I'm moving blogs

Sadly, I have reached the conclusion that I need a new blog in the name of my new Pseudonym. It isn't that I'm trying to hide, just keep my two professions, lawyering and writing, far apart. This is necessary because I work for the government.

Sigh.

I don't intend to continue updating this blog *sobs* but I hope you'll join me over at

Marguerite Says. I'll be moving all my contact links there and I hope you won't think who? when somebody named Marguerite comments on your blog.

It's just me! Only shinier!

Name that Genre!

So I've noticed a lot of folks lately asking about the difference in genres. How do you know if something is mystery or suspense? Horror or paranormal?

I'm pretty busy right now, so I'll let my cat explain things to you:

Murder





Thriller




Suspense




Horror






Paranormal








And now you know! Don't you feel smarter?

About a Goose

I have a velcro goose. You know how some people have "velcro dogs" that are attached to them? Well, I have a goose. His name is Chowder and he's an African goose like the one in the LOL above. I hand-raised him from a chick and it's safe to say he's imprinted on me.

And he's lonely.

Chowder has two ladies for companionship, Panini and Ceviche, but both girls are broody--for the non-poultry addict out there, this means that they are sitting on their nests trying to hatch eggs and rarely step off. During the breeding season, life was a constant pool party. There was more "happy time" going on in my pond than teens on spring break. Life was good for the Chowder.

Oh, what a difference a month makes. Now his girls are broody and the good times have come to an end. He wanders the farm, lonely and calling. Chowder needs his Mama and that means me.

I can't do anything without a goose following me and "assisting." You think cats help out in the house? This guy is into everything and have you heard the phrase "like poop through a goose." I have goose poop everywhere around my house including the garage. He's learned that I come out that door and now he waits there. Pitifully. Honking and crying. He's learned to knock on the door too. Eventually I get fed up and come out to comfort him and feed him apples. Men of all species are the same. Let a woman reject them and it's back to Mama for food and hugs.

Don't feel too badly for him. I posted previously about the snake stealing Panini's eggs, but I just hatched three goslings in my incubator. Geese are devoted parents and easily adopt any babies offered to them. I about a week Sushi, Truffles, and Schnitzel will meet their new parents.

Then maybe I can walk into my garge without looking where I step.

A Rant in D Minor

I have a small complaint about romance novels and erotica and more specifically about the sex scenes. I'm not sure what happens to people when writing about physical intimacy. I'm pretty sure that most of these authors have had sex. In fact, many of them are parents and so I know they have experience with the horizontal mambo. They must have a basic grasp of the mechanics. Been there, done that, got the kids to prove it.

So why do I find so many sex scenes in novels to be so...moist?



You know what I mean. Characters start getting cozy and various parts of their anatomy start leaking fluids. Not that there isn't a certain amount of that going on in real life, but the levels which are described in these novels bring to mind a good dose of penacillin. I read a novel a while back that describe a woman's girly parts as her "river of love."

Ew.

Do not want.

Girly parts should not be a river and manly parts should not be a firehose. It's just wrong. Don't think this is an isolated incident by an over eager writer. Oh no. I see this over and over again. I've read about the amount of semen produced by the man. I've read about the scent and viscosity of the woman's "love juice." Mostly I hear about the continuous gush of fluids resulting in the flood at the happiest moment. Seriously, in one recent novel, bodily fluids alternately wept, seeped, flooded, gushed, spilled and cascaded. Oh, I so desperately wish I was making that up.



Ew.

Ew, ew,ew,ew,ew,ew,ew!

These people don't have a wet spot, they have a waterbed. Seriously, what is with the wet?

I just don't get it.

When Trees Attack!

Well, my son's youngest doe tried to climb a tree yesterday. Didn't go so well for her actually. She got stuck.

Okay, backing up in time. I'm upstairs typing away on the outline for my new book. I had an awesome idea for a scene and wanted to get it all down before I forgot. Aren't you proud of me? So, I'm working away and the dogs are barking and whining. I make my husband pause the T.V. so we can listen. He thinks I'm nuts because our dogs bark at the wind, but I knew that it didn't sound right.

My son thinks so too and goes out to check. he comes back in to announce that "Penny has her foot stuck in a tree and she's making this baaing sound." Husband curses a bit about goats and puts on his boots. I decide they might need my help and wander out with them.

