The Blue Candle Society

JT unstuck her feet and made her way back to their table as Bryce went back to looking at his menu. She didn’t know he was carrying a gun, but it seemed pretty likely. She and Israel had brought along some firepower, but it was all in the form of longarms in the trunk of the car. Having some sort of confrontation in the restaurant probably wouldn’t have gone well even if their handguns hadn’t been hidden back in JT’s trailer, but she would have felt better about the possibility.

She glanced out the window at the parking lot as she slid into her chair. No one was hanging around the car or anything. She could see the black SUV that Bryce had been in the night before, parked at a respectful distance away. She switched her gaze to Israel, and after a moment he seemed to feel it and spoke without looking up from the dessert menu. Continue reading ‘Serial Saturday: Road Trip, Part 12’

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Personally, I find this response to the idea of romance and writer to be more persuasive, but I suppose it is only fair to also present the original post and let my readers decide.

Posted in General writing things

JT sat in the passenger seat of Israel’s old Pontiac, bouncing for a long while on whipped shocks after they hit a pothole and wondering if she’d made a mistake. She leaned forward and pulled the Saint Christopher’s medal hanging from the rear view mirror toward her slightly. “Where’d you get this car?” she asked.

“Stole it, back in Wyoming,” Israel replied. Continue reading ‘Serial Saturday: Road Trip, Part 11’

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It’s Bloomsday!  But I don’t have anything much to say about that, because I’m just a genre writer.

I tried to find the copy of Emma Bull’s Medusa that I had kicking around with a review of Finnegan’s Wake by Steven Brust, because it seemed marginally relevant, but I was unsuccessful.

So, uh…there you go then.

Happy Bloomsday!

Posted in General writing things

I hope everyone will forgive me for another post on the writing process, but I’ve had two bouts with coming up with ideas for one of my WIPs in two different ways recently, and I found the contrast interesting.  I had to set aside the draft of a novel a while back because it had become such a tangle of characters wandering aimlessly across the pages that it depressed me just to look at it.  Finally, a few days back I set aside my laptop and started scribbling notes on a piece of scrap paper (I really ought to get a monogrammed moleskin notebook or something), starting with the things I knew I wanted to keep and sort of making a run at developing an actual plot for future events.  I don’t know why pen and paper works better for this sort of thing than typing, but it sort of worked.

It left me with quite a few holes, though, but today I think I used my other favorite method for coming up with ideas to largely fill them in and make a few connections.  My best state of mind for this sort of thing, even better than the state of mind I’m in when driving or waking far from any recording media, is sort of half-asleep.  So whenever I find myself awake in the middle of the night or something I now try to turn my thoughts to whatever writing problem I have.  Then I fall asleep and dream about something completely unrelated.  Luckily, my dogs are there to help me out.  Come six AM or so on a typical weekend, the dogs, who, you see, weren’t up until all hours writing fiction or query letters are rarin’ to go (I will pause here for twenty seconds for any agents who read this to make various jokes about query letters that appear to have been written by family pets)

…

Ha!  Most amusing.  Anyway, my point was that the dogs are of the opinion that I should get up at pretty much the same time on the weekend as I would if I were going to work, and make this opinion known by wandering around and poking me with wet noses and so on.  I can sometimes buy some time by letting them outside and staggering back to bed, but they generally spot a deer or something and start barking/baying their fool heads off, so I have to bring them back in to avoid neighborhood lynch mobs.  Then they settle in to wait patiently for breakfast for about three minutes before beginning to wander around making ominous noises of the sort I associate with eating inappropriate things or climbing on forbidden furniture before falling suspiciously silent.  This cycle repeats for a while as I lie in bed, keeping me nicely at that half-asleep state for quite some time, and sometimes allowing ideas to pop into my head.

