Author: Jonathon

A late night with music and fire

Saturday night we got to bed about 1:30 AM. It was well worth it, but Sunday night we ended up getting to bed about 2:30 AM. It was worth it, too, but in a completely different way. But, Sunday morning Jon and I got to sleep in until 9:00, which made up for the late night. Monday morning comes around and I was reminded why people with school age children don’t do the whole late night thing often. Yes, Trinity was with her father this weekend, but Jon and I still had to be up and coherent enough to get her off to school after my ex dropped her off. Which meant we got about 3 and a half hours of sleep.

We were so tired it felt like a full body hangover this morning. It was self-punishing behavior, crap. But we got to see S. J. Tucker sing again, and that was certainly worth it. We also got to see her sweetie K spin fire . I’d seen videos, but never seen it done in person. Wow.

There were some technical difficulties that led to the late hour. We were on an open air terrace by a lake, and it was chilly last night. Jon and I really regretted not bringing jackets. Darla, wisely, had brought one. Charles, wisely, had brought one. Though he was driving a motorcycle, and needed that leather jacket. He was driving his wife’s brand new Harley. Very cool. He brought it to show off her new toy, and what a pretty toy it is. But Jon and I, unwisely, were wearing just t-shirts. Jon and Charles both wore their Utility Kilts, and looked smashing. I did jeans. I tried a dress, but it ended up not feeling like me, so I changed. We got quite chilled, before the evening was over, as in I was huddling with people for body warmth. I kept thinking of those pictures from the far north where the penguins huddle in groups and switch whose on the outside and inside so no one freezes to death. Yeah, I was cold. After Charles got done helping be safety person for the fire spinning he gave me his jacket to were. I tried the whole, "But you’re cold, too." He said, "Put it on." He’s earned the right to be on the very, very short list of people I’ll let be dictatorial to me.

Wait, I got distracted, I was talking about technical difficulties. Smoke was one, and not the fire spinning. They lit fires to help with the cold, but whoever did it, either had green wood, wet wood, or just wasn’t boy scout enough to do it, because the fire pits smoked like crazy. It was so bad that S.J. had to stop singing and go to a different place outside. Our eyes were stinging, and it was just horrible. The only plus was that we got to visit with her in the parking lot while we waited to be able to breath. They finally found some electric fans to help direct the smoke away from her area. She bravely came back on and finished her gig. She’s a trooper.

Jon and I proved that you can sort of do a tango in about a two foot square space. An awkward tango, but it was worth the effort for that smile on his face. We mostly danced in place, or swayed to the music. The kilts made the dancing interesting. I’m not used to seeing a man’s knees when I’m dancing with him, or near him. I like it.

By the time the fire spinning came on, I was chilled enough to be shivering. I huddled between Jon and Darla, but I was determined to see the show. The fire whirling in K’s expert hands, with the black lake behind him, and the round, white moon above him, was a fabulous setting. We got some pictures and will try to put them up later, but if you want a blog today, then you must wait for pictures. Jester, who I had not met, did fire eating. A one point he and K did a duet of it, spitting out a spray of dark liquid and fire.

This was actually someone’s wedding. Emily and Phil. They wanted to have S.J. at their wedding, after all the wedding part was over, and open it up to invited fans. We felt a little awkward, not knowing Emily or her family, but I was assured that it was cool, and she wanted S.J. to have an audience. We felt very honored to be able to share the bride and groom’s special day. Also, how cool to have S. J. Tucker sing at your wedding, with fire! Now that’s a wedding.

Weekend so far

Charles went to the Ren Faire yesterday and apparently some of you asked, where were Jon and I? First, let this be a blow to the rumor that Charles is permanently attached to us. He went with friends of his, and they had a good time. Jon and I stayed home so Charles could have a good time. When he’s with us, he’s working, and no matter how relaxed he looks, he’s actually watching the crowd. So, I thought he needed at least one trip to the Ren Faire without having to be on duty.

It was also a weekend when Trinity was at my ex-husband’s, and she loves the Ren Faire. Since I probably won’t be able to go more than once I try to take the kiddo with me. Ideally, we do one adult only visit, then a kid-friendly one. This year, we’ll be lucky to get in a trip, at all. We actually missed it last year, and that was sad, but having a book come out in the summer just throws off the schedule for fun stuff.

