Good morning, Readers!

I have some thought, but I will save that for tomorrow's post.  Today I want to bring your attention to Larzarus Rising.

The wonderful folk at Ottawa's own science fiction small press, Bundoran Press, are putting out another fabulous anthology - Lazarus Rising.  Bundoran is a great small press putting out fantastic books, and they're trying to raise some modest funds in order to pay the writers who submit to this anthology a decent wage for their stories via indegogo.

I think that is a very noble cause, paying artists for their work.

And Bundoran Press is a great publisher, with a very strong vision and they're forming a fantastic, recognisable brand.

The perks for this are great, too.  I mean, you get to feel good because you helped authors get paid their worth, AND (depending on the level), you get free books, your name mentioned in the book's dedication and much, much more.

To check out all that is on offer, or to donate right away because you're awesome like that, click here to get to their Indegogo page.

Honestly, I really, really want to see this effort succeed, so share it far and wide.

And thanks for helping out.

Now I have work to do.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

So... this weekend was a thing, wasn't it?  Paris was a bloodbath, and as the shock wave of that terrible attack echoed around the world, I learnt about the terrible attack in Beirut (way to have that covered, media.  I am unimpressed with you), the natural disaster that struck Japan, I was reminded of the Syrian refugees, of the attack in Kenya earlier this year...

Overwhelmed, heartbroken and helpless, I posted this to my Facebook Page:

Well... that turned into this:

I will leave it up to you to draw your own conclusions from this, but for my part, I found the whole thing repugnant from start to finish.  I promise these screen shots are unaltered.  You can click on the post and see for yourself... assuming the commenter in question doesn't decide to delete it.

Am I putting this commenter on blast?  You bet your arse I am.  For two reasons
1. He wrote it on a public wall.  It's already public.  As of writing this blog post, it's still there for anyone to see, and
2. I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut about things I find abhorrent, and this was abhorrent.  To take issue with the way a person phrases their sorrow at such a horrific tragedy and start an entire argument about it.... It upsets me even to recall it.

Of particular personal irritation, over and beyond considering what kind of horrific troll a person must be to find pleasure in creating an argument out of an expression of grief and to hurl insults for no good reason, is the accusation of hysteria.  That's a personal gripe, though.  I've written before how personally harmful I find the trivialisation of feelings is, but that's a whole other (already written) post.

Given all that is happening in the world; climate change, natural disasters, the refugee crisis, the growing gun violence in America, increasing instances of faith-based, gender-based and sexual orientation-based hate crimes - the list really is endless - perhaps we might discover that the world is, in fact, falling apart.

Or, perhaps, I should just write better.

​*grumble* *mutter* *punch the shit out of a bag at training tonight*

On that note, please, please, please, please watch this.  It really is the thing we all need to hear right now:

Did you watch it?  This post isn't continuing until you do.  Go on.  I'll wait.

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Watched it?  Good.

Now I can move on with other aspects of the weekend.

It was my birthday Saturday.  Hah!  But seriously, it was.  I spent the day being quiet, being gentle with myself.  I took myself out to brunch, then, thanks to the most amazing flatmate on the face of the planet, out to my first ever massage at the first ever professional massage parlour I've ever beet to.

It was so lovely.  I highly recommend Anna Belanger to anyone in the Ottawa area.

Anyway, the masseuse knew her stuff.  She pressed on my back and said, "Glad to see that someone has been hitting the gym!"  Apparently, my back is in great shape, with every muscle where it should be and most of them yielding as they should.  Most of them.

It was at the end of the massage that the masseuse found a problem.  I've always suffered with lower back pain.  It's been a constant in my life since I before I remember.

The problem, the masseuse suspects, is actually in my hips.  My hip muscle complex is what is pulling my lower back in all kinds of strange ways.  And the massage changed.  The pressure didn't change.  The techniques didn't change (except to adapt to new shapes), but it suddenly started to hurt a fair amount.

It was a good kind of hurt, if you know what I mean.

Yesterday, my lower back killed - probably in response to the massage the day before.  It's better now, thanks for asking.

