Why I hate the Valentine dude!

As we approach that day of reckoning, the most dreaded day of the year for many, perhaps it's of some comfort to realize that it's all based on someone being executed. Yes, Mr. Valentine was killed for daring to marry couples in secret against the wishes of the government. Romans, you know. So strict. Strange how what goes around comes around. At any rate, he paid for his crimes. And there is nothing more romantic than that, right? Dying for love, for the cause of love. So, well, there's that. Otherwise, it sucks.

Chocolate, flowers, tokens of affection, greeting cards, love notes.... Most of this slush funding comes as crass commercial putsch, of course. Marketing 101. It's all just a crummy money mill. Invent a season and sell stuff for the season--or else you be labeled a rube, called insensitive, shown the door as the truly despicable person you are! It's foolproof inasmuch as only fools fall for it. And there are so many fools among us. I see one in the mirror each day. I fall for it every year. But not this year! I've finally awakened from my stupor.

So this love thing...what is it? Science tells us it's nothing more than a firing of neurons. It's a biochemical reaction to a certain stimulus. See a pretty face, feel happy. A pretty face is determined based on genetic programming and environmental quirks. We know what we like. For men, it's easy: there are ass men, boob men, and so on. For women...well, I've read they like broad shoulders and a non-physical attribute called confidence. Magazines can be wrong, I hear.

Even so, it's a walking stimulus. Advertising is based on walking stimuli; Valentine advertising is based on sex-related stimuli. The problem is that such stimuli exists year-round, so what's the big deal for one particular day of the year? Because, dear lovers of love, if you do not demonstrate said love to said lover, you are a rube at best and an ex-lover in the making at worse. There is no middle ground, only a pit of ruin.

Yet never fear! We have the means to solve your problem. Just like the commercials now on radio and television and with increasing annoyance the Internet (every single @#$%^&* web page!) is a message that you (me? yes, you!) have a problem. You did not know you had it but you do. And it will zap everything that makes you you from you! You do not want that problem, do you? Obviously not.

So for a certain amount of money we can give you something which will solve that problem. Drug companies seem to do this, too, and clearly have mastered the art.

You go along with your simple, unadorned life thinking it's just a matter of getting older, not having a quality sleep, suffering a poor diet, or not having enough friends, or at least not enough cool, hip, advertising-worthy friends (but who can ever have enough of those?), and then... BAM!!! No, it's not your fault, so don't worry. Besides, we have a solution. 

Buy this! Plenty to choose from. Eat this! Drink that! Take this! Wear this! Drive that! Look this way! Pay me! Pay us! Pay all of us! Or else you are not the person you want to be. Or else you can never be the kind of person you think you are! Give us money and we will solve all of your problems. We will roll back time, give you a make-over, prep you for your big re-debut, help you sweep the lover of your dreams off his/her feet! We will make you a god/goddess! 

Give us your money and all will be resolved.

It's that easy.

Oh, for shame. Got no money? Well, then you don't count. Never counted, in fact. And who would want you in their lives anyway? That is, without the money to buy all the solutions you obviously need to fix all the problems you obviously have in order to fit into this perfect, virtual society we have constructed and dutifully maintain for the glory of all who worship the almighty Valentine and his many minions of Münchausen mania! Because only then will you be worthy of membership!

Just click off the obstinate media and return to your humble, quiet existence. Perhaps cuddle up with a wonderfully understanding book boyfriend or book girlfriend. Many do. It's not that weird. (I have three books I can recommend.) Three-hundred pages or so will definitely last longer than an awkward round of that sexercise thing you used to do--well, that was before that Valentine thorn in your side started to hurt.

Yes, I know I like to rant. Sometimes it helps. Sorry. Probably there's a pill for that. And I have some money squirreled away for just such a solution to just such a problem, a problem I never knew I had, couched in a Valentine I never requested or expected, from a person I have yet to meet, smeared with chocolate. At least, I think it's chocolate.

Happy VD! 

(There do not seem to be any memes for "book girlfriend" FYI.)