Posted in General writing things

Israel felt himself beginning to doze off. He was exhausted, obviously, but part of it was that he felt safer than he had for a while. It wasn’t that he felt secure, exactly, but closer to it than he had in days. According to Lucien, there were wards placed around JT’s land, primitive ones made of bone that Lucien was fairly contemptuous of, and in nothing like the density at the home in Kaycee, but they were something. It was also a calming night, warm and moonlit, with crickets chirping in the fields all around. He should have been nervous, so far from people–JT’s nearest neighbor was almost half a mile off across a brushy field–but he wasn’t. Or no more nervous than anyone in the society was, pretty much full time, anyway. Even with a bright gibbous moon above them, he could see thousands of stars if he leaned back in the lawn chair that sat out in front of the trailer. Continue reading ‘Serial Saturday: Road Trip, Part 10’

Posted in Serials

Judging from the fact that these “Easy-to-squeeze” bottles are still available for sale, I can only assume that not only are the people who designed them still working for the Heinz corporation, but they aren’t being hunted through swamps by packs of vicious hounds, as would happen in a just world.  “Now steady on, there, Williams,” some of you are no doubt saying, “that seems a bit harsh.”

First of all, stop talking like someone working for the British East India Company; you sound ridiculous.  Second, you’ve clearly never used one of these bottles.  The bottles are, I suppose, easy to squeeze, in the sense that a smallish rock is easy to squeeze, and at first the effect is much the same.  You squeeze harder and harder, with nothing happening, while your hamburger cowers under the impending onslaught.  Soon, as you have to shift position to really crank down on the sides of the bottle with both hands, you realize that no good can come of this, but what can you do?  Unscrew the cap and spoon ketchup out like a common peasant?  Finally, when the pressure on the bottle reaches about 205 PSI, you have finally overcome the powerful valve, and ketchup comes out of the bottle, about a cup and a half of it at 100 MPH.

It is horrible for ketchup, worse for mustard due to the fact that all the collateral damage is more likely to  stain everything within a few yards, and  just plain tragic for pickle relish.  Granted, any sort of squeeze bottle for pickle relish is a mug’s game, but for relish the stupid bottle doesn’t even manage the one thing it gets right for the other condiments – avoiding that dribble of separated water.  For some reason, the sight of greenish water soaking my hot dog bun inspires me to panic and makes me hoss down even harder on the sides of the bottle in an attempt to get some actual pickle bits to come out sooner, and that is a very bad thing.  I can sort of understand the motive behind trying to come up with a bottle that avoids some of the classic problems associated with condiment bottles, but after it becomes abundantly clear that the design is a tragic mistake, why does it remain on the market?  Did you make too many, Heinz, or is this sheer arrogance on your part?

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Once again, I got to thinking about something I was writing while I was on a ride, and had an idea for a bit of dialogue that most likely would have netted me a Hugo award, then forgot it by the time I got to where I had a computer or piece of paper.  It’s just…right there.  Something about a ferret, or maybe a Buick.  Something like that, but not clear enough for me to work with.  I’m sure there is a proper neurological reason that I have my best ideas while walking dogs, driving, or riding, but it is rather vexing.  I suppose I could call myself on my cell phone and leave a message while I’m driving, but given how often I yell at other people doing that it doesn’t seem right (not that they ever hear me since I’m in my car and they are in their own, drifting slowly across lanes of traffic or running stop signs).

My best bet these days is going to an academic conference and ending up at a presentation that doesn’t interest me.  That’s idea time gold right there – sitting in a dimly-lit room listening to sonorous, relaxing noises while I have a pen and paper sitting right in front of me.  All I have to do is remember to look thoughtful and attentive between writing.  Actually, I just happened upon a sheet of paper that I once filled up with ideas at a conference and then, um, forgot about.  Perhaps I’ll go work with that, since the ferret thing isn’t happening.

Posted in General writing things

“Christ, I guess I’m never coming back here,” JT said.

Israel glanced around the pizza joint. They were attracting a lot of attention. “Is this someplace you want to visit often?” he asked. He picked up the slice of pizza in front of him and eyed it dubiously.

“There ain’t that many fucking places in this town to grab lunch on a half hour break,” she said, earning a glare from the mother at the table near them. She returned the glare until the other woman dropped her gaze. Israel shrugged and took a bite of his pizza. It wasn’t that bad, for something that had been sitting under a heat lamp. It was nice to be back on the east coast, where one rarely hit truly dire pizza. Continue reading ‘Serial Saturday: Road Trip, Part 9’

Posted in Serials

Should a skillet release a burning smell when exposed to the flame from a gas stove?  You know what, I think I already know the answer to that.  Eleven dollars for three skillets, though!

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