So I have my final cover art for Life and Nothing But now and oh. It's so beautiful. I stared at it for a good ten minutes in awe at how beautiful it is. The novella is out on the 25th in the US (so the 26th here, I'm guessing), which is when I shall post links and such and a preview of the cover. Which is beautiful, I say again.

The editing process with Bonnie has been amazing. I've learned so much while working with her and I'm enormously grateful to her for everything she's done to bash this story into saleable shape. The whole experience with Noble has been wonderful.

In wip news, I'm at 3K words on my Byzantine Empire period novel, which I'm amusing myself by calling my Byzantine road trip novel. Basically, because that is what they're doing - road tripping across central Asia, along the Silk Road, from Constantinople to the Chinese city of Hangzhou. That one's not far along yet soley because of the research. I'm assured that no one will really be fussed if I'm wrong or fudge over some details, but that isn't the point. *I* will be fussed, because I'm a research geek and a history geek. So, I am fussing, natch.

The other one, my Archangels novel, is nearly at 10K words. This is good, except my two mains have yet to do anything more than gaze soulfully and longingly at each other when they think the other isn't looking. Mind you, there's trouble afoot in that universe, so the course of true love will take a while yet.

Other than that, the joints hurt and I'm tired and sore, but it's a day ending in Y, so onward I go. I hope everyone is having a wonderful weekend, whatever you're doing.

I think I've found the song that sums up the mood of my Archangels novel. I've had it on repeat on YouTube and read the lyrics and... yeah. It fits, I think. Song is "Afterglow" by INXS.

( Vid )

I've been thinking about this for a while but it came to a head today after a discussion with jerusalemorbust last night and a discussion between meredith_shayne and myself this morning. (Both of whom I hope will comment here. :D) The subject being multiculturalism and interracial relationships in novels and characters that are in some way disabled and characters that are over the age of 25. (Warning: this post does contain a bit of self-absorbed hyperbole alas.)

( Cut for length. )

People are people and love is love. Age, race, religion, disability, sex – none of this should matter. Unfortunately, because of societal conditioning, it does. And that's terrible.

My short story, City of Gold, which is a historical m/m romance set in Byzantium, has been accepted for the Dreamspinner Press anthology, A First Time For Everything. I am delighted to say the least, I have a lot of love for this piece (even if it's taken me a while to find a name for one of the two main characters!) and am currently in the research stages for a sequel which I hope to be of novel length, rather than a nap-size daydream line length. This is my happy face :D.

Now all I need to do in terms of not so fun research is figure out the tax thing. ATO, you are my only hope. /Star Wars. (And deal with blood tests and other tests this week, but those aren't related to writing and I'm trying not to dwell on them overly much.)

I've submitted two stories this month, one to Dreamspinner Press and the other to Noble Romance. Now, while I try not to think about them (this never goes well, I am a talented worrywart!), I turn my attention towards the Freaky Fountain Press Heavenly Bodies anthology.

I had an idea for what to do for my story for this late last night, around 3a.m., which led to getting out of my comfortable, warm bed and surfing the net looking for the specifics to see if my idea would actually be feasible. It is, which fills me with glee, and I found lots of awesome stuff in my quest for Biblical archaelogy sites and got sidetracked quite a bit. (Gate of Ishtar, I'm looking at you.) Anyway, I'm doing a quick refresher on the destruction of Sodom and Gormorrah story then, after a good night's sleep tonight, writing will begin tomorrow. Huzzah!

Unrelated to writing, I can't recommend the following movie enough. I bought it on dvd, sight unseen, based entirely on a recomendation from jerusalemorbust and the fact that it is a/historical and b/stars an actor/singer I particularly like (Yoo Seung Jun aka Steve Yoo.) The film is Jackie Chan's latest, his 99th film, and is called Little Big Soldier. If you like Jackie Chan films, history films and foreign films, this is for you. It's brilliant and the best $10AU I've spent in a while.

It's nearly Christmas now, three more sleeps! So to everyone, a very merry Christmas and holiday season.

I am a writing machine!

Okay, not really. However, I completed NanoWriMo this year, coming in at 50629 words. I managed to finish a story for submission to a Valentine's Day themed anthology due by the 8th January 2011, which is called Life And Nothing But.

