly psychotic fiend--I mean friend--John. Alas, they don't light up. Yet. I imagine with a drill and a nightlight, I can make some magic happen. Hey guys, you okay with me shoving lights up your butts? ...I'm getting flat stares.

Randomly, from the chapter/scene I'm currently slaving my way through. When it became obvious that he wouldn't relent so easily, Jaedyn lapsed back into his sporadic stream of banter. ::Back home....:: The texture of his posse  twitched, fluttered, momentarily jagged edges and bristling barbs before smoothing out again. ::The foreman and his second told me something of the Idoloni.:: Jaedyn uttered 'second' but it wasn't just the word. Instead, Renji had a flash of this complex and beautiful thing, a thickly rooted solidarity, love running so deep and strong it would never change course. Obviously the arête had thoroughly addled Renji's brain; it took conscious effort to focus past the simple sensory pleasure of the consensus  and on what the man was discussing, as Jaedyn explained what he'd been told. 

My very first 6-Sentence Sunday! Going to start off easy, with an excerpt from "Dark Edge of Honor" where Mike gets his first good look at Sergei. (He's such a perv.) The deep baritone carried across the short distance, smooth and thick, so heavily accented that it took a few seconds of lag for Mike's brain to translate. It was a pathetic excuse for a balcony--forget a lounge chair, the soldier barely had room to pace its measure, let alone turn around. The man studied the structure, bounced his weight back and forth in his widespread stance, arms folded. Mother of gods, the man was built like a battle cruiser and easily topped six foot. The spread of his shoulders dwarfed the doorway at his back. There was no missing the strain of musculature beneath the dark fabric and blood-red pinstriped trousers as he shifted his weight, then twisted to glance back over his shoulder into the dark confines of the room behind him. Read a full excerpt or get a copy of it from C

I've been rather quiet the past week, but there's a good reason, I swear there is! ...It's because I can't find much to say when all my energies are focused on writing. And that's where my mind has been, since Friday of last week. Writing. And...more writing. My week-long vacation is coming to a close. I've enjoyed the generous downtime. So has my writing. And while I haven't churned out monumental word counts or anything, I expect the WIP will be sitting pretty at 50k when I head back to the doldrums of The Day Job tomorrow. Sadly, I've no idea if that is supposed to be the halfway point, or what it is precisely. I'm refraining from sharing too many excerpts just now, since it's still in the formative "I don't even have a complete draft yet" stage. So, instead, I give you my muse. This is Jaedyn Myfala. And... he has a neck fetish. Apparently. It's a good thing he's so nice to look at, because he's going to be

"They will take away my freedom and lock me in the bowels of Ommat . Away from the sun and wind, the sky and turf. You would require this of me." "Your insignis  requires it." The venator,  the same one that shook his had not a minute past, spoke up. His voice was flat, unyielding. "Quiet." The matrem spoke the work softly but it was a whip all the same, and the venator  flinched. "I did not give you leave to speak." -from Dancing Circles,  a work-in-progress .

Isn't that just the most gorgeous cover art ever? In the history of books? Mind you, it isn't done yet. (Yeah that made me goggle a bit as well.) Soon, though, very soon. Also, Riptide's Launch Party is officially starting-- you can get the details over on Amara's Place. Here are the highlights: (1) They're open for pre-orders. Yes, you can bounce on over there and purchase an ebook format of Blacker Than Black. Is that not awesome?? (2) They've publicized four open submission calls . Themed ones, but get this: they have short, novella and full-length classifications for each one, so whatever you might have, I'm sure it would fit. Go forth and polish those puppies.

I am trapped. Somewhere between the Bog of Eternal Stench and the Dark Black Forest. It was a painful ordeal of an exercise, but the Trunk Novel now has something that resembles an outline, and a full plot arc. The major one, anyways. Still all the minor ones to consider and flesh out, but the guide rails are in place. And like a sluice gate being cranked open, the scenes are forming in my mind, battering to get out. I want to write.  Finally. It's been rough, slow going, hammering out something like roughly 5k total this month.

I still haven't repainted my living room -- the walls are still some strange hue of fuchsia/pink/purple/raspberry or whatever the hell it is. I'm learning to appreciate it. Or maybe I've just stopped seeing it, or something. Possible. I'm not really one of those people that hangs stuff on the walls everywhere. But I'm finding ways to make the walls pretty, without painting them. And I am far from a quality photographer, either. I just point and click.