  

P.S., For those who take this blog post as a desperate cry for help, I can confirm that I'm all right. Besides, I've got an unopened tub of ice cream just waiting for consumption. And a backup tub in case I need it. 



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(C) Copyright 2010-2015 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Heart Search: Betrayal by Carlie Cullen launches!

After a well-deserved break for a not-so-well-deserved game of football, I return as ever-faithful to self-indulgence as I dare to be. Yes, indeed, I'm ready to dive back into the vast literary world! Look: I've got my trusty computer, my mug of coffee, my shy muses, and lots of time. All is well. 

No, wait! What is this? Rather than sitting on my laurels to absorb the praise for my dabble in vampire lore titled A DRY PATCH OF SKIN, I find competition once more! Paranormal Romance! Will the madness ever end? Shall vampires continue to whisk their capes through our haunted nightscapes? I thought not...until...now,

My friend and colleague at Myrddin Publishing, Carlie Cullen, has beaten me to the punch again with the launch of the third volume of her paranormal romance series Heart Search. Following Book I Heart Search: Lost and Book II Heart Search: Found, this next chapter of the series takes us into dangerous territory. (Want to know about the first two books? Click here for a video review of them!)

In fact, I have the entire kit and kaboodle right here! Take a look!

One bite started it all . . .

Joshua, Remy, and the twins are settled in their new life. However, life doesn’t always run smoothly. An argument between Becky and her twin causes unforeseen circumstances, an admission by Samir almost costs him his life, and the traitor provides critical information to Liam. But who is it?

As Jakki’s visions begin to focus on the turncoat’s activities, a member of the coven disappears, and others find themselves endangered.

And when Liam’s coven attacks, who will endure?

Fate continues to toy with mortals and immortals alike, and as more hearts descend into darkness, can they overcome the dangers they face and survive?

Being stuck on vampire time, I somehow miscalculated the Cover Reveal date for Heart Search: Betrayal but I can show the cover to you today! (Cover design is by Myrddin Publishing's own Nicole Antonia Carro.)

Here is an excerpt from Heart Search: Betrayal.

“Pavel and his group are in danger. I need you to leave immediately, take six of Joshua’s guards, get to the manor and then go southwest. You should meet up with Rick and his men. We dare not fight them this night, unless there is no alternative – we just need to get everyone back to the manor unscathed.”

“On my way!” She ended the call.

Samir pocketed his mobile. In the meantime, Joshua had rounded up the rest of their group and were ready to leave.

“Let’s go!” Samir said. Within mere seconds they were ploughing through the countryside, pushing themselves to ever greater speeds, faster than the wind. The trees rocked on their roots with the momentum of the hurtling vampires. Small creatures took cover in the undergrowth and birds flew screeching into the sky. They were more than a force of nature.

A few minutes later, Samir and his group reached the manor, vaulted the wall and made their way straight to the library. No one had returned. They immediately turned around and zoomed out and across the grounds. Just before they reached the wall, Emile, Iskra, and Sophia leapt over and landed right in front of them.

“Where are the others?” Samir asked, his voice full of concern.

“Right behind us,” Emile answered. Joshua jumped to the top of the wall, his feet nimbly landing either side of the sharp spikes. His eyes swept the land, his anxiety levels spiking through the stratosphere. Movement in the trees drew his attention.

“Someone’s coming!” he called down, his eyes never leaving the dense undergrowth. Relief flooded through him as he saw Pavel, Jakki, and some of the guards rocketing toward him. They hurdled the wall and landed safely beside Iskra. Jakki showed signs of having been in combat; there were tears in her clothes and her hair was dishevelled. Pavel looked less than his normal pristine self as did the guards.

Further rustling from the bushes and trees caused Joshua to whip his head around. Rick and several of the guards from both houses were charging away from a larger mob that was chasing them. They sprang over the wall to the safety of the grounds, leaving the snarling gang baying for their blood behind them.