Also, I had work to do. I am desperately trying to get SWALLOWING DARKNESS done before BLOOD NOIR comes out on May 27th. I’m about fifty or so pages out. I can do the amount of pages, but now that I’ve had to loose the bomb idea, I’m having trouble reworking the ending. So I only managed four pages on Saturday, but it was a progress, and rereading the pages I get to keep them all, so all to the good. I know what happens next, and that helps a great when sitting down to the computer.

If I can finish DARKNESS then I can just devout myself to BLOOD NOIR tour and publicity. Which would be great. It’s always hard to be working on one series when you’re out flogging for another.

But on the plus side for a grown-up weekend, we did manage to have some fun. Let’s just say that if you want a whole bunch of unscented candles I recommend Target. Yes, Target. Everyone else has scented candles galore, but if you’re trying to fill the bedroom with light, and you know you’ll be using other scented products, you don’t want the candle scents fighting with the oil fragrances.

What fragrant oils? Well, actually, technically they were candles, too. Ember Massage Candles from JimmyJane, are nicely scented, not too strong a scent which is my complaint for a lot of things, just enough fragrance. But unlike regular candles (okay regular candles do not work for pouring on your lover, because most of the wax gets too damn hot. Pour only from eight to nine inches, or more from the body, and even then, it can be too hot. I recommend you get candles designed with this activity in mind, for safety and sanity.) So, unlike regular candles these turn to massage oil when they’ve burned for awhile. There’s a set of instructions with them that you actually should read before use. Because, these do get hot, too. They have this little wand thing with the candles so you can paint on the wax/oil. I didn’t think the wand would be that tantalizing, but it was a big hit. Jon loved it. Oh, and like any good dominant, I tried the wax on my body before trying it on Jon’s. Especially important if it’s going anywhere delicate. Safety first. Nothing ruins a great romantic scene like your lover going, "AAARGH! Get it off! It burns!" Not to mention that the emergency room trip is very embarrassing when trying to explain to the staff how it happened. Of course, they’ve seen and heard it all, but still you don’t want to add to their amusing stories.

But last night worked out just right, everything was just hot enough, and who doesn’t like an erotic hot oil massage from their sweetie? So, in among all the hair-pulling work yesterday, I managed to drive the Foose, and drive the man in my life to warm, satisfied distraction. A very good day.

Irises

I went to the St. Louis Botanical Garden today. My friend, and fellow writer Debbie Millitello met me there. We’ve been meaning to go to the garden and see the Irises every year, but the last time we actually did it was nearly ten years ago. I was still married to my first husband. Her husband was still at his job at Shell. It had been awhile. Every year we’d say, we should go to the garden and see the Irises, and every year, May would pass, and we wouldn’t get there. One of my promises to myself in Florida, as I stared out at the ocean was that I would see my friends more. Ten years between trips to see the Irises is a long time. Debbie and I couldn’t remember the last time we’d gotten together just the two of us and went out anywhere. My new mantra, "I’m okay with being this busy, or busier, as long as I get a life, too."

The Irises were so beautiful, in the early summer sun, so many colors, that we stopped from a distance to admire the whole show. Iris was the name of a messenger for the Roman Gods, and the rainbow was her sign in the sky that she was carrying messages between heaven and earth. The Iris garden today made that seem real.

Debbie and I walked the garden, admiring all the different sizes, shapes, forms, colors, smells. I took notes, because I’m hoping to put out a smaller iris garden of my own this fall. We bemoaned that we had both forgotten our cameras at home. The internet will help me find pictures to go with the names and the notes I made, but next year we’ll take a camera.

There are benches in the shade near the flowers, and we sat and talked, and just drank it all in, the view, the scent, the friendship. It was good. We’ve already made tentative plans to try to see the rose garden this July, because June is going to be too busy for me to plan anything extra. But it’s a plan, and what I’ve learned is that if we don’t plan, it does not happen.

Ten years since we saw the Irises together, or I saw them at all. My promise to myself is that I’ll remember that while I’m working and doing all this great, amazing writing, that the rest of my life is not on hold. The rest of my life is happening without me. I still don’t know how to balance work and play, but I am trying.

We had lunch on the Hill, the Italian neighborhood here in St. Louis. We ate at Zia’s and the pasta was great. I can recommend the carbanara. It was yummy. I’d forgotten the the Hill has a stop sign on like every corner, so driving the Foose was something of a challenge. Just a few weeks ago, I couldn’t have done it, but today, no problem. I stopped and started all over the place, and even parked the car just fine. Admittedly, I was glad that there was no car behind me so I didn’t have to really parallel park, but still, no problems. When we came out from lunch, there was a couple taking a picture of the Baby with their cell phone.

