Please note, I have grammar issues. In that I have given up on that for purposes of blog posting.
Sitting here with a cup of coffee trying not to face the day. A bird slammed into my window and dropped dead in the garden underneath it. This does not bode well. A friend suggested I go back to bed.
I feel as energetic is this beautiful lioness that I found on Pixabay. Know what? I am not going to minimize the picture. She’s too pretty.
A kind of confession. I’m not writing currently. I want to very much. But after all these years of writing books, it’s finally time to really try to sell them. Not sort of try. Not make half-hearted attempts by tweeting stuff occasionally. I mean actually sell them. Like let more than a couple hundred people know about them.
I’ve got a couple of reasons for this. Number one–money. Money is nice. And while indie publishing has allowed me to skip the query-synopsis-rejection route to publishing, the plethora of books out there make it very hard for quiet writers like myself to get much traction without a lot of work. Indie and all of the cheap and free promotions has also brought down prices on all books and given the impression or expectation to readers that writers are happy to work for free.
This is just not true.
We write for the love of it. That much is true. But in order for us to put a lot of work into writing we need some compensation to pay for things like, you know, food. Shelter. Otherwise it’s just a hobby and in today’s busy world hobbies that take you away from people are not always appreciated by those people. Especially hobbies that take as much time as writing does.
So. I need to get paid. And that’s what I’m working on right now. But it’s one helluva slog. I have, after all, the two genres. I also has a forest-for-the-trees personality when it comes to both the writing and the marketing. I can obsess over things like having started the last three sentences with “I” in this blog, and totally forget that people like pictures in blog posts and maybe I should throw one in now and again. So here, random picture.
Awfully cute puppy. Also from Pixbay, which I am now a big fan of.
So, here’s what I’m trying to do. Create another website for my historical romances. Put up a slider with pictures of Victorians on it just because. Put up a slider with snatches from reviews. Put up excerpts and link to them. Create pretty buy links. Create a bio (my most hated writing thing of promotion) and then there’s another page I want to create with quotes used for each chapter (usually Shakespeare). Then I have to go back and put up excerpts for The Postplague Trilogy, because I forgot to do that.
After that, I need to go to my facebook author pages and use their new Author App. Which is cool but it asks for a first chapter pdf for each book, which is more work.
I need then to go to all the retail sites that I’m selling books on and add bios and info on me, myself and I. I need to upload the romance novels to more sites, but before I do that I need to go through the back matter on all the books to make sure it links to other books.
That’s just some of it. Some of the work I need to do just to be professional and have my name and books in as many places as I currently control. That doesn’t include sites that will let you put your books up for free, or advertising or book funnel or instafreebie, all of which means a lot more work. Then there are in-person opportunities like an author panel I’m doing next week, a book signing I’m going to try to do next month, books marks to be made, etc.
It’s a lot. I could hire people, but I would still obsess over the hiring and never be satisfied with the result because the only way I’m ever really satisfied is if I am so tired of whatever it is that I can’t do it anymore. I believe Ted Hughes said of his wife, Sylvia Plath, that she never finished a poem, she just abandoned them. That sums up how I feel about all of this.
Anyway, there I am working my tail off for the next couple of months. I miss writing. I really do. For now, this little piece I wrote last week will have to do. It is mostly unedited and who knows, it may not even end up in the final edition. But it’s the best I can do for now.
Everybody murmurs assent and we cross the street. I steel myself as Evan opens the glass doors and we enter. There’s a large, heavy oak security desk in front of us, with a black and white veined marble wall behind it, over which flows the rippling water of a wall fountain. The water magically parts in the middle to flow around a large protruding symbol of the nation. A priest dressed in a lemon-yellow tunic sits at the desk. He looks up from reading a tablet and his eyes jump quickly over Tansy and me, to settle on Evan and Maya in their Inquisitor robes.
“We’re here for a surprise inspection,” Evan says, stopping at the desk. I blink, school my face not to appear shocked and peer at Evan. His face is hard, his eyes drilling into the priest. Suddenly his big shoulders and muscular build is intimidating, even frightening. Even to me, who knows Evan as a jokester.
He puts his card on the desk. “You are to tell no one that we are here.”