Rick did a quick count up noticing only two men hadn’t returned, one of his and one of Joshua’s. He was pleased no one else had fallen prey to the gang. It appeared the mob had begun to disperse, but Joshua didn’t trust them. He remained on the wall scrutinising their every move. A scruffy-looking Rick joined him and together they surveyed the area until they were convinced the danger had passed.

Like prizes? Carlie is featuring a splendid giveaway to celebrate the launch of book three! 

Click here: a Rafflecopter giveaway

Take a look at this "book trailer"! 

Isn't that cool? I mean, darkly ominously cool? 

Carlie M A Cullen was born in London. She grew up in Hertfordshire where she first discovered her love of books and writing.

She has always written in some form or another, but started to write novels in 2011. Her first book was published by Myrddin Publishing in 2012. She writes in the Fantasy/Paranormal Romance genres for New Adult and Adult.

Carlie is also a principal editor for Eagle Eye Editors, as well as holding the reins of a writing group called Writebulb. They have published four anthologies so far, two for adults and two for children, all of which raise money for a local hospice.

Carlie currently lives in Essex, UK with her daughter.

You can learn more about Carlie Cullen and her work by following these links.

Website: http://carliemacullen.com

Twitter: @carlie2011c

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/CarlieMACullen

Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=240655941&trk=nav_responsive_tab_profile

Amazon: http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B009MWVL5A

About.me: http://about.me/CarlieCullen

Wattpad: http://www.wattpad.com/user/CarlieCullen

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6550466.Carlie_M_A_Cullen

HER BOOKS:

Heart Search, book one: Lost: http://smarturl.it/HeartSearch-Lost

Heart Search, book two: Found: http://smarturl.it/HeartSearch-Found

Heart Search: book three: Betrayal: http://hyperurl.co/HeartSearch-Betrayal

Trivia: One character in my vampire book A DRY PATCH OF SKIN actually mentions she is reading Heart Search: Lost. I'm sure by now she has finished Heart Search: Found and is waiting for Heart Search: Betrayal to launch. Now I'm inspired to write a sequel.


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(C) Copyright 2010-2015 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Remembering "Unremembered Things" by Rachel Tsoumbakos

All right, enough with the yawning and dawning! Now the beginning of this new year is old enough for more mature content!

First on my real blog parade--as opposed to my woe-is-me and isn't-life-suckish stuff--is a fellow author and friend at Myrddin Publishing, Rachel Tsoumbakos. Rachel lives in Australia and her books are set there. Her latest is no different, a paranormal romance.

This week I'm featuring Rachel's new novel UNREMEMBERED THINGS. Please take a look and read an excerpt below.

Unremembered Things by Rachel Tsoumbakos

Unremembered Things (Wood Nymph Chronicles #1) by Rachel Tsoumbakos

Age category: New Adult

Release Date: February 10, 2015

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Blurb

One woman, two worlds and nothing but UNREMEMBERED THINGS separating them.

Indiana Shamira has a dark secret that could shatter her version of reality and get her killed in the process. Now if only she could remember what it is…

When Indiana wakes with no memory of her past life and a vampire called Sam hanging from the rafters in her cellar, she knows things are about to get nasty. Not only does Sam know all about her previous life, but he seems intent on seducing her as well. Of course her boyfriend, Kurt, has different ideas – like making her open the portal to hell!

And then there is the nagging suspicion that Indiana is not entirely human, now she can see ghostly images from the Otherworld. Or could it be from the life she can no longer remember? They include the flickering effigy of Kurt and a redwood forest that conjures up deeply repressed magic.

Not only will Indiana have to risk everything to keep the door to another dimension closed, she will have to decide whether she is ready to lose her heart to someone who has more secrets than herself.

Set in the lush Australian bush, UNREMEMBERED THINGS is a fusion of fantasy, paranormal and forbidden romance.

Add to GoodReads

Purchase (Pre-order) : AMAZON

Excerpt

“It is time.” Her voice purred like a kitten, but Indiana suspected she was really a feral animal on the inside.

