Date: Wednesday, March 10

Where: Hastings Round Rock

Time: 6 pm

I will also be speaking with the paranormal romance readers group later that evening. Please stop by and say hi!

I would like to thank the students of Melony Kempf’s classes for being so engaged and interested in my talk this morning at Pflugerville Middle School. I had fun and hope you all did too.

I talked about how I started writing when I was a little kid and wrote lots when I was in middle school and high school. I brought one of my typewritten short stories from when I was 15 years old, and told the kids they probably had never seen anything typewritten before. I also brought a selection of magazines with my short stories and of course copies of Red Gold Bridge and Gordath Wood.

I gave my writing “rules:” write every day. Commit, don’t give up. Keep everything. Get to the end. You have a writing brain and an editing brain. Don’t try to edit as you go, because you will only hurt your feelings.

I told them that all the entertainment that they enjoy — video games, books, and music — all start with the written word.

We talked about rejections, and they were suitably impressed by the 45-50 rejections I got for Gordath Wood.

And we talked about favorite books. They like Twilight, the Hunger Games, a new book called Unwind, which sounds absolutely fascinating and I must pick it up, so thanks to the kids who recommended it, and Uglies. One young lady is a fan of John Grisham. There were also the Alex Rider series, James Patterson, and Lightning Thief.

People say kids don’t read. Pshaw.

Thanks again, everyone, and read on!

“One of the things I always tell my kids is that it’s OK to head out for wonderful, but on your way to wonderful, you’re gonna have to pass through all right,” Withers says. “When you get to all right, take a good look around and get used to it, because that may be as far as you’re gonna go.” –from the NPR story on “Still Bill,” a documentary on Bill Withers.

So I’m looking around and I’m thinking, is this it? Is this all right? Cause I expected wonderful, and maybe now I’m thinking I have to accept all right.

I loved writing Gordath Wood. It wasn’t effortless and I made lots of creative changes, and threw out a third of it and started over, and when it sold I couldn’t believe it. And there it was. My book, in my hands. In stores. I  get fan mail and it still blows me away. I wrote something that people loved so much they stayed up all night to read it and then wrote to me about it.

That right there, that was getting to wonderful.

I wrote Red Gold Bridge in a state of stark panic. Again I threw out a third of it, and wrote in utter terror because I had a fast approaching deadline and I wasn’t sure it was any good. My editor and my readers reassured me it was good, but I didn’t believe it until I gained some time and distance, and kind of cracked the book open and acknowledged that yes, I had actually done what I set out to do. And also it is possible to write peering through one’s fingers.

That was another kind of wonderful.

So I have two beautiful books that have entertained and moved people. I get letters from fans. I still think my best work is ahead of me, but these books — these books are wonderful.

But I think I passed through all right without looking closely enough at it.  Because here’s the deal. The books didn’t sell well. They were wonderful, and getting published is wonderful, but the reality is, they just weren’t good enough. I’m trying not to think that means I’m not good enough, but there’s that monster lurking on the edges of my psyche.

This might be it. I might never sell another book again. Oh sure there’s Lulu and all, and nowadays we’re all just a vanity press away from being an author, but to really sell a book, in the old-fashioned, dead tree, terribly inefficient, working with an editor kind of way? The book that I’m currently pouring my heart and soul into will likely not be published that way at all. The sad reality is, if the first two don’t sell, you sure don’t get to sell the next one.

So maybe for some people, you pass through all right on the way to wonderful. I’m thinking I got to wonderful and well, it doesn’t get wonderfuller.

“Yo, white boy! You just gonna stand there or you gonna play?”

Colar started. He’d been watching the black kids play a fluid, fast game of basketball, and kind of forgot where he was. The kid who hollered at him bounced the ball impatiently, waiting.

He knew he shouldn’t play. He didn’t know how, his wounds were still healing, and the surgeon had told him not to exert himself too much or he could pull stitches, or start bleeding again. He reminded Colar he had to take out his spleen, and Colar nodded, not even knowing what a spleen was. He nodded a lot since crossing the gordath.

But he knew more than anything that if he walked away from the basketball court, he’d end up walking away from everything. Soldier’s god, be by my side he thought, as he loped over.

The black kids cheered and laughed and waved him onto one side. He fell in with them, adopting their stance.

The kid who called him over blew past him like he was standing still and leaped into the air, palming the ball and plunging it into the basket. Colar figured out a couple of things – that had been for his benefit, and he wasn’t going to let it happen again.

#

Thirty minutes later, they stopped, panting, and flopped into the shade of some skinny trees beside the cement court.

“Damn, white boy, you suck,” said the kid who called him over. His name was Darius.

