I had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Koenig at a Star Trek Convention in Columbus, Ohio, more decades ago than I care to admit. He was a gracious gentlemen and an awesome speaker. I was even more thrilled to see him in Babylon 5. As PsyCorp cop Bester, he was damn scary, the stamp of an incredible actor.
Aunt Colene was awesome in a different way. She was a sweet, caring lady and an incredible cook. She happily shared her recipe for cheesy taters when I gushed over the dish. After thirty-some years, I still make cheesy taters once a month.
Her funeral was yesterday morning. DH couldn't go, but I did. It was a sweet beautiful service, and I was rather burnt out when I got home. I changed clothes and went to Starbucks to write for a bit, but frankly, my heart wasn't in it. I came home started doing some promo online when the news about Sir Patrick Stewart came through my feeds.
I sat here devastated. How could we lose so many people I cared about in a matter of days? They all tried to make the world a better place through their aert and kindness.
A few minutes later, I got an e-mail from a friend, who planned a TNG marathon for last night. I couldn't deal, not on top of everything else.
Until this morning, another writer I admire made a Star Trek joke about the current political situation. The folks following him added more humor. I laughed for the first time in several days.
The reminder that these people were gone but they left behind a specialness is greatly needed. I can still watch the various Star Treks and Babylon 5 while I eat cheesy taters.
I'm amazed how much the event has grown! From a dozen authors staring at each other in the basement of the library to forty writers/artists taking over the entire main floor!
I'll be there with thirty-nine other talented folks, and we'll all have books, comics, and other related merchandise for sale. While I have a credit card reader, not everyone else does, so you might want to bring a little cash or have a cash transfer app on your phone or tablet. But this is a great opportunity to meet authors and get some signed books.
If you want to check out the writers attending, click here!
Need directions to the library's main branch? Click here!
We hope to see you there!
And yeah, I'm about to get very political!
You've probably heard about the ad Vivek Ramasway, the Repuglican candidate for Ohio, created using Democratic Candidate Doctor Amy Acton's elderly mother.
Dr. Acton has never hid what happened to her as a child, but she also never let the abuse she suffered at the hands of her stepfather to define her as a victim. However, Ramaswamy decided it was a great idea to have the woman who refused to life a finger to protect her kids from her husband claim her daughter was a liar.
My position as a child was never as bad as Dr. Acton's, but I do know what it's like when your own mother doesn't like you and wants nothing to do with you. But when my mother threatened to strike my son, who was six at the time, that put an end to our relationship with her.
It's what you do as a parent. You protect your kids to the best of your ability. But that's not what Acton's mom did. To use a women who aided and abetted her fugitive husband after he was indicted for his crimes by a grand jury tells you a lot about the kind of man Ramaswamy is.
For the first time in my life, I donated to a political candidate. An candidate. All because of the sick and cruel ad their opponent produced.
If you can't win on your platform and merits, if you use childhood rape trauma in a vain attempt against your opponent, you don't deserve your political office.
Now that I've got that shit off my chest, here's why I admire Dr. Acton. She ran the Ohio Department of Health, the first medical professional to do so, during the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. She did her damnedest to protect Ohioans from the deadly disease. Do I agree with all of her stances? Nope, particularly on certain of her positions regarding LGBT+ folks. But I think she tries to be fair, and I agree with her focus on the affordability of healthcare in the state.
Ohio election offices are open for early voting until Sunday. If you can't make it to the polls a week from tomorrow, go vote early! Otherwise, see you at your favorite breakfast place AFTER you vote on November 3rd!
SPOILERS!!!
Seriously, folks. This series hos been out since 2011, so don't whine to me if you keep reading.
Anyway, I planned to fridge Sam's brother Max from the beginning. I dropped enough clues along the way that if a reader paid attention, they'd know it was coming.
Hell, Max even made jokes about being the weakest link in the gang, the damsel in distress, and needing his wife, who was twelve years his junior, to rescue him.
I've noticed several readers get to Sacrificed and don't buy Resurrected. Hell, my own cousin read the series and gave me the WTF, but she at least read the last book. However, she did comment that she was about to call me when Duncan died because "You were killing my favorite characters! It was bad enough when you killed off Max!"
But no one gives Max any credit for his autonomy. He and Tiffany did the smart thing by putting together an estate plan and their medical wishes in order to protect each other and their daughter. He didn't want to be infected with the vampire virus to save his life. He didn't want to be turned into a zombie by Sam. If it was his time, then it was his time.
He was already living on borrowed time, and he knew it. And despite everything, his wife and his doctor honored his DNR once they knew he was brain-dead.
As much as Max's death tore me apart, too, it was a necessary lesson for Sam. She needed to understand that just because she was a goddess, she couldn't snap her fingers and change things. Doing so would break other things down the road and eventually lead to universal catastrophic failure. Basically, she would destroy her universe via the butterfly effect.
