I will be at both!

Eternal Press will present two Meet the Authors Chatroom Sessions at 2PM Eastern Standard Time and 7PM Eastern Standard Time on 7 November 2012 at  http://eternalpress.biz/chat.php.  Door prizes will be given away at each chat. 

Eternal Press Announcement

After a short delay, Eternal Press is pleased to Release a new Batch of Titles...  

Drop by tomorrow afternoon and say hello to the authors.  

Eternal Press Authors Rock!

Eternal Press publishes affordable, quality fiction quarterly.  On November 7, 2012 Eternal Press will release the following titles in various e-book formats.  All titles can be purchased  at  http://eternalpress.bizand will become available at Amazon, Kindle, B & N, Nook and at iTunes. 

Readers, reviewers and authors are welcome to visit the releasing authors during two chatroom Meet the Authors sessions.

The titles and authors follow.

Exodus (Book 3) by Carrie Lynn Barker,            

Magical Redemption (series) by Nicola E. Sheridan,   

Beloved Soul            by Shelly Pratt,        

 The Tarot Killer by Mary Bracht,

Samuel's Girl            by H.K. Hillman,     

Dad and I Are Sort of Human (book 5  in Legends of Laconia, USA series) by Donaya Haymond,         

More Than Mortal by Sonnet O'Dell,       

A Touch To Remember by Rebecca Minto,        

Sound of Distant Oceans by Edward Keller,      

Who Blew Up My Ship? By Rod Spurgeon,       

The Prophecy of the Undead by Fiona McGier,

Angel in My Heart, Devil in My Soul by Linda Hays-Gibbs,  

Heart:  Animal Trilogy by Jacqueline Paige,  

Lokians: Book 2 They Lurk Among Us by Aaron Dennis,       

Demise of the Vampire Queen by Jodie Pierce and

Autumn Leaves by Barbara Winkes.   

Eternal Press will present two Meet the Authors Chatroom Sessions at 2PM Eastern Standard Time and 7PM Eastern Standard Time on 7 November 2012 at http://eternalpress.biz/chat.php.  Door prizes will be given away at each chat. 

Dad and I Are Sort of Human Launch!

Comment, reblog, tweet, facebook like, pin, smoke signal - do absolutely
anything traceable to help spread the word about Dad and I Are Sort of Human by
Donaya Haymond and be entered to win a free PDF copy of the book by 11:59 PM
November 7!

Summary:

Snarky but bighearted 22-year-old Dianne Anghel has just graduated college and
has to move back in with her father, Ferdinand, and their friend Dr. Nat Silver.
She doesn't mind that the two men in her life are vampires - her late mother was
a werewolf anyway - but that makes getting a mainstream daytime job difficult.
Eventually, desperate, she uses her inherited shapeshifting powers to become a
bounty hunter. The local criminals don't take too kindly to this, though.
Neither does Ferdinand. And a mysterious organization is watching the trio's
every move.


Fun places to follow the party over the next 23 hours:

http://www.facebook.com/DonayaHaymond

www.donayahaymond.tumblr.com

http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/dad+and+i+are+sort+of+human


www.thedreammansionofdonaya.blogspot.com

https://twitter.com/donayahaymond

Announcement

Release day has been adjourned to November 7. I'm sure you understand.

Launch day next Thursday!

NOVEMBER 1 NOVEMBER 1 NOVEMBER 1!!!!!!!

I'm proofing the final pdf tonight and tomorrow. In her email, the CEO of Eternal Press mentioned that she likes my sense of humor in the book. :D

A friend of mine is having a sale

Go here for details.

Journal for Creative Writing Seminar

The writing metaphor Annie Dillard uses that most works for me is the concept of writing as a miner’s pick or as a woodcarver’s gouge. It’s like we are faced with some huge, formless mass that is the collective cultural consciousness, and it’s our job as writers – or any other artists – to chip away at what is extraneous to what we are trying to tell in a particular work, and then refine it and polish it into something true. Not just “true” as in “accurate”, but “true” as in “sound”, “plumb”, “solid”, “fixed”. Stephen King in On Writing suggests that things we write are like dinosaur bones, already waiting for us in a rough form deep in the ground. Our job is to dig them up and clean them, eliminating the detritus that is not what needs to be told. It also reminds me of Michelangelo’s quote that he saw an angel in the block of marble, and took away every part of the marble that was not the angel until he had set the angel free.

My own preferred metaphor for writing, one that takes a different tack on the process but seems just as accurate to me, is that of an oyster making pearls. The grit that gets inside an oyster sometimes causes discomfort, sometimes even pain, to the oyster, which coats it with secretions that protect the soft organs from irritation. In time this makes a pearl. Similarly, writers take the grit that is unhappiness – or depression, anxiety, anger, frustration, or just simply wanting answers to why things are the way they are – and coat them with layers of distilled cultural consciousness, as filtered through their own experiences and worldview, to take away the harshness of it. This has a side effect of making something unique. 

Not all pearls are of high “quality”, in that they do not all have marketable luster and smoothness of shape, but all of them have at least done the job of soothing the oyster’s heart and the writer’s soul. The secretions an oyster produces do not come out of thin air. The food an oyster imbibes, that an oyster filters from the water,  is analogous to the stories that we take in from the moment we understand speech. Writers who have a greater, richer background of story and myth will produce greater and richer works. A malnourished oyster’s pearls will never be as good as that of an oyster well fed. The food for creative people is the stories we are told, the stories we seek out, the stories we live. They become the stories we create, because we need them to keep us safe from the roughest portions of life that otherwise would wound us too deeply to go on.

dear also means expensive - notes from peer feedback

Things in Favor:

- tone

- consistent

- form

- good opening

- concrete imagery

- non-cliche

- attention to language itself

- surprising

- relatable

- political dimension takes it beyond simple love poem

- made at least two readers actually tear up (!)

- "excellent first draft"

Things in Waver:

- shorten lines

- ground it

- slow it down

- expand on the "television" concept

- capitalize and punctuate

- let reader breathe

- be more specific and solid

- clarify "the dual meaning of dear"

- italicize foreign words and things in quotes

- reveal more

- break up sentences

- more metaphor & simile

More soon!

dear also means expensive - first draft

womanhood, says the television

is ideally slim and shaved, yet you

are covered in hairs I touch and love,

I with curves and stretch marks you touch and love,

making us, I believe, a danger to society at large.

promise me you'll never pick up a razor

or pluck those lush brows that signal your moods.

in return I will look in the mirror and try to see

what you perceive that so unaccountably makes you deem

my crinkled soul adequately housed

and your glorious tiny bitten-down fingers complemented

in my hands, or as I bring them to chapped uncolored lips.

