Construction Zone

(I posted this on the 29th, but it was about 5:00 in the morning and I literally couldn’t see the words to fix glaring errors. So, now I am reposting it.)

Do your duty in all things. You cannot do more, you should never wish to do less

Robert E. Lee

As you might have noticed, I’ve been thinking a lot about Lee lately. He is probably one of my greatest heroes and a fascinating, tragic man.

Lee was devoted to honor and duty. His loyalties were legend. He always wanted people to do their best and led by example. He graduated from West Point with no demerits, an incredible feat.

When I think about my dream home, I quite imagine it will have paintings of Lee and J.E.B. Stuart in it. I had a hallway set aside for these portraits and an antique buffet below them where I could place some converted kerosene lamps in the old house.

I think in some ways, I could find an agent for Paladin with just a bit more poking and prodding. However, I see details of the story in my mind, the way I envisioned how the house would look when I finished it. I know what Paladin is supposed to be and I don’t want to settle for less.

Writing this book has been a lot like building that house. I had to gut it to the outside walls so we could rewire it. I discovered heart pine boards under the sheetrock, so I tried to salvage those to reuse in the house. It took a lot longer to tear the house down that way, but the wood saved was worth it.

Since I had all the sheetrock and ceilings down, I decided to rebuild all the walls with studs on sixteen-inch centers. Every wall. That was a lot of tearing out and rebuilding. However, the structure was sound and I had exact bones to hang the rest on.

I’ve tried to write like this. The bones, the plot and structure of the story, must be in place. All the pretty in the world will not hide a weak plot.

I planed down all the heart pine boards, cut them to exact widths, dadoed edges on them so I could reinstall them correctly and sanded them. Then, in a fit of insanity, I decided to install them in an X on one wall of the living room. Actually, I was going to do all the walls like that, but I didn’t have enough lumber and Don was getting cranky about how long it was taking me. So, I did one wall with four sections of boards that had to groove together precisely and join exactly to form these diagonals. It turned out beautifully. The other three walls were sheet rocked and I did a smooth plaster finish on them and then painted them a buckskin suede. Yes, that Ralph Lauren paint really does look like suede. So much so, everyone who sees it has to touch it.

If I hadn’t been so exacting about the way the studs were placed, I wouldn’t have been able to do this as there would have been gaps where I needed support.

I laid the tile in the house, built the cabinets by hand, hung wallpaper and paneled, painted, stained, varnished and even did some plumbing and electrical.

In the master bathroom, I built a vanity that had two higher sections flanking the lavatory. I covered it with rosa salmon marble and stained the wainscot and cabinetry mahogany. The wallpaper was a taupe color with flowers and metallic highlights. I know it sounds gaudy, but it was very pretty and very antique-flavored. I ran out of wallpaper and it was a discontinued pattern, so I had to improvise. I painted a section above the bathtub taupe to match the wallpaper and cut out flowers from the scraps. Then I pasted the flowers in a large bouquet. It was beautiful and looked like I planned it that way. I installed some old fashion hanging lights. That was supposed to be my getaway place to take long baths with candles flickering on the marble vanity top and Celtic music playing in the background. Will and I joked it was my old lady bathroom.

The master closet was cedar-lined and large enough for me to install built in drawers and boot racks as well as put a dresser in there. All the closets were cedar-lined

None of the pretty stuff, the stuff that makes it convenient would be possible if I hadn’t arranged for a solid foundation. Once again, back to the plot.

The laundry room, I designed so I would have room to do crafts as well as laundry. It was wainscoted with a dark mauve paneling, trimmed with honey pine molding. The upper wall was papered with an antique advertising paper in sienna tones. At the ceiling was a border of Gibson Girl type advertisements in colors of rose, moss green, gold etc. Will helped me with every bit of the laundry room, including papering the ceiling with the embossed paper that looks like the pressed tin ceilings. We both agreed we were not wallpapering any more ceilings. I had already planned on putting in the real tin ceilings in the master bedroom, kitchen and dining room, but that definitely made up our minds.

I’ve been reading through Paladin lately and I realized I do like the plot. It’s complicated enough to keep a reader’s interest. It’s not so convoluted they feel like they have to keep notes. It’s playful enough to keep you happy, kind of like the old lady bathroom or the laundry room decorated with washboards and antique irons.

I wainscoted the main bath and did the marble tile on that vanity also. I found a damaged grapevine wreath at Michael’s, bought some silk flowers and made a nice wreath to go in there. Put in extra cabinets so there would be lots of storage and wainscoted it. All the woodwork was in a mahogany finish.

I built transoms going from the kitchen into the three different areas. They were going to have carved glass in them or stained glass if I really got ambitious.

The house had nine-foot ceilings so I built custom cabinets in the kitchen. The “regular” size upper cabinets had tin inserts and I was doing a marigold punched tin design in them. The upper row of cabinets have glass inserts and are wired for lighting so I could put china and crystal up there and be able to accent it. As I said before, I love the little Degenhardt chicken and bird with berry and the Boyd swan salt cellars. I installed glass shelves in the window above the kitchen sink so in the afternoon, the sun shined through them, making it look like stained glass.

Marigold punched tin.

Tuscan Pink Bird

Vaseline swan

The task now, is to clean up the construction mess and finish the details. I found some 90 ounce carpet on sale and got it for a third of what it normally sells for so all that is left is to get it installed. I’ve already tiled the other rooms. The hard part is done. The house is there, everything works. The water runs when someone turns on a faucet. The lights turn on. The doors and windows close.

So it is with the manuscript. Just about everything works. I’m having to change a few things because I cut some stuff in the slash-and-burn process that left some dangling ends.

It took six years to get the house to that point. It seems like it’s been as long on this book at times. Anything worth loving is worth spending time on. It’s worth doing your best.
I have to admit, knowing I had two agents and an editor who invited me to send pages has made me antsy. I know what the chances are slim that they will pick it up, but I also feel someone will. The right agent and the right publisher will click with it.

It’s worth taking that extra effort to make it right and not just make it done.

Strike The Tent

The devil's name is dullness. Robert E. Lee

I have, in my own way, determined my path.