So, if you skipped Resurrected because you're pissed at me for killing off Max, I hope you'll reconsider because there is sunshine, happiness, and babies in the end.
Let's start at the beginning. I was born on a Saturday--
Wait. That's a different story. Let's try again.
Twelve years ago, we moved to Ohio. (It's relevant. Trust me.) At the time, I was having some serious health issues. And because of those issues I ballooned up to 285 lbs.
Now, I've had eating issues all my life. For reasons. Most of them due to misogyny. I'm also not a little woman even when I was super thin in college. But this time, the weight gain had nothing to do with my mental issues and everything to do with my broken endocrine system.
Between the cancer, some new diabetes drugs, and yoga, I'm down to 235 lbs. Great, right?
Well, two years ago, I sat on the half-bath toilet to do my business and the seat cracked on the right side. DH had already gone to bed. It was three in the morning. No stores were open to get a replacement before DH gets up.
Yes, all of this went through my head as I washed my hands.
When I woke up and stumbled to the kitchen later that afternoon, DH asked what happened to the half-bath toilet. I told him I broke it. When he didn't say anything more, I asked, "Don't you want to know how I broke it?"
He said, "Nope."
DH bought a new toilet seat a couple of days later and replaced the broken one. And that was the end of it.
Or so I thought.
Until Thursday night.
And it happened again. I went to the bathroom. A crack on the right side of the toilet seat. This time, it was about two a.m. There wasn't anything I could do about it, so I went to bed.
I woke up on Saturday, do my usual morning drill, and headed for the kitchen.
DH looks up at me from whatever he was reading on his phone with an odd look. "Okay, this time I'm asking. What the hell are doing in the bathroom to crack a heavy-duty toilet seat in half? Were you standing on it?"
"No, I wasn't." I couldn't help being defensive because this was embarrassing as hell.
"Then what happened?"
"The truth?"
He gave me an incredulous look. "Yes, the truth!"
"I was sitting on toilet to do number two, and it broke."
"What?"
I repeated what I said.
"I don't understand. How...?"
"Females need to wipe front to back because poop in your vagina--"
He waves me off like I'm a plane about to land on the wrong runway. "I know, I know. Get to the breaking part.
"I wipe with my left hand, so I lean a little to the right." I shrugged. "And crack."
"So you're putting your weight on your right hip and that breaks the toilet seat?"
Now, I'm starting to get angry. "Hey, I've lost fifty pounds! And when I was nearly 300, we were living in the apartment with those super flimsy seats, and this never happened!"
And I hear what I'm saying. Then I totally lose it. I laughed so hard both dogs were giving me concerned looks. DH started laughing, too.
"At least, it wasn't Taco Bell explosive diarrhea," he said. And we laughed even harder.
On Saturday, we picked up a new toilet seat. Once I get my words done for today, I'll pull off the old seat and install the new.
And keep my fingers crossed I don't break this one.
And I broke another toilet seat. That story will have to wait until Monday. And no, I was not standing on it.
Have a good weekend, y'all!
Now before anyone accuses me of throwing The Books of Apep and the Justice series aside, this story was written for a space opera workshop I attended nearly two years ago. I've got a couple of other stories I still need to publish from that workshop. It's a matter of carving out the time to format the text for the e-book files and create covers.
But this story was just fucking fun to write. Kris Rusch was the instructor. She gave us three lists. We had to pick one item from each list, and then let our imaginations run wild. My chosen items were a space station, a traveling music group, and a wolverine.
The result was Chaos Station. In fact, I had so much fun I'm working on a second story in that universe for the winter holidays called Chaos Christmas.
Chaos Station dropped today. I hope you folks enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
...but hey! I got shit done over the weekend!
Speaking of selling books, you need a good cover, a good blurb, and a good concept. Yes, in that order because its based on how most readers shop for new-to-them authors. Including me. But for the love of Lord Djeduti, make sure your fucking writing is good, too!
I'm not mentioning names or book titles because I'm not a totally evil skank, but I ran across a book on one of the reader newsletters I subscribe to. It clicked on the cover and blurb. The concept was delightful and unique! So, I went and read the sample at an online retailer because I'm too aware of the AI slop being shoveled into the market. And...
Holy shit! I couldn't make it past the first two pages. *facepalm* It was boring! Passive voice all over the place! And a vocabulary of a third-grader! No, it was not a kid's book either.
Honestly, if it were a taste thing, I wouldn't have said a damn word. This wasn't something a good editor could fix. And no, I don't think it was AI either. The writer is question just needed more practice before they published.
But you can't just say that to any artist. We are gentle souls and our fuckin' fee-fees are delicate and easily damaged. I'm no exception.
So, if you don't like science fiction, don't read Chaos Station and then tell me it sucks. And if you like SF and don't like Chaos Station, you don't have to tell me. Just walk away and find something else worthy of your time.