I am a compassionate person, I hope, but I wonder more

with each day how blind and deaf and without taste the world

has been that hordes do not jostle and cajole

for your every touch and word.

to make you want is the greatest gift

I have been given, to make me content

is a miracle on your part, your voice in Russian songs

where we must not forget the dual meaning of dear,

and your hushed Hebrew prayer for my sorrows

makes me whisper the Thai suteerak, suteerak,

(most beloved of mine)

for though "dear" also means "expensive"

you are worth my fortune and fear.

Creative Writing Fiction Seminar

Hello, gentle readers. Just to alert you that I am taking Creative Writing Fiction, an upper-level seminar, for my second-to-last semester here. My big project will be writing and workshopping three chapters of Seasons Four Behind Closed Doors. Yay!

And I'm also taking Creative Writing Poetry with Pulitzer-Prize winner and delightful human being Claudia Emerson, so some poems will be showing up here as well.

Sally Odgers Interview Mention

Sally Odgers, my longtime mentor and editor, mentioned Halloween Romance as one of her favorite titles in this interview with Boomerang Books.

"Halloween Romance by Donaya Haymond. This is the first of the Laconia series and is the funny, odd story of werewolf Selene Davidson who just wants to get through college without biting anyone by mistake. She’s drawn to melancholy Ferdinand Anghel who has a strange aversion to some kinds of cuisine."

Vacationing in Thailand right now

...And we went to a restaurant/coffee shop/library where my mother noticed that they had a book she had written - third edition, 1997 - about going to study in America as a young Thai woman, where she met my dad. I wish I could read Thai well enough to read it. But anyway I'm proud.

All current titles now available on Nook

Barnesandnoble.com now joins Amazon.com in having copies of all my novels available in both print and ebook.

The one frustrating thing is that they persist in labeling Waking Echoes for Nook as being written by Donaya "Hammond", even though the rest of the books are all correct. And I haven't been able to get it changed yet. You can find it here: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/waking-echoes-donaya-hammond/1023617480?ean=9781615721412

The rest are right here: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/donaya-haymond

More options for readers please me. :D

Cover art for Dad and I Are Sort of Human

Art by Amanda Kelsey
Release date November 1, 2012

500 Words a Day Challenge

Like last summer, I am renewing efforts to write at least five hundred words a day. Most days' installments are being posted at http://www.donayahaymond.tumblr.com/ , unless the content turned out embarrassingly personal. I will still post news and tidbits to this blog frequently but if you are somehow a bizarre (but delightful) person who wants to hear from me every day I would suggest focusing your attention on the tumblr. Happy upcoming U.S. Indepedence Day to all.

Breaking News

Book 5 of the Laconia series, Dad and I Are Sort of Human, will be released November 1st. Hooray!

Join me on Tumblr

I now have a tumblr devoted to my writing self - I have had a private tumblr for nearly a year now - and you are invited to check out Fairytales Can Heal at http://www.donayahaymond.tumblr.com/ .

Important Announcement

Beloved readers,

Over the past few weeks I have been mulling over a variety of points.

1. At my current pace of one novel published per year, it will take me seven more years to get through the backlog of my current Laconia novels.

2. While they certainly have their charms, books 8-12 have far diminished returns than books 1-7, because while books 1-7 can be each read independently, the latter novels are near-incomprehensible for people who have not read every single earlier one.

3. I will not flatter myself into thinking a lot of people would eagerly read all 12 in order. Some have, and some would, but it feels like I'll be making people go through a lengthy slog if they're gonna catch 'em all, so to speak.

4. Book 8 draws heavily on true-life events involving other parties whom I have realized could be hurt if the novel were widely circulated and anything recognized. Also I simply don't want to remind certain people of certain things they have managed to put behind them. And all the subsequent books require Book 8 as prior reading.

5. Book 7, thematically, is a near-perfect stopping point with just a little tweaking.

6. I'm having trouble finding a new publisher for my new Seasons Four series, and am contemplating going with Eternal Press for that as well. If so, it would be against my interest to clog their inbox with ever-more Laconia.

The upshot is that I have tentatively decided to end the published version of the series with Book 7 (there is a small possibility of a spinoff based on the backstory of Dr. Nat Silver, but that's in very early conceptual stages). Those who have read the online drafts from when I first wrote them will notice significant changes to books 6 and 7 to make it work, but hopefully they will be changes the readers are glad to see. 

I do not consider the novels I am putting aside as a waste in any way, because they were a joy to write and taught me more about the craft with every line. They also brought joy to a few people and thus were not posted in vain. However, I am willing to "kill my darlings" as Stephen King advises authors, for the sake of a better series. 

It is probable I will find some way to make the drafts of books 8-12 accessible for those interested, whether for free online or in some other format. Thank you for your time and attention, and stay tuned.

Excerpt 3

"Are you sure Jared will be comfortable having you here in his home, considering the last time the two of you met you were commissioned to kill Kira and you threatened all sorts of bodily harm on him for spoiling your plans?" Rain asked the assassin once they were safely in the castle, through one of many smaller entrances. This one had a lobby with a koi pond full of spotted orange, black, and white carp - along with a few small turtles poking their noses out of the water every once in a while to take a breath - a hotel-style bellhop in a royal blue uniform who took the guest's single suitcase without asking any questions, and walls paneled in some sort of creamy light-colored wood. On the way they had been busy chatting about less critical things, because along with Amber and Lynne - though of course recent revelations made their company feel strange now - this particular member of the Assassin's Guild of Centralia was one of the few people Rain felt friendly towards.



Rupert Djones, whose surname was pronounced with a silent "d" at the beginning, gave her an indulgent smile and adjusted his monocle with a white-gloved hand, even as they followed the bellhop towards the room William had set aside for him. "That is ancient history, darling, and it was purely business. No ire or bad blood should remain. Besides I don't believe it altogether necessary that the dear boy or his lovely wife to know of my presence here, as the invitation from his second-in-command was enough to grant me access through the magical gate. I plan only to stay so long as it takes to eliminate my target."