Today's snark is an excerpt from my current WIP: “Has Guardian sent someone to witness?” Jaedyn stared at the Emendati, not recognizing either of them as a miles or insigni who’d frequented the ranch in past. Carrying messages, more often than not. Though what messages the Emendatio had for an emeritus remained far beyond Jaedyn’s grasp. “We are venatori .” The man spoke up before Augustus could answer, which earned him a piercing glance. “I am Naethyn Ratan, my insignis is Horus. We were dispatched to escort you back to Favillu.” “So then the answer is no.” Jaedyn nodded. “You could’ve saved some breath and just said so.”

The blurb for Blacker Than Black is now up on GoodReads and Riptide's website . It looks like the final version of the cover art will be ready by the end of the month as well. Just in time for October launch pre-ordering! I can't dance to save my ass, but I'm definitely bouncing in my chair... And this is probably the shortest blogpost ever, barring that one-liner for Marie Sexton's Saturday Snark (and I'm totally doing that again tomorrow, it was So Much Fun!!) but I need to go run to the post office and mail off some cover art flats to some winners. And then I need to get some writing done. It can keep raining or whatever that is it's doing out there, I really didn't want to mow the lawn today anyways. *mwahahaha* Oh, you want the blurb? Of course you want the blurb. How silly of me. Don't mind me, I'm still bouncing in my chair.

Finally managed to get caught up on the transcribing. Mostly because I've reached a scene that's still tenuous and forming in the back of my mind, so I've not completed writing it yet. It's a strange balance I'm striving to create -- in a high-tension, fast-paced scene, trying to keep that energetic charge, while at the same time convey enough description and information that the reader can "see" what's happening. The scene in question is an ambush. Launched by the 'antagonists' against the traveling group of 'protagonists' but this is also the first time the antagonists are taking the stage physically, so this is the reader's introduction to them. Up until this point their influence has been vicarious, offstage, and insinuated or suspected. So much potential to twist and/or play with the reader perception here. The antagonists aren't nearly as clear-cut as the POV characters perceive them. And the idea here is to show that

I've still four pages of transcribing to complete to get caught up. Some days it's a more daunting task than it should be. I procrastinated with constructing an Eclectic Playlist the other day.(It's hard work, trolling through five decades of BillBoard chart-toppers.) And discovered a very old song that, oddly, I recalled from my childhood and didn't realize was an actual song . When I was a wee mite of a thing, back in the day of Troglodytes and Tyrannosaurs, I had this clunky wind-up music box thing. It was designed to withstand the abusive adoration and overuse that a child like me would give it. It had cartoon pictures of bumblebees, and doves, and apple trees...

From "Dark Edge of Honor" -- Mike wondered if someone got paid to piss in their cornflakes each morning. Check out Marie Sexton's "Saturday Snark" entry for more smiles!

The overhaul of the trunk currently sits at 27.5k. Progressing, slowly. But steadily. It might never really gain the writing momentum that has me churning out 3k a day and more. But it will be told. I've a few other stories laying around as well, ones I want to work on during NanoWrimo this year. It's likely that will interrupt this, at least a little. I'd rather plug away steadily and have no need to do heavy developmental edits. But some days I definitely feel like The Writer Tortoise.

Mind-ridden. The felines were watching, serving as the eyes of the serpen . Aerdin turned his head and looked up at Renji, a slow, incremental shift. "You see them?" He nodded. "Waste, medicus.  Why aren't you umbras. " Because it would be impossible to resist the urge, to hide what he was. Renji just shrugged. "Half my new trainees wouldn't be able to see their hand in front of their face at night like this." "And the other half?"

There was a good bit of exhaustion-fueled hilarity at the day-job, yesterday. Some very interesting conversations. The regular overnight associate, with whom I worked most of a 17-hour shift, is a fount of such quality material. Last night's story was about her elementary-aged son. He has a backpack that he takes to school each day with a full compliment of "survivalist" supplies. A bottle of water, a utility knife, gloves, umbrella, cell phone with emergency phone numbers, that sort of thing. Earlier this week, her boy returned home from school absolutely drenched. Wearing a thin jacket not designed to keep one dry, the boy was saturated with water. And pulled his umbrella out from inside his jacket as he stepped inside. The umbrella was closed, and safely dry, tucked against his torso. I imagine the boy had a passing thought at how useless an umbrella was in the rain, for keeping one dry.