“For what?” Her voice was raspy, hesitant and unsure if she really wanted to know the answer. Somewhere, deep inside, she suspected she already knew.

“Just remember I’m doing this for us,” Sam whispered into her ear. “So we can be together forever.”

Before Indiana could question him further, she felt a flurry of hands over her body. Indiana tried to open her eyes, but a warm hand reached up and carefully covered them.

Indiana was bitten – hard, and she groaned in pleasure. Shocked by her unexpected display, she clutched her hands outwards. Feeling the writhe of skin on skin, she tried to pull herself free. The tickle of fingers across her neck and down her spine calmed her with their warm familiarity.

“It’s okay, Indiana.”

The feathery words danced across her skin, warm like a summer breeze. She stilled and let Sam’s fingers intertwine with her own, relieved by his simple touch.

Time seemed to move forward and Indiana was presented with brief snippets of fleeting images; Camilla biting Sam, biting her. Indiana enjoying the pain of Camilla’s sharp teeth as they gnashed at her neck, her thighs and her wrist. The flurry of skin and hands and teeth as they writhed together in the height of passion. Pale hands slithered over her own luminescent skin, then Sam’s darker skin brushed against her own, warming her and protecting her but against what she was unsure.

Then Camilla poised over Sam, a knife in her hand. A flash of blood as it splayed out from a gaping neck wound. Indiana’s involuntary gasp and then choking sob at the sight of the cavernous hole. Hungry sucking as Camilla drank her fill. A warm hand, its fingers still laced through hers, slowing turning ice cold.

So what do you think? I know I need this book because I tend to forget everything. If you wish to know more about Rachel and her books, she has many links to click on. I'm already fascinated by METANOIA--mostly because I had to look up that word. 

PLUS...Rachel is having a giveaway!

Giveaway

PRIZE (international):

• 1 x eCopy of Unremembered Things
• 1 x eCopy of Metanoia
• 1 x eCopy of The Ring of Lost Souls
• 1 x $10 Amazon gift card

(If Rafflecopter doesn't work for you, please go to Rachel's own blog page.)

Rachel's Links:

WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER 
GOODREADS | GOOGLE + | PINTEREST

Unremembered Things now has a Facebook page, too!

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(C) Copyright 2010-2015 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

A New Year Yawns

Well, it seems it's finally that time of year again. Time for the new semester to begin, for I am, as close followers of this blog may recall, one of those of the teacher persuasion. And, thus, the new semester dawns once more. Or should I say a new year yawns?

Sure, I had the holiday/slash/winter break but it is never enough to recover from a fall semester, as usual, filled with mountains of papers to grade and lessons to prepare and conduct. All part of the plan, of course. And I have accepted that plan. After all, teaching writing is the second best thing I know how to do. Writing itself would be the first best thing. However, even those marks may seem pale compared to many others' marks I have encountered in my life. Nevertheless....

I like to begin a blog year with a reintroduction. To those who know everything already, I beg your indulgence. 

This blog has no real rhyme or reason to it; it is more often than not the musings which come into my head and go out my fingertips willy-nilly. On occasion, I endeavor to offer some writing advice, some technique examples, discussions of grammar issues, or similar authorical esoterica. At other times, I will update blog followers on my latest writing efforts or publishing achievements. I may wax poetic on the woes of me whenever the mood strikes me down. Sometimes I will have a guest blogger or share someone else's news or book.

First, you will note the name of this blog. What could it possibly mean? The DeConstruction of the Sekuatean Empire? When I first hammered this blog from hell's own fire and brimstone, I had in mind a place to post the "back material" for THE DREAM LAND Trilogy. Because the trilogy is set in part on another world, the political entity known as the Sekuatean Empire becomes a focal point. Hence, the title of this blog would make sense: taking apart the history, geography, culture and customs of the place where much of the action of the story occurs. However, as time has progressed, other works came to the forefront which had nothing to do with Sekuate or its hard-working rebels.

