Stevia

Tastes like concentrated saccharine.

Yech.

Movin On Up

Steph and the Old Man and I had a chat tonight about where we're all at with the living situation. They're happy to have me if I need to stay, but honestly, me and the Old Man have been itching to have our own places for months now. They're not as neat-freaky as I am, and I'm getting tired of picking up dirty dishes and he's tired of me playing loud music. It's not like we want to murder each other, but we both really like our own space, and I've been dying to get my own - he's been dying to get his back.

What triggered the conversation was that they wanted to remodel the bathroom this summer, and to be dead honest, I wanted the hell out of the house before that happened. I've been in the house during major remodeling before, and this one is going to take even longer. I really don't want to be here when it happens.

So I'm pretty much bouncing off the walls right now because oh man do I want my own damn place. Oh man oh man.

If I wanted to live in Ghetto Dayton, I could pay $325 on the north side or downtown, but for $450 I can get a one bedroom near the U of Dayton (OK neighborhood, not ghetto). Take the $350 a month I give over to the CC that'll be paid off when I get my first book check and $250 I currently pay for rent and viola! You have $450 for rent and $150 for utilities.

We're looking at a June 1 or July 1 move out/move-in date, so I'll start my planning accordingly. By the end of March/April I'll be doing serious apartment hunting (it's also a great time of year to pick up apartments near UD cause the students are leaving for the summer). We can do all the moving with the truck and car they've got, so no rental van necessary. I haven't bought, well, pretty much anything since I moved in, so the actual moving of stuff will just be a couple big pieces of furniture and lots of books.

Waiting for the summer means waiting for the book check and a little more job security at work (as of June, I'll have been there a year). And also means I'll move before the bathroom remodel (OH THANK YOU GOD).

I'm so frickin' happy to be in a place where I'm actually, you know, physically and mentally and financially capable of being on my own again. It's been a fucking rough two years. Steph is broken up about me going, but I was like, um, yo: that's how you know you did a good job. The busted up bird is able to fly on its own again.

You guys did good.

(OMG I GET TO BUY MY FRENCH PERFUME AGAIN!!!! AND LIGHT SCENTED CANDLES!!! AND USE APRICOT FASHWASH!!! OMG!!!!)

Recipes that Should be Illegal

Seriously, yo. This is one of those "cruelty to diabetics" recipes.

Also, they're selling Girl Scout cookies at work next week.

God's War Posters

Make your own!

Dating 101

If you go on a date with a girl and:

1) she does not contact you for a week (no call, text, e-mail)
2) you do not contact her for a week (no call, text, e-mail)

She will likely make the assumption that you're aware she is not interested, and has already happily assumed you are not interested as well.

So when you do call, a week later, she will be very Perplexed.

I have book deadlines now. Tra-la.

At this point, it'd take a pretty swoon-worthy date to pull my attention away from the book deadlines.

I have yet to have one of those.

Bowling, Beer, & Brutal Women

Steph and I went bowling tonight for free with a bunch of her coworkers. She works for a fairly large medical practice, so they'd reserved 26 lanes for their annual bowling tournament. Because the weather was icy, the other folks who were supposed to be in our team didn't show up, so it was me and Steph bowling, badly, in lane 26, drinking beer, calling out insults, giving each other high fives and snark for 3 games.

I dressed in one of my most comfortable, relaxed outfits. Long flared jeans and green T-shirt with a black zip up vest and hemp necklace choker, and I spent a lot of time with my thumbs hooked in my pockets and sidling up to the lane and being all cocky and walking tall, and oh man, it felt good. And as I bowled with Steph I realized, again, how good it feels to just act like myself. To swill beer and snark and walk like somebody who has her shit together. I actually haven't done that in awhile. People find me intimidating sometimes, and out here, I just feel.... well, this just doesn't feel like a place I can be me, sometimes. A lot of this came from the not-Boyfriend, I realize, who was terrified of the fact that I talked too loud and walked too confident, terrified of how I presented myself; not because he didn't like it (oh indeed he did), but because he was terrified of what other people would think of me. There's a lot of that "but oh God what would the herd think!" mentality out here.

And as I looked at the assembly of Steph's coworkers, I realized, again, how obviously and absurdly we just don't fit in here. Or, at least, in this subset of Ohio. These people have completely different values. They consider different things when they pick a spouse. Lives are run on guilt and obligation more than independence and commitment. It's like, you're supposed to have a life that's a certain way, and that's the life you make, even if you want something completely different. You build what you're supposed to have, even if it makes you miserable.