Err, my little corner of it, at any rate. I shall be Nano-ing this year. Yep, you heard me right.

About two thousand words of transcription accomplished today-- five pages of longhand transferred to Scrivener, on the writing machine. This was managed between bouts of working on interview files (and praise the Flying Spaghetti Monster, they're done  at last) and random power outages and even a nap. It's been a very busy and productive day. And tomorrow is free for fresh words, which I fully intend to make very good use of. Though I expect there to be some interruption for another attempt at Taming of the Mulberry.

I've been struggling recently over which project to work on. Had little in the way of writing energy, thanks to the distraction -- in part -- of DEoH releasing. With that behind me, and off to as good a start as I was able to give it, my brain finally seems content to move on. Which direction, though, is another matter entirely. I have this tome of a project, so large as to be daunting. And then there's the sequel to DEoH that needs some plotting. And the sequel to Black, which has admittedly stalled a good bit for the time being. I have been leery of sinking myself into the heavy rewrites of the trunked novel, in fear of getting lost and never surfacing again. And then, there's nothing quite like churning out 20k on a full-length novel project without any notion as to whether it works. At all. Enter The Beta, swooping in like Superman to save the day.

I've accumulated three days' worth of longhand writing that needs transcribed. Want, desperately, to get it done before my days off Sunday and Monday, because I always feel so unproductive when I do nothing but type things I've already written. The upsides -- I'm writing again, on my lunch breaks, and the transcription process allows me to edit/polish as I go. Instead of wondering what sort of shite I typed the day previous when I sit down to the computer to work. The downsides -- I rarely get anything 'new' written, and sometimes berate myself for being unproductive as a result. There were a few people who read the original version of the Trunked Novel and loved it. Were annoyed, even, that I failed to finish the second volume of it in that incarnation. The problem was I stopped feeling the main character. I matured and evolved to a place where I could no longer relate, could no longer functionally channel her. One way or another, the entire story would n

Apparently I have such a coffee kink that I have transformed into a mug collector. This is not something that happened consciously. But I got so excited about this new acquisition, that it caught me by surprise. So I started doing a mental tally of all the mugs I have. The octagonal diner cups; Taz; wolf; funny shapes and melded, marbled colors; the Cascade Mountains and now, Sergei's Luscious Neck. The latter two are posing here on the writing desk: Art, and Art. I can has Twins. Obviously they're fraternal, duh.  I gave up trying to get a portrait of Sergei that didn't have a glare. The mug is metal, so it's impossible I guess. A picture of Sergei, on a metal meg. Oh, the irony. *mwahahaha* But! Now He Can Come to Work With Me. Which is so awesome, I can't even describe. I am now officially a coffee mug whore. I expect I shall acquire one for each cover art, come to think of it. Because I'm loving this one so hard. I need to be transcribing. Two

Another "Dark Edge of Honor" giveaway! In case you missed your chance last week and want another stab, the benevolent Vivien Dean is holding a giveaway on her blog. Click the link above and leave a comment to enter. Giveaway ends 9 a.m. on Monday, 29 August. Open worldwide. *warnings* This book is a dark and gritty military science fiction novel, in addition to being a gay romance. It includes scenes of torture, dubious consent, and violence involving the main characters. You must be the age of consent in your country to receive the prize.

Not much to say today. Release week for DEoH has been a very unique and new experience for me. So I'll leave you with... Iron Mike, a photo essay.