The man doesn’t reach for the card. He looks at Evan and stutters a little. “I have to tell my head–”
Evan leans forward, palms on the top of the desk. It feels like he’s suddenly taller and larger–menacing. A shiver runs down my spine. “You will not. We are here to root out dissidents who we have been informed may lurk in this building. If even one person appears to have been forewarned of our presence, I will have you brought to the 5th and questioned for subversive behavior. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” the man answers.
“It is the opinion of the 5th that the Temple has been too casual about disloyalty for far too long. We are all now paying for that benevolence. The 1st, 5th and 7th–especially the 5th–have been tasked with correcting those who have taken advantage of the Temple’s kindness.”
The man is visibly shaking now. So am I.
“Of course. You may pass,” he says pressing a button on his console screen. I’m about to move, gratefully, through the door when Evan speaks.
“You’re not taking our pass cards?”
“There’s no need.”
His eyes narrow. What is he doing? “There is every need.” He slaps his card down.
The man’s eyes widen and he looks terrified. “Look at the symbol,” he says shakily. Then presses the card to the reader. Evan lifts his head and focuses. I can barely breathe. If it doesn’t work–my hand moves toward my stunner.
A picture of Evan appears on the man’s screen, along with Evan’s Barratt-created rank. The man’s eyes widen a little.
“You may pass, Priest Cranshaw.”
Evan nods to Maya, our other Inquisitor. She steps forward silently, and I can feel Tansy tense next to me.
Card. Maya looks at the symbol, which must have a camera. It’s only a few seconds but it seems like forever. Maya’s picture comes up on the screen.
“Greetings, Priestess Brown. You may pass.”
The guard looks at me expectantly, finally slipping back into his normal mode.
Evan shakes his head. “They’re with us. You don’t need their credentials.”
The man looks wary. Is this a test?
“I can’t allow them to pass,” he says uncertainly, “without clearance.”
“I am giving you clearance.” Evan’s voice is hard, menacing, and I can almost see memories of executions going through the guard’s eyes. He swallows.
“Yes,” he says in a dry, thick voice. “Yes of course.”
Evan turns and moves haughtily through the door, commanding, “Come,” to all of us.
Over the long 4th of July weekend we took, we read The Ashfall series, which naturally led to us considering how we would survive an apocalypse. Before I get to that, quick review. First book, Ashfall, I loved. Couldn’t put it down. Immediately bought the next one, Ashen Winter. I liked that one and read it quickly, but there were a few “really?” points in it. I still bought Sunrise, but I didn’t finish it. It stretched the bounds of reality for me.
I think this is very much a matter of personal taste. I like apocalyptic writing (and movies) because 1) I want to know how people survive. It is endlessly fascinating to me. 2) I want to see how the characters handle, emotionally and psychologically, a world (or in this case area) ending event. I want to follow the character arc of who they are before the event to who they are at the end, and the way it changes their thinking. 3) I want to see how society reforms.
So in Ashfall series I got a lot of the first, but it became less a matter of general survival and more a matter of nasty people than I wanted. The second, the character thoughts and arc was there in the first one. I felt that although there was some growing up in the second book, it didn’t constitute an actual character arc. Moreover the emotional and psychological elements had more to do with circumstances than the end of the world (ie: what happened to all of my friends? I’m never going to finish school–what will my future be then? etc). Society reforming basically was towns fighting with each other for scarce resources and nobody too concerned about the rest of the country. Sunrise started out the same way with a lot more “really?” moments. While the first book was definitely for me, the series, in the end, was not.
Now on to survival!
1)Scurvy. This played a big part in Ashfall. Scurvy could be a killer in an apocalypse. One thing not mentioned (because plants didn’t survive the Volcanic winter, I imagine) is that you can get a good amount of vitamin C from pine trees. Yup, really. You make a tea out of pine needles and the bark. I believe it’s the inner bark. Now boiling foods does tend to kill vitamin C, so I would advise (with absolutely nothing to back it up) boiling the water, pouring it over the pine needles and bark, and let it steep for a long time that way. I’ve read, btw, that it’s not too tasty.