After weeks of a slash-and-burn policy regarding Paladin, I’ve decided to concentrate on the story and not the fifteen percent discount on words. I am still determined to tighten it, but I am done with the scorched earth policy,

The magic is missing in many places now and that magic may be the only thing I have to offer. Heaven knows there is nothing unique about magic, murder and mayhem. It’s a story that has been told since the beginning of time. Hopefully, the beta readers will find something that can be trimmed without sacrificing the story.

Otherwise, I may have sealed my fate with my portly manuscript.

Cyrus

I had held off getting a pet because I planned on going to Iraq or Afghanistan to get a job. High risk, but also high pay. High enough I could spend a year or two over there, come home and buy a little house with some land.

My lawyer advised me not to leave the country until after the divorce was finished, so I canceled my applications with KBR. It’s been sixteen months now and we’re still not any closer to getting it settled, so I just wasted that time waiting. Now, the jobs have dwindled down to near nothing. Regardless, I am taking some typing courses this year to improve skills and getting in physical shape so I can go if the opportunity arises.

Will said it is not a good time to go over there with various situations, including releasing 12,000 prisoners because the Iraqis won’t take responsibility for them. Odd isn’t it? They don’t want to take them and be the bad guys and yet we are the bastards for manning the prisons. The solution? The U.S. opens the doors and turns them all loose. Plus, the U.S. has now agreed civilian contractors can be tried by Iraqis, so that is another can of worms.

Anyway, I’ve put it in God’s hands. If I can’t get a job overseas, He will make a way here for me to have a home.

Against my better judgment, I went to the animal shelter to look at cats in December. There were several cats in there, including a very large male gray and white cat and a large female gray and white. There were several others, but those two caught my eye because they were old cats and because both of them came up to the cage doors and rubbed up against them so I would pet them. Everyone wants cute kittens so the older cats often go unclaimed.

I asked the attendant how long before they put them to sleep. He said they would keep them as long as they could and they tried not to put the animals down unless they ran out of room. I have to say something about the Odessa animal control. I’ve been in there several times over the years and the people who work there care about the animals. I couldn’t do it because it would break my heart to put perfectly fine animals down, but someone has to do it.

The attendant went on about what a nice cat Cyrus was and how much he liked him. He’s been declawed and he’s in good shape aside from being fat. He had been dropped off in a night drop and the owner left the information about the cat.

I stopped back a few more times, hoping someone had adopted him. One day a woman up front said she thought all the cats had been adopted. I went back anyway and looked at the dogs and then went to the cat kennel on impulse. There was Cyrus. He got up when I walked in and put his paw up on the door.

Oh, don’t do that to me. It’s Christmas and I have to do some shopping for my kids and grandkids. I petted him and then he went back and laid down, watching me with those large eyes. It was almost as if he was saying, “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

I can’t do this. What if I finally get this divorce finished and I have a chance to go overseas?

I should have known I was lost when I bought a pet Christmas stocking on clearance, just in case.

I called daily after Christmas to see if he was still there. I left my phone number and told them to call me if he got put on the destroy list. Then I went in again to see Cyrus and this time he didn’t come to the door. He laid up in the little cat perch and just watched me. There was a beautiful black Persian in the cage next to him, who immediately came up to me, but not Cyrus.

I went back out and asked the attendant if Cyrus was sick. He said he thought he was just depressed and tired of being in the cage. He had him out earlier when he was feeding him and he was fine then.

Nightly, I thought about something I had read in a book once about hearing the soft slurping noises of cats sucking blood from their masters' throats. What if Cyrus was a vampat? Yes, that’s why I don’t read horror.

Why did his owner give him up? Was he dying? Did he have some dread disease? Had he become anti-social and taken to pooping in his owner’s shoes? There had to be some reason to leave the cat someone obviously loved. That got my writer’s mind to going, coming up with all kinds of stories. It doesn’t take much to send me down the rabbit trail.

I went back and looked at him again, but he still refused to come to me. The Persian had no such qualms.

I knew then if I got out in the country again, I would be the crazy cat lady, adopting cats, spaying and neutering them and letting them live out their lives.

I really don’t need to be spending the money to adopt this cat then get the neutering, shots etc done.

So much for being logical. I went in the next day and paid for the adoption, but I couldn't pick him up until the following day. If I took him in within 48 hours they would take $10 off the shots. That would help. The adoption fee also included $20 off the neutering. A bit more help.

I picked him up and brought him home the next day. The Persian was still there and he wanted to go home too.

They were adopting out a kitten, so I strolled around the dog kennel while I waited. There were several little dogs, including a Chihuahua in a Christmas sweater. In one kennel was a Blue Heeler bitch. I tried to call her over to me, but she just watched me. She would be the kind to bite the tar out of you because she was afraid, but once you made friends, she’d be by your side for life. I don’t even particularly like Heelers, but I would have taken her home.

Finally, Cyrus, was home. He would be thrilled to be out of the cage and love me forever.

Yeah, right. He walked around the apartment and then went up to hide out under the bed. He stayed under the bed for the first week except at night when he came out to sleep with me. There went the discount.

The first night he curled up behind my back and started kneading it with his paws, purring loudly. Hmmmm. That feels pretty good. Then he curled up against the small of my back and I could feel his heat through the comforter. Oh, yeah. That works.

When he did decide to come out of hiding, he ambled down the stairs and met me when I got in from work. I was so excited I hugged him and petted him until he got tired of it and jumped down. I got out the bucket of toys and tossed out a variety to him. He glanced down at them and then back up at me. He needed no words to interpret the look.

“You’re kidding right? You want me to play? If you wanted cute and frisky, you should have adopted a kitten.”

So, me and the old man have settled into our routine.

I call for him when I get home from work and he thumps down the stairs. He spends a few minutes in my lap receiving due attention and then lies down by my chair when I settle in to write. At bedtime he follows me up the stairs and gets a bedtime snack, then jumps up on the bed after I turn out the lights. Lately, he has decided to walk the length of me and stare down at me until I pet him again. This wasn’t too bad, aside from him being very heavy, until I messed up my back.

Once the walking the Julie routine is done, he curls up under my arm or near my feet and settles in for the night.

I will probably find a different bed cover than the satin comforter. He seems to like the feel of it, but I’m not sure if the hind claws will be very kind to it.

