Archive for May, 2014

I’ve learned I really shouldn’t say AH-HA! on the blog because sometimes I’m wrong, and then I have to come back here and admit it. Take this post for instance. I wasn’t wrong in that there was a problem, I was wrong in that I don’t need to split the book in half. I wrote the majority of the words in the WIP during NaNo, and that’s the problem. Convinced that I know Lien so well, I’d only rough sketched him into the outline, which made me feel like he was missing from the book. When the book is ninety percent Lien, that’s an issue (ya think?). In an attempt to make word-count during NaNo, I went way off course and simply need to give Lien his screen time to bring it back.

My TBR shelf grew.

My TBR shelf grew. I have a serious problem.

PRINCE LESTAT is coming out in October, so I decided to reread TVC from the beginning. I’ll just leave that info here and move on.

My daughter was accepted into “the program” at college, which means she’s four-ish semesters away from becoming a teacher. She changed her mind about the whole medical thing, which would have meant she had to leave town, and think she’s happier for it. The gods know I am. Saying I’m proud of her doesn’t even begin.

I’ve been studying. A lot. I have an entomology exam on June 20th and failure is not an option. This will take up so much of my time over the next month that it’s ridiculous, but it has to happen. Like I said, failure is not an option–day job stuff, gotta pay the bills. Lucky for me, the studying has kept my mind off other things. For the most part. If anyone heard a squee coming from the vicinity of Georgia a few days ago, that was me.

So, while I’m off studying…

It’s been a skinny minute since I did #horseandhound questions (see the tag below). They’re usually paraphrased questions I get in email that accumulate over time, but this time I’m inviting you. Anything you’d like to know, ask. Feel like making up a ridiculous question? Go for it. Wanna go all serious on me? That’s fine, too. Leave me your questions here, over on Facebook, or email me astrea AT mindspring.com and when this exam is over, the reporter from Horse and Hound will join us.

I can’t promise I’ll tell you the truth, but I promise I won’t lie. It’s the fae in me.



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Three Years

It’s the blog’s three year anniversary and none of these bums give a right damn.


Lazy puppies. You’d think they’d be excited that mom’s over here doing all the things, but no. If a cookie isn’t involved, none of them are moving.

Wow. Three years. Has it only been that long? It seems like much longer.

Happy anniversary to the blog! What do I want for my anniversary? An agent would be nice. I’ll take a dose of magic that suddenly makes writing a synopsis a breeze. And chocolate. Always chocolate.

(happy second birthday to Lily.)




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Oh, dear gods, I can relate. 

Once upon a time, I went to a lot of Star Trek conventions because I was heavily involved with the local chapter of Starfleet. I met people like George Takei, Robin Curtis, Marina Sirtis, and John de Lancie. Two people who I went slightly fangirl over were Bjo Trimble and Gunnar Hansen, aka the guy who played Leatherface in Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I remember thinking, “Oh, my gods, I’m in a hotel room with Bjo Trimble, talking to her like we’ve known each other forever,” and, “Oh, my gods, Gunnar Hansen just bought me a drink.”

Those were *squee* moments that I think I handled well, since I can’t remember most of the conversations. You’d think I would if I’d shoved my foot in my mouth at some point. I even managed to meet Anne Rice, a few times, and not fangirl, but she’s another story.

Recently, I did a thing, which hooked me up with an author for a thing–yes, I’m going to be purposefully vague. I found this chick through her blog way back when she first chronicled her path to publication, so having an email from her in my inbox was like… holy crap. Even if I did do a thing and knew it was coming,  I spent a few minutes babbling to myself as I stared at the email. Yanno, you try to be cool in crafting a response to being asked what your book is about, because you’re emailing with one of your favorite authors, and right after you hit send you *wince*. Holy crap, did I just do that? Now she’s gonna think I want her opinion on my query, but I only sent it because it’s a short and sweet (and bad) gist of it and I know she’s super busy right now and holy crap. *bang-head-on-desk*

So, yes, it’s possible to fangirl when you’re alone in a room, and, yes, it’s possible to want to crawl under your desk over a poorly constructed email.

I’m so glad to know I’m not the only dork in the world, and would feel so much better if you would share your holy crap moments.


p.s. Happy Mother’s Day, in particular to Lily White LeFevre–dear friend, and brand new mom.


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That Moment When…

Your mind is suddenly unencumbered enough to figure out you’ve been writing two books in one–that you need to take your current WIP, split it into as many pieces as necessary, and start over. It also means that half the notes on the corkboard need to be taken down to be used later, and that the 10-ish-k in cut words need to move into their own file because they’re good words, just not good right now.

I can remember a time not so long ago when that sort of realization would make me totally flip my shit.

I can laugh and just suck it up now because I’ve spent nearly three years mostly not laughing. But, you know, I guess you have to go through the jeebus-crimmeny-what-the-actual-fuck-is-going-on-here? stuff to get to a place where you can enjoy the good stuff and, above all, trust yourself. Believe me, you’ll know when you have real issues and when it’s just your insecurity talking, and this wasn’t insecurity. This was a problem that needed fixing. The words were coming, but… the chapters felt disjointed. So, I stepped back and asked myself, again, what this book was supposed to be about.

One chapter: “Well, it ain’t this.”

Next chapter: “But it is this.”

So, now it’s all *snip-rip-tear*.

After I put laundry in the dryer and share a mandatory cute puppy pic.



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