Shameless Self Promotion, pt 2

I'd like to introduce you to someone. He's big, he's strong, he's very sexy, and he has fangs. His name is Rafael, and he's a Master vampire. He's been alive fifteen hundred years, has killed and created, watched empires rise and fall, and taken countless women--and men--to his bed.

Unfortunately, he has a serious impulse control problem.

Being a vampire, this leads to a few unfortunate consequences. Like with Paige. Paige is smart, modern, and beautiful, and also unfortunately dead, since Rafa got a little carried away with the biting. And since Paige is the best beloved of Rafa's friend and employee, Jamie, he's got to do something about it. Or Jamie will be inviting Rafa for a cosy threesome with a wooden stake.

So what's a vampire to do? Turn her and hope Jamie can help her through it? Let her die? Or make her into a be-fanged one, and risk her turning out like him, a barely civilised barbarian who accidentally kills people when he feeds?

What's a vampire to do?

If you'd like to find out, be sure to check out Rafa, Paige and Jamie's story in Unholy Trinity, available as soon as Friday dawns!

Vote for me!

Yes, I know. I'm not even pretending it's not shameless.

The Preditors and Editors 2006 poll is up. Yours truly is listed under best author, novella (twice), and novel. All three of my publishers are listed for best publisher, and likewise my wonderful editors, Sheri Ross Fogarty, Kelli Kwiatkowski, and Jess Bimberg. If you happen to think that any of my books, publishers, or editors are the best of 2006, please go and vote--and if your favourite isn't listed (I'm talking about books here, because of course your favourite author is listed) then you can nominate it too.

Ta!

Put the fun back into writing

Recently Susan Hill blogged about how so many writers these days complain about the hard work and misery of their chosen career.

And in among all manner of different comments and counter-comments, confessions and questions and answers and pieces of advice, one thing struck me and this was how painful the whole thing seemed to be. How much angst, anguish, worry, striving, fear of failure, self-flagellation and goodness knows what else which indicated that almost none of these people are ENJOYING WRITING.

I have to wonder if they're making all of this misery up. I mean, look: writing is a profession where you get to sit in your pyjamas and eat chocolate all day while you let your imagination go doolally. It's fantastic. It's the best job in the world! The only miserable part about it is the pay. And all those stroppy people who write bad reviews. And the times when you're a week past deadline and have no frickin' clue how the damn book is going to end.

But for the most part, writing is fun. As the great Terry Pratchett said, it's the most fun you can have by yourself. And to all those people who have such an agonising time of it, I have to say: dude, you want a badly-paid job you hate, go work at Blockbuster. Don't write for money. You'll never be rich. Even after ten books you won't be rich. Don't write for money. Ignore JK Rowling and Barbara Cartland. Don't write for money. Write because you love it. And if you don't love it, stop doing it, because your misery is annoying.

Although. Perhaps we should put the word out that writing is a horrible profession, hard gruelling work, whip-wielding editors, etc. Because otherwise people might think we actually do just sit around all day in our pyjamas eating chocolates. They might think it's not actually work at all. Certainly the pay reflects this (do I whinge about pay too much? Make it stop: buy my books). Because we're still influenced by those stupid Victorian rules that state anything enjoyable must be bad for you, and vice versa, people don't want to know that it's possible to do a job you really love.

I mean, think about it. You get up at 6.30, feed and wash and dress your kids, drive them to school, go to work, get a headache from the fluorescent lights, drink coffee that tastes like cardboard, devise new ways to kill your boss (or at least gag his whining nasal voice) come home in the rain, put on a load of washing, cook dinner, watch something mindless on TV, put the kids to bed, collapse with a glass of enamel-stripping cheap red wine, then fall into bed ready to do it all again. When you hear that I get up when I want to (except on Wednesday, when I'm rudely awakened by the dustmen) and can take time off to watch telly if I so desire, you must really hate me. And I don't want you to hate me. So I'll say what all those other clever writers say: Writing Is Hard Work And It Makes Me Miserable. There, do you like me better?