Cyrus one

Cyrus Two

Cyrus Three

Goals

I’m behind on posts for a few reasons. Still trying to get the first round of edit done by the end of the month. Ten chapters to go so we’ll see. I’m not terribly pleased with it as it seems bland to me now, but I’m going over it again once this round is over. I may have to delete more scenes or even a few more chapters so I can add the spice back in. That’s going to leave some unresolved arcs so that’s a last resort.

Second, income tax. ‘Nuff said. At least they are done. We’ll see if I can manage to save part of it to get computer fixed.

Third, my assistant is mia and presumably has quit. I can use the overtime, so I won’t complain, but sleep is nice also.

Fourth, I feel like crap. If I didn’t know better, I would think I have broken ribs. Not sure what I did, but time heals all things.

So, with mind solidly not engaged, it’s time to announce to the world this year’s goals.

As I said before, it’s much better to strongly visualize your goals. If you want to save $5,000, find something you like that costs $5,000. Get a color picture of your goal. Make it real. Make it yours. Plan out in detail what it’s going to take to make it a reality. Then, release it. Don’t obsess about it. Plan your work and work your plan, but don’t let it possess you. Don’t lose your love of life or what have you gained?

When you stop loving to write, it’s time to take a break. Your work should be a work of love as well as a work of art. The world is filled with the mundane. Open your heart and pour it out on the page. Make your world come alive. Entice the reader with the hints of what is to come and seduce them with the promise. Make them crave your words and your world. When you have completely and utterly exhausted them, kiss them gently and make them feel they are a special part of your world. Lure them back and, like a good lover, never stop looking for ways to excite them.

And now, the 2009 goals.

1. Lose weight. Yeah, I know. And, unfortunately, when I stress I eat. I am stressed right now. None the less, the flab must go.

The best way I’ve found to lose weight is to work out daily, plan my meals and keep a food diary.

2. Personal reformation such as taking better care of myself.

3. Finish Paladin

A. Edit
B. Re-read and Martinize.
C. Edit.
D. Beta readers
E. Final edit

4. Submission process. Yes, I know two agents asked for pages, but let’s be honest, the chances of acceptance are very slim.

A. Dream list research
B. Set up submission logs.
C. Query letter
D. Cover letter
E. Synopsis
F. Partnership with agent.

5. Write first chapter to the second book in the Paladin series and set it aside to simmer.

6. Start on new project. Probably a Martha and Tilley mystery, but who knows.

7. Organize apartment and get ready to move.

8. Start Surrey fund.

A. Plane ticket
B. Hotel room
C. Registration fee.
D. Prep H fund

9. Go to a renaissance faire or Celtic festival

10. Go to a Pow Wow.

11. Fix computer

12. New laptop

13. Take typing course.

14. Plan Ireland trip

15. Either find a home or get a job overseas.

16. If I find a home, get a dog.

17. Pickup

18. Mahan tall top boots

19. Archive all family photos.

20. Elk hide

Passing the Power

You can have anything you want - if you want it badly enough. You can be anything you want to be, have anything you desire, accomplish anything you set out to accomplish - if you will hold to that desire with singleness of purpose. Robert E. Lee



It’s 7:00 a.m. I should be in bed as I’ve been up nearly 24 hours now, but I’m doing some reflecting on current and past events.

We have a new president. I, like most people, have high hopes for him, but more than that, I have faith in the American people. For all of the planning, cussing and discussing, I have faith that we will not only survive, but we will thrive. I also believe we would have survived regardless of who was elected. We’re Americans.

What is most remarkable is that we can, and have for over two-hundred years, passed the power from one leader to the next without murder or violence. No one is going to drag the president's family out of bed and take them out to be executed. No one has to start a civil war to change power. The people speak with their votes and one abdicates, while another assumes the mantle. What an amazing feat that is. A miracle really. I think we have just cause to be proud to be Americans.

I was disappointed at hearing of some of the antics during the transition, but there seems to be a fascination with being rude in some sections. It's America. You have the right to act with dignity or not.

I was happy to see in his final weeks in office, President Bush did everything in his power to make the transition smooth. He consulted with the president elect in a way that has never been done before so President Obama would have things his way as much as possible. President Bush’s family did all they could to make the Obama family welcome in their new home.

I greatly admire this quiet grace. I would imagine I am the only one who has noticed this, but grace and courage are important to me.

I will venture a guess the Obamas will not have staffers walking into offices with keyboards missing the O key.

Perhaps this means more to me than it does some people, but regardless of what you think of the man or woman, respect the office. While you might not like the person, just by virtue of the fact they have been elected means a great number of Americans did have faith in them.

If you don’t wish something ill to happen to the person you support, respect others and don’t wish ill on the other candidate. It all goes back to the golden rule. Treat others as you wish to be treated. While you may have all the answers and everyone else is an ignorant hick if they disagree with you, at least humor them and pretend they have thoughts and feelings.

And now a few thoughts for President Obama.

Thank you for the vitality you have brought to your presidency.

The campaign is over, you can stop trying to defeat President Bush now. The rhetoric will get old quickly. Find a new message.

Don’t make promises you can’t keep, to your friends or your enemies.

If you are going to do something, think it over carefully and then do it with all your heart. Don’t do it until it gets hard or the polls show it isn’t as popular as you thought it might be. Above all, don’t commit our young men and women in uniform if you aren’t serious. They are serious enough to lay down their lives for you, you owe it to them to make that commitment worth something.

You’ve just taken the hardest job in the world. You’re a rock star now, but the work is ahead of you. You will make mistakes. They all do. You will do some things right. They all do. Keep your sense of humor. Keep your faith.

Some people hate you. It goes with the job. Some people love you. It goes with the job. There is nothing you can do to change this constant.

There are still people out there who want to destroy America. That is also a constant. Hope for the best and plan for the worst.

You will have to make tough decisions. You’re the president, not a windsock to go with the prevailing winds.

Remember your family. They were with you before you became president and they will be yours when you leave office. Treasure your little girls. They will grow up regardless of what you do for a living. Take out time for yourself and your family.

God speed to President and Laura Bush and thank you for eight years of service in horrific times.

