Forgot To Mention

Clicking on the title will take you to my new site. It looks a LOT different from this one. But I think it works...

Moved, Left Forwarding Address

I'm pretty much up and running on Wordpress. I'll visit from time to time...

Vanity, Thy Name Is BRW

Ah, I should have done my homework first. I submitted because I liked the name. Then, after submitting, I checked them against Preditors & Editors. Guess what. They're a vanity press. They sent an email the other day asking for a ballpark figure of how many books I wanted to buy. Arrgh. Well, I won't be buying any. I don't want to buy my books. I want YOU to buy my books.

Makes sense, doesn't it?

Dazed and Confused

Well, I got the Wordpress thing going and...I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Like, I want to get an "about" link on the main page, but I don't see how to do it. And the sidebar only has room for two widgets? How bogus is that?

Time to call in the professionals...

Baby, I Was Dead-Ass Broke!

Banks. I hate 'em. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Well, you can, but don't let your neighborhood Nike boys know that.

So what's broke mean? When you've got lint in your wallet and no job? But what if you have $25K computer system at home (purchased in better days)? You could probably get at least $15Gs for that. So are you broke, or do you just have a cash flow problem? What about the guy who's got trust funds galore, but can't get to them (or a job). Working as a waiter with $30M in the bank.

Take my sister. When she says she's broke, she's down to four figures in her checking account. When I say I'm broke, my checks are bouncing around like hydrogen molecules over the fire.

Maybe it's like if you have nothing right now but have access in the future, you ain't broke. But if you've done already sold everything you can sell, like your car, your neighbor's car...and you've got nothing left that might bring in a coupla coins, maybe that's when you can say you're dead-ass broke.

Thoughts?

(I know, weird topic)

Speaking of Fishing...

Ah, the timing was perfect. Seemingly minutes after I wrote that post about agents and publishers being fish and writers the fishermen, I received two nibbles within days of one another. One from a publishing house, another from an agent. Is this a case of "build it and they will come?" Naah. I think it's more coincidence. But a lovely coincidence all the same.

First time I've gotten past the query stage. Keep that good mojo comin' folks!

Black Rose Press

is not a reality, but I reserved the domain name the other day. Since starting this journey, I've always said I'd like my own publishing house. It doesn't matter whether I'm the only client, or if I have a stable. I'll tell you this, though--it'll be an e-book concern. That's the way of the future. It's about data storage. As many books as I can fit on a Kindle, a Sony, or the Nook, I don't have in my library. And my shelves are full. So anyway...

I'll be saying goodbye to blogspot pretty soon, abandoning it for my own domain. It's too isolated. And it's time I got seriouser about this writing business.

Promise Fulfilled

I remembered to bring my camera to CapClave. I did not use it. But I brought it, and that's what counts, right?

No. I'd promised to post some pictures, but I don't have any. So technically, I reneged. The whip, please...

Met up with old friends and made some new ones. Jeez, I just love cons, even small, weird ones like CapClave. It's a literary con as opposed to media. Books, books, books.

Attended a couple of interesting sessions. One was on reading to an audience, especially on radio or podcasts, things like that. It was moderated by Jim Freund, host of "Hour of the Wolf" on WBAI, 5-7 AM, 99.5 FM in NYC. I loved what he said at the end. To read on his show, "you don't have to be famous, you just have to be good." Now if I can only get my ass published...

I Promise

CapClave is tomorrow. This time I promise to bring a camera. Whenever I go to cons, I always make that promise, but I rarely follow through. I think the last time I brought a camera to a con was a couple or three Balticons ago. When I come back from CapClave, I will post pictures.

I promise.

I also think I'll start doing podcasts and posting them here. I'm doing two next year for Broad Universe, and I've already bought the mic. Personally, I think it's a wonderful idea. Add some content besides my own rantings. Of course, reading from my works technically qualifies as rantings but we'll just leave that minor point aside.

You, of course, will be the guinea pigs. But I promise not to post pictures of my paintings. I do reserve the right to change my mind if I come up with a good one.

Did I tell you I bought a couple of disco balls? No, the real thing. I'm going to hang them in my living room. One's silver, the other gold. Saturday Night Fever, look out! Actually, the reason I bought them is because I wanted to be reminded of what Melera's eyes look like. Hence the gold mirror ball.

Who's Melera? She's the alien star of my book, The Underground.

About that camera--better check the battery before I head out the door...

Gone Fishing

It occurred to me as I was eating my broiled trout that agents and publishers are like fish and we would-be writers are the fishermen. We dangle our query letters in front of them, hoping they'll be interested enough to take the bait. Most of the time they aren't and don't. So the fisherman moves on to other waters, hoping he'll have better luck. When the agent/publisher does bite, now begins the fight to get the fish over the gunwales. Sometimes the fish wins, and the fisherman has to start all over. But each time we get a bite, there's always the hope that we'll reel our fish in. If so, we say we've "landed" an agent or publisher, just as if they were literate marlins.

Today, someone took my bait. Only question is whether I can wrestle him into my boat.

And if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, get your mind out of the gutter.

An Author's Work Is Never Done

Rewrote my query letter because my editor had some suggestions. I think it's a better letter as a result. So I edited all my models (saves time) both for "mainstream" and erotica publishers.

One publisher's entry in Writer's Market said authors who have marketing ideas for their manuscripts have a better chance of getting published. How's this for an idea: swing clubs that have BDSM'rs into science fiction/fantasy, and who don't mind seeing the genres bent. Worth a shot...

And, They're Off!

A couple, anyway. I always try to send the email queries first. The paper ones come later. Lucky for my and other wannabe authors' budgets, email is usually the preferred means of communications. At first I thought the rest were Luddites, but then I realized what better way to weed out those who aren't serious by putting them through all kinds of absurd hoops in hopes that some editor will at least glance at the damned thing before throwing it in the trash? So I hope Edge likes what I sent...

Wish me luck. Again.

How Does She DO That???

Okay. I showed my editor what I'd done. She said I was still trying to cram too much information in my one-liner, and took a "stab" at it, and sent it to me.

It was damned near perfect. And she's only read the first and last sixty pages of the book--just under a third of the ms!

So of course I'm going to use it in my queries. I mean, she cut it down (way down) from what I'd written, so some of the words are mine, right? You know, I really hope this sort of thing comes with practice, because I was ready to tear out what little hair I have left over this.

I almost dread having to come up with a one-liner for Jahannan's Children.

Round Two

Here's a second stab at writing a one-liner for The Underground. Fifty words. Twice as long as the panelist at the RWA conference recommended, but she also said that fifty is okay. Not great, but okay. I'll take it.

This time I left out a whole bunch of stuff because it feels like I'd have to explain rationale, motives, da-da da-da da-da. Melera particularly comes off as a helpless damsel in distress. In distress? Yes. Helpless? Hell, no. But I'm trying to get agent/publisher eyes to at least read my query letter, and since TU is anything but business as usual, I guess boiling it down to its understandable aspects is the only thing to do. And, since TU really belongs to Parker, it only makes sense to make him the actor in this one line cast of characters.

"A werewolf, humiliated by how his mage lover had tricked him into serving a vampire he hates, must prove that the beautiful, amnesiac alien he rescued and then fell for isn't the serial killer stalking the city before civil war erupts between preternaturals and humans over the murders."

I sent it to my editor and asked for her opinion. I'm almost afraid to see what she says.

Bitch Session

Okay, I know you're tired of hearing me whine about computers, but get over it.

Found out that Acrobat 8 may not run on a 64-bit platform. Tech support told me "we've never tested it, but you're welcome to do so yourself." Excuse me? Test a product of yours on my brand new computer? Bitch, you best check yo'self! And then I look on the website and yes, there's an Acrobat 9 that'll support what I have. It's just $449.00 bucks. Not much more than what I paid for 8 a couple of years ago. Not exactly what I'd call a good return on my hard-earned dollars, either.

I've a couple more people to ask about this type of thing too...hopefully, it won't mean that I paid big bucks for apps that are, well, outdated.

*raises fist and whirls it around* Onward and upward in a left-handed spiraling motion...

Duh...

Forgot to mention that I'm no longer twiddling thumbs over MSO 2003. Finally occurred to me to just download what I wanted on the thumb drive, load it, and go on from there. So now I'm puttering happily about on Dr. Asus. Sometimes it just takes me a while, folks.

Anyway, now that I'm using Dr. Mac more (like right now), I'm going to get it upgraded so I can install Snow Leopard. Then maybe I can make up my own Administrator name and password so I can do stuff that I can't do now because I can't remember the damned password...

*sigh*

Capclave RFR...Wow

Capclave is coming up really soon, and the Broad's RFR is on Saturday Oct. 17th from 1-2 pm. So far, there are like three folks signed up. Of course, more could sign up between now and Oct. 12th--the organizer's drop dead date--but Mother, if there will only be three of us...that's a lot of reading. Assuming the panel plans for an hour, given the minimal time it would take for introductions, the three of us might each end up with 20 minutes. Of course, we do want to leave time for Q&A, but still...

But not to fear, for I'm certainly up to the challenge. I've got two chapters, one from The Underground and the other from Jahannan's Children that I'll read. One or the other, that is--not both. They're pretty clean as far as my writing goes, but if there are any little kids in the room, I'll tone down the one or two curse words. Is PC still in?

You know, it's just occurred to me that it'd be fun to learn some new curse words, huh? Make some up, even?

I'm game. How 'bout you?

She Hated It

Sent my editor my 40-odd word summary of The Underground. The title of this post says it all. *sigh*...back to the drawing board.

Dr. Compaq's replacement, Dr. Asus, is working fine. Kudos to the folks at zt Technologies for being so helpful. Turned out to have been a bad HDD. But here's the great part. On September 30, I was told by the order desk that UPS would pick up the defective box within three to five days of that date, and that the replacement would show up sometime between October 5 and October 12. UPS showed up on October 1 (glad I'd packed it up the night before). The replacement was delivered October 2. How's THAT for fantastic service?