Rain tucked her wings as tightly as possible to make them fit in the narrow spiral staircase they climbed up as they continued their conversation. "Who is your target, anyway?"



"Walls have ears, darling Rain. And so do servants of all kinds. But this is a job for the Guild, not for William." After the first ten steps he started breathing a little heavily and leaning on his gold-topped cane.



"Oh, so someone doesn't have a license." Rain put a hand on his back to nudge him forward so she wouldn't have to slow down. She hated slowing down. "Didn't figure assassins were allowed to join if they had asthma."


Djones did his best to pick up the pace but his struggles were obvious. "It's not...not...never...mind..."



"Whatever. Just don't be a slowpoke."



The bellhop deposited Djones' suitcase in front of the first room on the left at the top of the stairs, opened the door with a flourish, and then headed into the catacombs of that wing of the castle. Djones tipped his bowler hat at the retreating figure and moved the suitcase to the foot of the bed. It was a small room, but comfortable, in shades of dark cerulean blue and a nearly iridescent turquoise green. The suite included a bathroom with a tub of gleaming brass and fresh white towels hanging from the rack. The overhead pendant light shone with warm, creamy radiance when Djones flicked the switch on the wall, and the slender, ivory-shaded lamp on the bedside table was embossed with leaves and curlicues. The bed itself was a generous queen size with two plump pillows and a fluffy comforter. "Quite tolerable indeed, upon my word," Djones commented.

Rain sat on the bed without asking permission, earning a raised eyebrow from Djones that she did not appear to notice. "William said you can call room service whenever you like. He has a dinner with the Seasons and their consorts to enjoy. Even I'm not invited, though I heard a rumor that Hamnet Shakespeare is being dragged in and given a seat of honor because Jared was secretly a huge theater and literature geek along with his other nerd qualities all this time. William will come talk to you at nine o'clock. He generally goes to bed at eleven. You could set your watch by that guy."

"Well, good thing I brought one of my favorite books to read again," Djones said, propping his cane against a bedpost and kneeling to unpack his suitcase. "Have you ever had the happy fortune of reading The Vesuvius Club by Mark Gatiss? The hero is a rakish assassin and spy, you see, and I consider him somewhat of a role model even if he is fictional and prone to copulate with anyone willing."

"No..." Rain unfolded her wings part of the way, not enough to smack into Djones but enough so they were glorious limbs rather than constrained bundles of feathers, partially because it was more comfortable that way and partially because when they had met before Djones had shown a fondness for touching them. "Speaking of that, though, how about it?"


Djones stroked the nearest inky feathers without consciously intending to. "I don't believe I follow you, dear lady."


"I haven't had sex in over a week. And it's been a stressful few days."


"My condolences. I hear that, er, self-stimulation can be most gratifying, even if not so much as activities with someone else." Djones dabbed at his brow with a silk pocket square. "It is a bit warm in here, don't you think?"

"You could take off your jacket and gloves at least," Rain said, wrapping her nearer wing around Djones' shoulders and bringing him closer.



"That might be a good idea; we are in June after all. Quite literally. But I need you to know that while I find you attractive, I've never actually -"



"Had sex? That's all right, we can go slow."



"I was going to say kissed anyone. Which is the only thing I've been curious about, really. Sexual intercourse in full always seemed rather distasteful."



Enlightenment entered Rain's eyes. "Oooooh, you're ace, aren't you?"

"Again, you use a term with which I am unfamiliar."

"Asexual. Not interested in sex. It doesn't necessarily mean sex is disgusting to you, just that you don't really have a sex drive. Some asexuals do have sex but to make their partner happy, or purely to reproduce, or because of boredom or some reason other than arousal. I never understood it myself but people don't understand me either and I figure it's fine all round."

Camp NaNoWriMo Meme

1: Have you participated in NaNoWriMo before? If so, which years and what end result? If not (or even if so, for that matter) what’s your connection to writing? Why do you want to participate this year?



Yes, both times I made it up to roughly 11,000 words and then stopped because of life drama. I am a published author but I would like to make it into bigger leagues someday, and I’m always trying to push myself. This June I want to complete the novel I began last November. I realize this is cheating but since we’re not actually competing against one another I think that’s fine.



2: What’s the title of your story? Why did you choose the name you did?



My novel is called Seasons Four Behind Closed Doors. It’s a sequel to my previous NaNo-begun novel, Seasons Four Open the Door, and I plan to follow it with Seasons Four All Outdoors and Seasons Four Now Indoors.



3: Pick one of your female characters. Introduce your readers to her, from her point of view and her words only.



My name’s Kira Greer. How do you do. I’m originally from the Temperate Zone, but these days I live in Summer’s Castle with my husband, Jared the Lord Summer, and his personal assistant and lover William. I’m good friends with William, and Jared has enough love for the both of us. I let the two of them deal with politics and ruling and such - I’m a carpenter by trade; my sales go to fund different charity projects. I grew up poor and reckon no one else deserves that if it can be helped.



4: What genre is your novel? Why did you pick it?



Urban fantasy. Because that’s my favorite genre.



5: Name two songs from your playlist that you feel are connected with your novel in some way, and explain how they are.



“All Arise!” by The Decemberists is the official song of this novel; all the official songs of this series come from their album The King is Dead. Seasons Four Open the Door’s theme was ”Calamity Song”, “Down by the Water” will be the theme of Seasons Four All Outdoors, and “Don’t Carry it All” for Seasons Four Now Indoors.



6: What is your one biggest stressor related to forcing yourself to write at least 50,000 words in a span of 30 days?



Being at work and wanting to write but not being allowed, then being at home and not wanting to write.



7: Where’s your favorite place to hunker down and write?



As long as I’m sitting in a chair and I’m not being yelled at or bothered, I’m happy.



8: List your current, most up-to-date word count. Are you satisfied with your progress thus far?



15,000, which is par. I'm okay with this.



9: Have you told anyone else you’re doing NaNo this year? Who? What was their reaction?



Yes, either “I could never do that!” or “Good for you!”.


10: How does your love of writing manifest in non-NaNo months?



I’m almost always writing or planning writing something, even if it’s short poems or fanfics.





Day 11: Ever tried collaborative writing (such as play-by-post roleplaying)? If so, what do you think of it?



Collaboration is really fun! I just have trouble finding people I have a good rhythm with.





