Plans

It's spring break for me and I am full of plans. Plans to write, plans to publish, plans to relax, plans to enjoy. The problem with plans and too many of them is that often they are unrealistic. There is no way to achieve everything on my list if I am totally honest with myself. I expect too much efficiency from myself and if I'm honest I already know I won't get to half the things on my list. And that compounds the guilt I feel for falling short.

So this week I'm trying to be realistic. Trying. Not necessarily succeeding, but trying. I have two books to be put up on Kindle and Nook, so at least I can get them formatted. I'll try to get the covers done too, but definitely formatted. I'm working on a book (two actually) and would like to make good progress on them. I would love to push it and get at least one finished, but I also have to remember that my day has left me tired and drained and I do need recovery.

And I'd like to spend some time with the family. Maybe catch a movie with the daughter. Maybe paint a room. And the poor dogs need attention too, and then I should plan for the rest of the school year...Wait, it's getting out of control again.

We all have twenty-four hours in a day. What we do with those hours is our choice. And I"m learning that the world won't end if I don't accomplish everything today. I'm not talking about procrastination; I'm speaking about getting the job done with quality and care. Much better than the slapdash ways I usually get things done.

Take a breath and remember that life is fleeting and it's okay to take a break.

--Gabi

Books I'm reading now:

Sword of Shannara by Terry Brooks

Spring Fling into Romance

Multi author booksigning with Darynda Jones, Celeste Bradley, Katie Lane and me! Page One Book Store, Albuquerque,  March 9, 3:30 PM.

And now for something different...

A linguistics professor was lecturing to his English class one day. "In English," he said, "a double negative forms a positive. In some languages, though, such as Russian, a double negative is still a negative. However, there is no language wherein a double positive can form a negative."

A voice from the back of the room piped up, "Yeah, right."

***
A screenwriter comes home to a burned down house. His sobbing and slightly-singed wife is standing outside. “What happened, honey?” the man asks.

“Oh, John, it was terrible,” she weeps. “I was cooking, the phone rang. It was your agent. Because I was on the phone, I didn’t notice the stove was on fire. It went up in second. Everything is gone. I nearly didn’t make it out of the house. Poor Fluffy is--”

“Wait, wait. Back up a minute,” The man says. “My agent called?”
***

How many science fiction writers does it take to change a light bulb?

Two, but it's actually the same person doing it. He went back in time and met himself in the doorway and then the first one sat on the other one's shoulder so that they were able to reach it. Then a major time paradox occurred and the entire room, light bulb, changer and all was blown out of existence. They co-existed in a parallel universe, though.
***
How many mystery writers does it take to screw in a light bulb?

Two. One to screw it almost all the way in, and the other to give it a surprising twist at the end.
***

How many cover blurb writers does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A VAST AND TEEMING HORDE STRETCHING FROM SEA TO SHINING SEA!!!!
***
Past, present and future walked into a pub. It was a bit tense.

--Gabi

Books I'm reading now:
Judging the RITA at the moment. Shhhh, can't tell you what I'm reading. It's a secret.

Love

I had a conversation with my mother today. Nothing important. We chatted, we laughed we shared news about the family. And then she told me she had a nightmare last night. She's spending the nights at my sister's to feed the dog while they're out of town and she doesn't like spending the night in that big house. In her nightmare she was frightened, and then my father appeared in her dream. He said to her, somewhat annoyed with her, "Why didn't you tell me you were scared?" And as she's laughing at herself while telling me her dream, she said, "I was so happy to see him again."

She didn't mean in her dream. My father died twenty plus years ago. And his visit in her dream made her happy. Truly happy. It was in her voice. Oh, neither of us read anything into the dream or take it as a sign. It was just a lovely visit so she could see him again. I had a dream about him, my uncle and my grandmother, all deceased, last summer and I woke up with the same feeling. Not that it was sign, but it was just lovely to see them again.

I think that's why romance (the literary genre, not the dinners, flowers, and candlelight) is so enduring. Love is the most powerful emotion. Love is the chemical that drives us. Love is the thing we search for and once we've found it, man, we depend on it to anchor us and buoy us and gladden us and strengthen us. At least it does for me.

And when that person who inspires us is gone, it doesn't mean the love is. The love stays. That's how strong it is. And I take comfort in that.

--Gabi

Books I'm reading now:

Whoops. Can't tell you. I'm judging the RITA contest.