“Yeah,” Colar said ruefully. He was bruised and scraped, and his new jeans had a hole in the knee where he’d been knocked to the cement. He dripped with sweat, and his shirt stuck to his back, stinging his still-raw scars. Despite the cold spring air, he stripped off his shirt. At the sudden silence he looked up. He shrugged. “Long story.”

“Shit,” Darius said.

“You ready?” Colar said. They all looked at each other, and then Darius got to his feet and held out his hand to Colar, and helped him up. Another kid tossed the ball at him and he caught it, feeling the pebbled surface smack into his hands, in a good way. It had been a long time since he moved like this, free and easy, his muscles loose and tired and worked. He had been cautious for so long, recuperating for so long. He wanted to play hard, lose, then win.

He couldn’t go home to Terrick, but he could do this. He could play basketball.

Colar bounced the ball a few times and then dribbled, passed to a teammate and moved up the court, took the pass and shot.

The ball bounced off the rim, and sailed off course into the gravel outside the cement square.

“Colar!”

He turned. They all turned. There were Kate and her mother near the community college entrance, with the papers they said they needed for Kate. He could tell they were staring. Darius nudged him.

“Your momma and sister?”

“Yeah,” Colar said. He looked around at everyone. “Gotta go.”

He got his shirt, knew better than to wave, and walked away, drawing the t-shirt painfully over his red scars and sweat-stung skin.

“Hey, Cole!”

He turned around. Darius nodded.

“Work on your game or I’ll kick your ass twice as hard.”

Colar laughed. “Maybe, maybe not.”

#

Mr. and Mrs. Mossland scolded him in their own way, earnest and serious and talking of consequences. They also mentioned his spleen and skirted the subject of the kids, who seemed rough but fine to Colar but there was something maybe not right about them, the way Kate’s parents were not scolding him and even avoided mentioning them. He figured he’d ask Kate later.

“Well,” Mrs. Mossland said brightly, as she offered a yellow curry dish that reminded him of the spices of home. He took more. “We got Kate signed up for community college classes this summer. All she needs now are some volunteer hours to keep her busy.”

“Ah, volunteering,” said Mr. Mossland. “So what good do you want to do, Kate? Reading to little old ladies? Ladling soup at a food shelter? Candy striping?”

This was one of those conversations that Colar didn’t understand so he stopped listening and attended to his curry and noodles.

“Well,” Kate said with due deliberation. “I think, that I would like to apply myself to the janitorial arts.”

Her mother rolled her eyes and her father snorted.

“You cannot muck stalls for volunteer hours.”

“It’s not like the horses can do it themselves. Besides, I like mucking stalls.”

That made Colar look up at her. He hated stablework. Horses were fine, he was a good rider, but if her world had one thing that was better than home, it was cars. And airplanes. Especially planes. Her parents said they would find time in the summer to maybe take a plane trip. They mentioned the Grand Canyon.

“If they were disadvantaged horses, I’d say maybe. As it is, that place is like a country club for equines.”

“Fine,” Kate said. “I’ll candy stripe.”

Colar was back to having no idea what that meant.

#

“So, why were your mother and father angry?”

They sat in his bedroom. It had been Mr. Mossland’s office, hastily reconfigured for his arrival from the hospital. He had a bed, a dresser for his new clothes, a computer desk and chair, and a computer. He had no decorations, not like Kate’s room where she had lived forever. Her room was filled with books and ribbons and horse pictures, especially of her little horse, Mojo.

His closet held his weapons and his gear, all hanging neatly. Mr. Mossland had cleaned it for him, the man said proudly and a little hopefully. Colar had to ask Kate for materials to reclean it himself. At least the man had gotten most of the blood off.

Kate sat at the computer desk, and he sat on the bed, propped up by the pillow. He was aching again, and he knew it was because of the basketball game. He would have to take a pain pill. Two things, he thought, better than home. He wondered if he would lose count.

“Well,” Kate said frowning. “The community college is kind of in a bad part of town, and the kids might have been, well, not so good.”

“Bad, you mean.”

“Yeah. But, it’s not fair to stereotype just because they’re black. So my mom and dad are conflicted. And then there’s your–”

“Spleen. Yes, I know.” He thought about what she had told him. “I thought they were like me. Like they’d seen a lot, older than you and the other kids your age. But they weren’t dangerous. They just wanted to show me they could play better than I could.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Boys are weird. Anyway, you looked like you were getting along with that one guy.”

“Darius. He reminded me of Skaylar, sort of. A good leader.”

She laughed. “Well, there you go. It’s in his name. Darius was a great king and he fathered an even greater one, named Alexander.”

Maybe that’s why they got along, but he didn’t say that to Kate. He and Darius, both named after kings.

Attention, fantasy and paranormal romance fans in the Austin area: I will be at the Hastings in Round Rock on March 10, signing books and visiting with the paranormal romance readers at their meeting later that evening.

