Quote from a LARCENY AND LACE, Aug 4th release, review: "I'm not sure there is a grade good enough for this baby, so I'm bestowing my first Grade A++" Penelope, Penelope's Romance Reviews
Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved the beach. In particular, she loved one pristine and lonely stretch of white sand edging the wild and craggy Pacific coastline of Northern California.
When she was young and believed in such things, she'd wander for hours, watching the waves roll in and thinking, someday, I'll marry my heart's true love, right here. She imagined it would be sunset in summertime; they'd be barefoot so that at the ceremony's end, they could walk hand in hand into the water, to let the waves wash over their feet and bless the beginning of their new journey. She'd stand alone, letting the tide tickle her toes, dreaming that someday, she stand here again - no longer alone.
When the girl was in highschool, she shared her dream with her best friend, who humored the girl even as she scoffed inside. What the best friend didn't know - indeed, what the girl had yet to discover herself - was that the girl was a witch.
After college, the fledgling witch visited the beach again. This time, she cast a spell. Not on anyone specific, because she knew that was unwise and, morever, she believed she'd not yet met the person of her dreams. She offered roses to the sea - red for passion, yellow for friendship, pink for kindness, white for fidelity. She asked to the chance to meet her heart's true love, for him to be sent to her so they might start their life together. She stood well above the tide line to write her sigils in the sand, then she opened herself to the power without and within. She called on Lady Ocean, invoking her with powerful names long linked with love and beauty - Aphrodite, Venus, Yemaya. She expected to sit, to keep vigil until the spell was washed away, but before she could finish her incantation and open her eyes, there was a crash and water swept around her, soaking her to her knees and carrying the spell out to sea. She threw her arms in the air and laughed. The spell would work. She'd never been more certain of anything in her life.
And she was right.
Two weeks later, she drank too much Jagermeister at a theatre cast party and - in a completely unexpected and rather alarming development - was shocked to find herself making out with one of her new roomates. She'd known him for over a year but had never looked at him as anything more than a friend - even though he was a total hottie. After all, he was was four years younger than her worldly 23, a nineteen-year-old kid just starting college.
But, in the way of magic, the witch had little control over the end results of her spell. So they fell in love, and ended up living together - not just as roomates - for several years, taking many vacations to her favorite beach. Then one Summer Solstice, the witch and her true love stood barefoot on that sand and pledged themselves to one another. It was sunset, and when the ceremony was over, they walked into the waves together so the sea could bless their new beginnings.
At the dinner that night, her highschool best friend made a toast. She said she'd heard for years that the girl would get married on just that beach, in just that way. She'd never believed it, but she'd been happily proven wrong.
That toast was made fifteen years ago today, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that the witch and her true love still walk that beach hand in hand every year. Their life together hasn't been perfect or effortless, but they're even more deeply in love now than they were back then. They're also best friends, trusted partners and the parents of two wonderful, creative boys. They don't drink Jagermeister anymore, but have been known to tote a nice bottle of wine or bubbly down to their beach on occasion, in celebration of what was, what is, and what shall be.
Someday they hope to retire in the nearby town, so they can take long walks and watch many more sunsets there togther. And that's one happily ever after I can totally believe in. After all, it's mine to co-create.
I’ve always said that writing isn’t just a job or a career it’s a lifestyle.
You walk around with these characters chattering away in your head and sometimes you actually speak to them. Note to self: don’t do that when you’re in public. People tend to look at you oddly.
You keep paper and pen on you at all times for those times that great line or piece of dialogue even if it’s the middle of the night. I still remember one author buddy telling me how she woke up in the middle of the night and wrote furiously away then went back to sleep. The next morning she looked at what she wrote – horses don’t fly. Of course, she doesn’t write paranormal where flying horses can be pretty common.
Before I wrote full time I did needlepoint and had green plants everywhere. Pretty soon a Mother’s Day needlepoint pillow was finished in time for Christmas two years later. The green plants weren’t exactly neglected but they didn’t thrive the way they used to. And my fabric paints dried up.