It's the weirdest thing out here that you get people my age who are on their second marriage or divorced and already have 3 or more kids. The "starter marriage" thing gets started early out here. You pick somebody based on... I don't know. I've always been incredibly picky about that. You build a life based on... I don't know. Not what I base mine on, that's for sure. Your goals, hopes, dreams, aspirations... nothing at all like mine. Interests, passions... I have so little in common with anybody out here, and I realized how odd and out of place that's made me feel.

I like my strong, butch personae. Not only has it gotten me pretty far, but I physically feel better when I step into it. When I try to quiet down and fem up, I feel stupid. I feel like a liar, and I feel weak and completely powerless. I'm just not me. But at least I "fit in" right?

Fuck that.

As I bowled, badly, and swilled beer tonight, I realized how far I'd come from where I'd been. I liked who I was (also, I really miss drinking, but I digress). I miss feeling safe, among folks who accept me for who I am. I don't trust anybody here to accept me for me. Not one bit. Everybody I've met out here wants me to change to fit their conception of what a good little girl should be (except Steph and the Old Man, of course).

And you know what?

That's not me. I don't accept your religions blindly. I don't agree with your politics. I don't agree with a lot of your hypocritical family values. I don't believe your gay son is going to hell and I don't believe your daughter only has her looks and breeding potential going for her. I don't think the height of refinement is beer and pizza on a Friday night, but it sure can be fun. Now let's discuss some literature and do explain to me why you think Bush's foreign policy is making friends and influencing people. Show me you can use your head. Demonstrate to me that you're not a sheep. I don't care what you believe so long as I know you got there by actually thinking about it. Do you just accept things that people tell you? Is what you have always enough?

Because it's never enough for me. And I realize that, out here, that makes me weird. It also means I'll never be as happy as most of these folks. Will I live a more interesting life? Maybe. Depends on your definition of interesting. One life isn't any better than the other, but I'm clear that the life that's OK for most folks out here isn't OK for me, and I get tired of feeling like I'm in the figurative closet all the time, trying to figure out how I can dress better and fem up and lose weight and dumb down my conversation so people take me seriously.

Fuck that.

God, you know, sitting there swilling beer and trading insults with Steph, I realized how much I miss being me. I miss being the me I was before I got sick. The whiskey-drinking, risk-taking nomad who never got attached to her lovers and ran around the world writing books. I liked that. And you know, when I came here, and my body had betrayed me and my world fell apart and it didn't look like the books were going anywhere, I built another life for myself, in my head. A life that would be different than the one I had. Not better or worse, but different. I found somebody I loved. I had a job a loved. I could get a little house and a garden and a dog and put my energy into building a life and a family and doing all those things that folks out here did. Not better or worse, just... different than what I was.

And tonight I realized just what I was planning to give up, how much of myself was getting lost along the way. Not better, not worse: different. A different self.

Did I like that different path? I don't know. Again, it was just... different. It wasn't what I had. It wasn't who I was tonight.

My dad said that my blog sounded a lot different since I moved to Dayton, and it's true. When you get hit with a shovel, when your whole world gets turned upside down, you have to decide where you're at, what happened, what needs to change. I wanted the boy and the dog and the garden and the house, not necessarily in that order.

Now I have no idea what I want or who I am, because all I want to do is swill whiskey and fuck the night away and chain smoke and get on a plane to Marrakech... and then I realize I already did that, and it brought me here.

So where do I go from here?

I don't know. I feel alive on nights like tonight, yes. But I was happy with the boy and the garden and the dog, too. Maybe they aren't mutually exclusive.

When somebody loves you, they love you for everything you are, good, bad, butch, brutal, bad bowler. And I'm all of those things and a lot more. Pretending I'm not, hiding it, covering it up, pretending that *all* I want is the garden and the house and not the midnight fucking in Marrakech, is a lie. It's gutting half of myself. It's sacrificing one to get the other.

I shouldn't have to sacrifice it. Those parts of myself should make each other stronger. Gutting one guts the other. I can't live a life that's half a person. I can't live half a life.

Now how do I get the house and the garden and the fucking in Marrakech?

This is the real question.

Shit

I feel like it.

Since last Friday when we agreed to the book contract, I've been allowing myself to eat pretty indiscriminately (there have been Chipotle runs, beer and cake, frosted cookies, chocolate cream pie, nachos, and more), and I've only worked out once this week. Some of this also has to do with a lot of work and lingering personal life stress, and the stress and unhealthy eating habits feed one another. The more stressed I am, the more I want to eat shit. The more shit I eat, the worse I feel. The more shit I eat, the more I don't care that I'm eating shit and feeling like shit. I haven't eaten so much shit the entire time since I got diagnosed as I have this week.