North and South Sekuate, c. 1481 GP

You will also note the list of book titles with convenient hyperlinks in the upper right corner of this blog page. They are not mere decoration but serve as keys that open doors to my dementia. Experience them and be enlightened forever more! Or, at the least, be entertained. My writing strives to enfold profound truths of the human condition within pages of action and adventure, liberally marbled with sex and romance and sprinkled with pontifications and jokes best left on the cutting room floor. That sounds a lot like a warning, doesn't it? But it's all in jest. I can assure you that 99.9% of the words are spelled correctly and good grammar is always in use==except for the dialog of those characters who have not been well-educated and then only for the sake of authenticity.

To update you now, I am working (more or less) on the revision of my National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) book, a science-fiction tale of the little alien who could, working titled THE MASTERS' RIDDLE. I have no timetable for its completion but I am beginning to enjoy working on it, rather than cranking out pages to win the NaNoWriMo contest--which I did at 55,555 words. In addition, I still want to get two previously written novels up to snuff and made available this coming year: AIKO, a love story/murder mystery set in 1980s Japan, and YEAR OF THE TIGER, an action adventure tale about hunting a man-eating tiger, set in 1986.  

Furthermore, I strive to post a new entry once a week, all the better to take advantage of such Twitter hashtag threads as #MondayBlogs. I do not hold to this schedule religiously, however--as this month's fares will attest. But I try. You know how life tends to interfere with your best intentions. Doubly so for writers and teachers. Worst yet if one is both a writer and a teacher. But I'm not complaining.

In keeping with a "best practices" model of book promotion, I shall attempt to keep blatant marketing efforts to a minimum--except when something new is being launched. As always, I expect followers of this blog to read everything I produce and go forth to gather all their family members and friends, coworkers and just about everyone they encounter in their daily lives, and make them also followers of this blog, readers of these books, and all-around nice people who live to love and love to live, helping all of us enjoy this wonderful world we occupy and yet still be prepared to battle the interstellar aliens who will invade us circa 2345. Or not. The choice is yours, as always. But I have high hopes for you.

Thanks for your attention to these matters. Now carry on making the world a better place for me. And I shall return the favor!

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(C) Copyright 2010-2015 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Is this the year for you?

(I seriously doubt it's for me.)

2015. There. I said it.  (Actually, I wrote it.)

And so it begins: another year of the blogging virus. Will any of us survive?

On Saturday, I felt a pang in my side. A pang is non-descript, a physical sensation that has no physical cause. A chimera, a mystery, a riddle wrapped in flimsy flesh. But I felt it.

The pang expanded, filled my torso until I almost could not breathe. For a few precious moments I thought that was the end for me, the beginning of not-me, my doppelganger. I checked my daily nutritional consumption to investigate the nature of what may have prompted the pang. I considered events of recent days, dismissing each of them summarily as unlikely causes.

I thought it best to rest, so I laid down. (Grammarians need not be concerned, at this point, for I actually did open a bag of duck feathers and spread them around on the floor.) I was already near the floor, you see, so I took my leisure there, close to the undercarriage of society, and there did I nap.

A resurgent pang awoke me, however, called me to rise and rise I did, like the morning sun in the land of the morning calm. Suddenly, I knew the source of my pang. Regret. It's always about regret. Usually somewhere in the plural. Regrets. And there would be more: a year's worth of them, surely.

The little bird outside, robinesque in its twittering, clenching firmly the bending, bouncing twig, dared suggest that a new day had finally dawned, and so I yawned. Already it was year 2015 on the standard calendar. Such an artificial construct! And I wondered: how had I managed, despite myself, to have reached this date? 

I recalled sometime in year 1984 wondering how I could have possibly reached that date, given all I knew or had done (or not done). At the time, I felt as though I had been blessed by a fistful of free hamburger coupons. That exuberance had caused me to reflect deeply on 1975 and the severe dismay I had felt for so many of those months. Much worse than 1962 when all I worried about were toys. Then, in 1999, I again faced the dark abyss and considered whether or not I could make that leap of faith and land sure-footed on the good side of Y2K. (I did.)