Anyway, on another note, my first newsletter of the new year is out, and you can access it here in pink, or here in purple. Speaking of Pratchett, there's a recommendation for Going Postal, as well as interviews with Alice Gaines and Michelle M. Pillow; my two latest covers, release dates, and other news snippets.

Happy New Year!

I'm going to celebrate the beginning of 2007 with three fab things: the cover for Kate's next book, I, Spy?, out in March...


...the cover for Cat's next book, Unholy Trinity, out next Friday...


...and my new crush, Richard Armitage, on whom I will surely be basing a hero soon...



Happy 2007!

Jan-Dec: a summary

With apologies to Helen Fielding. And Alysia.

Weight gained: About half a stone (bad)
Weight lost: About half a stone (v.g)
Alcohol units: 858,569. Ish. (v. poor)
Days without hangover: Approx 350
Cigarettes: 1 puff. See above re: alcohol.
Correct lottery numbers: 0 (how? HOW?)
Bets placed: 7
Bets won: 1
Valentines: 0 (bah)
Christmas cards: Um. About 12.
Parties attended: 6 (slightly poor)


Boyfriends: 0
Dates asked on: 2 (hurrah!)
Gigs attended: 2 (but both Rich's, so don't count)
Plays seen: 1 (well, musical-y thing)
Plane trips: 3 return, one single
Castles/palaces visited: 6



Holidays taken: 4 (excellent!)



Countries visited: 3 (v.g)
Murals painted: 1
Conferences attended: 1
Famous authors dined/partied with: At least a dozen



Books published: 8
Books contracted (not including those published): 4
Nominations for awards: 6
Percentage of tax-free allowance earned: 20 (poor)
Books bought: about a hundred (poor)
Pets died: 3



Pets acquired: 2




Website views: 361,608 (??? Must be including image requests)

On the first day of Christmas...

...no, not a promo post, but a genuine Happy Christmas to everyone out there. If you don't celebrate Christmas--do jump on the bandwagon, you get presents and shiny things and alcohol and everything. No, seriously, if you don't then have a fab whatever-you-celebrate, or just a nice Monday. Heh, don't get to say that very often.

I'll be posting this on my website later, but I have a very busy day of stuffing myself silly ahead, so might not get around to it today. The winner of the Twelve Lies contest is Cynthya Petzen of Indiana (er...I think, that's what IN stands for, right? I don't do states). Thanks everyone else for entering, especially those who commented how much they enjoyed the quiz. I live to entertain!

Will also be posting pictures at some point of Sugar and Spike, drugged up on catnip by their Auntie Amy's present. Also probably some smug photos of the huuuuge pile of books I got for Christmas.

Speaking of Christmas babies (well, sort of), congratulations to Julie Cohen who actually gave birth to one on Dec 23rd, a boy named Nathaniel (very festive name, as I recall it's from the root form meaning 'Christ-born'--is that right?).

Oh yes, and my big bro, who turns 27 today. No wonder he thinks he's God with a birthday like this...

The Twelve Lies of Christmas is released!

Yepyep, you too can have your very own copy of The Twelve Lies of Christmas! And what's more, just because I'm lovely, I'm offering one free download to one lucky reader, along with a Samhain gift voucher! All you have to do is take my What Kind Of Liar Are You Anyway quiz, and email me the result. Easy as a very easy thing.

I shall choose a winner on Christmas Eve, so all you have to do is email your result to me by then. There's no right or wrong answer, it just is, as they told me at school, the taking part that counts!

That which is, and that which is not

Or, the extremely basic and probably incorrect things I remember from A level Philosophy, viz. that something which is, cannot be the same as something which is not. Knowledge is based upon something which is--you can't know for sure that something doesn't exist, for example. But what about opinion? Opinion and knowledge can't be the same thing; therefore, opinion cannot be based upon that which is. Opinion must, therefore, be based on ignorance.

That's what Plato said (at least, I think that's what he said). So, what about those people--and anyone who's ever read a blog or message forum knows who I'm talking about--who make an inflammatory comment and then back it up with, "I'm just stating my opinion." Sometimes they even use the word humble--which I think might apply to the opinion, but not the person stating it. When pressed, they usually mention free speech, and talk about 'speaking one's mind' as if it's the right and noble thing to do.