12: Imagine you’re behind in your word count goals (even if you’re not) and are going to pull an all-nighter to catch up. Screencap a playlist of inspirational music you would use to get you up to speed.



[This question would be more laborious to answer right now than I find worth it.]





13: Name a male character from your novel. Describe him through the point of view and words of the female character you introduced in question 3 (if they never interact, pick another female character).



William Meloy is a lot different from me, though Jared says he needs the both of us to complete him. He’s an albino, to start with, though the kind with golden eyes instead of pink, so he stays indoors out of the sun and helps run the castle so Jared can work on running the realm. He’s always tidy and he calls Jared “sir”, except when they’re having a tumble in which case Jared calls him sir, which I still don’t full understand but even though Jared has all these bruises afterwards he seems happy. He’s helped smooth out matters when Jared and I quarreled and has never tried to push me out of the picture. I’ll riddle anyone who calls him names full of holes with my Remington, and he knows it.





14: Is the sexuality of your characters a large part of your novel’s story? If so, are there characters who deviate from the heterosexual “norm”? In what way?



Jared Derkins, the Lord Summer, is in a bisexual polyamorous relationship with Kira (straight) and William (gay). Lynne, the Lady Spring, is a lesbian whose life partner, Amber, is pansexual. Rain, legal but reluctant heir to the throne of Faerie, is omnisexual but aromantic. Djones, an extremely dapper assassin, is a transman, asexual, and demiromantic. All of this is important but not their only character traits.





15: Do any of your characters have a disability or mental illness? If so, how does that affect their development throughout your story?



Amber is paraplegic but an accomplished telekinetic. However, compensating for her paralyzed legs takes up a tremendous amount of magic, which in this universe burns calories much as exercise does, so she must either stay in her wheelchair and lift only small objects or eat constantly. So far it hasn’t been much of this novel’s plot, though in the prequel it was of more significance.

Blogging difficulties

My dear followers,

I would blog more often, but this website is blocked on Chinese internet. My workplace has internet that bypasses the Great Firewall, as it is called, but naturally I don't want to do extensive blogging on my employer's time - just a little bit here and there on breaks. Right now, for example, it would be a coffee or tea break if I drank any coffee or tea other than Two Leaves and a Bud's Alpine Berry tea, which is purple and delicious. Sadly I keep forgetting to bring bags of aforesaid tea to keep in my office. So I'm having instant oatmeal out of a mug instead. Because I also have no bowl.

But I digress. Naturally the vast majority of my Camp NaNoWriMo efforts are on my laptop at home, but I can't put extracts up here on my dear Idris-the-Macbook because of the Great Firewall. I'm trying to decide whether it's worth it to email bits to myself so that I can put them up on this blog. Is it vanity? Is it obsession? Or is it dedication?

I think my oatmeal's cool enough to eat now. Much love, and metaphors be with you.

Current word count: 14415.
Goal by tomorrow: 15000.

Excerpt 2

They had only known each other for two years, but William was a quick study in backrubs, having given thousands to Vincent Lord Winter over the decades before he defected to Jared Lord Summer's employ out of love and loneliness. Kira leaned into his kneading fingers and moaned appreciatively. 

"What I've been wondering - oh, right there, right there - is why Tiffany is still with that lout. All the money in the world wouldn't be enough for me to put up with him."

"Tiffany who?"

"Tiffany Marshall, the mousy mite. Surely you remember. Sweet woman without even one joint of a backbone."

William found a knot in Kira's shoulder and worked it with his right thumb. "You might not be able to see her standing up for herself, but you don't know how often she may have been beaten down. Not everyone was gifted with confidence like you."

"If you don't spit at the bullies they'll never leave you alone."

"Not necessarily. Sometimes if you blend in with the shadows they just stop noticing."

Kira pondered this. "Is that why you've been avoiding your brother?"

"I don't want to talk about him right now."

"Surest sign you do need to talk about him, floofy man."

Hamnet stopped playing and politely coughed. "Should I leave? It seems your conversation is taking a private turn."

"That would be nice, no offense meant, Master Shakespeare," William said. 

With a bow, Hamnet left them.

"I gather that Hamnet is the son of someone important Next Door, the way Jared seems so excited about him, but I didn't want to ask and look stupid," Kira said.

William explained as succinctly as he could, then he asked, "How did the meeting I foisted upon you go, anyway?"

"Oh, Lord. They talked about things beyond me, and I just had to stand around and smile like some sort of mannequin, and then while Jared was talking we all heard odd crunching and crackling sounds from the ceiling. It turned out Puck had stolen Jared's baked snack chips from his home realm and the bag was making the unholy noise as Puck grabbed at the treats. He's like a monkey. An ancient, magical, off-his-nut monkey under the protection of the scariest queen to flutter around and smite people."

William raised his eyebrows, though he continued with the backrub. "What was done about him?"

"Radcliff removed the ceiling panel, since he was tall enought to reach, and the Lady Gwen clapped Puck in iron fetters, dragging him to the dungeons. She said she would 'alert the 

Queen of Faerie to his continued misbehavior and demand both apology and recompense'. Jared thanked her and continued talking about freedom of the press and why that was 'pretty awesome all things considered'."

William smiled to think of the contrast, and finished his backrub with a hug. "May I lay my head in your lap? I'm getting a migraine."

"Of course." She maneuvered into a more suitable position for both of them and petted William's silky white head as he rested it against her. "When this is all over, the three of us should go for a picnic in the woods. You never go out when Jared and I do."

"It's on account of the sun and my burning, little falcon."

"We could go at night. Stargaze and whatnot."

"I'm going to be busy with cleanup..."

"Will. This is becoming alarming."

"What? And please don't talk so sharply when my head hurts."

"I'll get you a remedy and compress. But I've noticed something very odd - even at night, you never go outside. Not even to a balcony."

"That's ridiculous."

"I thought so too. Are you going to explain it to me, or would you like me to point it out to Jared, who though we both know is clever and sweet beyond belief is also the sort who would have trouble noticing his socks were on fire? And who would afterwards make you go see some sort of head doctor about it?"

"Fine. Fine. I'm agoraphobic. I am frightened of going outside."

Kira had nothing to say for over two full minutes, though she remained conscientious about tousling and stroking William's hair. Then she said, quietly, "Was it something Clarence did?"