Debbie remarked on it. I got to reply, "It’s not the first time." It’s still a little weird to have a car that gets that much attention, but I’m getting used to it. In fact, I sort of enjoy it. I like that the Baby gets admired. I love driving this car. It was Jon that hit upon why. When I’ve got half a dozen different things up in the air, and I’m having to wait on other people to do their jobs before I can do mine, and I feel like I can’t control anything, I get in the Foose and I drive. It’s all about the control. I drive the car, and when so much in my life seems uncontrolled, or out of my hands, the Foose is very much in my hands, and I have to be in control to drive it. I’ve actually started looking for reasons to drive the car. Errands have never been so fun, but really, you need to get up to highway speeds to see the Baby at her best. She likes it fast.

Tempted

I’m writing this blog first thing, rather than going to my desk for writing, because I’m still tempted. Tempted to do what?

To write a scene that I know would be cool, but doesn’t work with real world physics, or explosives. I’ve tried to use modern explosives for the last two, or is it three books? Maybe three? Two Anita, and this Merry, so three. But, my lack of understanding of explosives keeps making me choreograph scenes that don’t work. Now, some people think that because I’m writing about fairies, and princesses, and magic, that I can’t mess with physics any way I like, but no. My rule is that the more fantastic a thing you want your readers to believe, the more real your real-life stuff has to be. Because the moment the reader catches you out in something they know about, you’ve lost them. If they know you’re wrong on your guns, or cars, or bombs, then they won’t believe immortal warriors, vampires, and werewolves. You’ve got to make sure your reality is as real as you can make it. Make the ground your reader is standing on so real, that when they look up and see fluttering fairies, they don’t hesitate to believe.

Now, we have a explosives expert that’s been helping answer questions, but this particular problem is not about explosives, so much as the place I’ve set the scene just doesn’t have the room. It’s a real road, and a real place, and there just isn’t enough space. But my expert is in another part of the world, and time zones being what they are, I called Charles yesterday. He gets a lot of these kinds of calls from me. But for this one, he’s been off to parts of the world where they really do this stuff, so I knew that though not a explosives expert, he could give me a general thumbs up, or thumbs down, or send me to a book or web site so I could check. He told me what I feared, that the kill zone for a blast like this is too big. There’s no way to get out of the way, where I put Merry and the gang. Explosives are very impressive in that scary kind of way. The more research I do, the more I understand why there is so many innocent people killed with every bomb. The blast radius on most of this stuff is just too large. Even a shaped charge is a chancy thing, unless you don’t give a damn who else you kill.

So, I must give up this really cool idea, and find another way for the bad guys to try and kill Merry and her men. I think I actually understand explosives so little, I’ll have to do more research before I can even begin to put them in a book. Usually, I can fudge things until I do my research, but every once in awhile I find something so out of my experience, that I need my experts to explain to me in very small words, before I can even begin to understand how to use something in my books.

Strangely, the last thing that I started to research and put in a book that the research changed completely how I would have written it, was the bondage and submission stuff. If I hadn’t gone out and talked to people, visited events and some clubs, I would have gotten it wrong, like most books and movies get it wrong. Hmm, bombs and BDSM; what other writer would have that as her two most challenging research topics?

Okay, I think I can go to work now and not use the nifty idea that won’t work. But it would have been really, really cool if explosives worked less well, and were a lot less energy out put. Real world physics, you can’t change them just because it would cool in your fiction.

The Harlequin is # 15

The Harlequin is number 15 on the New York Times list and Publisher’s Weekly list! How cool is that?

What, you didn’t expect me to be excited about hitting number 15 when I’ve hit number one in paperback before? Well, that was with MICAH, and that was a paperback original. THE HARLEQUIN is a paperback of an orignal hardback, and we’ve never made the printed list with any of the Anita paperbacks that followed their hardback counterparts. So, this is way cool.

Thanks to everyone who bought a copy of THE HARLEQUIN in paperback. You helped make us number 15. Thanks.