Oh. Em. Gee.

I think she took a year off my life! Penny is hanging, HANGING, from the tree with her head just limp at an odd angle. She looks dead.

Heart pounding, I run out there to her. Her foot isn't just stuck, it is completely wedged and she's panting and making choking noises.

It took all three of us and a can of Pam non-stick spray to get her out safely. I was worried about her foot, but she limped for a day and has recovered from the shock. I did NOT allow her into that same pasture today. But I did catch her trying to...

You guessed it.

Trying to climb a tree.

Typical day at the B Square Ranch. Yes, my little pretend farm is really called the B Square. I'll explan some day.

Anyway: get up,
dress children,
feed animals,
turn eggs in the incubator,
kill snake that is threatening broody goose,
tromp around an excavation site to check for environmental law compliance,
plead a bunch of cases out over the phone,
get car inspected,
hase goat that is eating rose bushes,
gather eggs,
kick naughty rooster that goes after my leg,
remind cranky gander I am bigger and meaner,
scratch donkeys,
check for email from editor,
run amok at website because it is after all April Fools
eat leftovers,
feed children leftovers,
check homework,
despair of the next generation,
update blog,


Whew. I think that takes me current.

What?

Yes, I said kill snake. It was super creepy. I'm not bugged by much, and I prefer to let snakes live. They are beneficial. But this sucker was HUGE and he was bold enough to attack my brodding goose Ceviche for her eggs!



I heard my girl hissing and hissing and she is usually a happy, contented girl on her nest. I pretty much looked like the cat above when I saw it. Now I know what has been happening to the eggs in my dog house. See, the dog house is my chickens' favorite place to lay their eggs. They have lovely nestboxes, but they will literally stand in line for a chance to get into the big plastic dog house.

It's sort of like one of those clubs that has watered drinks and long lines and plastic technomusic, but people will gladly hand over their case for covers just to get in and be seen. yeah. It's the cool hang out.

I notice some publishers are like that. These publishers become flavor of the month and suddenly it's cool to have a book with them. Yup. Writers are just like chickens.

I haz a blog?

O how could I have forgotten?

Okay, almost a year later, I'm back. I've been through alot of upheaval in the last year. Health issues sidelined by computer time. It wasn't my health, but my husband had multiple surgeries and my mother became very ill and passed away last summer.

But I'm back to blogging in a mild sort of way.

Let's see, last time I was about to go camping. Hmmm--the more life changes the more it stays the same. I just got back from camping. It was a really productive trip too. I wrote an outline for a new novel and completed the contract for my last one. I'll have details soon for Compromising Prudence!

I still refuse to twitter and facebook and I know that blogging is passe, but I write historical romances and mysteries! My whole life is passe!

Anyway, I hope for my blogging to again be a regular thing! At least if the furry overlords will let me out again!

Like an Old Friend

So lately I've been in a bit of a funk. Lord knows there are plenty of things to stress me out. Work. Kids. Health. Aging Parents. But it's more than that. I've been stagnant, both in my writing and my friendships. It's time I tested new waters.

But instead I've crawled back into the past and found it to be a lovely new place. It's fresh and warm, sort of like bread from the oven. It seems time has not diminished many of the books I once loved and I'm rediscovering them all over again. I began buyin the newly re-released Georgette Heyers. Sourcebooks has them all being gradually re-released with gorgeous new covers. Oh, How I love Heyer! Let me count the ways.

I think I love her feisty heroines the best, followed by her pairings of equally wide-eyed heros and heroines. My personal favorite may be Black Sheep, closely followed by Faro's Daughter, Frederica, Regency Buck, and Friday's Child. I also adore Cotillion. Her characters are magnificently drawn and the situations are always fresh and entertaining. Her history is so right that I never find myself pulled from the story. Yummy!

If Heyer is fresh bread, then M.M. Kaye is chocolate chip cookies. I'm reading my way through her Death in... series. So far I've re-read Death in Kenya and Death in Zanzibar. Next up, I'm thinking Death in the Andamans and Death in Cypress. Or maybe Kashmir. I love her mysteries. Exotic locales, young lovers, treasure, spies, creepy houses: her books have it all. I only wish there were more of them. If all you know about this woman is The Far Pavilions, you simply must give her mysteries a try.