I'd just like to say that it was thrill enough to see my and Aleks' book on the top of the "Most Popular" list weeks before its release. That alone was, to be honest, more than I'd dreamed of. But two days after, to have it sitting on the top yet again... I am humbled by the volume of attention this implies. From Aleks' fans, and others. Thank you. Seeing DEoH on that list will not get old, let me tell you. Curious to see how long it will stay  there, myself. Anyone willing to place some wagers? What are the odds? I'm not ordinarily the betting sort, to be honest. But I do love numbers. And I've no sales stats to play with, so I'm totally twiddling my thumbs right now. *twitches* Right. Like I don't have other stories to write, yeah? *laughs* Okay, I'll stop wishing for statistical data that I don't have access to, and sales figures that I can't have, and go back to what I get paid for. Giving Good Book. Oh, and all th

DEoH is released for purchase, in both e-book and audio formats. I was so happy, I forgot to make a blog post yesterday. I spent the morning sleeping in, actually and by the time I rolled out of bed, I think my co-writer was starting to think the world really was  flat and I'd fallen off the edge and would never be heard from again. I made up for it by popping in on his fan-group chatroom and gabbing with the fans for a bit. And I still have no understanding of what algorithm this "Most Popular" list on Carina's website uses, but DEoH is sitting in second place. Page views? Purchases? I'm actually dying to know how they calculate that list ranking *lol* Kind of a "yeah my book's on there, but what's it mean? " sort of reaction. I'm looking forward to seeing the reactions and reviews of readers trickle in as they finish reading. Will be interesting to see. And I'm going to make an attempt at writing, later today, after I get this

I'm taking all of next week off from my regular day-job so that I can celebrate DEoH's release-- Snoopy-Dancing and Grinning Like an Institutionalized Loon. Without scaring the customers. It's not really  a vacation, because I'm still working, after a fashion. If it were a real vacation, I wouldn't be staying at home, that's for sure. If I could take a real  week's vacation, I'd be here: Best View Ever, Bora Bora Hammock. However, I'm not. I'm in my little writer corner all week long, availing myself to fans and readers and bloggers and such, doing all the marketing and promo stuff that a good little author does. [Yes, Good Little Author. Pat me on the head and give me a cookie now!] But I think I'll keep this picture handy. As my desktop background or something, perhaps. Because, woohoo, that's gorgeous ain't it? They have restaurants with extreme al fresco dining, where the tables and chairs are in the water. One d

It's official: Black has found a home at Riptide Publishing . A newly formed, not-yet-launched small press, Riptide has gathered together a bevy of reputable names for its stable in its first-round selection. There's no such thing as open subs at this joint. It's by invitation or referral only. And Black is sitting pretty over there, grinning like a loon and feeling a tad bit out of place to say the least. Sort of like the college quarterback that gets picked up as a first-round draft pick by the team they've grown up rooting for. Then again, seeing as how I  am one of the first-round selections... perhaps that isn't an entirely accurate analogy. But it's kinda how the "n00b" over here feels. Just a wee bit. I mean, check out that list of authors! It's like a who's who in M/M. Makes me feel a little... well. A few different songs come to mind.

Mike is my character from the soon-to-be-released 'Dark Edge of Honor.' I’ve been acquainted with a number of different veterans and soldiers through the years, but there was one specifically—a person I don’t know, and never met—that sparked the beginnings of this story and was the avatar of the spirit behind him. Late in 2009, I stumbled rather deliberately upon the website of photojournalist Michael Yon and delved into the dispatches from his 2005 embed with deployed troops in Iraq. One of them stopped me in my tracks. Entitled “Gates of Fire,” (click here for the link to Yon's full dispatch) it recounted an incident involving the Deuce Four’s Lt. Colonel Kurilla and Command Sergeant Major Prosser which Yon witnessed, camera in hand.

I've watched yet another large-circulation newspaper make sweeping changes to their book review section. From the Publisher's Weekly article  [emphasis added]: Sullivan, the VP of Communications for the LA Times, confirmed that this was a cost-saving move but would not provide details on the number of freelancers who were eliminated last week. “ Staff writers from outside the book department will take over for those who left. We have not changed our commitment to book coverage or the amount of space the Times will devote to it.”  I find it fascinating that no reference is made to the quality  of the content the LA Times will offer, going forward. Parceling out review assignments outside the book department doesn't bode well. They aren't the first news organization to revamp their book-related content. Back in 2009, the Washington Post did something similar , condensing and consolidating what had once been a fully separate section. Is it just a sign of the economy,