So no more whining about my personal problems. Back to the writing life.

But did I tell you about my adventures with the lawn tractor and the weed whacker?

Twiddling My Thumbs

While I'm sitting here without access to my MSO 2003 docs, the only thing I can really do is think up more stories. So I've thought up a romance based on Zechariah Sitchin's controversial theories about the origins of the gods, human beings, civilization on Earth, whatever. Whether his theories are valid is not within my purview, but what is within my purview is that they make for a hell of a good story.

I'm still fleshing out the synopsis, but essentially it's about a high priestess in Ishtar's temple in the Sumerian city of Uruk who is forced to leave her beloved home in order to tend a technologically advanced outpost in the northlands where she eventually falls in love with the village's barbarian chieftain.

The only scene I'm certain of is where he rapes her. Or is it really rape? I'll let the reader decide.

Stay tuned on this one. It might actually sell.

You're Not Gonna Believe What Happened...

...so I won't tell you. Suffice it to say it's almost enough to make me think about embracing the Luddite movement.

If you don't know what a Luddite is, you are either a) young, or b) unread, or c) both.

On The Road Again

Up and running with the new computer. Unbelievable that it came today. I wasn't expecting it until Friday.

I'll have to think of a name for it.

So Dr. Compaq's been lobotomized, and its brain installed in the new kid. Thanks to my geek friend who allowed me to watch him work and ask a lot of stupid questions.

Urban Lexicon

Went to the bookstore a couple of weeks ago to buy one of those uber-expensive catalogs for writers like me on that vertical climb to publication. While I was there, I picked up two more little books entitled "urban dictionary", which, I think, pretty much speaks for itself. The books grew out of a website created by Aaron Peckham, at urbandictionary.com. The content is created by submissions of words/phrases and the definitions for same by people worldwide. In turn, the word/phrase/def are voted on by other users. If a word/phrase gets enough votes, it becomes official. So check it an' get yo' sef some mad street cred. Holla!

Anyway, you can imagine that there are lots of words/phrases having to do with blogs and bloggers. I, for example, am not a member of the "blogging class", since my blog has nothing to do with my personal opinions of a sociopolitical nature. Well, not overtly, anyway.

But I'll admit to sometimes writing a blog entry just for the sake of posting something, not because it's interesting or anything like that. The purpose of my blogging exercise is, according to legend, to build an audience for my fiction so I can say to a publisher "if you publish my book, they will read it and you will make (or at least not lose) money."

Posts of this nature are called "blogorrhea."

I believe this one qualifies. Damn skippy.

Uncrash!

Looks like Dr. Compaq isn't FUBAR after all.

But I gotta question. If you get a new computer, does like, Comcast or whomever have to come out and hook it up to the 'net? Guess I'd better call...wonder how long I'll be on hold this time.

Okay. New title. The Underground. Here's a summary of the story in one sentence:

A ruthless mage and a sadistic vampire’s ambitions to rule Seattle are threatened after the key to their plan, a rebellious werewolf, meets and then falls for a kick-butt, amnesiac space alien who might be a vicious serial killer.

Not too shabby, I think. A sprawling, damned near 400 page manuscript reduced to 39 words.

Know what? It's hard as hell to do. And I wrote the freakin' story!

Crash!

The title says it all. I think Dr. Compaq's really FUBAR this time.

This one is a spare I use for graphics. It's a Mac. You know, it's hard to believe MS and Apple haven't gotten this straight. The Word programs don't talk to one another. Sure, Mac can read PC, but the formatting is lost. And PC can't read Mac at all.

How annoying.

P.S. If Dr. Compaq isn't FUBAR, then I suppose I'll use it as a spare since I already ordered a new box online. So let's see, that's a spare Compaq, a spare Mac, a spare Dell...an embarrassment of computers.

A Tale Of Two Stories

So I've finished the first draft of Chapter 7, and it got me thinking. As I told you earlier, there are two "versions" of JC floating about, a space opera mostly in my head and another based on Earth that's being committed to paper, so to speak. I'd always thought of the entire story as a three-parter, but now I think it might be two. That means a number of issues that I'd originally thought would be resolved in the third book will most likely have to be resolved here. Like Kurt's love for Parker. I'd thought at one point it'd be consummated, and maybe it would have been in another galaxy, but it can't be done if they're still on Earth, because the timeline won't permit it. And the odd little relationship that developed between Kurt and Melera in the space-based version of JC will have to be dropped.

Oh yes, I know...just write the space opera using different identities to protect the guilty. It just feels odd, somehow.

Now for some real news. I'm going to be reading at the Capclave Con in Rockville, MD in October, and at Philcon (Philadelphia, PA of course) in November. Don't know what I'll read yet--it really depends on how much time I have. Either way, I'm going to have a ball.

See you there!

Taps

Chapter Whatever, in its current form, is being deep-sixed. You know, Melera and Parker's BDSM reunion. After thinking about it, it'd be more fun to have her surprise him by skipping through the Void and into his bedroom while he's in bed with Mandy (Parker's new freya). Melera is beside herself because she just found out that Beloc is on his way to Earth. Her only thought is to get Parker and herself the hell out, because the Dark only knows what Beloc's gonna do to this planet--not to mention its people--when he gets here. But as far as she's concerned, none of that is her problem. Or so she thinks.

Melera finally notices Mandy, but only after Parker points her out. Not realizing until then that Parker isn't alone, she hasn't bothered to disguise herself. And so Mandy learns the whole nine yards about Melera--she's an alien, there's a war on in her galaxy, this seriously bad dude is after her and Earth's about to fall into some really deep jakk.

That's when Mandy decides to betray Melera to Beloc and the Akkad. Parker's first loyalty might be to his alien lover, but Mandy's first loyalty is to the pack, and by extension, Earth. There might be no sure way to stop Beloc from coming here, but there's one sure way to get him to leave...

Round ???

Getting my new query letter ready...almost there.

Wish me luck.

Dragon*Con

All y'all at D*C--ya havin' fun yet?

Wish I was there...well, maybe next year. If you see Stormtrooper Elvis, tell 'im I said "howdy."

The Two Chapter Sixes

First it was Chapter 5. Then it was Chapter 6.

Now it's Chapter Whatever. Seriously...in my JC folder it just says Chapter.

My editor will not be happy with me.

So there's a new Chapter 6 that I just finished tonight. It's Garrett's POV. She's working with her mage mentor to figure out how (and if) the tryst spell's aftereffects can be reversed. Right now things are pretty bad for our three zot heroes, especially Kurt.

Tomorrow (or sometime this weekend) I'll start Chapter 7. Melera's POV, you know. She's finished the code, about to leave, and then decides she needs to go to Seattle and apologize to Parker for her behavior when she left Earth for the second time (after the revolution). I know, you wouldn't think kick-ass Melera would care about stuff like being polite, and normally she wouldn't. But on Xia'saan, such things are just not done. Yes indeedy. Xia'saan has very strict rules of social conduct, very formal. And breaking those rules have severe consequences.

Think of it this way. We have a planet full of warriors, right? If somebody gets dissed, somebody's gonna die. So we have to have these rules so we don't start killing each other again. As for the punishments (whippings, etc.--very BDSM), the reason for those is because like little boys, the only thing warriors understand is pain.

Waiting...

is a bitch. Please, please Ms. Editor, tell me what needs to be fixed!

P.S. I have not cut my nails. It's annoying as hell to type with them, but they're so pretty.

OK, so I'm a girl. Deal with it.

Writing My Butt Off

Then again, my ass was always flat so what the hey, right?

Somewhere down in those previous posts, I put up Chapter 2 of this book. Right now it's got the characters I'm using in TU, but eventually I'll change the names to protect the guilty.

Chapter 3

Parker stared in disbelief as the jav he’d targeted sped away from the starboard cannon pit. How the hell could I have missed him? he thought. The guy was that close.

((You couldn’t hit the side of a barn from ten feet,)) Parker’s wolf roared inside his brain. ((Gimme that thing!))

Before he knew it, Parker felt his eyes flare into his wolf’s hot, glowing green ones. The mental bonds holding his beast inside their shared mind snapped and then his human self was roughly shoved aside. In a moment, the broad-shouldered, chestnut-haired human that had been sitting at the firing board had morphed into giant man-wolf covered with a dense, dark red pelt.

The beast went into action. Parker-the-human felt Parker-the-wolf’s left paw rolling the cannon’s trackball like a pro. Its aim was stunningly accurate, nailing jav after jav, the small craft silently exploding into mini-novas. Right now his wolf was sixteen for seventeen. He’d counted.

“Dear Parker, I have to say your aim has undergone a marked improvement,” Kurt’s smooth voice filled the cramped cannon pit.

Parker’s face would have reddened if it could. So where were you when Melera was drilling us on this stuff? he thought at his wolf.

“Watching you fuck up,” his beast rumbled.

Minutes passed. Looking through his wolf’s eyes, to Parker the jav swarm seemed to have gotten denser. Then he felt an especially hard jolt and heard the sound of ripping metal. The cannon pit filled with thick smoke. The wolf squeezed its tearing eyes shut against the smoke’s sting, then erupted into fit of coughing. A moment later, the exhaust fans switched on and the smoke disappeared.

Parker and his wolf heard Melera scream his name. The wolf coughed once more. “Okay, sweetheart,” it said in a strangled growl.

Parker’s beast finally opened its eyes. Taking up where it had left off, the wolf resumed taking out every javelin unlucky enough to stray into its crosshairs. But wasn’t long before Parker and his wolf realized the cruiser must have taken some heavy damage. The vessel’s movements were sluggish, and it had a pronounced tendency to yaw. Melera was obviously having trouble maintaining control of the ship. And the javs were closing in.