Another thing, rose hips. This is the seed pod when a rose flower turns to seed and has lots of vitamin C to fight off the scurvy. I also read that it’s good for osteoarthritis. You have to cut open the seed pod and remove the furry stuff inside. Apparently it makes some people itchy. I read a way to separate the seeds from the furry stuff, but I figure if the stuff makes you itchy, just dump ’em both. You can then eat the rose hop pod, or you can make a tea (like above). This is supposed to be some grade A vitamin C by the way. I used to take chewable tables made from rose hips.
They say the rose hips taste best after the first frost (somehow that makes them sweeter). Just in case you were wondering scurvy is characterized by bleeding gums.
2) Syrup. You can get syrup from birch trees like you can from maple. Maybe not as much, and you need a pretty good sized birch tree, but you can still get syrup. I guess you drill a hole in the tree, put in a spile, let it drain into a cup and then boil it down and down and down. Like down a lot. This works best (and for all I know the only time) in the early spring. Syrup has 52 calories a tablespoon and you can get sugar too from it. Not much but some. Of course this depends upon the time of year and your supplies and being able to boil stuff over a fire for a long time, all of which is unlikely if you’re in the middle of the apocalypse. But maybe birch syrup or maple syrup would be helpful post apocalypse.
3) Salt. You can get salt from a Hickory tree. I think you boil the bark in water for a long time. Then you take it out and continue boiling for a long time longer. At the end you get a blackish substance that’s salty. I’m a little less sure of this because I don’t know what a hickory tree looks like, but I’m pretty sure there aren’t anyone around where I live.
4)Acorn flour. I read about this years ago in one of my all-time favorite books, My Side of the Mountain. In it, Sam Gribely makes flour out of acorns. So I googled it. Apparently there are two types of oaks, the white and the red, and the flour from the white acorns is tastier. (Actually, they both sound awful, but it’s the apocalypse). If you only have access to red acorns, you have to boil them through several changes of water to get rid of the bad taste, which I believe was from tannins.
There’s lots more information, but at this point, I ran out of time. No worries, I’ll share more if I find more!
This is going to be more rambling than thoughts. I just got off the elliptical after a bad night’s sleep.
So this weekend I read Into Thin Air again. Okay, I flipped through it. I’ve read the book like 5 times. After seeing the most recent movie on the ’96 tragedy on Everest, I had to read it again to check the accuracy. Then my mom got really sick and I started to read it to her. She was very intellectual before Alzheimer’s, and I just thought maybe just some information might be nice. . .anyway, I also read, a few weeks ago, Left For Dead and After the Wind. (I’ve read The Climb too, years ago, but I can’t find it). This weekend I watched a video and then read sections of the books in tandem.
I still don’t get it.
After that, I looked into K2, the second highest mountain in the world. K2 is significantly more dangerous than Everest. It’s more remote, as well. And it’s had tragedies as well, the most significant that I found, 2008. So I watched video on that, and then I, naturally, bought a book–The Summit–and read it as well.
(picture borrowed from Shaghal)
I get it even less.
In case you don’t know, these two mountains are so high that when you get near the top you could die from lack of oxygen. If you were taken from sea level and somehow dropped at the top of these mountains with no conditioning, you would be dead within a few minutes. So to climb the mountains (or any of the 14 eight thousanders, which are the mountains over 8k meters) you have to acclimatize yourself by staying progressively higher and higher on the mountains, then coming back down to base camp. This makes sure you have the right amount of red blood cells or some such thing. Even with that most people need bottled oxygen, and even with that you can still suffer from HACE, HAPE and Acute Mountain Sickness.
Why? Why do this?
If you don’t climb with oxygen and your body responds “normally” you are colder, more likely to get frostbite and your brain does funny things. People talk about summit fever, the fever that pushes you beyond your limits to get to the top of the mountain, but I wonder if you’re not using bottle oxygen how much of this is the inability at that altitude to make reasonable decisions. It’s my most basic conclusion about what “went wrong” on Everest in 1996. If either Rob Hall or Scott Fischer had stayed at camp 4, or even gone down to camp 3 and had better radio contact, I think a lot of people would not have died. I believe that Fischer, who was suffering from stomach difficulties, could have convinced Rob Hall to turn around when others could not. And vice-versa. But they didn’t do that.
Sigh. I don’t get it.