"Oh no, no, he's a tease and a bully but he was never that cruel. I was apparently accidentally left outside for nearly a full day and night as a baby. Mother thought I was with Father in the workshop, for he believed in helping care for his children. Father thought it was Mother's turn to look after me. Then during the day, as every day, my parents' curses manifested and they turned into a fawn and a crane. When they're like that they don't even know they have children. It was actually Clarence who saved my life by realizing the problem first and fetching me from the tree where I hung in a sling, then carefully warming me by the fire."

"Aren't you...from December? As in winter forever and a day?"

"A friendly witch saved my fingers and toes."

After another two minutes of silence, Kira kissed William's cheek. "I would fear too, pigeon."

"I have to be sedated before I can go outside, otherwise I scream until I faint. It is most lacking in dignity."

------

Unbeknownst to Kira and William, shortly after William left Rain to her booze Ezekiel had set Puck free and ordered him to follow William around the castle as best he could. His orders were to bring back any useful information he could. And Puck had been behind a pillar, camouflaged as only such a trickster knew how, since William entered the Jellyfish Parlor. 

He scurried off to find Ezekiel. The Monk of Mendacity was meditating mutely. "Oh, Zeke, Zeke, I have news."

"Yes, Merry Wanderer?"

Puck fiddled with the loose end of his loincloth; the rest of his body he considered adequately covered in coarse brown fur. His eyes were beetle-bright and his fingernails long and sharp. "The ghost-boy fears the open sky; isn't that funny? If you take his love beyond the castle he will be unable to help."

"Very good. Spy for me three days more, and you will be given the key to awaking Lord Oberon whom you are bound to serve."

"I don't like Summer very much anyway. He keeps leaving me with all these religious books knowing full well that I can't read." Puck snorted at the foolishness of mortals and left Ezekiel, off to go entertain the queen who had no idea of how far his duplicity lay. 

.....

Hamnet was busy ironing one of Mab's gowns when Gabor Orion burst into his little room. "Have you seen Rain Smith? Her mother the queen has taken ill and wishes to seen none but me. We require a representative for the four o'clock discussion of ethical taxation."

"I believe that Miss Rain was last spotted leaving the castle twenty minutes ago and has not been seen returning. If you will indulge my curiosity, where are the notes the queen will have inevitably prepared for the meeting?" Hamnet squirted some water onto the linen from a squeeze bottle William had ensured was included among the accoutrements in this particular guest chamber. Mab did get ever so fussy when her clothes weren't just right.

"It won't do you any good, boy, they're in code."

"My lady taught me her personal code more than three hundred years ago, sir." Hamnet didn't like being called 'boy', and it was very difficult for him not to let that seep into his tone of voice.

Gabor was a tall Fae, with hands no smaller for all their delicacy and elegance. A nut-brown fist curled around Hamnet's collar. "Even the most illustrious of mortal men, and their sons, are still clods compared to the Fair Folk. I should give you a few score lashes to help you remember. "

Hamnet did his best to stand defiant, but since the beginning of his servitude Mab had made it clear that as long as courtiers' beatings did not cause him lasting harm she would not intercede on his behalf. Sometimes she even criticized their technique. He shivered.

Then a pleasantly, and at this moment artificially, cheerful voice broke in from the open doorway behind them. "That seems a bit harsh," Jared the Lord Summer said, turning to his companion, Lynne the Lady Spring. "Don't you think that seems a bit harsh?"

"Thank all metaphysical concepts it was Mother who raised me and not you," Lynne growled. "Unhand Master Shakespeare at once. I may be your offspring but my stature outstrips both yours and your...what was your word for it, Jared?"

"Sugar mama."

"Precisely. Now go away before Jared expels you from this gathering for threatening another guest, which as you will remember was the very first rule of the conference in the first place." Lynne made a shooing gesture.

With a growl, Gabor stalked away.

Jared stepped into the room and smoothed Hamnet's shirt. "And why don't you go get Mab's notes and sit in for Fairie at this next meeting? I would love to hear your spin on them as well."

Hamnet stared into those honest, artless dark eyes. "Truly?"

"Yes. You can do the ironing later. Or I'll get someone to do it. Then I want you to sit at a dinner I'm having  with Kira, William, Amber, Lynne, Gwen, and Radcliff - just a casual one between friends - and tell me everything you can remember about growing up in the Elizabethan times, okay? Forgive me but I'm just so excited to have you in my castle." Jared tugged Hamnet after him like a balloon, and even the stern Lady Spring seemed kindly disposed towards him.

Excerpt 1

((Warning: I will not be posting all portions of my Camp NaNoWriMo/Clarion work here, due to length, sex, and violence, but some friendlier bits I will put up here periodically to show that I am indeed getting stuff done.))

"I'm finishing each bottle as I go, so you might as well save on washing them," Rain replied, spinning slowly on a bar stool, letting out the most dispirited "whee" William had ever heard.

He took a seat beside her and grabbed the nearest wine to hand. Realizing he had no corkscrew, he removed the cork with his teeth and spat it across the room.

"I'm impressed," Rain said, scratching her left wing. "You always struck me as the prim type."

"Kira taught me how to do it," he said. "But that's no matter. I think both of us are under a lot of stress right now..."

"You have no idea."

William's smile was grim. "You might be surprised. Anyway, I've got an official assassin from Centralia coming in by train this evening. He's taking out an unlicensed poser lurking among us. I'm going to be busy managing everything that goes on here so Jared can make speeches and look handsome. I would appreciate it if you could fetch and look after the assassin until I have time to debrief him, her, or hir. In exchange I'll give you access to the secret library that has the Lore of the Realms, the books with all the laws and magical bindings of this world. Only Seasons, their consorts, and the elected head of state are supposed to be let in. You might be able to find some loophole to get yourself disqualified from the throne of Faerie."

"I'll do it. But why'd you pick me?"

After taking a deep swig, William passed the wine to Rain. "Because you have no interest in politics, power, wealth, love, or admiration. All you want is freedom, which is what you already have and are fighting to keep. It makes you the least vulnerable person I know to manipulation. Even Kira, Amber, and Radcliff, who are the most honest people I know after you, love too deeply to be truly independent. They would lie and cheat for the sake of their hearts."

"By that logic you're kind of in deep shit, buddy."

"Aye, there's the rub."

...........................