Mother’s Day 2

I usually hate sequels. They’re never as fresh, or enjoyable as the original, but this is one sequel that I’m happy to have. The blog that I did in the morning for Mother’s Day was dark, but by evening it was better. Why?
Trinity gave me one of those Hallmark cards that you record your voice and it plays music. When she is very grown, I will still have her voice as a little girl, and that’s pretty cool. Since my bad mood had made me unable to come up with anything I wanted for a gift, Jon was on his own. Oh, dear, as any husband knows, you always want a clue. It’s just safer that way. But Jon did fine. He got me the collector’s edition of SWEENEY TODD. A gift I wanted, and one that my progressively grumpy mood had made me forget was even coming out. So, it was a good surprise.
Then I got to do what I wanted to do with the day. I wasn’t forced to cook a huge meal for everybody and work on my holiday. I didn’t have to go out to one of those huge, impersonal, restaurants where you get food cooked in huge vats. What’s with that, anyway? Eggs, and most meat need a little more of a personal touch than that. Vegetables, well, my grandmother was a Southern cook which meant all veggies were cooked within an inch of their life, so cook it in a vat, all the same to me. Jon and his family have introduced me to steamed and grilled veggies, and it’s good, but soggy works for me. I grew up on it. Except for okra. Slimy, over-cooked okra is evil. Oh, and black-eyed peas, there’s nothing you can do to them to make me want to eat them. Yuck!
We went out and saw Iron Man with Trinity and our friend Richard. Neither of them had seen the movie yet. Why had we seen it without Trin? Because, she’s still a little iffy on some of the violence or sexual content, so Jon and I preview movies. Just in case. You know the rule, whatever goes in their minds, sometimes makes a home, so be careful what you allow inside. Does that sound weird coming from me? Why? Just because I write about sex and violence doesn’t mean I write for children. I most certainly do not write for children, and I’ve never pretended otherwise. The few times I’ve been informed that my books were discovered shelved in young adult weirded me out.
And, please, do not ask me if your teenager is old enough to read my books. I don’t know your kid. By my daughter’s age I was reading some very scary stuff, but she is not me, and stuff like that bothers her. Every child is like every adult, an individual. Know thyself, know your child, work from there.
The movie was so packed we had to split up. Jon and Richard sat together and Trin and I sat farther down. Uncle Richard would have taken the kiddo, but it seemed wrong on Mother’s day to not sit with my girl. Besides, having seen the movie once, part of the fun was watching Trinity’s reactions.
After the movie we ran home, rescued the dogs. Okay, let them out so they didn’t have any accidents inside. Then we went out for dinner. We went to one of our favorite sushi restaurants. We all love sushi. Okay, good sushi. Bad sushi is like some of the worst food you will ever try to scarf down. I lived in Los Angeles when sushi first hit big, and I had some really bad stuff at dinner parties. Sushi, like most everything else in Japanese culture is an art, and you can’t fake art. I’ve only recently been brave enough to retry, and found that I like sushi just fine, if it’s prepared well.
So, the four of us sat, ate, visited. We drank really good green tea, salmon rolls, a lot of nigiri of various kinds, and a few appetizers. It was good, and getting out to a nice restaurant was exactly what I needed to cap the day off.
I think we’ll make a movie and dinner out a Mother’s Day tradition for the kid part. Uncle Richard went home, and once the kid was in bed, then Jon and I had more grown-up plans. I’m sorry, it’s my holiday, I may not have known what I wanted him to buy me from a store, but I knew exactly what I wanted to do with him afterwards. I may not be easy to buy for, but I’m easy to please, okay, scratch that. I’m not, but I do try to make it worth the effort. I’m all about rewarding for good behavior.