Decided not to try tackling any writing this weekend. Not today, anyways. Whole lot of nothing going on over here, today. Sometimes, I think, it's okay to let yourself have a goal of zero productivity. That way, when you get nothing done, you don't beat yourself up for it. There was no way I was getting anything writing-related done today. Om Nom Nom And now that I've been a good girl and eaten some actual food... I'm curling up on the chaise out on the porch with a good read and some Bordeaux Chocolate Cherry ice cream over a soft chocolate fudge cookie and slathered in chocolate syrup, and a smoke and finish off my lazy day. I'm entitled to one a month, I think. Sadly, if today is any indication, tomorrow might need written off as well. If that's the case, I have every intention of making up for it later this week. Hamm & Marc's story arc is fleshing out steadily and while it'll need some tweaking, I'm happy with what it looks like thus

Apparently I got so excited that I fouled the link up in my previous attempt. So here it is, functional. Carina Press updated their website with the August releases, so you can now pre-order Dark Edge of Honor .  Or read the excerpt. :)

Extra-moist cream cheese banana bread, Mahogany dark roast spiced w/ cinnamon & cloves. And this morning's transcribing task! Today's agenda will revolve around a number of activities: edits and writing for the Gunporn submission sequel, and outlining some promo requests and content ideas for the release of DEoH. Less than a month now! Starting to get a bit excited again. Eager to drum up some awareness, and also to see what sort of reception and reaction it gets from readers. And because I enjoy taking pictures to share here, I might decide to make Food Porn w/ Jan a regular feature. I'm off to *omnomnom* that banana bread. Aren't you jealous? I'd share, but the internets don't work so well like that. Not yet. Pity, though. It's delicious! Have a lovely hump-day for your week, I intend to be productive!

Raspberry cheese danish, soft oatmeal cookie, & a mug of dark roast with a heavy splash of Godiva White Chocolate liquor. And a bit of magic for inspiration. And yes, that's a sink mark plaque sample I'm using for a coaster. Have been doing some pondering this morning, as I repaired my lawnmower (so difficult, a bit of oil and elbow grease resolved the throttle issue) and gave serious thought to my increasingly dual careers. Neither of which can be considered "professional" by any measure or stretch of the imagination, mind. As time passes, however, I am hoping that the career of writer will slide to the forefront. As things stand, I find it rather difficult to consider it more than a very fun hobby, at which I like to consider myself talented. Hell, I'm my own worst critic, I'm entitled to cut myself some slack and be my own best fan now and again. It's healthy. (Obviously, my breakfast wasn't. But it was good.) Trying to maintain balance,

It took all of yesterday and part of today to get the transcribing completed. Much longer than I wanted, but I have a functionally complete plot arc for this futuristic slavefic I've been poking at. That I actually managed that much? Is mind-boggling to me, to be perfectly honest. I've no idea where it came from. It just kind of dropped into my lap one piece at a time over the past week. And suddenly I'm staring at my Scrivener porn going.... "Wow. I have a completed story arc here. ...How did that happen?!" I even checked behind the monitor and under the desk for the real  writer who came along and did the hard bits of my work for me when I wasn't looking. Sadly, this is another of those stories that will obviously prove difficult to market. I'm writing it anyways, I don't care how many people think I'm crazy and threaten to petition to have me institutionalized LOL. I still need to actually write the scenes . But I have a plot outline (t

This must be the theme song for my muses. They never end up being what I expect them to be, and sometimes I wonder if people will like them for what they are. To say they are a strange, off-the-beaten-path group is an understatement. I know I'm not the only writer out there who has these types of muses. Who feels the need, occasionally, to tone back a little in order to not offend the entire readership base. I get that readers want to read what they like. Totally. And publishers only want to print what's going to sell. As I see it, though, the problem becomes then -- who pushes the envelope? Who writes that book that encourages the reader to see things from a different perspective, to think outside the box, to understand something beyond their comfort zone? Readers don't often read to be challenged, though. They do it for escapism, or to pretend they're in the story. Well, I do too... but my escapism stories would have most other readers pissing their pants, I imagi

Everyone knows the saying. The philosophy plays out in many forms—so many permutations, that one could almost call it cliché. Is it, though? After all, the quality of the journey is why one picks up a book. That’s entertainment, though. Not reality.   In reality, most would say that they don’t care how the Republicans came to the decision to support a formal recognition and legalization of same sex marriage in New York on Friday night. Or why they chose to support it. However the individual politicians rationalized it, the ethical path they each travelled, all that matters is that they did. As one friend put it, “I don’t care if they supported it because they think married homosexuals will eat fewer babies than single ones. It passed.” Right. I agree. Politics, thankfully, isn’t a subject matter I write about. It lacks that riveting edge of fascination that the audience would look for, demand even. When the destination you ultimately reach impacts the lives of so many, the journey o