I mean, I get it intellectually. I listen to the reasons. I read the books. But one line that sticks out for me over and over again is when Jon Krakaeur in Into Thin Air mentions that he is at the same height in a plane as he would be on Everest. So. . .if you can get that view from a plane and be perfectly warm and drink wine all at the same time, why climb? It’s not just the view. And yet, that’s what some people say.
Beck Weathers, who lost large parts of his hands and his nose on Everest in ’96 says he’d been very depressed for a long time and didn’t know it. That’s why he liked climbing these mountainous mountains. And yeah, I can get that intellectually. But. . .you could do other things to combat depression even if you’re “john wayneing it.” Like run marathons. Do the Tour de France. You know, things that, if you get hurt, you can get immediate medical attention and not freeze to death.
So, there’s something else. And I’m going to keep reading, I imagine, until I get sick of it or figure it out.
Anyway, before I go, here’s a few things I’ve concluded, from my nice comfortable chair on a warm morning, listening to the birds sing. 1) Krakauer put some blame on Mountain Madness guide Boukreev for the 96 tragedy. Boukreeve wrote (or had ghost written) a book that made Krakaeur into a coward. I’m going with the former. Boukreev climbed without oxygen. One of the reasons people claim this is a good idea is that if you run out of O2 you suffer less from the effects. I kinda get that. But it’s kind of like, “I’m going to sit in the sun and get a sunburn, which will turn to a tan so that if I get stuck in the sun, I won’t get a sunburn” reasoning. Maybe, instead, spend some time in the sun just tanning, and make sure you always have sunscreen. Or in this case, bottles of O2 on you instead of running down the mountain to recover and THEN you could help your clients???
As far as the cowardly thing: To expect someone who was on the expedition as a client to spend a lot of time worrying about other clients ignores what the term “client” means. I suspect if Krakaeur had known how terrible things would go, or really could go, would have saved some strength. But there he was on Everest with two of the best guides in the world and he expected, with every good reason, that they would keep people safe. When it came time to try and save people, he was literally too tired to move, as most were.
2) I’ve seen people blame Doug Hansen for Hall’s death, because Hansen had summit fever. Well Hansen almost dropped out of the climb several times during the course of the two months. Hall encouraged him, persuaded him even, high on the mountain, to continue. Hansen might have had summit fever in the end, but Hall was the one who pushed it. Hall did it out of kindness. I think he wanted Doug to reach the summit more than Doug did. He didn’t want his friend and client to “fail.”
3) The weather had a huge part to play. And in ’96 we didn’t have the forecasting abilities we have today. Also, in ’96 I suspect the O2 systems were not as good, nor were radio communications.
4) Hall and Fischer were good guys. I mean, they seem, both of them, like really good people. They were good enough friends that they’d planned on climbing another mountain together after Everest. But the thing that made them such good climbers also contributed to their deaths: their ability to fight past physical suffering (especially in Fischer’s case, with the stomach problems) and their confidence in themselves. There is, actually, truly, such a thing as too much confidence.
So that’s today’s thoughts. I actually have more, but this is running long, so I’ll hold off on more thoughts for a later post. Also, I might have to make a character a high-altitude mountain climber. I think it’s the only way I’m going to ever truly understand. But not yet.
If you’re interested, on the Everest 96 tragedy:
Also, youtube video about ’96, which I cannot yet figure out how to put as a video on my page.
One of the ways I write is by lying in bed, listening to characters. I “write” a lot of words this way, and delete them too, without every putting my hands on a keyboard. I’ve done it going all the way back to childhood (I’ve been writing for a LONG time) and it’s pretty much the way I put myself to sleep.
I do this at night, and also if I wake up early in the morning and need to put myself back to sleep. Sometimes it doesn’t work, like this morning. I tried for 2 hours, and finally I got up, went straight to my computer, by-passing coffee, and put the words down into a file. This specific scene has been in my head for weeks and I just could not go on to another without putting it in a file, and therefore “letting it go.”
It felt good to actually write again. So good in fact that after getting a cup of coffee I started paging through the file and decided it was time to put in order. This is also how I write, or at least how I begin books–I throw a lot of words into a file with different scenes from all over the story, and then eventually I decide it’s time to put them in order. It’s not nearly as scary as staring at a blank screen. Also, I have a tough time writing in order. I like to write the “fun” scenes (often the most emotional ones or the turning points) first. When I write in order I tend to write a lot of stuff that nobody really wants to read. Or at least I don’t. Better, for me, to write the scenes and then string them together.