There was a room deep within Summer's castle that William counted among his favorites. The lights were kept dim and shifted into various pale, bejewled colors. A grand piano off to the side could provide music, or the soundproofed floor and ceiling could ensure blissful silence undisturbed by any hubbub outside, and the temperature was kept cool as the inside of an underwater cave. Held back by panels of glass on four sides were tanks of translucent jellyfish who were fed plankton daily by the servants, floating and pulsing like abstract, gelatinous sprites. In the center of the room was a huge couch, large enough for five people, and a mound of fluffly blankets and plush pillows to snuggle in and watch the jellyfish.

To William's surprise as he entered the room, intent on tending to his headache, someone was already playing the piano. A boy, no older than twelve in appearance, wearing black denim pants, a button-up white long-sleeved shirt, and a green velvet coat. His feet were bare. It was some of the most exquisite, virtuoso piano playing William had ever heard - he himself was more of a plinker, though his efforts were pleasant enough to listen to. After a moment William realized who it was. No wonder the boy played well; five hundred years was a long time to practice.

Hamnet Shakespeare froze, his fingers tensed over the keys. "Am I intruding, Sir Meloy?"

"Not at all. You're doing much better than I ever have. Mind if I sit?"

"It's more your castle than mine, Sir," he said, but resumed.

"You can call me William if you want." Too tired and stressed to care about his dignity, William set about making a nest of cushions on the couch and esconced himself within, pulling a blanket up to his neck and settling into comfort.

Hamnet allowed himself a brief laugh. "I don't really like calling anyone 'William', Sir Meloy. When a father bargains his son to the fairies in exchange for genius, the son may be excused for some lingering sense of rejection, and reluctance to be reminded of the father."

"Wouldn't he have had to make the deal before you were born?"

"Even so." He stopped talking after that, but the music continued, and William let it carry him away.

That is, until he felt someone lightly touch his shoulder. "Mrr?"

It was Kira, taking a seat and tugging on the blanket. "Gimme, cold."

"Hmm."

"The kid plays well."

"Mmm."

"What are you sad about?" She pulled William's head towards her shoulder.

He yielded and leaned against her. "What makes you think I'm sad?"

"You always come to the Jellyfish Parlor when you're sad."

"And you're saying you don't?"

"Touchy."

"The word is 'touché.'"

"Right. Give me a backrub and I won't call you a stuck-up, deal?"

"Deal."

Writing Frolics

I am going to be doing both Camp NaNoWriMo (but finishing a novel rather than starting from scratch) and Clarion Write-A-Thon, harnessing my work from the former to raise money from the latter. Updates will be frequent. Wish me luck!

On the off-chance...

...That you are a native resident of Sichuan, China...

...And that you have managed to get to Blogger despite it often being blocked by the government...

...And that you're reading this....

...And you are fluent in English...

...And you have at least one published fiction work or translation of a fiction work...

Then e-mail fairy daughter at hotmail dot com (all one word and correctly formatted, of course), because the U.S. Consulate in Chengdu has an opportunity for you. Also because it can get lonely here for a summer hire like me.

Bedtime Story, Part V

There was once a girl who lived in a tower because she had a gaping cavity where her heart should have been, and she was embarrassed to walk among others with no pulse or feeling. For some reason another girl kept visiting her and telling her stories, singing her songs, asking the girl in the tower to run away with her. Finally one spring dusk the ragged girl shouted, "I brought you a heart!" and held it up, triumphant, ignoring the blood that stained her hands and dripped down her arms.


The girl in the tower looked down, smiling to see her friend in the failing light. “It’s real!” she mused, reaching her arms down as far as she could. She knew that she couldn’t reach, so she had to ignore her fear and run down the tower stairs. She grabbed the heart and pulled it to her, inside her…and felt. Felt too much and too deeply and regretted her choice. “This isn’t right!” she cried, ripping the heart from her chest and retreating to the tower. She closed off all the doors and all the windows and left the heart outside when the sun finally went down.

Bedtime Story, Part IV

[The parts in italics were not written by me, but by the person I was telling the story to.]


There was a boy who watched the girl, watched her with the men who came to her nightly. He kept himself away from the lights, not because he was afraid of them precisely, but because he knew they would melt him utterly. He crouched by her when she slept and watched her from all the shadows he knew. The darkest shadow was her smile, and he wished to hide there the most. And he wished he had a heart to give.

There was once a boy who found a heart in a sand castle and decided to sell it in the marketplace in a nearby city, as he already had one of his own. He wrapped it carefully in crinkled white paper even as it throbbed and pulsed. He did not make it to the marketplace, though, as a shadow-boy caught him in an alley. "Give me your money," the shadow-boy said, thinking of a girl with dust in her hair who had not eaten today. "I have no money," protested boy-from-the-sea. "Only a heart. Want it?"

Shadow boy held his hands out, greedy for the heart. “Yes, yes, and all I want is yes,” he said and boy-from-the-sea dropped it into his hands. The boy opened the paper, just a tiny bit, to see the heart, because he was curious. He had never seen one before, only heard stories. He found the girl, the dusty dancing girl, and he felt brave, excited. “I have it, for you, a heart, a heart!” he sang, stepping forward into the sunlight. And he melted. When she turned to look there was only the heart, beating quietly in its white paper wrapping.

Bedtime Story, Part III

There was once a ragged tramp of a girl with dust in her hair who had no home, sleeping under stairwells and on benches in the big city where she lived. Sometimes she would sing and dance for coins, or sweep courtyards and water flowers. Though dirty she was a pretty girl, and men often asked her for favors. "Only for a heart, I'd only do it for a heart, not for your love but mine, and only for a heart," she would say with her dark smile.

Bedtime Story, Part II

There was once a girl who lived in a tall tower - not in the middle of nowhere guarded by a dragon, but in a green park in a big city. She was not a princess, though she was beautiful. The girl who loved her, a ragged tramp of a girl with dust in her long dark hair, would visit every day. "Come with me," the girl below pleaded. "I will show you the world and all my love. "I haven't the heart," replied the girl in the tower. "I haven't the heart."

Great news!

Book five in the Laconia series, Dad and I Are Sort of Human, has been accepted by Eternal Press. We are still working out the details but I will announce the release date once it has been decided.

Bedtime Story, Part 1

There was once a boy who lived by the sea. He loved to build sandcastles too close to the water, so that the waves would destroy them, making him feel like a powerful and capricious god.