More meals were done via crock-pot and take out is a great thing during deadlines. A little, or a lot, of dust just adds character and as long as the dog is fed, I’m a happy camper. And so is he.
I’d rather spend the afternoon at the movies or even wander the mall and people watch. But I have a book to finish.
I’d rather just totally veg out, rediscover my inner child, which can be more than a little frightening at times.
But I have a book to finish.
So instead I’ll write instead of going outside in the sun and play with a yoyo.
I’m on the last mile, the last gasp. Somewhere, ahead, is the buried treasure and I’ve got to get there and rescue it by deadline or I’m in trouble. Along the way, I’m fighting off the Maleficent Seven—Exhaustion, Temptation, Backache, Eyestrain, Tendonitis, Sleep-Deprivation, and Self-doubt. Yep, we’re meeting at the corral, and it’s either me…or them.
So yes, once again I’m down to the wire with a book. No matter how much time I have, I seem to fill it with the current project. Although to be fair to myself, this was the first book in a new series and they always take longer—in my opinion—because of the worldbuilding and finding the new characters’ voices and so forth. Especially when you’re an organic writer and you don’t really follow an outline or much of a synopsis.
I’m at the end, though, of Night Myst, the first Indigo Court book, and am just finishing up final revisions before I send it to my editor. At this point, sleep becomes moot, my mind is totally filled with the book, and I'm going through looking for everything that could jar the reader out of the world. I'm fine-tuning, editing, revising, nitpicking...making sure the damned thing works, and I'm working a good 14-16 hours a day on it.
And I’m proud of it so far—it’s what I wanted it to be, though not what I expected it to be. How’s that possible? Because I go in with a mood in mind, a vision of a painting or scene and the basic knowledge of the main characters, and I try to create that mood, the ‘feeling’ that the idea tackled me with. And even though along the way all sorts of characters join the dance, and events happen that I never planned to happen, if I come out with a story that’s solid and strong and where the mood resonates with my initial vision, then I know I’ve done my job.
Each book I write has a playlist and that begins before I even put one word on the page. The playlist is usually long, and built around the mood I was talking about, and it too, evolves, through the writing of the book. Songs are deleted, songs are added, one or two songs will come through as the theme songs for the book. You can find the playlist for every book that I’ve written since Witchling on my website, by the way, under the individual book’s description. Before Witchling, I didn’t write much to music—I wasn’t writing in a genre in which I was all that comfortable with and couldn’t focus on music and the work too. But over the past few years, that’s all changed.
For Night Myst, the three main ‘theme’ songs became:
Half Light by Low and tomanandy (the main song from the Mothman Prophecies, a freaky-assed movie I saw that has a similar mood to what I wanted to evoke from the book)
The Angel Wars by Gary Numan (my fave singer of all time…sigh….)
When I get to this point in the book, I want it done. All done. And yet, I inevitably begin to cry when I’m finished and press that ‘send’ button and ship off the manuscript to my editor. It’s like opening the door and kicking your baby out into the wide, big world and you pray that you’ve given it all that it needs to not only survive, but thrive.
And since I make it a rule to write clean, I want my editor to call me after she’s read it and say, “Great job! I love it!” This happens each time, each time revisions are few, but it’s because I’ve worked my butt off to make sure that I write tight, that everything is consistent, that I’ve caught as many of the potential gaffes as possible.
And then, I play for a little bit. Because facing the Maleficent Seven isn’t easy, and by the end I feel a little like a punching bag. My back hurts, my arms ache, I have the concentration of an ADD kitten on espresso, I want pampered, I’m lonely for my characters and missing them already (which goes away the moment I start the next book on the other series), and I desperately want to get out of my head—take me away, anywhere but where I have to make decisions that can shatter worlds and lives. At this point, I just want to spend my time watching movies, gaming, eating chocolate and comfort food, dragging my husband into the bedroom--all activities where I can feel but not have to really think.