I've spent the whole week feeling up and down, mostly eight kinds of down, and now I'm just kind of weepy and exhausted.

I hate that I have to be so hyper-vigilant about food and exercise all the time. I hate that I can't eat what I want. I hate that I feel like shit, and the only way to get feeling level again is to tighten my control back up again and practice that hyper-vigilance.

I think that sometimes I just get tired of living under that tight control all the time. Sometimes I just want to bust out. Then I do, and this is where it gets me. I have to keep myself under control if I want to live any kind of life worth living.

Whine. Whine. Whine.

Quote of the Day

"A useless life is but an early death."
- JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE, Iphigenia in Tauris

Revelation

Man, it's been awhile since I got behind on e-mail. My day job is eating my life. In a *good* way, mind. It's keeping my brain busy, challenging, rewarding, but yeah, after this big sales project is done I'll need to slow down a little.

Because the Spice Must Flow

"She found him in the magicians' gym, where she should have expected him all along."

Which then explains why I was stuck for two months while she stood there waiting at his door. She was looking in the wrong place.

And just like that, the words come purling down the pipe once again.

Funny how that is.

Classic

The Only Reason to Live in Ohio

Cause after I pay off some debts in May, I'll have freed up $450 a month.

And then I'll get something like this.

It must be Spring Fever. I'm dying for my own place, even though Steph and the Old Man are happy to have me another year and staying here another year would make more sense.

We'll see how the job goes and what the bills look like this summer and see what makes the most sense.

But man, I'm itching for my own place.

Still Waiting at the Door

I'm about 2 months behind on my self-imposed deadline for Black Desert.

I was supposed to have a draft by next month, but it looks like it'll be May instead, with heavy revisions and something of a caliber that could be submitted to my editor by September or so (yes, I'm a heavy rewriter. Not just as I go - which is also heavy rewriting - but heavy rewriting after I have the draft. Until I know the final shape of the book, I can't edit it properly. It's complicated. I'll rant about it another time).

In any case, I usually have some trouble in the Dreaded Middle of a book, and tax season and heartbreak didn't exactly help the already muddy middle.

This weekend, I realized my sticking point in the narrative was that point in the book when Nyx knocks on Rhys's door for the first time in six years. And then... I stopped.

I wrote some scenes ahead of that, the scene where she meets Khos and Inaya, some later scenes of violence and destruction and trippy shapeshifting, but it was this point in the story, when she's gotta knock on the door of the guy who turned his back on her to make his own life that stuck me.

I've continued writing around the scene. I just keep staring at it. Tomorrow I'll be writing the thing out in a plain old notebook. Sometimes when I get stuck, taking it to another writing medium helps.

There's more I want to say about this particular sticking point, but I think I'll leave it at that for now.

Tomorrow I get through it, cause I've got two full-time jobs here now, and deadlines, yo.

Oddities of the Midwest

In conversation with somebody here in Dayton, I heard that he'd gone "snowboarding" over the weekend. How odd, I thought. Where the hell does somebody go skiing for a weekend in the middle of Ohio?

You have to understand, I'm from the Pacific Northwest. If we want to go skiing, you know, we drive the two hours to the Mountain. If we want to go to the beach, we drive the two hours to the beach.

This is Dayton, OH. Where the hell do you go skiing?

Well, it turns out, here in Middle America, find a hill and make some snow.

No, seriously.

Um, folks? If you like skiing, move within driving distance of actual mountains. They make snow out here.

They make snow.

I'm sorry, I know I really shouldn't find this shocking, but fake snow on a bumpy hill in the middle of the midwest, and you call that skiing?

No, no people.

A Proper Celebration

Steph & the Old Man took me out to the Amber Rose, here in Dayton, a surprisingly excellent Polish/Hungarian/Luthianian restaurant. This was our proper celebration dinner; their treat, as I won't see a penny for at least 60 days or so. The food was excellent. The Old Man and I split a pitcher of beer, of which I drank *at least* my half.

Ate bread and carrot cake and saurkraut and oohhhh did I mention I drank half a pitcher of dark beer and oh my yes, with my reduced diabetic tolerance, I feeling QUITE LOVELY THANK YOU. Mmmmmmm beeeeeeeeer!

Thanks again to everyone for the congrats. I'm bubbling over with happiness. And some drunkenness. But mostly happiness. I think. Well, the beer helps.