God speed to President and Michelle Obama and thank you for the next four years of service in difficult times you are giving to us.

When You're Ready to Commit Manuslaughter

I was getting pretty disgusted with the cutting process on Paladin. It had almost gotten to the point I was just cutting any description. Any dialogue tags. Any…. Well, you get the picture. I was no longer editing to make the story stronger, I was just desperate to reach that magical word count.

Chapter twenty-five was turning into such a chore I was tempted to just delete it because I hated it so bad. However, I have some very important characters and events in it. These events are crucial to the plot. I moved on to chapter twenty-six, thinking it would help if I just left the other one alone for a while. The problem is, twenty-six was the culmination of twenty-five so all I wanted to do was throw it away also.

I got into an unhealthy debate on a writer’s forum because I called a politician a banana. Who knew that is a racist slander? Yes, I’m serious. I called a politician a banana and some people want me banned. I’m not sure what they would have called me had I pulled out the big guns and called him a pineapple.

Anyway, it was clear my frustration level was rising because instead of walking away as I normally do, I sounded the “charge” and drove into the heart of the roiling mass. Custer has nothing on me when I am in a mood.

I’m also frustrated because some of the keys on the laptop don’t work and it keeps shutting down randomly.

I decide to do my taxes. Even more frustration as the laptop shuts down several times in the middle of that mess. I didn’t even make it to the store today.

Then, cue the angelic choirs, Lisa sends me an email. Can I send her ten pages of the Enchanted Jars scene in PDF?

Sure, why not?

I start working on that and realize how much I love that chapter. I work on it a bit. Do some rearranging. Do a bit of slicing. Lo and behold, I like Paladin again.

So, here is an excerpt from the Enchanted Jars chapter. Still need to do one last pass, but at least I am smiling again.

Moral of the story? As Elise Skidmore and Sheila Lamb suggested, put the manuscript down and back away before someone gets hurt.

Excerpt from Paladin's Pride Copyright 2008 Julie Weathers All rights reserved.



Gentyl went to the corner and picked up the chest full of screaming, complaining jars. They grumbled all the way to the workshop, punctuated by terrified screams when Saerowyn banged on the chest and told them to be quiet.

Once at the workshop, Saerowyn cleaned off the workbench and Gentyl arranged the jars on it, taking care not to bump them.

Saerowyn stared at the jars lined up on the workbench and turned to him expectantly, tiny wings tucked close to their sides. Gentyl was reminded of a row of eager children with their faces turned to a puppet master.

“Now I will have to replace her jars she has been saving for years and that will completely wipe out all my savings,” Saerowyn grumbled. “They aren’t cheap. If she would just give it a chance she would love the jars.”

The jars agreed.

“Perhaps if you just take the enchantment off them?” Gentyl offered.

The jars all gasped and booed her then launched into a very loud denouncement of the idea. One called her a murderer.

“I wasn’t going to break you,” she said. “I just suggested taking the enchantment off and returning you to normal.”

“Do you want to be normal?” one asked.

“Look at her,” another said. “Anyone can tell she is quite normal. Nothing special there.”

Saerowyn glowered at the jars. “Apologize to Gentyl or I will follow her advice.”

There was something disconcerting about a row of jars rushing to apologize and beg forgiveness.

“I really find the idea of talking, flying jars fascinating. It would be a great time saver to just speak and an ingredient rush to your hand.” He began filling one jar with sulfur as he spoke.

“Ewwww, that stinks,” the jar squealed. “Don’t put that stuff in me.”

Saerowyn held the jar up eye level. “You will be happy to hold sulfur or I will personally rip the enchantment from you, so you are once again nothing but a lump of glass.”

The jars gasped again.

“I will just hold my nose,” the jar whimpered.

“You don’t have a nose,” he snapped.

“Then how do I know it stinks?” the jar asked sullenly.

“He has a point,” Gentyl said.

Saerowyn set the full jar down and pressed the stopper into place then took out a pen and labeled the top. “They need no encouragement from you, Gentyl.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“I always knew she was a bright one,” one jar whispered.

“Melith said I’d find you here,” someone wheezed from the doorway. “Sad day in the kingdom when an old, sick man can’t get any rest.”

“Theron!” Saerowyn cried. “Come in, come in. Sit your old, sick self down.” He pointed at the nearly filled jars. “I’ll be done here in just a moment and we can go to the house and get something to eat.”

The old man sat slumped on the stool near the door, clutching his chest. Gentyl stared at him, wondering if he was going to collapse.

“Sir, are you all right?”

“No, but don’t worry about me, lass. Just need to catch my breath.” He glanced at the jars hovering in the air near the old wizard. “I see nothing changes. Should I ask why there are jars flying about like moths or am I hallucinating?”

“Theron’s lungs were singed by wizard fire,” Saerowyn said to Gentyl. “We healed him as best we could, but some of the damage remains. Nothing some brandy won’t help.” He turned back to Theron, brushing one of the jars away when it flitted too close to his face. “I made these for Melith so she wouldn’t have to reach up in the cabinet to get her ingredients, but she appears not to appreciate my efforts.”

“The lady of the house is mad
And that has left us all so sad
To be dismissed and darkly spurned
From duties we all quickly learned.”

“I left the sword at the house,” Theron said, still wheezing as he stared at the talking jar. “I can see why Melith would tire of this very quickly.”

“You don’t appreciate clever magic either and never did. Odd for one such as yourself who was quite adept with some of the arts. I’m nearly done here so we can go back to the house now.” He handed his medicine bottle to Gentyl. “Give that to him. Gentyl, this is a very old friend. Theron, this is Gentyl Diarmand.”

“Pleased to meet you finally, lass.” He uncorked the bottle and drank down a healthy dose.

“I’m pleased to meet you, sir.” She finished cleaning the workbench and put up the last of the herbs Saerowyn had been rearranging. “What do you want to do with the jars?”

Saerowyn took the bottle from Theron and downed another swig before re-corking and placing it back on the bench behind the saltpeter. He looked around the room at the flying jars and said in his most imperial voice. “Jars! Sit on the bench and stay. It is your duty to guard this shop quietly. Understood?”

Several tiny wings curled to salute the wizard.