Oh, I should point out that when I write "my lower back killed," no living thing was destroyed by my lower back.  No lives were lost.

I should write better.

Sorry.  I really couldn't resist.

Anyway, I have to go look up a bunch of stretches for the hip muscle complex today.  Yay.

Sunday I spent with friends, meeting their new little kitten, before heading out for the last meet up of the year.  It was a good day.

All in all, it was a great weekend.  And by great, I don't really mean mighty at all.  There was no massive amount of strength or any mighty deeds done by the weekend.

I should write better.

Sorry.  It's just funny now.

I'm going to go before I get any sillier. There is work that needs doing.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

The convention season has come to a close for me.  I was offered a spot at Ottawa Pop Expo with friends, but I am far too exhausted from the last couple of months to make it.  I honestly think I should probably be there, but I also feel frayed, nerves pulled so tight I'm on the verge of collapse.  It's been a very stressful year.

Not just conventions, mind you.  Those are relatively minor stressors, and never really all that stressful once they start.  It's all in the lead up, you see.

However, family stuff, writing, painting, trying to get Nights at the Round Table up and running again, moving house, trying to keep up with friends, a whole bunch of other projects, and feeling like I have no time.... It's been a bit overwhelming this year.

So, because I was, I am, feeling so drawn, I've decided to wind down for the rest of the year.  My last meet up of the year will be this month.  There will be no meet up in December (though be sure to subscribe to my eNewsletter if you want to know the secret location of the first meet up of 2016).  There are no more conventions that I'm willing to go to this year.  I will be adding more next year, I think.  But for this year, I'm all played out.

I have also been working with a business coach, who is trying to help me make a splash in my chosen profession.  She's been very helpful and has come out with a number great ideas for me.  It's thanks to her that you can now read the first chapter of all of my books right from their individual pages or from the combined Titles page.

Working with her has been brilliant, but it's one more thing I must do every week, one more part of me pulled, and the workload has been pretty impressive.  Still, it's all for the best.

My current project is to begin creating audiobooks for all of my titles.  I'm starting with The Dying God & Other Stories.  I've had an idea about how I want to structure it, but I'm waiting to hear back.  It might not ever happen the way I would like.

So, I expect that these blog posts will get a whole lot less interesting in the coming weeks.  It will essentially be a recap of whether or not I made my daily word count.  Unless something gets me all ranty.

Speaking of ranty, my good friend Eric Desmarais had a few choice words to say to people like me - those of us Scrooges who judge anyone celebrating Christmas before the Christmas season - in his blog post today.  In my case, I give ample side-eye and not a small amount of rage to any stores that start playing Christmas carols before Remembrance Day.

I don't mind individuals putting up Christmas decorations so much as I mind the start of Christmas shopping displays before Remembrance Day is done with.  I'm having a bit of trouble reconciling this, actually.  Individuals make up society.  Why don't I mind when individuals put up Christmas decorations before Remembrance Day, but detest it so much when shops start doing the same?  How is it any different?

Anyway, Eric raises some really good points, and it's really making me think about why I feel the way I do, as all good discussions should.

Anyway, that's all I have for you today.  I'm off to paint and write, and then go to training  Have a great day, everyone!

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

Remembrance Day always fills me with a deep sadness and a profound feeling of gratitude.

Everything I am, everything I am able to do was paid for in blood and pain and terror.  It was hard fought for and hard won.

And every year, we stand in remembrance of those who lost their lives fighting for our sake.  And we stop to remember why they fought.

Still I feel one day a year is not enough.  One simple ceremony is not enough.

It's not enough to honour the sacrifices of our fallen.

Shape your lives in the light of goodness, of openness, understanding, compassion and courage.  Battle the evils of ignorance, of bigotry, injustice and cruelty; just as they did.

They fought in bloody battle.  Our fight is easier.

Then, maybe, we'll come close to honouring all that was lost.

There's little else to say about this day, so I'll leave you with one of my favourite remembrance songs.  The lyrics are below.