And yes, I worked on Black Desert today. Also saw Juno today (a second date that will be a last, but the movie was fun), which is just as incredibly sweet and brilliantly put together as everyone says it is. For those saying it's silly that she doesn't get an abortion - indeed, you're right, but there would be no movie otherwise. And for those who say, "She's way more snarky and put together than any 16 year old," well yes, you're right. And, "Somebody that snarky wouldn't have pre-meditated unprotected sex," well, you're right. Welcome to Hollywood. It's called suspension of disbelief. Did you think "Live Free or Die Hard" was a cutting-edge documentary?

In any case, if you haven't seen Juno, I highly recommend it (also, holy shit, she's the same actress who played the lead in Hard Candy. Now her kick ass performance in Juno doesn't seem so much like she came out of nowhere. If you have the stomach for it, I highly recommend Hard Candy, too. A quote straight from Ellen Page off set [who also considers herself a feminist] "As a girl, you're supposed to love Sleeping Beauty. I mean who wants to love Sleeping Beauty when you can be Aladdin?" ).

Then go out and have a lovely drunken dinner afterward, because really, you deserve it.

Yes, It's More-or-Less Official

Song of the night, just gifted to myself from iTunes. Because everyone needs ridiculous songs to flail around wildly to during nights like this one.

In fact, listen to it while you read the rest of this post.

Cause I am.

I have been informed that the following news has already been announced to the industry channels, and I've been told I can post about it, but I haven't gotten to it until now because hey, I was out celebrating with a Chipotle dinner, so I'm a little behind on my announcements, and this is one of those weird deals that makes for awesome bar chat.

So, God's War has been bouncing around at publishers since this summer. First on a query I sent out to Del Rey, who ultimately passed, even after a round of revisions ("not marketable enough"), then on to one of the editors at Bantam ("ultimately not marketable enough") and had been sitting out at another publisher for three weeks when my agent suddenly heard from the senior editor at Bantam, Juliet Ulman.

Ulman had gotten wind of the project (which, again, had already been passed on by another editor at Bantam) and asked my agent to send the book back to Bantam. This time, it landed on Ulman's desk.

24 hours later, Ulman sent my agent an offer for a 3 book deal with an option for my next book.

No, seriously.

My book was accepted by an editor at a house where it had already been rejected.

Awesome.

What a 24-hour receipt-to-offer time tells me is that Ulman was thinking something like, "I don't fucking care if nobody has any idea how to market this. I WANT TO BUY THIS BOOK" (but you'll have to ask her for her exact thought process on this one).

And you know what 24-hour-receipt-to-offer means to me?

I found somebody who fucking LOVES my book. And that makes me so fucking happy I can't even tell you. I so wanted to find somebody who loved this weird, bloody, contaminated desert slash-and-hack adventure novel, I just can't tell you (and after I found out Ulman was also K.J. Bishop and Jeff VanderMeer's editor at Bantam, it suddenly made sense that this was the editor who liked this book).

We officially accepted Bantam's offer today, after the third publisher decided not to make a counter-offer (Yes: "just not marketable enough").

Ok, jump up and down for glee and be happy.

Now I'm going to explain to you why I am not suddenly J.K. Rowling rich, and there's a reason my celebratory dinner tonight was out at Chipotle.

Cause see, Scalzi wasn't just blowing smoke up his ass with his money post.

The typical advance for a first novel is $5-15K. Minus agent's 15%. Minus self-employed taxes (generally, 30%).

And since these are checks that will end up with me, I'll break this all down for you without any shame.

I got a 3 book deal at 10K per book.

Now, do the math (yes, it's hard, but this is what I was doing all last night).

Math, folks.

After agent's (awesomely deserved, let me tell you!) fee, and taxes, I'll get paid out roughly half of what the deal is actually for, paid out over the next 3 years.

So I'm not rich.

But you better bet I'm paying off a credit card just before Wiscon and getting myself some goddamn new pants after all.

NOW THAT I'VE GOTTEN THAT OUT OF THE WAY:

Want to see more books like God's War (because I know at least half of you have been reading excerpts of it here for years)? Want kick-ass heroines who chop off people's heads and bloody their way across the desert with not too much interest in husbands and kids (but sex is yummy) and bring brutal justice and whiskey drinking back into style?

God's War. Fall 2009

Buy it.

Often.

Buy it for your kids (12+ If you're squeamish about violence or swearing, you probably don't read this blog), yourself, your significant other, your coworkers (mine are already asking when they can pre-order from Amazon), all the geeks you know (Nyx is way hotter than that lame-o Cylon in the red dress; Nyx is fucking SCARY), Sue & Joe Blow on the street (really, who doesn't love a good far-future romp across the desert with a kick-ass heroine?), your dogs (there are shapeshifters in this book, did I mention that?), your martial arts and boxing buddies (boxing as plot device! Yes, it has boxing too!), and every woman you know who ever wanted to kick a little ass.