At any rate, guess what? I’ve got 14k words already! I know! I’m shocked too. Here I was thinking I wasn’t doing a darned thing, but nope. I’ve got words. Some of them I knew because I liked them, and I’ve read them a few times (yes, writers do fall in love with their own stories and we do re-read for joy. If we didn’t, we could never do the agonizing work of revising, rewriting, editing, re-editing and oh-my-God-how-I-hate-it-promotion.) One of the scenes, I don’t even remember writing.
So–deep breath–I’m back at it. I’ve got some issues. Neri seems to be doing a whole lot of speech-giving and I don’t quite know what to do about that. Should I write all the speeches? Should I re-write/re-plot so there aren’t so many? Are they boring, or necessary? I don’t know. Time will tell, I guess.
I will say, Sacrifice (tentatively named) is shaping up to have much more romance than The Children of Liberty. I worry a little if that’s because the romance writer in me is just missing writing romance. Maybe, but I think it’s just more the way the trilogy goes. Neri was in a rough, precarious situation in The Liars, never mind being very married. In The Children of Liberty she was no only in a lot of actually fighting, but she was fighting her way through some pretty intense grief. Although we never really stop missing the loved ones we’ve lost, we do find ways to continue on with life. Granted she is nowhere near being finished mourning–it’s years long, not months–she has learned she can’t stathere. And so in Sacrifice her heart is finding it’s way.
The only problem is–will she live long enough for any of that to matter?. . .
Yeah, I kinda had to do that da-da-da moment. Now, back to work!
My mum had Alzheimer’s for many years. She was diagnosed on December 10th, 2011, but it had shown its ugly face earlier and was obvious by June of 2010. Which is when my Dad died. My stepfather died in 2014. It’s been a rough few years.
And I don’t know how I got onto that. Huh. Guess that’s part of the whine?
At any rate, I had to finally give up on her walking in July of last year. It wasn’t for lack of strength. She had that. It was because the disease, after eating away so much of her brain, had finally reached the part that could instruct her legs to move. It would take 5 minutes of “Mom, just move this leg forward. Yup. Lift it. Just move it forward” and her saying “Okay. Like this?” and trying but failing before I could get her to move that leg. Because of this, I had to try using a wheelchair to get her to an appointment. That didn’t work either. I almost dropped her twice. By the end of July I was no longer taking her to appointments and she was wheelchair bound.
In a long line of losses, the loss of her mobility was the hardest for her emotionally. I, to this day (to this minute as I fight back tears) feel guilty for giving up on her. It was the right thing to do. I know that intellectually. But I want that back. I want to have her walking again and talking. In my heart, I still struggle with whether or not that decision led to her death.
That last phase started the Thursday before Mother’s day. She had bruises on her hands–from what I don’t know–that became swelling in first one arm, then the other. She was hospitalized, where they lanced her arms to let the fluid out. And then told me, on Mother’s day, that she was bleeding internally somewhere. That trying to find it meant trying to fix it, and fixing it meant putting her under. My mother’s brain, at that point, was barely functioning. I was down to “thank you” from her, and hand holding. She couldn’t afford to lose any more brain cells, which would have happened under anesthesia, if she would even have made it through surgery. She had written up legal documents that requested no blood products, antibiotics, surgeries etc be used when she became unable to interact. Since losing any more cognition (which would happen from surgery) would put her in that place, I had to agree with the doc to do nothing. The fact that I’m writing this out, that I’ve gone through it several times with different people, tells you how difficult that decision was. I know it was right. But it’s a struggle to agree to ending your mother’s life.
So we put her on hospice and thought maybe we had a few months. I mean, other than the bleeding into her arms (the swelling kept coming back–she wasn’t clotting) she seemed pretty physically healthy. At least that’s what I saw. But a week into her hospice care she was back in the hospital, and this time when they released her they sent her to a short-term hospice facility. She had, the hospital said, lost more blood and was definitely bleeding internally somewhere from something. A doctor told me that she didn’t think Mom had more than a couple weeks. I was tired. I didn’t believe her. Not really.
I’m still tired.