Theron shook his head and walked out the door. “Never boring around you, Saer. Never boring.”

“Boring is for the dead.”

They stopped twice so Theron could catch his breath on the way to the house. Saerowyn looked concerned. “Your health is getting worse. You need to stay with Melith and I for a while.”

Theron flipped his hand in dismissal, but didn’t refuse the arm Gentyl offered to him. “She’ll probably ship me to the workshop like she did your flying jars.”

“Only if you spout bad poetry or wait for her in bed,” Saerowyn said.

“She’d be shipping you to the workshop if I was waiting for her in bed,” Theron said.

Saerowyn snorted.

A Child's Love

I was going through old photos, trying to get them archived and found this one. I think it’s one of my favorites because of the boys. These are the two oldest who are now in their thirties with families of their own.

What makes me supremely happy is I see the same love in their faces that I felt on this day. I can remember sitting in my mother-in-law’s house when this picture was taken. My sister-in-law was visiting and she wanted a picture of me and the boys.



I was rubbing my hand across Cody’s hair and looked over a second later and he was looking at me with that look of pure love children give. It made my heart melt.

So, what has this got to do with writing?

It might have nothing to do with it since this is a personal blog and you can, and do, find anything here. However, in this case it does.

To me, what really brings a book alive is when you read something that is elegantly simple and wrought with emotion. When I feel exactly what the character is feeling and sigh with contentment because the author has struck so deeply into my soul. They have touched me intimately with the picture and stirred my emotions. Sometimes I sigh with happiness and other times I just want to scream, “No, don’t do that!” Either way, they have succeeded in completely drawing me into the story.

So, here’s your exercise. A child looks at you with complete love. How do you describe it?

Final First Chapter Edit

I decided to send my first chapter to Barbara Rogan on her “Get Acquainted” special. I took her Next Level workshop last fall, if you all remember. I figured by the end of the course we had shared somewhere around 20,000 words. She had already seen my old opening, but I wanted a final, very critical eye for the new first chapter.

If any of you aren’t aware of her workshops, I urge you to check them out.

Back when I thought we were on the verge of settling this divorce, I contacted her and asked her about editing all of Paladin. She wrote back and said she thought it would be a waste of time and money on my part. If she didn’t find that much to change, I had wasted my money. If she found large chunks that needed to be revised and changed, I was right back where I started before the workshop. She said at some point we need to make that final edit and send it out into the world.

I share this for a couple of reasons. First to demonstrate how unsure I am of my writing. Second, to show Barbara really isn’t in it just for the money.

I got back the critique yesterday. I’m not going to share it all as they are her words and I don’t have the right to do so, but I am going to share a few lines and the gist of the suggestions because I think they are solid truths.

First, she mentioned the story was “smooth and seductive.” This is music to a writer’s ear. Does my story draw the reader in? If it doesn’t, all the style and correctness in the world doesn’t do a whit of good.

The second quote I will share is, “You have a wonderfully confident narrative voice that I would follow willingly into your story.” This struck me as odd because I have such mixed emotions about my writing. I like the story, but I despair of my ability to tell it. It’s almost like I watched something happen, and then someone told me I have to write down what I saw so I struggle with my thick blue crayon.

These lines were followed by two pages of suggestions to improve the chapter, plus copious notes throughout the sample chapter. Her main suggestion was to make every scene earn its way. If it doesn't advance the story, I need to get rid of it.

I have noticed since I took the workshop that I look for certain things I do frequently. Another member at Super Secret writer’s forum noted I have some pet phrases and I’ve started deleting those as soon as I reach them as they are word count manglers. Scot at Books and Writers gave me a hint about taglines that has cut umpteen words.

I do feel I’m in better shape than I’ve ever been as a writer. Maybe things are finally starting to soak in.

File this under learning tools. Not that I am calling Barbara a tool, but her workshops are definitely nice tools to have and use.

Book Roast Is Open

Book Roast is open again and wow are they opening with a bang.

Eric Stone is up today and his excerpt is fantastic. Now I am going to have to buy the book and I don't even read that genre much.

Going To Therapy

Books and Writers has an interesting exercise this month. Pick out a character and take him or her to therapy. The therapist will ask your character questions and you have to stay in character as you respond. I’ve been avoiding all writing exercises because I need to have these revisions done by the end of January, but this one was too intriguing to pass up.

I’ve decided to take Saerowyn, my wizard who is either senile or very intelligent depending on who he’s talking to and if he trusts them.

The pirate who seems to be focused on women and having a good time.

Lucine, the young baroness who inherited her father’s estates when he died at her sixteenth birthday party. She also happens to be the one who summoned the demon.

So, this brings up the question. How well do you really know your characters?

I know mine fairly well, but they do surprise me at times. For instance, I discovered the pirate is after more than a quick roll in the hay with my mc. His father is the commander of the Sylvans, a pious fighting order with Spartan attributes. Gentyl’s (mc) aunt is his father’s best friend. Morgahn became a pirate to shame his father after his mother’s death, which he blames on his father. Disgracing Gentyl would be another grievous wound to his father.

Poor girl. Seems everyone wants to destroy her.

Lucine poisoned her father at her birthday party to keep him from forcing her to marry so she’ll have someone to take care of her lands. Her mother died a year later from a broken heart, they say. It might have had something to do with the mushroom tart also.

And that reminds me of the woman who had been widowed six times.

“Yes, I’ve had terrible luck with men. Five of my husbands died from eating poison mushrooms.”

“What happened to your sixth husband?”

“He died from a blow to the head. He wouldn’t eat the mushrooms.”

So, if your character was going to therapy, what would you find out about them you didn’t know? I think really knowing our characters is important. We have to know instinctively how they would react to a situation.

Agent Angst

(I took this down, because I figured everyone was sick to death of queries and especially my queries. However, I had some interest in it so here it is again.)

I had hoped to get through chapter twenty, but that isn’t going to happen. Part of it is just being brain fried. Part is my restless spirit. Something is happening. Maybe I’m just melancholy because I’ve been going through old photos.

So, to lift the mood, let’s discuss query letters.

As you all know, Miss Kristin opened Pandora’s box recently. That’s all been discussed to death, but it got me to wondering. Do people have “styles” when they write query letters? Would an agent be able to recognize a different voice in the query and the pages?