There are days when, no matter how much I desperately want to sit down and write…I don’t get the chance. Or, if I do, it is at a point when my brain is so dead that I couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to string together “Sally sells seashells by the seashore.” Thus, sometimes I must settle for a few hastily scrawled sentences in my notebook while I’m at work if I want any modicum of productivity. Many of the sentences aren’t even complete thoughts. Some are plot points. Milestones, developmental highlights. Some are character thoughts and perspectives—biases that color an individual’s responses or reactions. Little random pieces of insight that, while useless in and of themselves, help shape the nature of the characters in my head more clearly. So that I in turn can portray them to the reader without info-dumping about the color of one’s eyes, the shape of their nose… really, how much does that matter. A reader decides for themselves what the character looks like. And m

I'm still trying to figure out how to get my blog to cooperate in terms of linking back  to the website, but here it is in all it official glory: The Home of Rhianon Etzweiler, Author. It's pretty. And shiny. I have a new toy to play with. *laughs* Poke around and explore, your comments are welcome as are contributions for the "Want More?" page. Send me your goodies! Contributor credit will be included for all posted links or material.

Though writing might be an insular task at its heart… inspiration is not. It comes from the strangest places, the most random associations and interactions sometimes. Finally, the words have begun to flow. I was up until 2 a.m. with the last hurrah of the sangria wine punch at my elbow (if you don't count the collection of wine-saturated fruit in the bottom of the container) transcribing things scribbled furiously during my hour break at the day job. Its becoming apparent that I lack the ability to 'balance' things in my life. I'm so thoroughly focused, throwing everything I am in things in an "all or nothing" sort of way, that everything else will suffer. It is what made FOAT/DEoH what it is. It is what made Black what it is, too. I don't know if I'd change that, even if I could. Do I want to write half-heartedly? No. Don't want to love my kids or siblings or anyone else half-heartedly, either. The other things don't cease to exist… they just

After a fashion, I'm using "research" as an excuse for why I've only written 500 words over the past two days. I complain that my day job gets in the way, and then I let other things do exactly that as well, on my days off. Ah well, I've begun focusing on the reworking of the Trunked Novel in earnest, and thus some amount of research is becoming necessary. Because one cannot employ blatant aspects of ancient Egyptian mythos in a Latin-influenced society. That just... no. I cannot justify it. Even if the Romans did conquer Egypt. I'm thinking I want to keep it a little more separated than that in terms of period influence. Maybe. Pantheons in the Mediterranean region became rather intertwined over time. Roman with Greek, and they with Egyptian, one influencing the other, shifting and evolving into something different. I'm trying to stay (largely) with the Triad concept (still debating the merits of the Archaic over the Capitoline Triad, as I rather enjo

Um. TADA!!! (Can't really think of much useful to say.)

Back from my three-day mini-vacation. Which was (of course!) interrupted by an email with the cover art for Dark Edge of Honor. Not the final, just a proof… I'll share it as soon as I can, promise. My first order of the day, since the gears weren't turning enough to actually engage the muses at all, was to take a look at the promo content needed for the release. Writing a promo blog entry for the up and coming release will be about as pleasant as drafting a ten-part executive report outlining five recommendations for business model improvement. I guess this is where my lauded education will make or break me… About damn time I put the worthless thing to good use, I guess. I have decided that writing an author bio is as painful as writing a synopsis. Only, I've fewer words to do it with, no idea what will pique the audience's interest… and how many readers will pay it the slightest bit of mind, anyways? It's not like my life story is a riveting plot. I can't even