It was less than a week before she passed. And then I was blanketed in grief and exhausted from 3 weeks of extroversion. Every day, people and not fun people. People telling me my mother is dying people. After that it was planning a service. My siblings and I don’t talk. I won’t even text with one of them. So the planning was, again, exhausting, as was the service. People, people, some painful drama, and a lot of resentment.
By the time it was over I’d extroverted through 4 weeks. Since then, since June 5th, I’ve been trying to recover. To just breathe again. To want to see people at all. I haven’t given a lot of thought to writing and I certainly haven’t written. I’d planned so much. And I should do it. But I feel guilty over the free time I have after my mom passed, and I’m guilty that I didn’t stop it, and I’d be guilty if I tried. So the time I haven’t spent cleaning up my mother’s things, I’ve spent on facebook. I’ve read a little, too, but even that makes me feel guilty. I should be writing. I should aways be writing. I should always be taking care of my mother. Should is a new swear in my life.
Just writing this creates a huge wave of grief. It sits in my throat. I guess most people feel it in their heart, but it’s in my throat. I think from holding back sobs. I miss my Mom. In the end, we didn’t have much left, my mother and me, but we did have hand-holding. We did have listening to music in her facility. We did have me reading to her (Wizard of Oz, Harry Potter because I could get pictures for her of the characters and places.) We did have an occasional smile. I miss that.
So–deep breath–it’s another week without writing. It’s another week of trying to care about writing and failing. But I can’t stay “here” stuck in my grief and introverted exhaustion forever. It’s not a good place. So right now, before I call this post done, I am calling up a file. . .and I paged down to where I left off. I have some minor changes to make in Children of Liberty. And a few minor ones to make in The Liars as well, for purposes of consistency. Such are the issues with world-building. Somewhere there’s a notebook with those changes written out. But I’m not going looking for it today. Today, I opened a file. I have critiquing to do but in between I will look at that file and maybe find places to tweak. It’s the best I can do today.
My Mom passed away last Friday. I got the call, but couldn’t make it in time to be there for her. I wanted to, because she was an atheist and I thought she must be terrified. I wanted to make it easier, but just like everything with this disease, easier is always questionable.
I thought on the way home, as I was crying and trying to drive, that I wished it was Tuesday again. Not Thursday, because the day before no matter what I did, I could not seem to ease her distress. But Tuesday, when she slept half the day. I was so sad. I felt so helpless. All I could do was hold her hand and it seemed like nothing at all. But on Friday, I wanted Tuesday back.
That’s how this disease is. You always want Tuesday back. Even the worst days of the “before” are better than the days of the “after”. I knew it at the time too. I knew when my mother would ramble on and she made no sense at all and introvert that I am, I was quickly exhausted trying to answer, that I would want those moments back. But even then, you don’t hold on to them long enough. You don’t live in the moment enough because there is always pain, often from remembering that other “before”.
You would also think that after all the years of tears that I would be mostly numb right now. I remember one terrible day driving home from a visit, crying in the car, sobbing to my mother who wasn’t there, that I couldn’t fix it. That no matter how hard, I couldn’t make the disease go away. I couldn’t get her back. And I was sorry that I’d failed her. I did–I do even now–feel like I failed her. You could tell me I didn’t. I could say I know, but no matter what, it sits in some dark place in my heart. I can no more get rid of that guilt and sadness than I can destroy the disease.
But those tears were not enough. I am so sad, hurt so much that I wish I could just rip my heart out of my chest and stop the pain. As I writer, I should be able to articulate why, I should be able to put the thoughts that bring this on into words, but I can’t. I don’t think; it just hits me. I’ve lost other people. My father, my stepfather, even my dog (who was a people, at least in his mind). They all hurt, but this is worse and I can’t say why.
This one thing, though, I do understand. I have been able to cry these last months on command. For no reason or whatever reason you wanted to create. I didn’t know why. It was weird. Now I do. It was this. It was the knowledge somewhere that I couldn’t dwell on it, that my mother way dying and I couldn’t fix it. Now it’s here and between the sobbing jags, I reach places where those tears have stopped. So that’s something.
And those are my thoughts for this week.
Once again, no blogging really this week. Should’ve done it yesterday. My mother came out of the hospital just to be sent back to the ER today.
Alzheimer’s is horrible. So much more horrible than you ever see on television or in movies.