I’m not an agent, but I would guess they would frequently at least notice a different tone. If they do, how do they feel about it? Are they disappointed or does it happen enough it doesn’t bother them?

So, I’ll use me for a guinea pig.

You all know how I have driven myself insane over query letters. I think everyone who has ever greeted me has been asked to help.

What I finally came away with was a few guidelines.

Dig out the Snowflake Novel Writing Method and use it to get your basics. Study blogs like, Miss Snark, Query Shark, Nathan Bransford, Kristin Nelson, Evil Editor and Bookends.

Write down or print out their suggestions and samples of query letters that work. This works for me, but it might not work for everyone. I learn by studying things and then figuring out how to make it.

Here is the query everyone is totally sick of by now.

Dear Mr. or Ms. Agent,

Allies who joined forces thirty years ago to defeat the demon armies are now poised to destroy each other, which is exactly what the demon lord and the sorceress planned when they kidnapped the king. Gentyl just wants to get through military school and apply to her aunt’s elite Horse Guards. It's going to be a long two years in an academy that doesn't want females and especially not M'Eiryns, since the king's M'Eiryn guard was blamed for the kidnapping. Hope of advancement dies when she’s assigned to guard a senile sorcerer with a penchant for irritating nobles, botching spells and livening things up with fireworks. She realizes he isn’t as demented as he acts after he recruits her to help him solve a string of murders and find the king, but each new clue only leads to another body.

Now someone is trying to add them to the list of unsolved murders.

I was a journalist with Speedhorse magazine for seventeen years and I've owned and raised Quarter Horses for years. This gives the horse aspects of the story a firm foundation. I was a lady bronc rider, which has nothing to do with writing, but it proves I am eccentric enough to be a writer. I also directed Porch Light Prison Ministries for six years and wrote inspirational short stories for the bi-weekly newsletters.

(Brief personal note about why agent is being approached.)

I’m seeking representation for PALADIN’S PRIDE, my 135,000-word epic fantasy.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Julie Weathers



Here is the query for DANCING HORSES I deleted two sentences, but the heart of it is the same. Two of the sentences are every awkward, but I’m not going to fiddle with them.

Horses, expensive horses, are dying and farm manager Colton Edwards is missing.

Colton disappears immediately after a champion cutting horse is electrocuted. This is just the latest incident in a string of bizarre accidents. He shows up in Montana on the professional rodeo circuit a few days before two wild, young Cajun cowboys with an unusual curiosity about Colton and the farm blow into town.

When accidents begin happening to Colton, he realizes he must leave the rodeo stock contractor’s daughter he loves and return to Texas. There he hopes to discover who was behind the horses’ deaths and what his connection might be. Too late he learns the dead horses were only a minor part of a sophisticated money-laundering and insurance fraud scheme…and he holds the key that can bring a drug trafficking empire crashing down.

Perhaps it’s just because I’m so close to them, but they “sound” the same to me.

When I posted the PALADIN query on Evil Editor and Books and Writers, I had a lot of suggestions about how to rewrite it. Some of them were excellent and others missed the mark because they didn’t know what the book was about. These are excellent places to get help and I can’t recommend them enough, but you have to take the advice to improve your work, in my opinion. The thing is, unless a person has read your book and they know how you feel about it, I don’t think they can pick out the heart of it. They can give you some building blocks and advice on improving, but I’m not sure they can capture your voice.

I think a person is much better off writing their own with the assistance of the aforementioned blogs and then ask for help on Query Shark, Evil Editor and Books and Writers. Hone it again and make it yours.

Being Uplifted

I’m torn about what to write about today, but editing has fried my brain.

There’s the flap about query letters and who should write them. I would weigh in, but there’s not much new to say. I may visit the subject again as it gets closer to submission time.

I could write about the revising process, but that makes me ill thinking about it.

I need something uplifting. Ah, perfect. Have you ever thought about the need for a properly uplifted bosom?

I’m jumping ahead here a bit in our Surrey International Writer’s Conference, but it’s all right. I’ll remember where I was.

Saturday night at the conference was the Masque. Attendees were encouraged to wear costumes inspired by literature. Lisa and I decided on our theme and I picked out the costumes at the Midland Community Theatre. Karen is a real sweetheart and loves to help you put together wonderful costumes. I assembled two lovely ensembles and rented them for a week.

Remember me mentioning a scalp, elf ears and fake flesh in an earlier post?

You should always pay attention. Pop quizzes are liable to "pop" up at any time.

Lisa came prepared with her butane curler. I was not as enthusiastic as she was about live flames close to my head or the wiglet I was trying to make curly. So, Lisa curled her hair with her flame thrower and I used the old standby hot rollers.

Once I had the wiglet moussed, curled and brushed out, I cut off swatches and the fun started. We swabbed on the spirit gum and applied said curls to our legs and feet.

We were Hobbits.

I thought about gluing some hair on my properly uplifted bosom also, but the curls weren’t quite right and I didn’t want to look like Austin Powers.

So, we put on our petticoats, skirts, over skirts, peasant blouses, vests, shawls, aprons and mob caps. Since we weren’t allowed in the banquet room barefooted, we wore little slippers. We also had on our elf, er, hobbit ears.

We showed up at the banquet properly, coifed, curled and uplifted. One of the ladies at the next table looked down at our feet as we were standing in line and screamed, then giggled uncontrollably.

Janet Reid was standing in line in front of us and turned around. She looked down at our feet and raised an eyebrow, but said not a word.

I said, “It’s glued on.”

She nodded. “One never knows,” she said without missing a beat.

This makes me curious about the sights of New York City. Not curious enough to go, but curious.

After the banquet, some of us drifted to the bar. You’re surprised, aren’t you?

I’m not really sure what it is about being a Hobbit that brings out the old Kate Hepburn in me, but it does. It probably didn’t amuse others as much as it amused me, but I had fun.

Some regular people, non-writers, were sitting at a table when Lisa and I walked by and commented about the peasant women. I whirled around.

“Lisa! Did you hear that? They called us peasants. I told you that would happen if we elected that damned Rooster to be our sheriff. He’ll be the ruin of all of us. Peasants! Peasants, she called us.”