“Don’t just stand there, butthead,” the wolf snarled at its human self. “Get on the tail guns.”

How’m I supposed to do that? Parker thought. You’ve got—

“Go!” his other roared, and gave another especially hard mental shove. It threw Parker’s human side clean out of their shared body. He stared incredulously at the back of his wolf’s head, and then quickly looked down at himself. He seemed solid enough. He pinched his arm. He was solid. But how could he and his wolf be in two places at the same time? Parker looked up. “What’d you—”

“Get out!” his wolf roared again.

This time Parker-the-human didn’t argue. He took a step towards the aft cannon pit and the next thing he knew, he was inside of it. He didn’t stop to wonder how he’d managed to do what he just did. That could come later. First they had to get out of here—alive.

Parker threw himself into the gunner’s seat and started firing.

* * * *

Melera was barely able to keep the ship on course. She fought the controls, sometimes having to enter a course correction two or three times before the vessel responded. It was only a matter of time before the computers failed completely. When they did, the four of them would be at the mercy of the Akkadians. She gave her head a hard shake. She was not going to think about that.

Then she thought about the jav jock responsible for turning her cruiser into a pile of space junk. The torpedo had hit the ship’s “sweet spot,” the place where the force field enveloping the ship—the shield—didn’t quite meet. The ship had been designed so the gap was small enough that the odds of being hit there were something like one to damned near impossible. “Had to be luckiest shot in the whole jakkin’ galaxy,” she muttered.

The cruiser slipped sideways. Melera drummed a short tattoo on a smallish, shiny black panel. Nothing happened. She drummed again. On her third try, the navigation program finally responded and the ship drifted back on track.

The Shen’zae and her javelin escort flew on, their erratic course edging them towards a truncated tetrahedron looming in the distance. The chase was almost over. It was still lively—Beloc must’ve loosed every spacehound in his wing, she thought—but her cruiser was too damaged in most of the right places to put up a real fight. She knew it, and so did the jav jocks herding her towards the Akkadian ship. She spared a one second glance at the familiar geometric monstrosity floating serenely against the starfield. PL86272, she thought. That was the truncate’s official designation. The prisoners it housed called it hell.

Her jaw set. Damned if I’m going back there.

((Agreed,)) her cz’ado’s—shadow—cold, four-toned voice echoed in her mind.

Melera glanced at a glowing red triangle pulsating gently on the console’s far left side. One tap from her finger would set off an unstoppable sequence that would ultimately scuttle her cruiser. Her plan was to start the countdown just before entering the prison ship’s docking bay. By the time they were fully inside, the program’s count would have finished, and the resulting explosion would shred the bay and everyone in it to confetti.

PL86272 would survive, she knew. That monster had as much square footage as a good-sized interstellar trading port. For prison operations, the bay’s destruction and subsequent repairs would be a minor inconvenience. But for Beloc, her fiery death would be a constant reminder that their personal war was over—and he had lost.

((What about the other three?)) her cz’ado said.

The ship drifted to starboard. It took two different command variations before she could get it back on course. She let out a light snort. If they knew, they’d thank me.

On the heads up display, a green circle flashed twice, then shone steadily. She raised her brows. Somebody was working the tail cannons. She glanced to her right. She hadn’t noticed Garrett leave the bridge but she wasn’t surprised to see the empty chair. So much for her Cree-do. But even a skratz will fight when cornered.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the soft orange glow surrounding the holographic ship brighten considerably. She glanced at it. Her jaw dropped. What? she thought, her eyes darting back and forth between the viscreens and the holo. The starboard thrusters are holding at eighty-five percent. And the shield is holding at—she looked again to be sure—seventy percent?

“Kyle?” she said softly.

The AI didn’t answer.

Melera bit her lip. Better maneuverability and shield protection were more than she could have hoped for, but without Kyle she couldn’t skip them through the Void. That had been their real advantage against the javs. It made them harder to track. Even if she couldn’t nervejack with Kyle, the AI could have still fed her enough information so they wouldn’t emerge from the Void with a jav jammed into the commons.

A lavender streak from the ship’s starboard side destroyed a jav almost directly in front of them. Melera turned to port to avoid the debris. She heard Kurt’s smooth voice over the audios, complimenting Parker on his improved marksmanship. She raised her brow. She’d been too busy to notice.

Then, relative to her position, she spotted below her a large, passenger-type spaceship with a round, wart-like protuberance on one end. Her eyes widened in shock. The last time she’d seen it, an Akkadian destroyer had been using it for target practice. “My starliner,” she yelled in Xia’saan, her quintuple voices sounding like an angry choral quintet on steroids. “Beloc—I can’t—that jakkin’ jakker stole Warrior’s Shadow!”

“Melera, was there something you wanted to say to us?” Kurt said.

The vampire’s smooth voice jolted her back into the present. “Keep shooting,” she answered in Toro. It was all she could think of to say.

((I have an idea,)) her cz’ado said a few moments later.

I’m listening.

Her cz’ado explained its strategy. ((I can tell you when to go through the Void, but I do not have Kyle’s range. It will be very close.))

It’s our only chance.

A picture of a star cluster she recognized appeared in her mind’s eye. She nodded. “Pawkher, Khurt,” she said. “Redirect fire to the fore. We’re going for that ship below us. Gharrett, keep the javs off our ass.” Without waiting for the trio’s acknowledgment, she turned sharply to port, and aimed the cruiser’s nose at her old starliner’s observation deck. Then, redlining her ship’s four drives, she dove for Warrior’s Shadow.

The distance between the two spacecraft closed rapidly. The other ship’s observation deck grew larger and larger in the cruiser’s viscreens until it was the only thing she could see in its electronic windows. Parker and Kurt’s excited voices clamored for her attention, both men wanting to know what the hell she thought she was doing. She didn’t answer.

By now she was close enough to see the o-deck’s cameras, the small, round discolorations marching in orderly rows around the deck’s circumference. Trying not to let her fear get the better of her, she kept her mind’s eye focused on the star cluster her cz’ado had shown her. But her body wasn’t paying attention. It braced for impact.

((Now!)) her cz’ado’s cold, four-toned voice boomed in her mind.

Melera blinked.

Reunion

Okay. I may have told you I've written Ch. 5, which is about Parker and Melera's reunion after their big blow out. Well, be advised that this is no longer Ch. 5. Right now it's Ch.6. Then again, maybe it won't be.

Here's the question. The current Ch. 6 is a sweet reunion, in an S&M sort of way. But while I was writing the earlier chs., it occurred to me that maybe their Parker and Melera's reunion should be more abrupt--like Melera busting into Parker's bedroom while he's screwing his new freya (the wolfpack's alpha female) with dire news--Beloc's coming to visit. True, Beloc's after Melera, but hey, here's this whole pristine planet just waiting to be taken over...maybe a foothold in our galaxy to expand Akkadian territory? If nothing else, zots and humans would make good slaves.

What do you think? Should I keep the sweet reunion and give Parker and Melera some halcyon days before the shit hits the fan? Or should the shit hit the ground running?

Staycation

That's a new word I learned recently. It certainly describes my situtation now. As a telecommuter, I while I'm "away" I'm entitled to pay no attention to my day job (well, mostly) so I have time to do lots of creative stuff like cleaning out my house and...oh yeah. WRITING!

So I just sent Chapters 1 & 2 off to my editor. I've already posted a few paragraphs from Ch. 2 (see somewhere below). If you do find it, please be advised that even those few paragraphs have been edited by me. If you've read it, I'm sure you've discovered my missteps. Well, those have been corrected to my satisfaction, but the final word (most of the time) comes from my editor. Here's hoping it won't be dipped too deeply in blood when she sends it back.

A friend of mine told me that maybe I should speak of her editing in terms of "red ink." No, my loves. It isn't red ink. It's blood. My blood. The Red Cross can only wish...

And The Winner Is...

Some posts ago (don't remember how far back and don't feel like looking for it) I set down some of my musings on changing the title The Alien Within to something else. Though the title made perfect sense to me, other folks--including some of my readers--thought it was going to be more science fiction than urban fantasy. In other words, they found it kind of jarring.

Keeping in mind that a book is usually judged by its title, I've decided on The Underground. It describes the characters' lives, their political status in society, as well as the place, Seattle Underground.

So. The Underground. TU. I'll probably refer to it as TAW from time to time since I've been doing it for years.

Wow. Two posts within twenty-four hours. Am I on a roll or what?

Read At Your Own Risk

Okay, so here I am scratching the walls 'cause lately everything I write is trash, and then starting last Thursday, I write two chapters in less than 72 hours. I've done some polishing, you know, making sure somebody isn't sticking their finger up their butt when they aren't supposed to and stuff like that. So here's a snippet of Chapter 2 of Jahannan's Children (working title). Remember, my editor hasn't seen this, so read at your own risk.

Chapter 2

The problem with being in love with a space alien is that if it goes sour, the only people who can truly sympathize are usually locked up in the loony bin.

Ain't that the goddamned truth, Parker thought.

The alpha of Seattle's werewolf pack sprawled on the outdoor chaise he'd dragged from his house's rear patio into the backyard. A full tumbler and a half-bottle of Jack Daniels rested on a small stand bolted to the right side of the chaise's sturdy metal frame. Fingers laced over his stomach and face pointed towards the stars, Parker's dreamy expression made him look like any other stargazer lost in contemplation of heaven's mysteries.

Unlacing his fingers, Parker sat up a little and reached for his drink. Picking it up, he stared into the tumbler's night-blackened depths for a moment, then lifted it and tossed back a healthy slug of whisky. Lowering the glass, he slowly traced his index finger along its rim. "Melera's been gone for three months, two weeks and five days," he said as if speaking to someone close by.