Hi ho, hi ho...

Yup. It's that time. Time to return to work after a lovely long break. That's the advantage to being a teacher--you get lovely long breaks. That's not to say I didn't bring a large box of grading home to do or that I didn't have a bunch of lesson plans to type out, because I did. I even got all that work done. What I didn't accomplish was what I wanted to do. I could blame family coming coming to visit--they did. I could could blame the holidays that require preparation and planning--they did. But really I have no one to blame but myself. Honestly, it felt too good to just take time to myself. But more on that in a moment.

I think it's undervalued, that taking time for one's self. Somehow you have to replenish you strength, your spirit, your sleep bank.  I can't speak for other writers, but I always feel that I'm not doing enough. I always have that something hanging over my head, bugging me, making me feel inadequate. That I have something to do that I'm not doing. If only I were smarter, better, faster, needed less sleep. 

The stupid thing is (going back to that whole replenishing the well) that when I do work and push myself, I feel better and have more energy and more creativity. So basically what I'm confessing to is laziness. Sigh.

Anyone have any anti-laziness pills?

--Gabi

What I'm reading now:

Risky Business by Nora Roberts

The Perfect Book...

...doesn't exist. I'm convinced of it. From any aspect, no book is perfect. It has grammatical errors (and I speak from experience here: My last novel went through numerous iterations from me, from my editor, from me again, from the copy editor, from me again, and then I went through the galley proofs and still found 143 errors. I try not to glance at my book's content once it's in print out of fear of catching more errors, but I had to give a reading at a book signing, and--cringe--I found an error while I was reading. It's not a good idea.), pacing errors, printing errors, word choice errors, and if by some minuscule chance all those errors don't exist, then, guaranteed, the final product doesn't live up to the author's vision (mine never have) and  there will be people who don't like the book and others who absolutely adore the book. A perfect book is a mythological beast.

Which is why it is a fruitless goal to try to write a perfect book. Like life, a book will be messy. It will be messy while you write it, while you work out its kinks, while you "fix" it. And that's okay. I believe a book should be messy. The entire process of writing is a an exercise of insanity which we try to justify by claiming creative license. That's okay. Eventually we wrestle the beast into some coherent form (hopefully) and with even more luck (much, much more luck), we'll find a few readers whom we entertain and, if we're extremely lucky, whom we touch.

So my non- New-Year's resolution, which just happens to fall on January 1, 2013, is to embrace the insanity and ride it; to enjoy the utter despair and the utter joy a writer feels during and after the process; to acknowledge the futility and do it anyway.

Happy New Year to you all.

--Gabi

Books I'm reading:

Mai Tai One On by Jill Marie Landis

The Lady Most Willing by Julia Quinn, Eloisa James, and Connie Brockway

Light and Fluffy

My taste runs toward light and fluffy. White cake with white icing (Gad, I'm boring); anything with whipped cream (heck, cream with whipped cream); action movies, not art films; comedies over tragedies (anything over gangster/ police/ Martin Scorsese). Maybe I should remove the adjective "light." I can see the value in a lot of "heavy" things, but if I have to "see" the value, it's not for me.

Don't judge. Aw heck, go ahead and judge me. You'd be wrong. I have to face reality every day, so I make no apologies for my taste. It's only too bad that so do feel they have to make judgments. Heck, just by writing this blog, I'm making a judgement of sorts.

Recently I took a new job teaching two different classes. I had to start nine weeks into the school year and finish teaching books chosen by another teacher. One book I truly like, but it really was too elementary for the grade I was teaching. So while I enjoyed revisiting the book, it was frustrating at times. The other book was written by one of my favorite authors, but it's a book I truly don't enjoy. It's the one that is taught in almost every school because it's heavy and considered his classic. I prefer his other more enjoyable tomes and stories with the same messages but with brighter tones. At least I've finished teaching that particular book and have moved on to something I've chosen.

Aw, well. We all have different tastes. Within my own family, I have a husband who prefers non-fiction, a daughter who loves the deep, angsty stuff, one who reads like me but more fantasy, and a non-reader. And I won't even mention my mother. At least they all read my books because they love me. That's good enough for me.
--Gabi

Books I'm reading now:
Behemoth By Scott Westerfeld, illus. by Keith Thompson
Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld, illus. by Keith Thompson