Currently, I'm working on a story for submission to the Dreamspinner First Time anthology, called City of Gold. I'm finding this is difficult to write when it logically should not be. It's set in the early twelfth century in Constantinople, during one of the short periods of peace of the Byzantine Empire. I know the history and the material, what I didn't know or wasn't entirely sure about, I've researched. (I've also found myself embroiled in a debate about semantics between medieval Latin, medieval Greek and medieval Russian, which, while fascinating, wasn't really what I was searching for at the time!) I've dug into information about the Silk Road and trading with the Byzantine Empire in 1130, when my story is set, I like my two protagonists, I know what the conflict is going to be (laws of the time were very strict regarding homosexuality in Byzantium, but that wasn't the case in other parts of the world), and I'm excited to have this wonderful history backdrop in which to set my story.

Yet it's proving extremely difficult. I don't know why, but I don't like it. I just want to be able to write it, but my inner history pedant keeps getting distracted. Which isn't a problem per se, because I do love a good afternoon of link hopping. I don't know. I have writer's nerves, I think. I need to step away for the afternoon and not think about it, I think.

At least the Valentine's story is with my lovely proof-reader/editor of awesome, so that's one good thing. Tomorrow - or tonight - I'll get back into my historical m/m.

Once again, I am doing Nano. I find the Nano experience to be particularly helpful as I am, I'm ashamed to admit, a procrastinator. The spirit and camaraderie of Nano and the word count updates on a daily basis do help me stay focused and work. This year, I have come up with a daily routine that I think might actually be the one. That is to say, the one that works for *me*.

With a few minor setbacks due to other issues that happen to us all, my writing and everything else, actually, was interupted for two days. I got a bit done, but not a lot and certainly not the amount I'd hoped. However, today I was back at it, back with my routine and as long as Front 242's latest CD took to play, I'd written 1500 words thereabouts.

So what is my routine? I've broken my day up into three pieces. Mornings are for writing. I write to music. Cav once told me that a scientist (and I wish I could remember who this scientist is because I'd like to send him/her a fruit basket for being right,) said that certain kinds of music encourage frequencies that enhance creativity in the brain. Chris, her partner, elaborated to say that these genres of music include things with a persitant beat, ie, dance/techno/darwave styles, or those that followed certain strict timing and key change patters within the piece, ie, classical/opera. I experimented a bit after this fascinating conversation several years ago and found that - for me, at least - they and Mr./Ms. Scientist were right.

I write while listening to dance or darkwave music: Front 242, Prodigy, Orbital, Orgy, etc. I edit to heavier bands and artists, such as Tool, Shinedown, Avenged Sevenfold, Stone Sour, etc. Oddly, I find that artists like the Smashing Pumpkins are good music for both the writing and the editing process. I've tried writing to classical, like Beethoven, because I have a big soft spot for Beethoven, and that's worked too but I always find myself coming back to the electronic over the classical.

So that's my mornings. Write to music. Lose myself in words on the screen and the rythym in my ears. Then I have lunch because food is good. After lunch, it's time to relax, chat with friends, often about the writing process, but about other things too, catch up with LJ, Twitter, Facebook, etc, eye off those chain maille bookmarks on Ebay, that sort of thing. Then it's time for dinner, again because food is good. After dinner, I watch the news, then let the TV drone on as I play around with my iPod playlists for the next day or write a few things that are more in the nature of drabbles, etc. Finally, I go and read. I read until I'm ready to fall asleep and I generally - weather and health permitting, of course - sleep the sleep of the dead. Wake up, start all over again.

My day also includes consumption of Coke and chocolate because these things are essential snacks for the living of the life of me. In between, I make sure Castiel, my cat, isn't planning on redecorating my flat with toilet paper as he is wont to do, or howling too loudly and scaring the neighbors who aren't prepared for a cat to holler, "HELLO," at them as they pass at the top of his lungs. Right now, he sleeps on the back of the sofa, no doubt planning tomorrow's decorative inspirations and how best to make the neighbors jump simply by miaowing.

Author's Note: This isn't from the novel I'm cowriting with jerusalemorbust, but it is a semi-reflection of the story we're working on. Michael in this guise is entirely her creation, Gabriel is mine. Together, they fight crime.

Well, maybe not fight crime, but close.


Title: Sometimes.
By: misslj_author
Rating: G.
Summary: A moment of melancholy reflection shared by the Archangels Michael and Gabriel.


Sometimes there is failure. It's never easy, Gabriel knows, yet it happens, even to beings who are nearly omniscient. There is always a reason for things, even if no one understands what the reason is or why.