When: Wednesday,  March 10

Where: Hastings Round Rock (2200 South IH-35)

Time: 6 pm

I am looking forward to meeting local readers and paranormal fans. If you have any questions you’d like to have answered, email on the blog or save them up for the meeting.

Early this morning I had to make a decision regarding traveling to Dallas. After checking weather sites, news, and TXDot, I decided not to go to ConDFW. Although it turned out that today’s road conditions were safe, the worry during the 3+ hour drive north was just not worth it to me. So I was not able to go.

I hope everyone who does go has a great time.

Quote of the Con:

“I have a problem with fantasy that ignores reality.” — Jayme Blaschke.

The most important thing to know about AggieCon is that I did not win the sword raffle. Man, can you imagine how cool that would have been? That was neat sword. A katana. We already know that it wouldn’t work on zombies, but hey, a girl can dream.

I was very pleased to see a high number of attendees, mostly A&M students, since it is their con, and there were plenty of people gaming in the hallways, dressed as their favorite character from game, history, or novel, and otherwise having a great time. All of the panels were fairly well attended, except for the politics panel, which was like the very first one of the con, and I could have told you that.

Otherwise my two other panels, on feminism and on religion were lively and interesting. Ellen Datlow and I had a difference of opinion about feminism, but she brought up a good point, to wit: literature with an agenda is rarely as interesting as just plain good storytelling.

Religion always brings out audience participation and we had a ton in that session. Panelists and audience alike brought their A game for a well-traveled (well-raveled?) discussion.

Got extensively caught up on the difference between Halo marines and Doom marines. But I forgot every bit of it. Sorry, guy in the well-made costume!

Martha Wells read from her novel about shapeshifters that an editor needs to buy very soon now, please? Because I can’t keep following her around from con to cons to hear the rest.

Hung out with various and sundry and read from Gordath Wood (The bit where Kate and Colar steal the jeep) and talked to other horse people and in general enjoyed myself thoroughly.

Next up — ConDFW.

Frisbee and me

I should have taken a before picture, because he was pretty slathered with mud, but I got most of it off of him. Then I let him graze for a while on the new grass and he was completely content to do so.

He made friends with Ben, who gave him a peppermint, which Frisbee really enjoyed. Ben was wondering if Frisbee would remember him the next time he came to visit, and I told him that horses could be surprising in that way and he just might.

I couldn’t ride today, even though as you can see it was a gorgeous day. Hopefully Tuesday will be as nice a day and I can get some riding time in before Aggiecon. (Speaking of which, preliminary programming is complete and it’s looking pretty good.)

Side note: I just finished 1,600 words today, so GWIII is really coming along!

When you image Google “Kate Mossland,” these are the results:

Google Image results

Saoirse Ronan

One page at a time, I will make this happen!

On another topic: I wanted to remind you that you can express your support for Gordath Wood and Red Gold Bridge on Facebook by becoming a fan. The discreet little button in the left sidebar will take you to the Facebook page. You can also read more excerpts on my Amazon.com page. I will be uploading excerpts of the new book, whose working title has changed from House of Crows to The Book of Kate, and will likely change a few more times before publication.

Remember this?

“It is a comforting belief among much of society, that a plain girl with a small fortune must have no more interest in matrimony than matrimony has in her.”
That is the opening of my novel, The Unexpected Miss Bennet. You can read the first chapter on my Amazon page (scroll down after the GWIII excerpt — Amazon doesn’t hyperlink blog titles, apparently).

Well, it is off to the agent today. Keep your fingers crossed!This is a huge step for many reasons, but the biggest is that this is the first non-Gordath novel to head out the door ever and honestly, who knows what will happen?

Publishing is weird. I want to write all different kinds of books, but the publishing industry has a hard time dealing with an author who doesn’t stick to their tried and true. But I don’t want to just write in the Gordath-verse, although I enjoy it when I’m there. (Yes, I know I was ready to close the door on it last year after I turned in Red Gold Bridge, but the portal has a way of sneaking up on you and demanding to be opened.)

I want to write the Holy Grail of romances, the Regency. I want to write space opera. I want to write a Halo novel. (What? That’s weird?) I want to have a new fantasy series creep out of my subconscious with new characters who speak to me when I should be doing industry analysis from census data. (If my boss is reading this — just kidding!)

So I can see how publishing would find it hard to keep up. So here’s the thing. I’m going to keep writing them. I’ll excerpt them on the website, and maybe start a podcast or two. If publishing wants them, they’ll let me know. If you want one, I can figure out a way to get it to you. Just say the word.

In the meantime, The Unexpected Miss Bennet is off to the agent. Let the adventures begin.