Because it's an ass-kicking little book.

And I am very, very proud of it right about now.

There's a reason I was redoing my writing schedule last night, too. Black Desert will be due by the end of the year at the latest (shouldn't be a problem; it's halfway done), and Babylon a year after that. Oh shit I have to get cracking. Yes, that's right:

Start the 2010 decade off right with Nyx & co.

God's War: Fall 2009
Black Desert: Fall 2010
Babylon: Fall 2011

(tentative titles and schedules. I haven't seen this in writing yet)

You keep buying them, I'll keep writing them.

And though they'll all get proper acknowledgements full of enthusiastic swear words and colorful verbs later, huge thanks right now to Jenn Jackson and Juliet Ulman, because I quickly learned that there wasn't a clear marketing niche for this one, and they're both taking a risk with the project.

Thanks for believing in it, cause I know we're just getting started.

Writing peeps (you know who you are): thanks for keeping the faith with me. There were times when it got lonely here. And now it's all uphill. But. Hey. I reached the hill!

Now go buy my book! ;)

NBL!

It Should Not Suprise Me....

... that what I'm sitting here doing on Valentine's Day is revising my book writing schedule for 2008-2009.

Also, still recovering from all those lunges we did yesterday.

My poor, sorry ass.

Seriously, it's tough to get in and out of my chair.

And I have bowling Saturday.

Oh, my ass.

Math

I'm rolling over my big CC balance to a 0% interest card (finally found a card with a limit high enough that I can do this).

The smaller card will be paid off this year without a hitch, but this bigger one will take the two years, even knowing some things about how the financial year may turn in my favor here in a bit.

This was another thing the Old Man had on my list of things to do in order to get my finances in order. Even at 9.7% interest, carrying a $13,500 balance on a card means blowing through over a thousand a year in interest payments. Or, I could pay $420 right now and have 0% interest on the whole thing until I pay it off.

In the case of my smaller card, this wouldn't make sense because it will get paid off here in a few months, but this big one, even with a nice work raise and possible freelancing money, is going to take at least a year and a half. At least.

I did actually sit down and do the math, figuring I'm paying $550 month, plus about 10% interest, from now until December. That's still $1125 in interest alone from now until December.

So.

Yeah, transferred that balance today.

I'm getting my financial shit together, people. It's just a pain in the ass.

God's War Back Cover Blurb

If you're working on writing up queries or synposes, I've found it sorta fun and helpful to write up one of those "back cover" blurbs that you see on the back of books as practice. Writers tend to be huge readers, which means we've all read about a million of these.

Not only is it fun to imagine that your books will actually have one of these written about it sometime, it's also a really helpful warmup for writing synopses (which I hate).

Here's one I wrote up for fun for God's War a while back:
_____________________________________________________

Nyx had already been to Hell. One prayer more or less wouldn’t make any difference...

In the bloody wastes of Nasheen, a centuries-old holy war rages.

Fueled by Tirhani arms dealers, organic technicians, brawling mullahs, and swarms of magician-trained locusts, the origins of the war are shady and complex. It’s taken a bloody mix of mercenaries, bounty hunters, rogues, pirates and bel dames to enforce it.

Today, a godless woman may end it.

Bounty hunter Nyxnissa so Dasheen left God and her dead brothers at the front. Now she works the border cities cutting heads off terrorists for cash.

But when a dubious deal between her government and an alien gene pirate goes bad, Nyx’s crooked reputation makes her the preferred tool for the rogue’s recovery. The stuff inside this bounty’s head could end the war… but at what price?

Nyx is about to find out.

__________________________________________________

Man, I'm a fan girl.

Got Agent?

Speaking of agentry, my buddy Colleen Lindsay is now a new agent for Fine Print Literary Management.

Got novel?

She's looking for brand spanking new clients in fantasy, science fiction, pop culture, graphic novels, and maybe more. Check out her submission guidelines for details.

Colleen is bloody awesome, and she's the one who initially recommended I send God's War to Del Rey and got the whole thing started. She's been in the biz for ages, and specializes in publicity, so know that you'll have a great book lover and rampant publicist on your side.

If I hadn't already signed with Jackson last year, I would have signed on and taken a chance with Colleen without a blink this year. She knows her shit, and she's got a lit agency behind her to help her learn the nitty-gritty of agentry.

So, checkout the guidelines and send her a query if it looks like your stuff's a good fit!