Reasons never make things simpler or satisfactory. Reasons never make the weight of pain and guilt any lighter. Reasons simply are, a stone weight around one's neck, reminding one of everything that would perhaps be better forgotten.

Her name was Theodora. Gabriel isn't looking at Michael. He can't. He wants to say so much about this, more than just a name, a phrase that is a slipstream of movement against the tide of his life. She was the harmony to my rage. She was a maid to a lesser noblewoman in Constantinople. It was the twelfth century, the Varangians were under my command and I failed them.

Michael is silent and Gabriel is grateful. Platitudes won't help; they both know that. Empty words are just that: empty. They both live with their grief and their guilt and their pain, burying what they can and continuing on with their tasks. Only one who has lived forever could truly understand the complexity of the weight they carry, the weight of memory and melancholy and fragments of joy and hope.

Michael does. Gabriel does. The Host do. Probably, too, some of the residents of Hell, if Gabriel were to think about it. However, at that moment, he isn't thinking about anything other than war and battles, death and blood, tears and anguish.

Sometimes, of laughter. In the infinity of memory, laughter and joy occasionally bubble to the fore.

But only sometimes.

"Sometimes is enough," Michael says quietly.

"Maybe," Gabriel answers.

I'm not the only one who feels this, am I? Which is to say that when I'm working on an edit (as I am for meredith_shayne right now), I want to write. Naturally, given that the Room of Wisdom (aka the bathroom) is where I gain great ideas and, natch, where I have just rescued the cat from falling into the toilet again, I have had... an idea. I know, fear me.

jersualemorbust, expect another long screed of word salad at some point today - it can go anywhere you think it'll fit into the narrative or after your chunk or whatever.

Co-writing is awesome. Which is only mildly cryptic but also probably a little explanatory of the above. And now, back to it!

And also, note for self when I need to explain this in the future, so I'm not looking for it again. Alright versus all right.

Desperate Adoration: An Anthology Celebration of Love and Life.




The anthology has been released (More information here) and contains the following wonderful stories.

Among the Stars – D. M. Silveria
An Earlier Heaven – K. P. Smith, J. Koch
An Ordinary Life – Beate A. Tecza, S. J. Morris
Amukade – Jacob Donovan
Art of Living – L. J. LaBarthe
Can‟t Stop – Miya Kressin
Ever Green – R. E. W. McNeil
Fire in the Blood – Jessica Nasca
Fragile – J. P. Barnaby
Going Home – Michelle Birbeck
Grandma‟s Last Wish – J. C. Wesner
Out of my Dreams – Laurel Chandler
Terra Firma – P. J. Roberts
The Price of a Sacrifice – Marie L. Andersen
Unbroken – Claire M. King

Put together by J. P. Barnaby to raise money and awareness for victims of violence. My story, Art of Living, is a snapshot from the very long lives of two Archangels: Michael and Gabriel. Michael is feeling the weight of his responsibilities and wondering if there is any hope. Gabriel takes him to see lives being lived to the fullest, hope in landscapes and humanity. A small sample:

Gabriel laughed and ruffled his brother's hair. "Oh yeah, you so are. So come on...what's up?"

He opened his mouth to protest but then sighed. Gabriel was right, Michael knew. Sometimes it bothered him just how well his little brother – his favourite brother – could read his tells. None of the other Archangels, or indeed any other choir of angels in Heaven, could read him half so well. Long, long ago, Michael had sometimes wondered if Gabriel had ever actually liked him at all. Raphael, Archangel of Healing, had pointed out to Michael once that if Gabriel didn't like him, hadn't liked him, then he wouldn't know him half so well or tease him half so often.

It had been a comfort then, in the early twentieth century, when Michael had listened to Raphael's words. War among humans was still developing; the tools and machines built for that purpose were crude. Michael knew, as only the first Archangel and warrior of God could know, that things would get worse.

It had been a comfort then, in the early twentieth century, when Michael had listened to Raphael's words. War among humans was still developing; the tools and machines built for that purpose were crude. Michael knew, as only the first Archangel and warrior of God could know, that things would get worse.

They had of course. Mankind‘s lust for conquest grew unabated. Michael found himself losing his spirit and what little hope he had for a good outcome for humanity with each new destructive invention. With each great war that covered the world, drawing in peoples from every nation, he lost heart just a little more until he found himself spending more and more time alone in the great deserts of the world, pondering the eternal question of why.

God the Father, however, kept His silence on the matter. Michael was left alone with his grim thoughts as sunlight burned his skin and blistered his wings and sand chafed his feet.