He felt his beast stir inside his mind. Been counting, have you? it growled softly inside his head. You counting the hours and minutes too?

Parker set the now half-empty tumbler on the stand and settled back into his earlier position. "Like you haven't been doing the same thing, fuzzbutt?"

By now this exchange between Parker and his were, a gargantuan man-wolf nearly eight feet tall, had become familiar. Since the day Melera had left them for Maqu, her home galaxy, they'd camped here in the backyard on as many clear nights as they could, their shared eyes scanning the heavens for a sign of her return with the same desperate fervor of shipwreck survivors scanning the horizon for signs of rescue. Unlike shipwreck survivors, Parker and his wolf had no idea what they were looking for. But they'd know it when they saw it. At least that's what they kept telling each other.

I'm sure she's okay, Parker's were snarled softly. Think of it this way. She's just on the mother of all road trips. She's probably been doing it since she was a kid.

"Except the road out there goes on forever and there aren't any gas stations along the way."

Man and wolf watched the sky in silence. Despite the ambient glare from the city's lights, with his wolf-sight Parker could see well enough to spot anything that moved in the sky. So far they'd seen a bunch of birds heading for wherever, a few jetliners heading for wherever else, and a slew of satellites heading for nowhere. But they'd seen nothing that looked like it might be a spaceship heading for base in the South Pacific.

"What happened?" Parker finally whispered. "Us and Melera...we were so good together. Garm, we loved her enough to leave Earth and follow her to her galaxy, even if it meant dying in that crazy war she's fighting over there. And then...I don't know. It's like some kind of switch got flipped, and then we were fighting all the time about what I can't even remember, and then she was gone. Why?"

Uhrrm. Maybe us being assholes had something to do with it?

Untitled

I was trying to think up a snappy title for this and I thought about doing the riff on Wizard of Oz, but I thought that might be too trite, so I remembered a tee-shirt I saw a couple of days ago. "Kansas. Keeping America Safe from Missouri since 1854." But then I remembered that I hadn't been in Kansas. So those were out. Then I decided I didn't want to think about it anymore and so it's untitled. See, the Mundane Black Hole released me just a little while ago so I'm still a bit...well, let's just say this is not a good time for higher brainwork.

So I've been released. If only for a while. Now that I'm back in my universe of werewolves, vampires, witches and aliens, I feel much more comfortable. And with the day job on simmer over the next month, maybe I can get some writing done. And querying. And whatever other chores first-time authors have to do.

Okay, well I just tried to think of something witty to say about TAW in closing but I can't think of anything.

Champagne and Chocolate

The RWA Annual Conference was FAB! Registration was expensive as all get out--pretty much blew my con budget for the rest of the year--but Mother, was it worth it! I made scads of new friends. Okay, three...but for me that counts as scads. Linda Howard, Janet Evanovich, Nora Roberts and a bunch of other stars were there. All are very down-to-earth and boy, are they bust-a-gut funny! I'm happy to say that Janet and I share the same favorite word. It has four letters and rhymes with "suck."

Last night was awards night and it was awesome. Golden Hearts and RITAs. And afterwards, attendees were served--you got it--champagne and chocolate.

Guess I forgot to mention that I demanded the Mundane Black Hole to spit me out starting last Wednesday (July 15th) so I could go to the conference. In return, the Hole extracted my promise that I "check-in" twice a day via email. I didn't, though. Hey, I couldn't help it if I couldn't get into the Hole's secure email server, right? But I will pay dearly for my lapse. Starting tomorrow.

Triumph Of The Black Hole

The day job has sucked me inside the dreaded Black Hole of the Mundane. I've fought like hell to get out long enough to get this message to you. But my freedom is short-lived. The Hole will swallow me as soon as I finish this message, no matter how hard I battle against it.

I'll be back at the end of July. I will. Trust me.

Until then, may the Force-----

Michael Jackson and The Alien Within

I've a personal anecdote concerning Michael Jackson. Years ago, my grandmother took us granddaughters on a cultural tour of the Far East. Okay, it was really an extended shopping trip, but we did do some cultural stuff. Anyway, we went to China on a day trip, and one of the stops was to see a "typical" Chinese village and then tour a "typical" Chinese home. So we were taken to this woman's house, and once we reached the parlor, we noticed a framed photograph of our hostess and Michael Jackson. Needless to say, we made some noise about it. When our hostess saw our interest, through our interpreter she asked whether we knew him. Well, of course not, but then we told her who he is, and so on. At one point, she interrupted and the interpreter told us she wanted to know why we kept referring to Michael as "her". Well, we said, it's because he's a man, not a woman. Our hostess shook her head. We nodded. She shook her head. We kept nodding. When she finally decided we were telling the truth, her eyes grew absolutely huge. She kept looking from the photo and then to us, and back to the photo. She looked at the picture one more time, then turned and with a wink, grinned at us as if we'd just let her in on a great big secret.

I'd have loved to have told Michael this story. I wish I had.

So--what does MJJ have to do with TAW? Well, when I was writing it, I wrote it with a soundtrack in mind, in case it was turned into a movie. When I finished it, I checked the songs I'd included and most of them were Michael's. I saw that, and decided that when TAW is made into a movie, I will give especial credit to Michael for writing the soundtrack.

One more thing...did I ever tell you that I'm going to make TAW into a movie?

Stay tuned.

And Now For Something Completely Different...

Been watching a lot of Monty Python on Netflix lately. I'm happy to report they are just as hilarious to me now as they were when I was introduced to them forty years ago. MP was always on late at night, so I'd sneak downstairs after mom put me to bed and watch it with my dad (the same guy who introduced me to Dr. Who). Sometimes he even let me stay up on school nights. We never told mom.

Now that you know our secret, I'll have to kill you.

So a few weeks ago I did something I've never done before--entered a photograph in a competition. Mind you, I'm no photographer. In fact, I suck at it. But every so often, I'll take a shot that comes out so perfect I think I couldn't have been the one who took it.

Here's the shot. I call it "Holiday Blues."

The Power Of...

You fill in the blank. And please, no Huey Lewis and the News, okay?

At the moment I'm thinking of the power of my pocketbook. I'm finally convinced I have to bite the bullet and get a new analyst. My computer, that is. I won't go into the story of how it happened, but Dr. Compaq and I have been together for a long time. I like my machine. But ever since that damned virus...well, I need a new machine and my pocketbook is telling me it'll have to wait. But Dr. Compaq has developed a habit of crashing right when I'm in the mid

Just kidding. This time, anyway.

So...what is power, really? Is it just the fact you can smash someone to bits if you feel like it and everybody knows it? Or is it something a bit more subtle? I think the essence of power lies not so much in what you can do as it does in what the other fellow thinks you can do. Take the IRS. Today, the chances of an individual being audited are pretty slim (though that might change in the future). But what is it that keeps you honest when calculating the tax you owe, or the refund due? (No snickering, please). We all know the hell the Service puts people through when they're audited. I'm going to assume that most of us are honest when it comes to declaring income and deductions (no snickering, please) but do we do it because it's the right thing to do, or because there's that one chance, however small, that we might end up in IRS Audit Hell? More than that, IRS audit manuals aren't exactly on the bestseller's tables in your local bookstore. That's assuming they're available to the public at all. Anyway, are you honest because you don't know the criteria an examiner uses in flagging a return for a closer look? For all you know, they might choose returns by sacrificing goats. So is it the fear of what the Service could do if it decides to check your return that keeps you honest, rather than the fear of that it will?

That's the question I'm trying to answer with respect to Kurt. No, not his taxes--he's got enough lawyers at his disposal to keep the IRS at bay for eternity (unlike most of us). But the tryst did something to him. His vampire regent's abilities have been lessened--not gone, but lessened (I'm still figuring out how much). And the tryst itself--all concur that it didn't work very well on the city's humans. But it worked well enough so that zots have a bit more confidence in remaining alive if they're discovered. So Kurt's in danger of losing his iron grip over Seattle's zots, unless he can show them he's just as badass as he was before. And if he isn't...

Can the power of prestige keep Kurt on top? Even though he no longer has the vampire regent's powers he exhibited in TAW? Like the IRS, Kurt is hated and feared by other zots based on their collective past experiences. Will the past be enough to sustain Kurt's hold over the city's zots?

I'll let you know. But meanwhile, what are your thoughts about power--what it is, what it isn't?

Continuing Education

Still working my way through the software tutorial for building a website. It's not that hard, especially since it doesn't involve learning html. For me, it's really more a matter of getting used to it--I mean, building websites is not something I do every day. Or any day.

Eventually, what I'd like to do is put up an animated banner with Melera's eyes staring at you from the screen. Say, a three-quarter shot spanning just below the bridge of her nose to her hairline. Slit-pupiled, golden eyes that seem to spin and sparkle like twin disco balls. And every so often, she'll blink.

I described Melera's eyes to one sf/f/h fan and her first reaction was "creepy!" After I thought about it, I realized she was right. To some people, Melera would seem creepy. It's that reptilian aura she carries. Makes sense, considering her people are descended from giant lizards.

Horror Story

Know what I love about Stephen King? Not his prose, though he sometimes strings together some memorable ones, like the guy who watched his wife's blood "run away red into the night," or something like that. No, what's wonderful about him is that he can take something totally ordinary and turn it into something totally horrifying. Take a pair of wind-up clacking teeth, the kind you buy in novelty stores. Or a pair of sneakers. Read what ol' Steve does with these and I guarantee that every time you look at those oh-so-humdrum everyday things you'll always be reminded of what they could become if you turn that cosmic corner--a nightmare from which you can't, and will never wake up.

It happened to me, once. Seriously.