Mary Stewart would have to be a big steaming baked potato with all the fixings. Always romantic and always suspensful, her novels really set the bar for me. Intrepid heroines who sometimes rescue their heros simply made my teenaged heart go pitty-pat. No jerk, a-hole exucuses for Alpha Males. Her heros are witty, urbane, and utterly devoted to their heroines. The danger often somes from within, killer cousins and deceptively faithful family retainers abound. What's not to love?

So who are YOUR comfort foods? I mean reads. Comfort reads. I knew that.

And what do they taste like?

Sympathy for the Devil

Sometimes I'm sure it sucks to be a predator. Predator's get no love. Everyone saves their warm fuzzy feelings for little fluffy bunnies and duckies.

Sigh.


Including me.


Two weeks ago, something began nomming on my pet ducks. I had fifteen ducks and they weren't allowed to simply roam at night. My ducks are very spoiled. They have a Taj Mahal duck house and their own plastic wading pools for the days they don't feel like trekking down to the pond. At night, they are safely locked inside with feeders and a bowl of water with lovely mounds of fluffy shavings to nest in.

Something broke into the Taj Mahal and devoured most of Snowdrop. Turned out that the house breaker had dropped onto the roof from the trees, pried back the chicken wire covering the vent holes and helped himself to Snowdrop (a Swedish Blue duck) and most of the eggs. So we fortified the Taj Mahal with extra boards and went to sleep certain that the duckies were safe.

Not so. The bandit struck again. I opened the door expecting the usual mad dash for pools, but my ducks seemed reluctant to come out. Finally, one by one, the emerged and I saw the first evidence of carnage. Two of my ducks were bloody and badly injured, Squeaker (a little, noisy, crested Swedish Blue) and Staypuff the Marshmallow Duck (An enormous crested white Pekin who looks like he has a giant fluffy marshmallow on his head). Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Inside I discovered the remains of Heidi (A black Cayuga).

Squeaker didn't last the day, but Staypuff really hung in there. He's a feisty one. This time the miscreant had pried open the wire along the back vents of the roof. I no longer had any doubts as to the villain of this piece: A racoon. Once a racoon puts your poultry on his nightly rounds, there is nothing you can do but remove him. I hate killing animals, but I buried Squeaker and Heidi and hardened my heart. The racoon must die.

We borrowed a livetrap and placed it on the roof of the Taj Mahal I didn't want to catch any stray bunnies or skunks, just the killer coon. In a flash of divine justice, I baited the trap with duck eggs. Sure enough the next morning, there he was staring at me. The mighty predator. A medium sized racoon. He was kind of cute and clearly petrified, but he hissed and showed me his teeth. On a closer examination (okay, not to close. I'm not soooopid.) I saw part of the problem. He had an enormously swollen infected leg. Suddenly, it all made sense.

This was a very injured animal trying to survive. My ducks were an easy source of food for him after he stopped being able to efficiently hunt. To him, the Taj Mahal was a handy buffet. I felt a little sympathy for the villain.

Course that didn't stop me from putting a bullet in his brain, but it was as quick and painless an end as we could manage for him and it started me thinking about villains. So rarely are they simply evil for the sake of being evil. No, they want something. Something real. Something necessary. Maybe they're desperate, injured, hungry, under duress. They don't want to be evil. They just want to survive.

I doubt the racoon considered himself the villain of the story. He probably would tell you that he was the tragic victim of an uncaring farmer who maliciously trapped and shot him. My ducks would say that I'm an avenging angel, but I feed them so they're totally biased. I guess sometimes villain and hero is just a little matter of perspective.

Ducks entering the Taj Mahal at night. That is Squeaker in the far left corner and Staypuff just below the ramp and Snowdrop to his right. RIP Squeaker, Heidi, and Snowdrop.

Show Me Where it Hurts

Ow! Ow! Ow!

I'm having one of those chapters. You know the ones I mean. I've been stuck for days and I keep writing and deleting and rewriting and redeleting. Finally, I'm just plowing on through the suckitude until I get to the good stuff again.

Why does this happen? Is it just a part that I haven't thought through carefully enough? Am I missing a step? Is my brain just not turned on? What?