Green Fields of France

Well, how do you do, Private William McBride, 
Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside? 
And rest for awhile in the warm summer sun, 
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done. 
And I see by your gravestone you were only 19 
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916, 
Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean 
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene? 

Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly? 
Did the rifles fir o'er you as they lowered you down? 
Did the bugles sound The Last Post in chorus? 
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest? 

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind 
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined? 
And, though you died back in 1916, 
To that loyal heart are you forever 19? 
Or are you a stranger without even a name, 
Forever enshrined behind some glass pane, 
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained, 
And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame? 

The sun's shining down on these green fields of France; 
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance. 
The trenches have vanished long under the plow; 
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now. 
But here in this graveyard that's still No Man's Land 
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand 
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man. 
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned. 

And I can't help but wonder, no Willie McBride, 
Do all those who lie here know why they died? 
Did you really believe them when they told you "The Cause?" 
Did you really believe that this war would end wars? 
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame 
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain, 
For Willie McBride, it all happened again, 
And again, and again, and again, and again.

Lest we forget.

Good morning, Readers!

So today I am attempting to continue with my old schedule.  It's not as easy as it looks, all things considered.  But I am determined.  First on the list:

Painting.  I'm going to start a new digital painting.  I have a new painting in mind - a revamp of one of my sketches - that I'd like to get started on.

Next will be writing.  I have a self-imposed deadline of finishing the first draft of Daughters of Britain by the end of the year.  It should have been done long before this, but things happened and writing wasn't really all that possible.

That should take care of the entire day.

In the evening, my schedule remains unchanged:
Weight lifting
Kick-boxing
Kung fu

That part is easy.

Sitting down and getting work done, that seems impossible at the moment.  I don't know why.  I have no idea.  The stories are still in my head.  They're still there.  I'm just having issues getting them out.  Hopefully the painting will loosen up my mind and I'll fall back into in.

On that note, I really need to get to it.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

This past Saturday was the Ottawa Small Press Book Fair, autumn edition.  It was my first time attending as a seller, and it was great!

It helped, I think, that I had books that were quite different from most everything else available at the fair, which opened up great conversations with those who stopped by my table.  Thank you, incidentally, for stopping by my table.  It was absolutely lovely!

The best thing about small fairs like this is that there is plenty of time to chat with people, and new readers who might not know I exist, since speculative fiction is a minority at fairs like this.  This isn't a slur against literary fiction, but it's true that speculative fiction has a tendency to keep to its own largely because literary fiction snubs its nose at genre.

I could go on a whole rant about this, but that's for another blog post.  The point I'm trying to make is that at fairs like this, which tend to be more literary, we genre writers tend to stand out a little bit, and that is a good thing.

At least it was for me!

I want to extend my thanks to my good friends Bill and Dawn Eggleton who stepped up to the plate and helped me get my books to the site and set up while I was teaching, got me to the fair on time, and helped me take all the stuff home again.  It was above and beyond.  Thanks so much guys!

This weekend was also World Fantasy Convention.  I am not a name in the genre yet, so I didn't attend (though I wish I had made plans to - Steven Erikson was guest of honour and I am such a fangirl of his Malazan Book of the Fallen series).  I have heard fabulous things about the convention, though, from friends who are big enough to attend.

I must offer an massive congratulations to Sandra Kasturi and Brett Savoy of Chizine Publications, who won the World Fantasy Special Award - Professional.  That is fantastic news.  I have met them both, and they work so hard, and are so clever, and genuinely lovely people.  I'm ridiculously excited for them.  This award was very well deserved.

For those who don't know, Chizine Publications is a Canadian publisher.  They publish the best in dark, weird and twisted speculative fiction.  Their titles are really amazing and I highly recommend them.

In any case, it was a fabulous weekend all around, and I am really happy about it.  Good news for me (thanks Ottawa Small Press Book Fair) and great news for friendly acquaintances and the Canadian speculative fiction scene!

Yay!

Now that all the conventions and fairs for the year are done, I have a routine to get back to.  So on that note, I'm off to redo my Welsh lessons and then write a little bit.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

Today is the last day of my Can Con 2015 coverage.  Don't cheer too loudly.  Today I'm talking about something I did that I have never before done.