Remember the novella/TV movie Langoliers? The one about the jet turning that cosmic corner and flying into yesterday? Remember the crazy dude who ripped paper into shreds in order to calm himself? Well, one day I had to go with my then-boss to this meeting. I was sitting across the table from him. Halfway through the meeting, my boss flips open his notepad to the last page and starts slowly tearing it into little strips, just like that guy in the movie. Scared me down to my drawers, especially since I'd just watched it (pretty good, Hollywood didn't mess it up). Scarier still, later that day not only did I have to get on a plane, I had to get on a plane with him...

But nothing happened after all that. The jet didn't fly into yesterday, and my boss didn't turn into a crazed murderer. In other words, I got to wake up.

That's what Stephen King does to you. And that's why, IMHO, he's so good.

The Neon Rain

Re-read The Neon Rain by James Lee Burke last night. It's a gritty thriller about a Cajun police detective who takes on drug lords and arms smugglers and nearly loses himself while battling his own demons. I lived in New Orleans for several years, got to know a bunch of Cajuns from the bayou (some really do speak only French and don't know a lick of English) and he got the N'awlins atmosphere just right, the way it was in the mid '80s when I was there. Here's one of my favorite lines:

"It started to rain in large, flat drops when we turned onto the Expressway, then it suddenly poured down on Clete's car in a roar of tackhammers."

Ain't that the truth. It rained every day around 4 PM, and it was like the sky just opened up and vomited water. It came down so hard it really did sound like hammers. Felt like it too, if you were caught in it. But it never lasted more than twenty minutes. Then the clouds would suddenly disappear, the sun would come out, and in the near-tropical heat you could see the steam rising from the rain-soaked concrete like smoke from a cigarette.

To be honest, I can't say I'm a Burke fan, but IMHO, The Neon Rain is his best.

Disguised As A...

Let's say there's a person in a uniform--a grocery cashier, a maintenance person, etc.--that you see frequently in the same place, for at least a year. After so much time, you usually nod and smile at one another, or maybe even say a quick greeting. Then one day you see them on the street and you walk right on by. Or you do a double take. You're so used to seeing them dressed a certain way and in a certain place, you don't recognize them without the uniform and in a different environment. I don't know about you, but this has happened to me several times. It's a little embarrassing. In a way, it's like telling them that they're the uniform and not a real person.

It's happened to me the other way around, too. I usually wear jeans and a t-shirt to my day job, or a sweatshirt if it's cold. There are times though, when I have to "act like it" and wear the kind of clothes that makes everyone think I'm a class act (you can laugh now--I sure am). When I do, people don't recognize me, sometimes even up close. They don't realize it's me until I say something. I always say I'm in disguise.

So I bought this big, fancy church lady hat yesterday, just for fun. I've decided to buy a church lady suit to go with it. Me, dressed like a church lady--the perfect disguise! I don't think I'd recognize myself. I know a helluva lot of other people wouldn't. Hey! I could wear it for Halloween!

All of this is to say that disguises are going to play a role in my next book. At least as far as Melera is concerned. If Beloc's coming to Earth for a visit, she'll have to change her looks--completely. She's a shifter, so at first blush it might not seem like a problem. But she can only hold to her new form for a couple of hours before being forced to revert. And then, because shifting takes so much energy, afterwards she has to rest for a long longer than that. Disguised, trapped in close quarters with Beloc and nowhere to hide. Does he capture her? If not, it'll be interesting to see how she pulls off her escape.

RWA: It's Official!

Secret a-a-a-gent man!
Secret a-a-a-gent man!
They've given you a number
And taken away your name...

(Air guitar solo)

Well...no. It's just that when I got my RWA membership confirmation and saw I'd been assigned a membership number, that song was the first thing that popped into my head.

So I've registered for the Annual Meeting next month, which will be quite near where I live. The cost was a bit steep, but I'd be a fool not to go. Learning, networking and FUN!

Of course I'll tell you all about it. Ad nauseum, most likely.

Website Coming Soon!

Okay, so I've installed the software (and tutorials). The developer claims they've taken the hassle out of building a site. Jeez, I hope so. I know just enough about these things to be dangerous.

Why do I feel like I've just jumped off a cliff?

I'll let you know when I hit bottom...

Whither The Alien?

A number of posts ago, I said I wanted your opinion about the The Alien Within's title. Actually, I thought I'd already written about it. But after going through my older posts, I'm forced to conclude that I'd hallucinated the whole thing. That happens to me a lot.

So...the book's title. A number of folks have told me they thought the title misleading, in that it sounds like it's a work of science fiction, but it's not. I can understand that. These days, the word "alien" evokes thoughts of ET. But the term applies to humans as well--a person of a different nationality, or even of a different family. For example, I am alien to my neighbors' families, because I am not related. And, of course, in any country there are resident aliens and illegal aliens. There's another meaning too--"exotic", as in "that culture is completely alien to me."

To my mind, The Alien Within works on four levels. First, and most obvious, is that Melera is an alien hiding within the larger Earth-bound society. Second, it also refers to preternaturals in general, who also hide within the larger human society. That's why I call them "exotics", or zots. Third, it refers to those preternaturals like Parker, a being with two unrelated personalities--human and wolf--who occupy the same mind and body. Finally, it refers to the light and dark sides of someone's personality. The face Garrett shows to the world at large (the zot world anyway) is that of the compassionate Healer. But when it comes down to getting what she wants, she is as ruthless as any CEO.

Do you think all this too subtle? I did think of one new title: Underground. Zots not only live in an underground world, but their "safe place" in Seattle is the city's Underground. Actually, if I went this route I'd like to call it Alien Underground. After all, Melera's lives just as far "underground" as any other Earth-bound zot. But then, that title probably raises the same issues as The Alien Within.

What do you think?

Romance Writers of America

Faxed my membership application to RWA first thing this morning. As in early. As in REAL early. It was probably still dark in Texas.

When I first started querying, I pitched The Alien Within as a romance. Then, after doing a lot of 'net research and talking to people, I was finally convinced (it took a while) that TAW wasn't a romance. Not a straight romance, anyway. Then I read on RWA's website that books of a certain genre (like urban fantasy with a dash of sf) with a strong romantic element qualify as romances--as far as the association is concerned, anyway. And that is exactly what TAW is--an urban fantasy with a dash of sf coupled with a strong romantic element.

RWA is having its annual meeting in July. Sure, I'm going. My third "con" of the year. I just love hanging out with writers.

But you know, when I faxed in my application this morning, I couldn't help thinking of what Groucho Marx once said. To paraphrase, "I wouldn't join any club that would have me as a member."

I have to laugh...

Forgot To Mention...

I went to the RIF auction at Balticon and picked up a new friend--Draco. Haven't decided if Draco's a he or she (or even an it) but isn't he/she/it simply marvelous? I'm seriously looking forward to Halloween...

Thanks to Kelly A. Harmon for this bodacious shot!

Foray Into Pure Science Fiction

Okay, my absolutely fabulous editor was right. If this series is going to be urban fantasy with a dash of sf (and some have made a VERY good argument that it's sf regardless but we won't get into that now), then the next book has to take place on Earth.

So here's Chapter 2 of what would have been Jahannan's Children. These days, I call it an experiment. No reason that it can't end up as a different book...

Garrett felt sick. This was the moment she'd dreaded since leaving Earth. Melera hadn't minced words when she'd told the three of them what they'd face after reaching Maqu. Still, Garrett had prayed she would be wrong. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Come on, she thought. Keep it together. There's nothing you can do.

At the sound of Melera's voice, she opened her eyes and looked up. "Just like we practiced," Melera said, facing both men. "Parker, you take the starboard cannons. Kurt, you're on port." Parker and Kurt nodded once. Then Melera seemed to look at something off to her side. "Kyle. Cover our tail, but save your smarts for me."

"Yes, Shen'zae," Kyle said.

Melera finally turned to Garrett. "You. On the bridge. Move!"

A flash of anger burned away Garrett's queasiness. For a split second, she held the other's cold, slit-pupiled stare with her defiant, hazel one. Then Melera whirled and ran for the two person lift on the commons' far side.

Garrett followed but she wasn't nearly as fast as Melera. The alien reached the lift first. Garrett's jaw tightened. She'd no doubt Melera would take it, leaving her to either climb the emergency ladder, or wait for the lift to return to the lower deck. It didn't make much difference either way, but that was just the kind of thing Melera would do. She'd done it before.

But Melera didn't take the lift. Without breaking stride, she leapt up into the well, caught the edge of the deck and effortlessly hauled herself up.

"Show off," Garrett muttered.

The mage stepped onto the lift's kidney-shaped platform. "Tsu," she said, the machine's vocal command for "up." The lift started to move.

Garrett took a quick breath and braced herself for the battle that would shortly begin. Working the aft cannons was supposed to have been her job, but she'd refused to do it. She'd learned to operate the cruiser's weapons as a concession, but being a Healer, she'd made it clear that she would never use them on a living being. To Melera, that made her baggage, to be ignored as much as possible. Whenever she had to deal with Melera one-on-one, Garrett found it best to be armed with steel skin and frozen feelings.

By the time she'd reached the small bridge, Melera was already seated in the command chair, the viscreens were on bubble, and the ship was moving. Stepping off the lift, Garrett quickly crossed the compact deck to the instrument console and settled in the second of the bridge's two chairs.

Glancing to her left, she noticed Melera's hands had disappeared inside a glowing rectangular gap set into the console's leading edge. An identical gap faced her, except hers was dark. The hollow rectangle was a biointerface port, which allowed a living person to meld with the spaceship's artificial brain via the body's central nervous system. A nervejacked ship driver's response time increased exponentially--meaning she could fly almost as fast as she could think.

Garrett stared at the darkened port. Should she plug into Kyle? Adding her neurocircuitry to Melera's would give Kyle extra capacity. With all those javs out there, they needed all the help they could get. Still, she hesitated. Nervejacking nauseated her and after disconnecting, always left her feeling violated. She gave her head a small shake. She wouldn't take the aft cannons, but there were other ways she could make herself useful. She reached for the slot.