And then year 2004 and year 2008 came and went with much hurrah and much sighing, like any good matinee down at the multiplex. Luck of the draw. Everything begins and ends, after all, and you hardly ever see the smoke and the mirrors behind the dog and pony show. You see what you want to see and you get what you pay for. What comes free is always of questionable vintage. The peanuts are free, of course. And the can of soda, too--unless you sit in Business class. There the wine is free.

In fact, this entire holiday period seems drawn from a deep dream. For reason which still remain hidden, I gathered myself into a long box and later awoke and climbed out of that box, rather vampire-like in my proclivities and mannerisms if not for my skin condition. That is not quite how I wished to be, you must understand, but there I was: an automaton driven forth through the streets of some large foreign city, perpetually lost, always on guard and mute, unclear as to my destination. It was a nightmare but without the horse.

It seemed as though I was taken to a temple high on a mountainside and for a brief moment I believed I would be given the opportunity to leap off the top and fly, fly, fly away home. But no, not that. It's never that simple. Instead, the sordid experiments began and for several days there was no technology allowed but for the glasses I always wore. No clothes or shoes, either, only a thin robe and straw sandals. And winter had come. The food was rice and cabbage, and boiled tofu if I was behaving myself. And tea. Lots of tea. But no Q & A. LOL was swiftly punished.

Thus I did not speak, only listened; nobody was saying anything anyway. The world was reduced to birdsong, wind, heartbeats, and the disconcerting creaks of tired timbers along the floor I traversed from morning chant to afternoon meditation to evening sleep. After a couple days, I thought I was imagining everything, as though it were all a dream within a dream within a fortune cookie within a snowball set somewhere safe yet sullen. I was a muffin without a paper wrapper. And coffee was far, far away.

Then the curse broke and I was flying--yes, at long last, like a scrawny, half-starved bird, wax wings holding tight, soaring high to the ancient castle on the top of another, better mountain. And there I was hooked by long talons and wrestled inside through a latticed portal, placed on a davenport of Naugahyde and made to chirp my cute English words as though I were an expert. Or someone's prized pet. Occasionally I would be given a tasty treat. Mostly, I listened, for there was much I did not understand.

Not sure what exactly happened--though fairly certain it was not quite a dream (surely not a sleeping one, that is), but I nevertheless hold out for the possibility that I could have been fully conscious yet simply unaware of what was unfolding and refolding around me, so Laundromat-like in its efficiency, as it were--I chose to accept all of it. Indeed, what else could I do? 

And now the waking dream comes to an end--as all realities must at the start of a new page, the first of many: pages filled line by line with regrets, or the occasional cross-out of things that surprisingly went well, day by day. The earth still turns, still bleeds, still crow-caws, and humor is a rare delicacy. But now the pillows have burst, the clocks have been smashed, and the ringing of the school bell awaits. I shun reality like fermented bean paste mixed through with whole dried minnows and a side of kimchi. Because I can. Because I must. Because there is pizza.

If I somehow make it to year 2016, it will be only because of you: my invisible, semi-fictitious, semi-delicious companions on the rocky road to somewhere muffin-warm and marshmallow-soft, sweet and sour like breaded chicken cubes, a rare respite akin to real retirement in the rustic inn along the narrow side of the road, just beneath that crooked, towering mountain covered with ice and snow, and the precariously poised stones tilting there, ready to fall from its heights. Yes, that one. 

We are all in it together. Let's make the most of our fresh set of downs!

BTW, FYI, Year of the Lamb!

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(C) Copyright 2010-2015 by Stephen M. Swartz. All Rights Reserved. No part of this blog, whether text or image, may be used without me giving you written permission, except for brief excerpts that are accompanied by a link to this entire blog. Violators shall be written into novels as characters who are killed off. Serious violators shall be identified and dealt with according to the laws of the United States of America.

Year End Review

Have you ever gotten to the end of a year and stopped to wonder whether January was, like, about five years ago?

Or, perhaps, January was somewhere between yesterday and the blink of your eyes when you read the first sentence of this blog. 