One of the sandcastles would not wash away, though, even when the waves rushed over all else, smoothing out the sand. It did not become a lump of sludge, either. It stood, a little crookedly, for three days and three nights. Finally he took a shovel and smashed it.

Inside the sandcastle was a beating heart, bleeding but alive. He picked it up in trembling hands and felt rooted to the spot.

Last I looked he was still there, under the stars, not sure what to do next.

Steampunk Holmes Needs Your Help!

What is Steampunk Holmes?

Steampunk Holmes is a series of seven books published across multiple channels. This project raises funds for the first book in the series, Steampunk Holmes: Legacy of the Nautilus.

About 'Steampunk Holmes: Legacy of the Nautilus'

In an alternative Steampunk universe (c.1885), the plans for Captain Nemo's mysterious Nautilus submarine have been stolen from the British Secret Service. There is only one man who can solve the case, Sherlock Holmes. With his bionic side-kick Doctor Watson, and his brilliant and lethal sister, Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock unravels a mystery that will shake the foundation of the British Empire. 

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/369012565/steampunk-holmes-for-the-ipad/posts

They have five days to meet their goal, guys! I'm a backer but I can only contribute so much. WANT THIS TO HAPPEN. :D :D :D :D 

I came upon a tumblr that has pirated copies of my work for download: http://qoozqvu.tumblr.com/ 

I wasn’t able to message qoozqvu to ask them to not post downloads of my books for free, due to them not having an ask box, but in the interest of protecting intellectual property I would like to ask people to please not download from qoozqvu. If you want to preview one of my books before buying, Amazon will allow you to see the first few pages, and also you can message me and I will happily “lend” you a section as well. If my books are not available in a format you can use, or not available at your location, contact me and I will find some way you can get it honestly.

If you’ve already pirated, I’m not mad - I take it as a compliment - but I would very much like you to buy something as soon as you can because if you like it enough to read it I would hope you’d like it enough to repay me for my effort.

Several of my works are available for free on the Internet with my permission; in fact I put them there. Read them to your heart’s content. 

I’m not going to try to take legal action because I believe in Internet freedom, that it does more harm to try to regulate what users do than to let some piracy occur. What I think works better is to politely say: I worked hard. I don’t make much money from this. What money I do have, I am very grateful for. I’m 21 years old and just starting out. My publisher will only keep giving me deals if I turn a profit for them, otherwise they won’t survive as a company. It’s a harsh reality, and I need your help to keep it from ruining my dream.

Thank you.

Written? Kitten!

Just found out about a great tool against writer's block: Written Kitten! Every hundred words you write (you can also set it for more) you get a picture of an adorable kitten. Much kinder and gentler than Write Or Die, which I already knew about.

Stone Babies

A fetus dies,

too great in size,

for the body to absorb,

it calcifies,

it petrifies,

to protect the mother’s core.

So no dead tissue

will issue

forth rot to poison her womb -

it can take years

without tears

before doctors discover the “tomb”.

And so I hope my heart

will start

to do the same, with aspects

so abject

of this whole wretched concept

of stability

in my fragility

with love and hope’s agility

but rather than so prone

to feel alone

I’d rather it turned to organic stone.

Crevice

You fitted into me

strangely, but well, and I

saw you as jeweled beyond measure.

And I pushed you a way when

you cracked, fearing you'd break

further and faster, and that I would

shatter with the wedge of you in me.

I saved us from that.

But now I have a crevice that needs

and hungers, and I try fitting so many

many many many and they don't fit

will they ever fit?

Saint Patrick's Day Memory: A Small Poem

I let myself stir, a little

from depths I regularly plumb.

And you were there and wrapped

in cheery alcoholic haze, and I wondered

if there was some place where I felt

as whole, as carefree, naturally as you seemed

to be from the liquor, where I'd stop missing her,

where I'd believe as hard as you do in Someone.

Sale!

My current coupon code at www.etsy.com/shop/ThatSingularAnomaly is BICYCLE. Enter it at checkout for a 25% discount and help me get my bicycle fixed!

Yarn Bombing I

ART FOR ALL

Psst!

I'm going yarn bombing this evening for my first time. Pics to follow soon.

For those who don't know, "yarn bombing" is crocheted or knitted graffiti, usually in the form of little cozies for poles, railings, and tree branches. I also made an eyepatch for a statue that already has an eyepatch, just not a cloth one.

I've been rather down these past couple days so I'm trying to add harmless fun things to get excited about and get me out of my room. Activity therapy.

My Current Obsessions

Crochet (obviously) and Sherlock BBC. It sets Sherlock Holmes in modern-day London.

Behold!

I'm trading this one with a tumblr user who blogs as though they were actually Moriarty, to use as a voodoo doll, in exchange for a diabolical Moriarty-themed notebook. But you can order one custom-made at http://www.etsy.com/listing/94369861/sherlock-plush .

Follow-Ups

My story about Robyn robbing the craft store was very well received, though the professor suggested I come up with a better title. I will be putting a revision up within the next week. I love it when criticism is detailed and thorough not because the critic doesn't like the work, but because they know you can take it, that you will benefit from it, and they want to see the work become the best it can possibly be.

Also, I showed the owner of Old Town Yarnery one of my crocheted shamrocks, and she has offered me $1.50 apiece to make a whole bunch for decorating the shop. Then today a friend commissioned a scarf made of shamrocks sewn together. So I will be making all the shamrocks. ALL OF THEM. Most have three leaves; some have four. Like in real life.

My presentation I was worried about in my seminar on John Milton also went well, though I had to leave class a bit early after on account of medication-induced dizziness. As you can see by the time stamp, my sleep patterns are still weird. The Thai phrase for my particular version of insomnia is "sleep-sleep wake-wake".

But things are looking up, and I get to visit some good friends during Spring Break. Just need to make it through my last two classes.

St. Patrick's Day, Grad School, and Other Thoughts

I want to get some work experience before I go to grad school, but I'm starting to think I might enjoy getting a degree in business. All this Etsy and Elance entrepreneurship has been some of the most fun and fulfilling stuff I've ever undertaken. And I feel like with impeccable writing skills, good public presence, and then adding on knowledge of marketing and other joys of capitalism, I would be UNSTOPPABLE.
I will think on it for a while longer. However, in the spirit of business-y things, here are some items I have put in my Etsy and WePay stores in preparation for St. Patrick's Day.



http://www.etsy.com/listing/93798592/green-and-white-gauntlets


http://www.etsy.com/listing/94050746/shamrock-brooch


http://www.etsy.com/listing/94055925/lime-green-gauntlets

Also available, as always, in the side bar.
Now I really should go to bed, 11 AM class notwithstanding.