"Stop!" Melera said. "You want to kill us both?"

Garrett's hands halted in mid-air, her cheeks flaming with anger and embarrassment. How could she have forgotten? To each other, she and Melera were aliens. If she'd completed the neural link, their brains would have fried immediately. Lips tight, the mage settled into the second's chair, folded her hands in her lap and tried not to feel useless. So much for steel skin and frozen feelings.

With a grace that belied its size, Melera's cruiser steered through the javelin jungle at breakneck speed. It was all Garrettt could do not to flinch when it looked as if they'd collide with one of the stationary fighters--which was often. She tried not to look but with the bridge's bubble-like view, there was no place else to focus.

Except on Melera. From the corner of her eye, Garrett studied the alien sitting inches away and wondered for the umpteenth time why in the Mother's name Parker would want to follow her. She understood his attraction--Melera was six-foot two and built like a superhero. But there was something reptilian about her, from her golden, disco-ball eyes to the way she moved, like a cobra stalking its prey. That she had all the charm of a crocodile didn't help.

A burst of blue-white light caught Garrett's attention. She noticed they were moving away from it. "I take it the Akkadians thought they were shooting at us?" she said.

The port thrusters whined as Melera drove her ship between two javs and then rolled it sideways to bypass two more. "Yes."

Garrett nodded, remembering. Melera had blinked several times after Kyle had severed communication with Beloc. In those eyeblinks, she must have skipped them through the Void, the vast, cold emptiness that separates here from there. So, not being where the Akkadians had thought they were, the jav jocks had taken out a few of their own. But something else bothered her. She looked up. "How'd you know we wouldn't come out of the Void in the same place as another jav?"

"Luck."

Garrett stared at Melera with wide, incredulous eyes. "Luck?"

When Melera didn't answer, Garrett turned back to the viscreens. The javs still clustered around them, but even so, they seemed to be making serious headway. She looked at Melera again. "Don't tell me it's going to be this easy."

Melera smirked. "Don't worry. They'll find us."

"How? Isn't the stealth shield up?"

"Yeah, but it can't hide our heat signature. All the jocks have to do is switch from visual to beta infrared and there we are."

As if on cue, the nearest javelins broke ranks, turned, and began firing at them. Six lavender streaks of lightning from their own ship answered the barrage. A couple of javs blew up. The rest did not. Garrett heard Melera mutter something in Xia'saan. The view on the viscreens went blank and returned a split second later, as if the cruiser's opticals had hiccupped. Garrett understood. Inside the Void, there was nothing to see.

Melera drove through the swarm. She skipped them through the Void when she could and when she couldn't, played a game of deep-space chicken. That was nerve-wracking enough, but then there was the ship's near-continuous shuddering from the stealth shield absorbing the laser scores Melera couldn't evade. On top of that, it seemed that for every jav Kurt or Parker destroyed, two more took its place.

Absorbed in the battle, Garrett jumped in her seat when Melera spoke. "Garrett--Kyle's a little busy right now, so why don't you make yourself useful and give me an update on the drives and the stealth shield?"

Garrett's cheeks and ears reddened a second time as she reached for the instrument panel. She didn't need to give Melera an update on anything, and they both knew it. Being nervejacked into the ship meant, in a sense, that Melera had become the ship. She was perfectly aware of the craft's condition, down to the tiniest detail. Garrett knew why she'd asked. It had been a none-too-subtle jab at Garrett's determined pacifism, an attempt to make her feel as useless as Melera thought her to be. It was working too, which angered Garrett even more. But now was not the time to get into a fight with an alien twice her size.

"Shield holding at seven-two percent," Garrett said, managing to keep the anger out of her voice. "Primary and auxiliary drives holding in the upper normal range."

"Divert power from the auxiliaries to the shield. Get it as close to full capacity as you can, but don't slow us down," Melera said.

Garrett gritted her teeth at Melera's peremptory tone. "Yes, Your Majesty," she muttered and made the adjustments.

"Frankly, I'm surprised they haven't destroyed us by now," Garrett heard Kurt's voice over the intercom. He sounded as if he was remarking on the weather. "Or do your Akkadians just have terrible aim?"

Garrett wondered how the vampire could remain so calm. She gave a tiny shrug. Well, what's he got to be afraid of? He's already dead.

"They're not trying to kill us," Melera said. "They're trying to cripple us. After we've been captured, then they'll kill us. Nice shot, Kurt."

There was a long pause. Garrett gave Melera a sidelong look. "Thank you, my dear," Kurt said. His tone sounded as suspicious as she felt.

"Hey, what about me?" Parker said.

Garrett saw a small smile appear on Melera's lips. "You need practice."

Minutes passed. No one spoke. Melera skipped them through the Void twice in succession. Then she charged a trio of javs. Two of the jocks turned chicken and altered course. But the third didn't. Neither did Melera. She bore down on the smaller craft as if she intended to ram it. Heart pounding, Garrett gripped the arms of her chair. On the viscreen, the jav grew bigger and bigger, and bigger still. Garrett opened her mouth but no sound came out. She was too scared to scream.

At the last possible moment, Melera rolled her ship to port. The mage saw a green spherical glow shoot from the jav's belly just before it disappeared from her line of sight. An alarm jangled.

"Jakk!" Melera yelled.

Garrett heard and felt a bone-shaking bang. The bridge disappeared in a spectacular burst of light. She felt a brief sensation of flight, and then something hard smashed against her head. Stars skittered across her vision. She lay on the deck, trying to figure out what had happened. Then her nose caught the acrid smell of burned insulation and she remembered. Adrenalin surged through her, banishing the pain in her head. She struggled to her knees, coughing against the dense smoke enveloping the bridge. "Melera!" she shouted.

There was no answer. Eyes stinging, Garrett crawled blindly along the deck, hoping she was headed towards the command console. The exhaust fans kicked on and the smoke disappeared. Scrambling to her feet, she spotted Melera crumpled between the console and the bulkhead. "Melera!" she shouted again as she ran forward. Reaching her, the first thing Garrett noticed was a trail of reddish-gold blood flowing freely from a shallow gash above Melera's left brow. Then she noticed the alien's hands. The explosion had burnt her golden brown skin black and had turned her fingers into claws. Garrett's healer's instinct kicked into high gear. She dropped to her knees, a spell already on her lips.

Garrett had about to take Melera's charred hands into her own when the other woman's eyes popped open. Before she could say anything further, Melera surged to her feet, knocking Garrett aside. Sprawled on the deck, she looked up just in time to see Melera slide into the command chair in obvious agony.

The shock of having been thrown across the bridge wore off instantly. Garrett jumped to her feet and a moment later was at Melera's side, bending over the injured woman. "Let me--"

Melera's arm lashed out, hitting Garrett squarely in her chest. She stumbled backwards and fell into the second's seat. Surprise quickly turned to anger and disbelief as she stared at the panting, sweating alien. "Let me help you," she shouted.

"Get those visuals back online," Melera shouted back. She waved her burned hands over the console, its lights flashing like a demented Christmas tree. "We're blind!"

Garrett's anger evaporated. Absorbed by Melera's plight, it hadn't occurred to her that no one was driving the ship. She turned in her seat and got busy, her fingers expertly dancing across the console as if troubleshooting alien software was something she'd done all her life. In moments, the bridge's bubble-like view reappeared. Garrett wished it hadn't. A bright green orb--another torpedo--was almost on top of them. Before she could scream, the orb veered to the left, and then she saw a lavender streak zip from the ship's port side. The torpedo disappeared in a flash of light.

Relief turned to puzzlement and then understanding in lightning succession. Garrett's jaw dropped. The torpedo had missed them because the ship had moved out of its way. Whipping her head around, she stared at Melera's hands. The alien's supple fingers flitted over the ship's manual controls, her golden brown skin smooth and unmarked as if she'd never been burned at all. Garrett blinked once. No one told me she was a self-healer.

"Garrett! Audios and diagnostics! Move!" Melera yelled.

The sound of Melera's shouting jerked Garrett into the present. Her jaw clenched. She'd had enough of Melera's treating her as if she was the village idiot. She'd swear on the Mother's Breast that five seconds hadn't passed since she'd gotten the viscreens back online, and now the bitch was barking at her again. "Will you give me a motherdamned minute?" she snapped.

"I don't have a motherdamned minute!" Melera shot back.

Fuming, Garrett reached for the audio controls, a radiant, rectangular panel showing a jumble of yellow and purple squares and began tapping her fingers on the colored blocks. She badly wanted to tell Melera where to stick it, but she couldn't. Not yet. But if we get out of this, I'm going to ream her a new asshole. If she even has one.

Once Garrett had re-created the audio panel's familiar yellow teardrop against a purple background, Kurt's cultured tones blared from the cruiser's amplifiers.

"-lo. Everyone still in one piece?"

"Parker!" Melera shouted.

Garrett heard the werewolf cough once. "Okay, sweetheart."

Melera dodged another torpedo and scowled. "Garrett!"

Garrett was ready this time. "Primaries One and Two holding at six-five and six-nine," she said crisply, without looking around. Melera said nothing. Garrett would have smiled at having managed to shut her up for once, but these numbers weren't anything to smile about. "Auxiliaries Three and Four..." she peered at the minutely detailed holo of the ship floating about eight inches above the console. "Auxiliary Three fluctuating point five at five-two, and Four holding at five-six."

"Thrusters."

"Port holding at seven-oh, starboard fluctuating point six at three-five." She bit her lip. The starboard wing was almost useless.

"Stealth shield."

Garrett studied the faint orange glow enshrouding the holo ship. She read the numbers and paled. "Shield one-two." She tapped a key to her right twice. A blank, blue ball appeared in the craft's deepest recesses. She tapped the key again. The ball didn't change. She looked at Melera. "No Kyle."