Either way, the year is winding down and the final page of the calendar sits ready to be replaced by a Brand New Calendar possibly from your insurance company, who patiently wait for your mishaps to accrue in their carefully arranged actuarial tables. I know mine does.

So for my only blog this month, hence the final blog of the year 2014, I would like to remember some highlights. Forgive me if some of mine are not necessarily some of yours. Then again, I am fully aware that none of these may be highlights to most of you dear, sweet, loyal readers. That's just the nature of serendipity.

I began the year no worse for wear from the previous year--actually, I was sitting rather comfortably in my DREAM LAND TRILOGY pajamas, having finally gotten the third and final volume out of the womb and into the world. The third one was the easiest to push out. No drugs were needed, but the comet did hurt a little.

I began the year by exchanging blog posts with my writer colleague Kate Bitters, author of Elmer Left. I also entertained author Joan Hazel's new book Burdens of a Saint, the second book in The Guardians series, which involves shape-shifting werewolves. Those were good times. Then everything went downhill.

I dared put out my "sexy" "campus" "romance" book A BEAUTIFUL CHILL just in time for Valentine Day but that "sexy" "campus" "romance" trend had sailed. So I ignored all the naughty spanking jokes and waxed poetic on the trials and tribulations of choosing character names as well as a humorous post on making Top 10 lists. I followed those [ahem] "highlights" with a stream of complaining through March about anything and everything, yes, even as I tried foisting books upon hyper-excited Spring Break readers. It was not a pretty picture.

By April I was well-underway on a new novel which eventually became my contemporary Vampire tale set in Oklahoma City. The idea had been boiling for a while, the desperate need to explain to the world the true nature of vampirism, the real disease which exists, and the poor unfortunate protagonist who suffers from it. Thus, more and more of my blog posts revolved around the topic of vampires, blood, skin diseases, and medicated lotions.

In May I got tagged by the blog tagging monster and forced upon pain of pain to write about my writing process. That produced a plethora of paragraphs on purple prose that primarily got me banned for life from the writing life. It got some play. Or, as Gordon Gekko quips in the film Wall Street: "It's good for a five-point pop." If I had a nickel for every penny I have.... No, seriously, it was well-received. In fact, that post garnered the highest number of retweets ever in the history of my lonesome Twitter feed!

By June I had finished the draft of A DRY PATCH OF SKIN and felt pretty good about myself. I had gone from the dreaded "I'll never ever write again" to the smug "Yeah, I can write a 100,000-word novel, no problem." Then came all that revision, editing, and proofreading. The usual game. (I usually win that.) More of the same through the rest of the summer: vampires, blood, skin diseases, scratch scratch. An unhealthy number of juxtapositions between the story line of the book and the real events of my life made it a more or less miserable period. 

A couple more posts came in the autumn to remind us that blog posts exist to preach to the choir. Mine addressed such pearls of wisdom as shoving that profound message right on up through the heart of an otherwise fun story. Or why you shouldn't. Or how to slip it in without a reader even feeling it. I also wrote lucid comparisons between the film Dracula Untold and my vampire novel. 

Then NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) appeared on the horizon and I jumped into it for the first time and burned through a cheap pulp sci-fi book to win the thing with 55,555 words, give or take. So my blog posts were about that silly sci-fi story and the NaNoWriMo experience. 

And that brings us to the end of the year. 

Normally I would wish each and every one of you a happy and healthy holiday happening, but this year... Well, all right, I'll go ahead and wish you a happy and healthy holiday happening yet again! Had you worried a moment, didn't I? Sorry. Here's a holiday bunny for you: Scrooge McBun.

As I shall be traveling through time and space for the remainder of the month--not all of it will be interdimensionally, however--I shall not be blogging until next year.

Let us hope that many things about our world improve significantly in the next year. In the meantime, let our personal worlds be filled with joy and bounty! (But not too much bounty; New Year resolutions await.)

See you on the other side, and thanks for the egg nog!



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