Then I turned to the woman, properly affronted. “We are not peasants, madam. We’re Hobbits. Hobbits I tell you!”

This was all done in the old Kate Hepburn voice. Luckily, the people had a sense of humor and I wasn’t evicted from the hotel as my properly uplifted bosom might have suffered in the thin, low-cut peasant blouse. I think my feet and legs would have been all right since they were semi-covered in auburn curls.

We had a few pictures taken with some of the others. I have none of them since my camera battery died. Jack Whyte even took one with us and he in his dashing dress uniform complete with kilt. Men, here’s a hint. Kilts.

Which reminds me of one of my favorite songs. I hope this is the right version since I have no sound.

So, after dinner and a few drinks, we went to the Books and Writer’s Party. Jack Whyte was there as well as Michael Slade, Diana Gabaldon, her son Sam, Rebecca Clarke and several other writers. Michael (aka Jay Clarke) read a bit from one of his works and discussed the mechanics of crucifixion. Diana read a short story written by Sam that was excellent. He has his mother’s storytelling gift.

It was a small, intimate gathering and much fun. I understand Rachel Vater showed up later, but I missed her. I had a fascinating discussion with Rebecca Clarke. She’s a very interesting young woman.

What has this got to do with writing?

Absolutely nothing. Aside from the fact that writers, agents and editors make a glorious mix of madness and you can enjoy it all at Surrey.

One Brick at at Time

There is nothing that will make most parents more crazy than something or someone hurting their children. Those of you who have read my blog, know this from my Santa Was A Cowboy post.

Travis Erwin, one of our fellow writers, suffered a devastating loss January 4 when their family home burned to the ground and they lost everything.

Any help for them would be greatly appreciated. Susan Adrian has some information here.

Erica Orloff and Stephen Parrish set up the Habitat for Travis blog where you can donate.

Travis’ boys love Hotwheels and books so that would be appreciated also since they lost their collections.

Travis’ contact information is here if you prefer to donate directly.

His email address is travis@traviserwin.com. Anyone who wants to donate articles directly can mail them to Travis Erwin, 522 Casino, Amarillo, TX 79118.

The boys’ pet turtle, Captain Jack, went down with the ship. I don’t have a turtle, but I do have a Captain Jack night light, so it will find a new home when they get settled in their rent house.



Thank you to all of those who have helped and will help.

Julie

Top Ten Things To Do Sans Computer

In case you all were wondering what I was doing while my computer was down.

Here are the top things to do when you don’t have a computer cluttering up your desk.



Clean off your desk and organize the books.



Organize those drawers. Make note to self not to buy any more tape no matter how cheap it is.



Reinstall gnomes on monitor even if the monitor is not working.



Use your desk for folding towels. This, by the way, is the perfect height for resting your chin on and taking a nap.



Paint Will's chess set.



Admire the bookmark Jenny Meyer gave you at Surrey.



Hang the cow skull, No Parking sign and the elf ears. Toss a vintage fedora on a horn so everything looks properly feminine.

The No Parking sign is a mandatory desk accessory to remind me not to park my butt in the chair and waste time.



Assemble all the Paladin chapters into one notebook. Phew!



Color code who has control of various chapters. Yes, I doodle while I'm thinking.



Start carving a new Captain Jack night light because I screwed this one up.

Don't Ask Me To Pet Sit

For the love of all that is holy, do not ask me to pet sit for you. I mean, I like animals and birds and fish, but I’m not a good pet sitter. This seems odd to me since I’ve had and taken care of animals all my life. Animals normally thrive under my care.

When Will left for Iraq and Katie went back to Wisconsin to be with her family, they left the family fish with me. The collection isn’t a large one or even a particularly attractive one, but Katie loves her dragons and the dragon eels remind her of dragons. They also have a bottom feeder and a snail.

This should not be difficult.

In my fervor to be a good pet sitter, I clean the tank periodically, feed them twice a day with three different kinds of food and I talk to them. I’m not sure they can hear because I don’t see any little fish ears, but I talk to them. Maybe I’m really talking to myself and that’s possible too. An agent at Surrey said they hate it when characters talk to themselves because it’s a gimmick. I don’t talk to myself because it’s a gimmick. Delusional perhaps, but not gimmicky.

The first time I cleaned the tank, I ran water in a big bowl just the right temperature so they wouldn’t be shocked when I put them in it. After I caught the first eel and put him in there, I noticed a slight chlorine smell. Hmmmm. Where is that coming from?

Oops! Tap water. Chlorine. In a flash, I dumped the poor dragon eel back in the fish tank and started dipping up water from the fish tank. I then caught the other eel. I knew it was the other eel because he was slightly darker, since he hadn’t been bleached, and he was easier to catch. The first eel was wise to the green net slipping through the water. I was humming the theme to Jaws and that probably didn’t help either, if they could hear me.

The second cleaning started out much better. Notice I said, “started out.” I dipped the tank water into a big bowl. I had plenty of distilled water on hand this time. Last time I had to make an emergency water run.

I caught the bottom feeder. I eventually caught the two dragon eels, but I couldn’t find the snail. He’s probably resting in one of the skulls.

I had most of the water drained out, so I pulled out the accessories. Something clinked out of the skull. A snail shell. An empty snail shell. He moved out without telling me. Can snails live without a shell?

I will not live in a shell.
I will not live in a bell.
On a hill or in a dell.
Without a shell, I’ll do quite well.

Ok, so maybe I was hoping our naked snail was just going through a rebellious phase.

I dumped the shell into the trash can and then a fleshy thing dropped out of the skull too. I had just cleaned out the dryer lint filter and he landed right in the middle of it.

Oops, maybe he was just relaxing, you know the way some guys sit around the house in their underwear.

Now I had a fuzzy snail. He wasn’t naked anymore, but I wasn’t sure how well a fuzzy snail was going to be received back in the fish tank. If Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer thought he had a tough time, wait until Sampson the Fuzzy Snail tried to join in all the fishy games. I wasn’t really sure how I was going to get him back in his shell if he was alive, but I was determined to save him. I kept watching for any signs of movement, but there weren’t any. So, Sampson and his shell went to the great aquarium in the sky.