What I have learned is that the only thing for it is to keep going. Sometimes I look back and have trouble spotting where it was painful to write. It may have felt bad at the time, but was actually productive and not too sucky. Other times I reread and wonder if someone slipped crack into my coffee when I wasn't looking. Yowza.

This all seems to happen most often in transitions. I'm at point A. Dramatic major plot event has just occured and in the aftermath, I need to be at point B. Getting there equals headaches from pulling my hair. That's what has happened this time. I'm just going to skim ahead and get myself to point B. I check back later and see if the journey makes sense or if I'm destined for a major rewrite.

I'm betting on rewrite.

Why I don't Write What I Know

Come a little closer. I have a confession. Closer. Cloooooooooser.

K, not that close.

Better.

All that conventional wisdom about write what you know? I refuse. Oh, I've done it in the past and there are any number of writing tropes that would fit perfectly in my life. Soccer mom? Lived it. Cute little Southern Town ala Fanny Flag? Lived it. Ranch life? Yup. Gotta go let the ducks down to the pond in a few minutes and gather eggs (not to mention chase my son's horse off the front porch yet again. I don't get her obsession with chewing on my porch furniture. Stick to the grass, dammit!)

I think my obession with historical periods is pretty well known, but I'm the same way about exotic locales. Gimme long ago and far away or at least one of the two. I want escapism. I want fantasy. I don't want to write about my life for anything longer than a blog post.

Life on a ranch holds no mystique to me. For some it may sound fascinating, but all I can think about is cleaning stalls and who needs to be dewormed and is it time to move the cows to the back pasture. Not really romantic fodder.

I want to read about palm trees and jungles and beaches and drawing rooms and Victorian street life and the birth of the Viennese Waltz and settling Kenya and--you get the picture. I want things as far removed from my world as possible. I want to be transported and not only when I read.

Let's face it. Like a lot of writers, I began doing this in order to entertain myself. Writing should be fun and for me, it just isn't fun to ruminate on my reality. So I've placed my writing where my reading is. No more contemporary stories set in Texas. Done.

I might write an 1880's ranch tale though. Just maybe.

Whoa! I feel like dancing!

I love it when a plan comes together. I'm deep into rewrites on my most recent novel (including an entirely new ending, but that is a rant of another color for another day).

I just got to a pivotal scene and...and...I love it. I gave myself chill bumps. It's evil and savage and I just discovered the most horrible thing to do to my MC. This is gonna scar her forever.

I feel like Mr. Burns rubbing my hands together. "Excellent."

Funny how this stuff works. I've been in a cranky mood off and on for, oh, a week, a month, maybe three. But this just made me grin.

Oh yeah, gonna do the robot dance!

So tell me about your serendipity! Find any good nuggets in your WIPs?

Bloggus Interrupticus

..........................................................................


Should I start my list of excuses now? There was Christmas and New Years and we bought a new horse and my husband had surgery and my mother was in the hospital and I went camping and trout fishing and I've worked a lot then my kids had spring break and we had a drought followed by a flood and my ducks are laying eggs and we took a bull to the butchers and my friend had a baby and I've finished my short story but I'm rewriting the end to Death by Scandal because I just read a book that had the exact same freaking end as my novel and what were the odds on that but there you are and my house is a mess and one of my donkeys got a cut on his eye and needed medecine put on it six freaking times a day and it was basketball season for my kids and now it's baseball season and there was the stock show and Ima gonna stop now.

You get the picture.

Picture? You want a picture? Try this one on.





Spring has sprung on my farm and that means lots of busy times, but definitely more attention to my poor little neglected bloggy. I've missed you people!

Blog? What Blog?

Okay, so I've been a little busy. I'm close to finishing "Death by Scandal" but "The Ruination of Prudence" wouldn't wait. Prudence is a cheeky git! I had to stop and write her story. Between kids out for the holidays and work and writing, poor little Murder Blog went begging. I'll be back to blogging regularly after the holidays.

So until then: Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanza and a Lovely New Year to everyone!

My yearly public service announcement.

Don't ever do this:

Seven Different Flavors of Crazy


Thank you.

You Ought to Know...

In an effort to make my blog more than my personal winge column, I'm adding a new feature. (yay for features.) Each week I'll post a "you ought to know" article about a person of interest from the 19th century (mostly). First up next week will be James Gordon Bennet, both the junior and the senior. A two fer! How's that for a treat?