Mad as a Crocheter

I bought a miniature top hat for costuming purposes, only to find that the band was a little too small for comfort. So I made this fellow instead. Care to join the tea party?

Fun With Party Provisions

I'm going to a little 13-person get together full of baking, conversation, and crafting. This will be my contribution to the refreshments: Nutella sandwiches with two different kinds of bread, cut into dinosaur shapes. I think they'll be a hit.

Further Adventures in Creativity and Capitalism

Made about $50 selling things, $13 of which will be going to the club that sponsored me so I didn't have to pay a vendor fee. Will have another round on Friday. Then I'll be rebuilding inventory for Mary WashiCon.

I didn't sell any Cunning Hats in person, but I made two online sales in less than thirty hours. I have changed the picture to my newer design that is closer to the Firefly original:

I also now have a baby version! Red panda plush not included.

Available both in the left-hand sidebar and at http://www.etsy.com/listing/93502756/cunning-baby-hat

Annnnd a new fiverr gig, this one more on the writing side of my talents. Check it out at http://fiverr.com/ardentsprite/write-a-rhyming-poem-spelling-out-a-name-of-your-choice if you so desire.

Geeky Hats Galore

(Available at www.etsy.com/shop/ThatSingularAnomaly as well as in the sidebar on the lower left of this very blog.)

Perfect for a five-person tag flash mob, making silly sound effects all the while!

I made the ghost beanies and then had no idea how to make the central figure we know and love, until a friend suggested it be in beret form.

I actually made the whole beret, start to finish, this afternoon and evening. Then I was contemplating the colors of yarn I have available - I use Plymouth Dream Baby acrylic because Old Town Yarnery carries it for $4 a decent hank and it's soft and machine washable - and my covetousness towards a friend of mine's Jayne hat from the show Firefly, one of my absolute favorites. So I went on Etsy and looked at the various designs and came up with this in about two hours:

This one is available on a made-to-order basis, because that used up all my solid orange yarn and I want to keep it for myself. I'm very proud of it and am restraining myself from singing "The Hero of Canton".

So this is how I've been trying to healthily expend my manic energy. Now for another pair of fingerless gloves and hopefully I'll be able to sleep.

An Essay for I Wrote for Class You May Enjoy

What Gives Life Value: Neil Gaiman's Death and Secular Humanism

Whether one agrees or not with the above cartoon, fear of death, and desire to know if anything comes after - and if so what - is one of the primary attractions of religious belief. Most mythological and theological systems put forth some sort of theory, often one used to shape desired behavior. Atheists abound in contemporary society, by definition having to deal with their feelings towards both mortality and morality on their own terms without a set path to guide them. One possible solution to this conundrum is chosen by secular humanists, who according to http://www.secularhumanism.org/ "see themselves as undesigned, unintended beings who arose through evolution, possessing unique attributes of self-awareness and moral agency...[they] hold that ethics is consequential, to be judged by results. This is in contrast to so-called command ethics, in which right and wrong are defined in advance and attributed to divine authority...Secular humanists seek to develop and improve their ethical principles by examining the results they yield in the lives of real [people]." This essay chooses to argue that the character Death, an anthropomorphic personification of the ultimate End as portrayed in Neil Gaiman's Sandman graphic novels and various spinoff comics, is in herself an argument for the "lifestance" of secular humanism as a valid, morally sound, and spiritually fulfilling mode of thought.

Death is first introduced in the eighth issue of the original run of Sandman (Preludes and Nocturnes, "The Sound of Her Wings"), where she runs into her younger brother Dream and offers to let him tag along while she goes on her appointed rounds that afternoon. There is nothing grim about this young woman in Goth-type clothes with a distinctly sunny attitude, the Eye of Horus as part of her makeup and the Ankh around her neck both signifiers of eternity, echoing her other role in giving all living things their first breath of existence. She greets her charges with warmth and sympathy, reaching out a hand to them as she does to this man here, even as she gently refuses to let him know what happens next until he discovers it for themselves:

Click here for full image.

This scene with Death illustrates two opinions that are in keeping with secular humanism. One is that we do not need to be frightened about our inevitable demise, even if we have no real way of knowing what it will be like. Another is that saying prayers may help to comfort, but though there is no guarantee of a blissful afterlife no matter what we do, being composed and serene in the face of death is the real valuable attribute. In collecting the souls of other characters as the series goes on, Death makes such statements as "You get what anyone gets...you got a lifetime, (Brief Lives)" and "Everything ends. That's what gives it value (Death: The High Cost of Living)." As Stephen Rauch says in Neil Gaiman's Sandman and Joseph Campbell: In Search of the Modern Myth, Gaiman repeatedly underscores Death's gentleness, and eventually "we see Death as someone not to be feared, but revered as the mediator between this life and whatever lies beyond it. The point here is that death is part of the natural process, and far from being someone we should fear, it (she) can be seen as a blessed function, and a friendly face (65)." We do not need some divine power to ameliorate death, this version of Death seems to be saying, because she accepts us as we are, and we should do the same to her.

Fair Use Statement:

All quotes and images included in the essay are used for non-profit educational purposes only. I claim no rights whatsoever to them. The YouTube video embedded above was assembled by myself from a collection of both canonical and fan-created images of Death, originally for the non-profit purpose of entertainment and homage. Neil Gaiman has stated in a variety of interviews and blog posts that he considers such use fair and has no objection to them. The song "Soul Meets Body" by Death Cab for Cutie is included under YouTube terms, which by providing a "to-buy" link on the original site is considered free advertising rather than copyright infringement. The Endless own themselves.

Bibliography:

Anonymous, "RELIGION", http://pokato.net/719,RELIGION---A-really-complicated-and-illogical-way-of-saying-Im-scared-of-death

Council for Secular Humanism, http://www.secularhumanism.org/

Gaiman, Neil, The Sandman, DC Comics, New York NY, 1988-1996.

Rauch, Stephen, Neil Gaiman's The Sandman and Joseph Campbell: In Search of the Modern Myth, Holicong, PA, 2003.