I had the aquarium all cleaned and put the rocks back in and rearranged the fake plants, cave thing and skull. Time to put the surviving fish back in the sparkling fresh tank.

This part made me nervous because they jumped a lot, trying to get away from the net. I scooped up a bunch of yuck stuff trying to catch them so I couldn’t just dump the bowl back in. That would defeat the purpose of cleaning the tank.

Got the dragon eels back in and I just had the bottom feeder left to catch. Well, the bottom feeder was meaner than a junkyard fish and he wasn’t going back. He finally thrashed around enough to get out of the bowl.

Oh, crap.

I lifted the bowl out of the sink and he…went down the garbage disposal.

OH, CRAP!

I did manage to get him before he went all the way down. I didn’t relish the thought of having to turn on the garbage disposal if I couldn’t get him out.

Phew. Made it through another tank cleaning.

Life is good.

A couple of days later, I noticed one of the eels didn’t come out when I fed them. They always come out and jump around and act cute when they think it’s feeding time. They get real rambunctious at night when I come in from work. I normally give them a bit more food to reward them for welcoming me home, but I was tired the night before and didn’t give them any treats.

Maybe he was sulking because I ignored him.

Ah, well. I have to get ready for work so I’ll start pulling the junk out of the aquarium when I get home and make sure he isn’t sick. I’m not sure how I was going to tell. I don’t know what a dragon eel’s temperature is supposed to be even if I could figure out where to put the thermometer.

I fed the fish when I got home and banged on the aquarium to wake up the missing eel.

Still no eel.

So, I got out the stool and pulled it up in front of the kitchen sink so I could start tearing stuff apart and find the eel.

OH, MY GOSH!

I scrambled, stumbled and fell off the stool, which is hard to do since it only had three steps.

Janet Reid’s assistant was in my sink! There was a snake in my sink. How did a snake get in my apartment? Wait, that snake looks kind of familiar.

Hmmmm. The missing eel. He didn’t even look depressed. How did I know he was going to leap to his death?

Please, don’t ask me to pet sit for you.

Thank You

I’ve been trying to think of something profound to say in the first post of the year, but all I can think of is something that might be offensive to some people. I keep remembering a book by Max Lucado I read years ago. In the beginning, he names off all the minute things that make you different from anyone else who has ever lived. Sobering thought, isn’t it? In all of history there has only been one you. What a profound miracle you are.

Even our greatest trials can be turned into a blessing if we will allow it.

When our daughter died, the minister said at her funeral, “And in the future, Julie will be able to give comfort to someone who is experiencing this great sorrow. She will be able to say, ‘I know how you feel,’ and give comfort.”

I wanted to leap out of the pew and strangle him. How could I ever comfort someone else? I didn’t even know how I was going to survive, let alone give comfort. Why would he even wish for me to cross paths with someone who hurt as badly as I did? It felt like he was laying a curse on me.

And yet, in the years ahead, that is exactly what happened. People I had never met before shared their pain at losing a baby. We cried together, held each other and then I told them the truth. “No, it never stops hurting. You never forget what you lost. The hole in your heart never completely closes. But, it does get better and you will laugh again. God does take you through the deepest nights filled with unimaginable demons and you will walk in the sunshine again.”

There is hope and there are better days ahead.

Someone out there would die for you. Perhaps it’s someone you don’t even know. That’s how precious you are.

You would die for someone else.

You are loved.

I know this deep down, but sometimes I wonder, as we all do I suppose, if it would really matter if I was gone. It would. You are special to many people.

Brice Broaddus recently invited me to join Facebook. I did, not because I needed something else to spend time on, but because I thought I would do it and walk away. Then, later, a message popped up about me adding my friends to my Facebook. So, I hit my mailing list, which isn’t extensive.

I came home from work and had received a boatload of invitations from people to join theirs. People I know and admire, but I was still surprised they wanted to add me. These people you count as friends and acquaintances may not all love you, but they care. More people love you than you realize.

You are not alone.

People who throw stones at you quite often do so from jealousy. Love them anyway.

When we moved to town, it was into my mother-in-law’s tiny house that was in a deteriorating neighborhood. The woman next door and I immediately got into it because her daughter clubbed my youngest son with a board because he didn’t want to play with her. It escalated rapidly to the point I wanted to attack her every time I saw her.

I obviously couldn’t go around beating the crap out of my neighbor, so, for my own sanity, I started praying for her to be blessed and for me to have peace. We eventually became very good friends and my son and her daughter are still close friends.

She was going through some tough times with an abusive husband. I was about to lose my mind from being cooped up in a tiny house in town where gangs ruled the neighborhood and we were definitely the minority.

Even if you don’t believe in prayer, just think kind thoughts about the person who is making your life miserable. It’s like Pepto Bismol for a troubled spirit.

Smile. Share a smile with a stranger. Think of something that makes you smile. It makes you feel better and those around you feel better.

Every night someone thinks fondly about you. Remember those who bring you joy and give thanks for them.

End your day dwelling on your blessings and not your problems. Even in the most dire of times, something lifts your hopes and spirits. Hold on to that.

When Corrie Ten Boom and her family were sent to a concentration camp for helping Jews escape from Holland, she and her sister found a way to turn a curse to a blessing. They were once assigned to a barrack that was so lice infested the guards refused to go inside. However, because the guards refused to enter, the Ten Booms could take out the bible they had smuggled in and read to the others in the barrack and give them hope. They had a shield of lice about them as they comforted others. Corrie and her sister chose to concentrate on the good things and not give in to despair.

So also must we.

You have a unique talent that no one else has. It’s a gift. What you do with that gift is your gift to the world.

Above all, remember you are loved and appreciated. Your efforts are not in vain. We’ve been given a glorious new page to write on with this new year.

All my heartfelt thanks and love go out to all of you who share yourselves with me. You bring me joy and laughter when all I really want to do is cry at times. You encourage me with kind words and honest words. You tell me the harsh things, knowing they will make me better, but you do it from love. You know I want to improve and sometimes that means pointing out the things I need to change. Then you rejoice with me as if what I have written is all my idea even though you know the rough little block of wood I laid in front of you. All you see is the beautiful sculpture at the end.

Happy New Year, my friends.