"Meaning our ass is wide open," Melera said. Her eyes narrowed. To Garrett, she looked more reptilian than ever. "Twelve percent," she said softly. "Garrett, we need those tail guns."

Garrett knew that was about as close to a request she'd ever get from Melera, but she just couldn't do it. "I--"

Then she had an idea. Years ago, she'd watched a mage-level Healer like her magickally jumpstart a computer with a burnt out motherboard. "Same principle," he'd told her with a shrug. "Flesh or plastic, a body's a body."

And a computer's a computer, isn't it?

She thought about it for a moment longer, then slumped in her seat. There was just one problem. She'd told no one, but the tryst had robbed her of much of her talent. Like the starboard thrusters, her magickal strength fluctuated but even if it didn't she was pretty sure she hadn't enough psychic muscle to pull off this particular trick.

Staring at the holo, she watched the shield capacity readout drop from twelve to eleven point four percent. That decided her. I might not be much, but right now I'm all we've got.

Muttering a quick prayer to the GODDESS, Garrett leapt from her chair and ran for the lift.

Aftermath

Back from Balticon!

I was going to take my laptop so I could update you folks while I was there, but I figured out at the last minute that it doesn't have a wireless card. Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm a real techno-ape, ok? Okay, maybe more like a techno-Neanderthal. Anyway, it's one more thing to put on my to do list...good thing my computer dudes are just down the street.

Anyway, I hooked up with a bunch of old friends--Jean Marie Ward, Trisha Wooldridge, Gail Z. Martin (check out her Necromancer series--awesome!) and made some new ones. Kelly A. Harmon is the bomb! Aside from her fantastic writing, she's got this to-die-for spider brooch that I just wanted to RIP off of her shoulder. Except if I did that, she probably wouldn't be my friend anymore...

Membership in Broad Universe has been a gift. I've met so many wonderful writers, women who don't look at me funny when I talk about werewolves and spaceships, but more than that, experienced writers who are more than willing to teach me what I don't know (which is a lot).

This is a quick one, because the day job beckons (even though it's night). But I wanted to let you know what's what.

Back soon!

About Face

I was practicing for my upcoming reading and on the fourth or fifth run-through realized my concept--werewolves in space--isn't going to work. Not as a sequel to TAW, anyway. So instead of our four heroes gallivanting around a different galaxy, I'm going to have Beloc and the Akkadians pay a nice visit to Earth. So now, not only does the crew have to save Seattle, they have to save the world.

Beloc and the Akkadians. Sounds like a doo-wop group, doesn't it?

On My Way?

I'm doing the seriously happy puppy dance right now. While I'm sitting at my computer, no less.

Why? Well, wouldn't you be dancing if a major US publisher was interested in your novel? I mean, these guys are old and established--they're like the Random House of fiction. They've launched many a bestselling writer's careers, you know? I'm talking about name brand authors, folks. WOW!!

And just think...all I did was drive her to the train station. Serendipitous, indeed.

Sure, they can still reject my book after reading the first few chapters. I know that. But just the fact that a big publisher is interested is enough for me right now.

W00t, w00t!!

Wish me luck...

MWA Conference

It's on!

Great dinner tonight, great panel. After listening to the speakers, I'm thinking about writing a magazine piece--except it won't have aliens in it.

Unless they're Maryland aliens, that is.

Happy Star Wars Day!

Enough said.

If you've no idea what I'm talking about...

May the Force be with you.

Anyway.

Flattery Will Get You Everywhere With Me

A few minutes ago, I decided to take a break from my world to check my email for new online MWA conference registration forms (yep, there were). Anyway, I'd received a couple of emails from people I'd never heard of, so I started to delete them. Just when I was about to hit the button, I noticed something--one was from an author wanting me to review her book. She'd found my name on the city library's roster of local authors. I don't remember signing up for that, but then I don't remember doing a lot of things.

First time this has happened to me. It is flattering, to say the least. And if you have to ask whether I'll accept, please review the title of this post.

Werewolves In Space

And vampires. And mages. And of course, aliens.

As you've probably gathered from the above (not to mention the post immediately below this one), Jahannan's Children is set in Maqu, Melera's home galaxy. Folks have asked me why I put the three Earthers out there. Answer: it's fun. It's different. And there are some interesting themes to explore. Alien-ness, for one. What it feels like to BE an alien. I got an inkling of it on my first trip to the Far East. It was more than not being able to speak the language. That was a given. The shock was to realize I had no clue how to decipher the writing.

Think about that. I don't speak any of the European tongues (including British). But all of these languages are written using the Roman alphabet--to me, a familiar frame of reference. With my smattering of Latin, I can usually figure out the gist of whatever it is I'm reading. German's a little harder, but it's still doable. In Japan/China/Korea, etc., I had no frame of reference. Without it, there was no way I could figure out anything. I couldn't even figure out where to start.

I'll be honest--it scared me at first. It was like being a baby. I couldn't speak, I couldn't read. I could only communicate through gestures. Oh, I know what you're thinking--they speak English, so what was I worried about? But you see, that's not true everywhere in those countries, even in Japan. And there were times I was in places where no one spoke or understood English. So I was limited to pointing, nodding, shaking my head, scissoring my fingers to simulate someone walking, things like that. The saving grace was that those kinds of gestures are used by almost all human cultures, so my needs were understood--eventually, anyway.

So all things being equal, what if I was in a place where these "universal" gestures meant nothing? Putting my hands together, placing them against my cheek, tilting my head and then closing my eyes--means sleep, right? But what if it meant something obscene? How would I know? If the reaction is anger, what if my confused expression is taken for further insult?

That's the situation facing Parker, Kurt and Garrett in Maqu, Melera's home galaxy. She was the alien in TAW, but now it's our Earth-born zots who are the aliens. At least Melera had the opportunity to study Earth culture before leaving her island base, but the other three didn't get that luxury before blasting off to Maqu. For all of them, Melera is the key to their survival. That's fine for Parker. She loves him. But Kurt and Garrett are skating on some seriously thin ice. They know damned well the only reason Melera hasn't spaced them is because of the tryst, and what their deaths might mean for Parker.

Here's a question for you. How would you feel if you were forced to place your life in the hands of someone who, but for the love of another, would kill you in a heartbeat?

Balticon 43, Comin' Atcha in 4-D!

Balticon is always held over Memorial Day weekend, starting Friday night and continuing until Memorial Day--24 hours of food, festivities and fun! I love the RIF (Reading is Fundamental) auction. I always make sure to buy something. Not only is it for a good cause, but a very good friend of mine runs it, and has done so for donkey's years. Folks donate stuff, and it gets auctioned off. Simple. Do you remember the TV series Lost in Space? Last year I bought a life-sized cardboard Robot. Coolishness!

Can't believe Balticon's so soon, though. Made my hotel reservations today, skidding under the wire less than 72 hours before the room block closes. I live only 20 miles or so from Hunt Valley, MD but when you're up half the night partying, it's hard to get up the next morn to make your 8 AM session. It's worth the bucks to stay at the hotel.

So anyway, I think there'll be a Rapid Fire Reading this year (check my Readercon post if you don't know what that is) and if so (and if I'm not too late to sign up) I'm going to read a little something from the sequel to The Alien Within. What's that you say? Of course there's a sequel. Jahannan's Children is the working title. Here's a snippet from Chapter 2:

From the corner of her eye, [Garrett] studied the alien sitting inches away and wondered for the umpteenth time why in the Mother’s name would Parker want to follow her. She understood his attraction—Melera was six-foot two and built like a superhero. But there was something reptilian about her, from her slit-pupiled, disco-ball eyes to the way she moved, with the lethal grace of a python stalking its prey. That she had all the charm of a crocodile didn’t help. Garrett was sure Melera would just as soon slit somebody’s throat as say hello.

See you at Balticon 43!

The Rest of the Prologue is History, Too

As promised, here's the rest of the Prologue. I was going to divide it into three or more pieces, but then said what the hell. Maybe I'll turn it into a short.

Frank was too young to have total control over his panther. His rage and terror at being hunted had triggered only a partial change. Frank had no claws to help him climb trees or fangs to slash and tear through exposed flesh. His only advantages lay in his speed and human intelligence, which was why the dogs had repeatedly lost his scent.

God, I wish Park were here!

He might be able to outsmart the dogs, but Frank’s human pursuers had far more experience at hunting than Frank did at being hunted. The men chasing him usually figured out his tactics before he’d fully understood them in his own mind.

He was also getting tired. They’d been tracking him for almost three hours now.

Frank hadn’t gone twenty feet further before he heard the violent whoosh of steel jaws cleaving the night air. He wasn’t fast enough to avoid the bear trap. With a snap, the cruel teeth bit into his leg, ripping through sinew and crushing his fibia into shards.

Howling in pain, he fell to the earth and tried to pull the trap’s jaws apart. When he touched it, fresh agony tore through his hands and burned its way deep into his arms. Frank understood. The thing that had caught him wasn’t a bear trap. It was a were trap, forged from a steel and copper alloy specially designed for snaring werepanthers. Copper to a panther was like silver to a werewolf—a poisonous, lethal metal.

The dogs found him first. They dashed around, baying and nipping at his legs, forearms and shoulders, and tearing at what was left of his clothes.

“Cleo! Herk! Junior! Back off!” a man’s rough voice shouted.

By now Frank was nearly unconscious, unaware of the dogs being pulled away and the coarse hands fondling his furry body. Anonymous voices floated faintly around him.

“Well, well. Looks like we caught us a big ol’ kitty,” a second voice said.

A third voice sniggered. “Looks more like a big pussy to me.”

“What we do now?” the second voice said. “Take ‘im to the Judge?”

“Naw,” the first voice snapped, the one who’d called off the hounds. “Judge ‘ont wanna see dis piece a’ shit.”