Mother’s Day

This was the blog for yesterday, but when we discovered that the podcast hadn’t uploaded properly, we decided to fix that and let you guys enjoy it, before I shared with you how I was feeling early on Mother’s Day.
If what you want is a happy Mother’s Day message, then skip this post.
Everyone skipped? Okay, here goes.
I started noticing that I was getting depressed. No reason for it. I mean everything is going swimmingly. In fact, everything is wonderful. So why was I down in the dumps? I finally made the connection at the end of April. April 29th is, or was, my grandmother’s birthday. Anniversary depression, who me? Maybe.
I saw the perfect gift for her in the bookstore. I actually reached out for it, held it in my hand with that well of satisfaction, that flush of pleasure at how perfect it was for her, then there was that drop of the heart. All of you who have lost someone important to you, know the drop I mean. You forget for an instant, you react to something as if . . . as if . . . Then reality hits, and it’s like your heart just fell out of an airplane without a parachute and ends crashing into your feet. (What was the perfect gift? A book of odd, or famous obituaries. My Grandmother kept two Whitman Sampler chocolate boxes, gifts from other grand kids in the past, full of obits. Some of people she knew, or we knew, but mostly strangers. She’d cut out obits that were particularly pitiful or horrible and keep them. She liked to read them to me when I visited.) So the book would have pleased her, and she could have spent hours pouring over the sad contents and enjoying herself. But, she’s past needing birthday presents.
Now it’s mother’s day, and I realized that three years ago, her funeral was on Mother’s Day. One of my uncle’s, joked that Granny finally got her wish. I asked, what was that? To get us all together to visit her on Mother’s Day. There were about eighty plus of us from all over the country, there to pay our final respects.
I have the cards and presents from Jon and Trinity. We’re all going to see a movie later today with our friend Richard. We went out yesterday plant shopping with our friends Kari and Pili, and though we got wet and cold from the rain, it was a good day. I had to go back out this morning and make sure that the wind hadn’t done too much damage to the pots waiting to go in the ground. Pili came up with a garden design, and I just picked anything that caught our fancy. I stopped worrying about whether it’s supposed to grow here, or not. I just picked what I liked and we’ll plant it, and see what happens. I’ve spent eight years planting my front yard carefully, and it looks like crap, bare and too formal for me. I want the front to look like the pond area, lush, and a riot of color and shape.
I bought any plant that pleased my eye, or Pili’s. Jon and Kari totted and fetched. Trinity wandered around finding this plant or that, or just helping the basket lady plant new mother’s day baskets. She has an eye for putting things together that I would never have thought could match, but they do. It was a good day, other than the rain, and even that got us a huge rainbow in the sky above the second garden center, the one where we got the most roses. It was a round, fat rainbow, with several layers of violet in it. A good day.
It’s a mother’s day when I have no mother’s left. I’ve lost two in my life time, that seems plenty. I guess Jon’s Mom will just have to live to about two hundred or so to make me happy.

Saving my Sanity

I’m still in a bad mood. I’ve begun to figure out some of the reasons. Mostly to do with the fact that apparently my lesson for the year is patience, and dealing with ambiguity. Neither of these is my best thing. I’m very impatient and I like things very black and white. No waffling; thank you. But, if I already knew how to deal with it, it wouldn’t be a lesson, would it? Sigh.

But one thing I do when I’m feeling blue, or just overwhelmed by all the many blessings in my life. Yes, you read that right. One of my lessons is to allow myself to enjoy my success. My Grandmother raised me that God was a sort of cosmic loan shark, or hitman. If you got too happy, then God would get you! It meant that my grandmother didn’t let herself enjoy much of anything, because if you enjoyed it, then bad things happened. So when good things happened, she made herself miserable to keep God from doing it, and when bad things happened it just confirmed her dark view of the universe. Most of the time I’m all right, but every once in awhile my Grandmother’s voice fills my head, and I’m filled with fear. Things are going too well, so bad things will happen. This kind of thinking leads some people to sabotage their lives so that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. I don’t do that. I work hard, and try and make things better. But sometimes, the darkness in my head, just overwhelms. Not the fun dark, but the night sweats. That 3:00 A. M. waking up in the dark, stare at the ceiling, with your heart pounding, and your pulse filling your throat. Nightmare, or did you really hear a noise? Or the worst of the 3:00 A. M.s; you just lie awake, convinced that everything has gone to shit, and there is no help for it, or even worse, nothing is wrong, everything is wonderful, but you are filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. I’ve been having those kinds of feelings in broad daylight. By my grandmother’s rules, I should have something horrible coming. I know the universe doesn’t work the way she seemed to think it does. I know God and Goddess is about love more than punishment, but old habits die hard. I think, three years after her death, I’m finally starting to let myself grieve. You’d think that would be healing, but it’s not, it’s raised old demons, and I walk through my day haunted.

What to do when stuck in therapy hell with your inner demons seeming to gain ground? When all else fails, I donate to a rescue group, and try and help one of the pups. Today’s happy recipient of my dismal mood was Delia.

Delia1delia2

The Mid-Atlantic German Shepard Rescue has been hit pretty hard just recently with a lot of high needs dogs. So, if you’re wondering what you can do to make a difference in the world, donate a dollar. This is my charity for today, but pick a different one if you want to. You don’t have to be rich to make a difference. Remember that every million is made up of one dollar at a time. We can do more together than alone.