I pitched a novel.  To two publishers.

I have been writing seriously for more than eight years, publishing myself for five, and I've never once done a live pitch.  I have had the opportunity plenty of times.  At every Can Con I've attended, actually. This is the first one at which I've attempted to sell a manuscript face to face.

I'm not going to lie, it was genuinely terrifying.

My first pitch happened on Saturday afternoon.  I sat down and had a great little chat with the acquisition editor.  It was actually really fun.  He had a very blunt manner about him that I very much appreciated (remind me tell you about the incredible culture shock I experienced moving from Australia to Canada one day), and had no problems telling it like it is.  Things I learnt during this pitching session:

• Skye is apparently a really pulp-y name.
• The story is actually really interesting.
• I had NO idea what my book is actually about
• I am TERRIBLE at selling my books
• At least I don't come off like an idiot (oh how little you know me!)

It was a great little discussion, actually, and I really appreciated being given the time to attempt to (terribly) sell my manuscript.  For what it's worth, the story was interesting enough to warrant a closer look by the publisher.  So yay!

I was also told that I really should pitch in person more, since I presented so well.

Hah hah... HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH!

Ahem.

For the record, I was shaking in fear before I sat down.  Talking to strangers is not the best time for me, and doing so trying to achieve a goal that means the world to me is even worse.  Still, it went pretty well, all things considered.

My second pitch followed on Sunday afternoon.  This one was even more high-pressure as instead of twelve odd minutes, I had only five in which to impress the editor.  I left my last panel and went straight to the waiting area for pitching.  There I sat, pale faced and clammy, going over my pitch in my mind, trying to distract myself with idle chatter with those also waiting to pitch, or staring down into nothingness trying not to be ill.  I was nervous.

In that time, I had a small epiphany.

You see, it's really tough for a writer to be able to find the theme of their own story.  At least for me it is. I just write a story without any themes in mind.  My goal is to tell a fantastic tale.  Trying to pick out a theme after the fact is nigh on impossible.  That was what tripped me up on Saturday's pitch.

My argument is that every reader will take something different away from a book.  In the case of Skylark there are any number of lessons one could walk away with.  Perhaps it would make a reader ponder the foolishness of blind prejudice, or perhaps it would impress upon the reader the power of love (barf), or maybe the necessity of genuine friendship, or the nature of true heroism...... There are tonnes of things any one reader may walk away from the book with.

For me, however (and I realised this sitting, stewing in my terrified thoughts before this pitch), the book tells the reader that the right thing is almost never the easy thing.

Doing the right thing costs; lives, loves, friendships... doing the right thing will see you lose them all.  It's not easy.  It's really, really difficult.

That is why evil persists - it's the easy path.

Anyway, that thought struck me as I was waiting to pitch, and I made adjustments to my notes so that I had it at a glance should I get the dreaded question: "So what is your book actually about."

That question never came.  I sat before the editor - who was decidedly the loveliest person ever and not terrifying at all - and explained the story.  She read the single page I had brought, and seemed genuinely interested.  So yay!

I left the pitching session feeling vaguely light headed and a little out of it.  I promptly marched to the bathroom and had a good cry.  I think I just needed to release all the pent up anxiety that had been building over the weekend, as well as all the crazy dashing around that marked this weekend. and, you know, the funeral.  I cried for a good little bit, had a minor panic attack, and then pulled myself together.

So, yeah.

That was my pitching experience.

All in all, it was actually pretty good!  Yes, I was absolutely petrified.  Yes, it wasn't good for my anxiety (mind you, that was made worse, I think, by the high emotions of the weekend).

But it was positive.  The editors in question were absolutely wonderful people, and it has helped me no end to know that my story seemed genuinely interesting

Most importantly, I came out the other side of this terrifying experience in one piece and relatively sane... or, at least, no less sane that I was before going in.  I know I can do it again.

Yay life experience!

Now I have work I must be getting on with.

Ciao!