“Mebbe, but he’s gonna want proof,” the third voice said.

“I’ll give ‘im proof,” dog-man muttered.

Frank felt himself being lifted from the ground until he was nearly sitting up. A bottle of acrid, foul smelling something was shoved under his nose. It brought him back from wherever he’d been. He fought against it but its pull was inexorable, hauling him to wakefulness like a marlin snagged from the depths of the sea. Someone tipped his head back and poured liquid fire down his throat. Gagging and thrashing, Frank’s pain finished the job started by the moonshine.

“Thassa boy, wake up, now—thassa a good pussy boy. Git the trap off him Jake,” dog-man ordered.

Frank screamed when the steel teeth were pulled apart. Fresh blood pumped from his wounds.

“Shaddup, pussy boy. Cain’t nobody hear you, anyways,” dog-man said. A heavy weight settled across Frank’s thighs. Then a hard slap stung his fur-covered face, followed immediately by a second and then a third. “Look a’ me,” dog-man shouted and grabbed him by the throat.

Frank’s eyes popped open. Staring back at him was the ugliest man he’d ever seen. Starting at his scalp, a whitish, mangled scar ran along the left side of the man’s face, bisecting his eye and ending just below his lip. His grin showed numerous broken teeth, and his breath smelled fouler than the moonshine he’d been forced to drink.

Frank knew the man grinning down at him. Everybody in the county knew Pitt Jackson.

“Wantcha ta see how I’ma git Judge his proof,” Pitt said while reaching behind his back. Frank’s eyes widened when he saw the Bowie knife’s huge, heavy blade glinting wickedly in the moonlight. He struggled to escape, but it was no use. He was too weak.

“Hold still, boy,” Pitt chuckled. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Frank screamed a second time when he felt the knife slice into his upper chest. No ordinary metal blade, it was made from the same steel and copper alloy as the trap that had snared him.

The skinning seemed to go on forever.

Then he was losing consciousness again. The copper poison was doing its work, relentlessly slowing the young boy’s heart.

“Good job, Pitt,” Frank barely heard the second voice.

“Why thankee, Jake,” he heard Pitt reply. “Judge got his proof, an’ I got me a new rug.”

Three voices sniggered. “What now?” the third man’s voice came faintly to Frank’s ears.

“Dogs’re hungry,” Pitt said.

The Prologue Is History

The past might be prologue, but that doesn't mean a prologue has to stay in the past. Sometimes it gets booted into the future. But not this time.

So why am I deleting TAW's prologue? Let's just say four or five readers have expressed their opinions on whether it belongs in the story and from what I've heard, it's time for me to buy a saddle (old joke).

Anyway, it's here for your reading pleasure and I hope you'll like it. It's a bit on the long side, so for the next couple of days I'll be posting excerpts.

P R O L O G U E

Frank Suggs ran for his life.

The night was oppressively hot and thick, typical for Arkansas in mid-summer. Frank fought his way through the heavy moist air, its stickiness coating the insides of his nose and mouth like glue. Gasping, the fifteen year-old werepanther stumbled over roots, scrambled over rocks and waded through shallow streams. Stones and twigs littering the ground bit into his feet. Low-lying brush constantly snagged his already tattered clothes, while branches from their taller tree cousins whipped across his face. From the forest floor, the full moon’s cold light flickered through the canopy like silent laughter.

Frank hardly noticed any of it—the laughing moon, the slashing foliage or his pain.

As he ran, he wished Parker Berenson, his friend and blood brother since they’d been eight years old, was here to tell him what to do. Park would know how to deal with the fuckers chasing him. Frank had seen his best friend talk his way out of more shit than anybody he knew. And if that didn’t work, his buddy had a mean left hook that would take care of the rest.
A dog’s barking yanked him out of his thoughts. It sounded a lot closer than it’d been before. The yelping of two other dogs joining the first one nearly froze him in his tracks.

No! he thought. Frank tried not to panic, but the hounds had picked up his scent again and were in full cry. He put on a burst of speed. A thorn bush branch ripped off a patch of his greyish-tan fur in passing.

Caution: Genre Crossing

Every book has only a limited amount of real estate. --Mary Jo Putney, best-selling author of historical and fantasy romance novels on cross-genre writing

As an exercise, I wrote down all the genres that make up The Alien Within, starting from that with the strongest presence to the weakest:

Urban/contemporary fantasy

Romance

Erotica

Science fiction

Action/Adventure

You'd think that's a lot of genres to fit into one piece of real estate. Well, I guess it would be if that's what I did. But I didn't. If you asked me The Alien Within's genre, I'd say urban fantasy. Only certain elements of the other genres are represented. I've been selling TAW as a cross-genre urban fantasy/science fiction novel, but look where sf is on the list. From what I understand, TAW is sf because it's got an alien in it. Melera, the book's one alien who spends 2/3 of it hanging out with Parker, her werewolf lover, and the rest of Seattle's preternatural gang. The other third is spent either holed up in her island fortress in the South Pacific or her temporary base in Seattle's Underground. Science fiction? Whatever you say, boss...

The romance is pretty obvious, I'd think. When Parker and Melera first meet, she promptly kicks his ass. When they meet again, they fall in love. Then Melera leaves for her own galaxy without Parker, but returns for him. The whole "boy meets girl" thing. Not entirely romance for other reasons, but enough so it comes in at No. 2 in the queue.

And then there's the erotica. I suppose that's because the sex descriptions are graphic--as in parental discretion advised. But except for the big scene between Parker and Melera, the sex is not meant to arouse erotic feelings in my readers. The descriptions of Garrett's role in a sex-magick rite with Seattle's mayor in the first third of the book are pretty clinical. In that scene, sex is merely the vehicle. The scene's focus is on the magick being wrought, not to mention Garrett and the Mayor's near death experience when something goes wrong. You could say this scene, as well as those leading up to it, is pretty much a how-to guide for casting the Saperet spell.

Action/adventure? Got a little of that too. Not true a/a because there's more than one hero (though one of them is a likeable male) and no clear cut villain trying to thwart the hero's quest. Instead, we have villainous characters operating independently, whose nefarious doings eventually force the heroes' collective hand. The heroes are placed in extreme physical danger. And the stakes are pretty high--if the heroes don't act, Seattle burns to the ground.

So. The point of all this is to say that I don't think TAW is cross-genre. Not in the sense in which it's usually meant. A shipboard romance that takes place in deep space, for example. TAW is an urban fantasy with several elements of other genres, to greater or lesser degrees. But IMO, that doesn't make it cross-genre.

What do you think? Is TAW cross-genre or not?

One more thing. Assuming for the moment that TAW is cross-genre, the reason I wrote it this way is because we don't live in a single-genre world. Everyone's life has elements of comedy, tragedy, romance, horror--you name it. In my view, if a fictional world is populated by werewolves, vampires, witches, etc., it is more realistic to show them interacting with one another, just as we interact with all kinds of people in our own lives. Check Laurell K. Hamilton's books, or Lilith Saintcrow. Anyway, I wasn't particularly conscious of mingling the different threads. To me, TAW simply a reflection of the real world I inhabit. But IMHO, my world is far more interesting.

What If?

What if we couldn't ask "what if?" What would our world be like?

The answer, IMHO, is:







(grins)

Unity of Opposites

I imagine about half the world has seen that Britain's Got Talent youtube video of Susan Boyle's debut performance. If you haven't, here's the link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY

I love it. A shining illustration of the principle of duality, the defining characteristic of all that is.

The idea of duality, that nothing is as it seems, has fascinated me since I was a kid. Geodes started it. I remember my astonishment at seeing this homely, lumpy gray rock hiding an ethereal, crystal wonderland. The other night I was astonished by a woman with a singing voice so rich and powerful, I can't think how I ever could have thought her unattractive.

The Alien Within is about duality, in as many of its aspects as I could cram in there. Motive--Garrett manipulates Parker ruthlessly for sake of the noblest of causes. Visual--Parker's eight-foot wolf cradling Melera against its pelt like a sick child. Behavior--by the book's end, maybe that sonofabitch Kurt isn't so bad after all.

For me, the oddest thing about duality is that I know intuitively that it exists, that it is all around me and even a part of me, yet I'm always gobsmacked (love that one) when I see it in action. You'd think I'd know better, right? I'd think so, too. Then again, if I always knew better life probably wouldn't be so interesting.

Sometime in the next few posts I want to ask you a question about the title The Alien Within.

Now...Where Was I?

Black holes are a bitch. I should know. There I was, content in my cozy little writer's world, agonizing over query letter rewrites, plotting with my editor, wondering if my credit card can handle the next con, and then...

ZOOP!

The Mundane Black Hole sucks me into its maw. My little writer's world shatters. I struggle to escape. But the Mundane--every dreamer's nightmare--is merciless. My soul will be crushed flat like an armadillo on a Texas two-lane highway. The Hole will not get me without a fight, though. I scheme, snatching sick days here and there to "go see my shrink," Dr. H.P. Compaq. But it's not enough. I feel myself drawn closer and closer to oblivion.

Just when it seems the Hole has won, that I've been lobotomized into one more Mundanian zombie drone...

BLOORP!

The Hole hocks me out like a loogie.

Dazed, I blink stupidly, watching as the shards of my writer's world piece themselves back together. Then it's complete, and the fog blanketing my brain lifts. I look around. Everything's as I left it, but I know nothing's the same. Slowly and painfully, I rise from my office chair and then stagger towards my Muse's corner. I collapse into Her seat, then reach down and turn on Dr. Compaq. After its grunting and groaning has faded into mere gurgles, I begin opening file after file, not surprised that my cozy little world has moved on in my absence. Clicking the mouse, I feel as if I were someone from a half a year ago suddenly propelled into today. I open yet another email and read the short message. It's another rejection note for The Alien Within.

I smile for the first time in months. It's good to be back.