Scrivener & 'ZeroDraft' side by side. Yes, more Scrivener porn. Yes, it does happen to be the Trunk Novel. There are pieces of it, character sketches and interactions, that are in my mind worth salvaging. At least insofar as they can serve as inspiration and/or catalyst for content I'm working on. Aerdin and his 'shadow blades' were a fascinating little piece I randomly muse-gasmed into existence. No real sheaths… they hide in the shadows of his aural energy, after a fashion. Completely out of sight, and feel, but within easy reach… though only for him. A little detail I don't want to lose in the rewrite. There are others. Like Aerdin's little 'battle of wills' face-off against Renji. Faulkon versus Idolon. Should be interesting in the rewrite… I'm looking forward to that particular scene. Just need to plot the outline far enough to determine where it's going to fit in. It feels like the dual POV in this story is going to revolv

The Green Book. Obviously. I've not made any real big secret of the fact that my accumulation of wordcount has suffered a good bit in recent weeks/months. In general I've not been overly concerned about it. Not every book I write will come pouring out the way my co-write with Aleks did. 'Black' did, in its own way, but it was over the course of a few consecutive NanoWrimo events. And then it took some time to finish, and edit. I've been trying to draft a scene of a funeral rite for my fantasy novel. Jaedyn is 'burying' (I use the term very loosely) his father. The scene has been a potato chip stuck in my craw for weeks now. I sat out on the porch yesterday evening, and out of sheer desperation grabbed a notebook and pen. And wonder of wonders, words flowed. It was a relief, actually. Oh, words. On a page. On multiple pages, in fact. They're so beautiful. And the slide of a good pen on paper is … okay I'll say it. Sensual, in its own special

As in my fiftieth blog post, not a reflection of law enforcement confrontations or that annual celebration of older—further from birth, closer to death, whatever. I wanted this blog post to be a milestone of sorts, so I'd been giving it some thought. And I'm sitting here in the chaise lounge on my front porch, watching the dark clouds roll through, sporadic cloudbursts of rain interspersed with the spring-happy chirping of a hundred birds. And the rotor sound of the occasional Blackhawk. Contemplating the parallels and the bigger picture. The past few days have been a strange culmination of my writing lethargy as of late. Father of All Things was the reason this blog was born. The first steps into creating public visibility of myself, and while there's plenty of room for expansion, improvement and optimization here…this will do, for now. At heart, I'm a simple person. Despite my predilection for convoluted ramblings. This is my first foray into the nitty-gritty of

There's a reason why there are a variety of publishers out there. They choose a cross-section of the consumers toward which to gear their reputation and marketing. Once established, a rare few are willing to bend the parameters within which they deem a book's concepts and sub-genres 'acceptable' to their business model. Ultimately, that's why a writer has to choose carefully a publishing house that fits  the book they've written. Let it never be said that one limits the content or parameters of what is written strictly to what sells . If it can be written, with quality and depth, it can be sold. Full stop. I spent many years frustrated by the limited content of quality stories on the market. The ones that venture into the darker shadows, that shed the skin of socio-cultural norms, and liberate the reader one eloquent word at a time. I recall thinking at one point, in frustration -- "Must I write every book I want to read?" Thankfully, I don

Since, you know, diving into the shallow end is just downright fucking dumb. My week's break from writing has come to a close. Of course, this doesn't mean the distractions are gone just yet. It just means I'm not willing to be unproductive any longer. Life, & The Universe, often conspire against one, though. This is occurring today, in fact. I sit down to write, manage to crank out 750 words, and get slapped with ... drama. While ordinarily I wouldn't mind, I was kinda on a roll. Had my head in the game, chugging right along and ... train wreck. Moral of the story? Hey Rhi....next time, turn your cell phone OFF. Highly recommended. And now I'm off to try and get my head back into it. Jhez is giving me a hairy eyeball.

Beautiful weather. Finally. Even the thunderstorms are beautiful, to me. Something about the unharnessed power, the raw energy, inherent in the shift of seasons, draws me. And if the combination of damp and cool air didn't chill me to the bone, I'd sit out on the porch and watch them rage and batter against the constructs of humanity as though attempting to purge a disease from the land. Unfortunately for the writer in me, that energy doesn't translate directly to inspiration. That may be largely a result of increased distractions and complications being thrown my way in the past week. Or that could just be a convenient excuse for my inability to dredge up sufficient intrinsic motivation to sit down on my ass and type out the words. Although...I'm typing this. So for the time being, I'm using the (at least moderately legitimate) excuse that I'm filling my tank with energy and inspiration to be engaged at some later date (in the near future, one would hope/expe