So yes, I’m almost to the end of revisions on Night Myst, book one of the Indigo Court Series, and I’m going to be desperately frantic till my editor reads it and tells me I didn’t miss the mark. And I’m going to play hard until, about 7-10 days from now I suddenly realize the voices in my head are speaking loud and clear, and there’s a new deadline on the calendar, and it’s time to dive back into the sisters’ world and begin Harvest Hunting, the 8th OW book--Delilah’s new adventure…and then, once again, I’ll immerse myself in words and worlds, and I’ll make lives and shatter lives, and lose myself in a different reality for another few months.
Far be it from me to disagree with Shakespeare, but I do. I don't think a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, in fact, I'd go even further than that. I think a rose by any other name would be something completely different.
Names are crucial. More than that, they define us. A Susan is a different person from a Violet. A James is a different man than a George.
Numerologists deal with both your birth name but even more importantly the name you choose for yourself. So if your name is Kathleen (like mine), but you call yourself Kathie, that will mean one thing. If you call yourself Kate, that will be another. And if your child's name is Robert, you could call him Rob or Bob or Bobby or Robert - all of those things will define who he is.
My sister grew up as Sandra - and in the past five years she has changed her name to Sandy. She's chosen to change her name because she works with children and Sandy is a more friendly and easier name for children to use. But it's changed her as well. Is it the job? Is it the name change? I suspect it's a little bit of both.
I think about this when I'm writing a new character. If her name is Susan, what does she get called by the love of her life? Sue? Susan? or something else completely?
I think about this when I'm naming a town - there's a big different between a coastal town called Secret Cove and one called Gibsons Landing. They're both interesting, but there's a built in assumption that is made by the reader (or the visitor) when they hear the name of a place. I often choose holiday destinations by their name - I can remember pouring over maps of France and Italy and choosing to spend a night in a place whose name I loved.
I can remember when I was a teenager planning - as we all do - my future wedding and spending months deciding on the name of my groom. I can't remember what my decision was, though it was probably something like Leonard (or Leonardo to make it closer to Romeo) because I was in love with Romeo in Franco Zefferelli's version of Romeo and Juliet.
And thus, as always, back to Shakespeare. Sorry, big guy, but the rose isn't a rose if it's called something else. It's an altogether different flower. You were wrong - but you know what? I forgive you. It doesn't happen often.
What about your name? Your characters' names? Your childrens' names?
The Witchy Chicks do not receive compensation for the books, shows, products they may happen to endorse in their blogging. We do not accept items for free as a blogging group to review. And we do not review items/books/etc for pay on this blog. If any member of the group reviews a book on this blog, she has purchased it or received it as a personal gift from a friend, not the author.
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In September 2005, Yasmine Galenorn and Linda Wisdom plotted to begin a group blog. They wanted one that would survive so came up with some simple rules: they would handpick every addition to the blog, they would NOT allow any dissing of authors or books on the blog, they would create a family-feel to the group. And so the Witchy Chicks were born.
Then came the rest of the Chicks: Lisa DiDio, Terese Ramin, Candace Havens, Kate Austin, Annette Blair, Maura Anderson, Cathy Clamp, and now--Anya Bast. And we have Madelyn Alt as our WC alumni.
We come from all walks of life, many different faiths, we write different genres, but we're all in love with the paranormal and with words. And over the years, we've bonded into a tight group. So welcome to the Hen House...the Witchy Chicks are home and happy to have you join us.
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I also Heart getting to know readers and writers. (That's me on the left during my workshop.)
ally came to understand the meaning of Steampunk as a genre. I’m sure the Witchy Chicks will appreciate that. After that a welcome reception in the conference suite where we were able to kick back, have some wine, and whine, er, I mean talk about writing. (To the right: Linda Bleser & Debi Chowdry.).JPG)
(Signing Left: Angelique Armae & Madeleine Oh.)
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