Cue Evil Laugh

I've done it! Fifty thousand words. Best of all, I'm rather pleased with the story--except I'm feeling a little guilty. My characters are very nice people and I've chased them up trees and thrown rocks at them.

My hero and heroine just got to their wedding day and I had twinges of guilt the whole time I was writing about their bliss. Their anticipation was so intense that they started getting it on in the carriage when he stopped her. After all, their marital bed was waiting for them and they had the rest of their lives.

Oh, I'm sorry. Did you think you were going to consummate your marriage tonight? Pwned!

What I knew and they didn't was that a man with a gun was waiting to ambush them. There would be no connubial bliss. The scene turned out much darker than I originally intended but my heroine surprised me with her strength. She started out this novel crying at the drop of a hat. I think she's grown quite a bit through her ordeal. :sniff: I'm quite proud of her now. Still I felt sorta bad about the whole thing. It was supposed to be her happiest moment and I made it hell on earth, but hey--who said growth was easy?

So, what's the most evil thing you've done to your characters recently?

La La La! I can't hear you!

So, I'm fighting the derail in my story right now. I've been hit with the new project bug, a shiny new virus determined to suck away productivity from my current WIP. It beckons to me with seductive new characters ripe with promise and free from the taint of convoluted subplots and unexpected plot twists. It won't hurt at all. Sooooooooooo easy to give in.

No! I must fight it! I must not allow the infection to take hold. There is no antibiotic, but I've done what I can to plump up my immune system. I've outlined the new story in order to purge it from my system. It has not been effective.

This isn't the first new product virus to attempt invasion during NaNo, but it has been the most successful. The characters whisper to me in my dreams. I picture them as I'm shopping in the grocery store. They pursue me with shamless intensity.

But I shall prevail. I have a new strategy. This is my carrot, my reward for finishing this novel. When I am done with Death by Scandal, I'm allowed to write the Ruination of Prudence. (And give it a better name too.)

How about you? Other projects trying to get a little me time and steal your attention? How do you fight them?

Three cheers for stupid!

Like the picture says, sometimes success means fail and sometimes fail means success. What I'm trying to say is that sometimes it is more interesting to see our characters make poor decisions than good ones, just as long as they feel the consequences of their actions.

What makes TSTL characters so maddening is that everything turns out okay for them. Someone bails them out. The hero rescues the heroine from her stupid decision and no one calls her on it. She never realizes the error of her ways. Even worse, her impetuous and foolish behavior is praised as brave. This makes me want to leave a permanent forehead impression on my desk.

In real life, people do make bad decisions or act without thinking, but they have to live with the consequences. Failure can lead to personal growth and for characters, that leads to win and awesome! Isn't that what we hate the most about Mary Sue characters? If she is beautiful and sweet and a rocket scientist who speaks seven languages and knits blankies for orphans in between composing piano sonatas--well, where is the drama. Of course she will succeed. Ho hum. On the flip side is someone so flawed that I just can't bond with her at all, but that's another rant for another day.

In my current WIP, my heroine makes a bad choice and conceals information in a murder investigation. She thinks she is simply protecting herself but it becomes harder and harder to maintain the falsehood. The small bit of information she hides becomes increasingly important to the investigation. Finally, she must own up to her actions and live with the consequences. She finally triumphs by making smarter choices.

So lets hear it for failure and stupidity. Huzzah! Don't they make life grand?

Two Steps Forward...

Sigh!
So, I had this great idea and tinkered around with my plot this morning. I started the day with a bonehead move. I left my laptop at home. DOH! It was an odd day without email or teh intrawebs. This gave me a chance to pull out my handy, dandy notebook. Fortunately I never travel without.

I noodled about and then had one of those glorious heavenly choir light from above epiphanies. :cue sparklies: This was followed by more brilliance and suddenly I had this awesomesauce plot twist and it worked perfectly...except...except...oh crap. It required my heroine to do something TSTL*.

Dang it. I hate that. It sounds like a good idea at the time but when you look at it under the lights--not so much. Very deflating.

But!!!!! But the first part of my uber wonderful idea? Still greatness.

Now if I can only pull it off! What false steps have you made in your WIPS?


*Too Stupid To Live