It's not. Of course, everyone is entitled to an opinion, and of course we should all express ourselves. But the intelligent and sane among us generally realise that expressing every thought is not always a wise idea. Everyone (except perhaps Ned Flanders) has secret thoughts about other people or places or things that they generally keep to themselves. You know, like when you don't tell your grandmother what a boring old biddy she is; or your best friend how you find her boyfriend incredibly ugly; or your neighbour that the hedge topiary they're so proud of looks like a penis.

But somehow on the internet, we forget ourselves. Somehow, the little switch inside the brain which usually says "SHUT UP" when a nasty thought occurs, fails to function when the fingers are doing the talking. And we broadcast our opinions all over the place. And then, when they offend someone, we defend ourselves with the apparently invincible, "I was only speaking my mind."

Well, look. Having recently been quite offended by someone whose posts I'd assumed to be purposefully inflammatory, I received the 'speaking my mind' reply. If I'd spoken mine in return, my post would be unprintable. If a post attacking my genre explicitly, and myself implicitly, is not intended to anger and provoke, then I can only assume the poster is just simple. Or doesn't care about offending others. It's what we called at school 'shit-stirring'.

It might be your opinion that erotica is disgusting and dirty. Fine. You can think what you want. But if you're going to start telling people about it, especially people who write erotica, don't pretend you're not trying to make trouble. Don't pretend you're not trying to offend someone. You are, and you know it. Free speech is a wonderful thing. It really is. But using it as a sheild against people whom you intend to offend is a perverted thing to do.

Speaking your mind is not a good thing. If you don't believe me, try this as an exercise. Walk into a school parents evening and declare loudly that all divorced parents are doing the very worst thing for their children. Then say, "I'm only speaking my mind," and tell me how many bruises that saves you.

Bet it's not many.

Swank

Just thought I'd post a picture of me and the 'rents all gussied up for a Michaelmas dinner. Y'see, it was just too posh to be a plain old Christmas dinner. Ate far too much, drank even more, and am now feeling a little delicate. And I'm off out again tonight--it's all party party party--to Notting Hill for a friend's birthday. This time I will endeavour not to miss the last train and end up spending eighty quid on a taxi home. I know where the airport bus leaves from now.

I'm It.

Kate Davies tagged me to write Six Strange Things about myself. Only six?

1. I've been a vegetarian since I was six years old. I was actually the last in my family to convert--my parents were veggie since about ten years before I was born, although they both eat meat now. In actual fact, I'm not a true veggie--because I eat fish, I'm a pescatarian, but try explaining that in the pub.

2. I can put my feet on the back of my head. No foolin'. Well, I have to warm up first. It's an extension of the Cobra pose in yoga (the only one I ever learned: my dad used to teach it and I used to do some exercises with him when I was little. I can remember that, and the Prayer to the Sun, but...um, actually, no, I can't).

3. I love cats. I know, no surprise, but when I say I love them I mean I've been fascinated with all things feline since I was given a pink fluffy cat for my first Christmas. I campaigned for a cat for years, and since I was six (big year for me, huh?) have never been without one. Since then, I've pretty much been in training to become Crazy Cat Lady, and my likes and dislikes of people have often been swayed by their tolerance or appreciation of cats. I love my furbabies like actual babies and have been known to just stare at them smiling like a fule.

4. I started writing when I was sixteen and therefore have no other marketable skills. I didn't go to university because I figured if I'm going to spend several hours a day working on something that's not writing, I might as well get paid for it. So, I've done a variety of mediocre-to-downright-crappy jobs to earn cash in the meantime, but if I truly can't manage to make a living from writing then I have to go work in a bun shop.

5. I was born at 9am on 17th of March. My brother was born at 11.45 on 25th December. This means that while he was born four days after the start of winter, I was born four days before the end of it; and if our birth times are displayed on an analogue clock, they're the same with the hands reversed. Just a little piece of trivia.

6. When Nicole Kidman got married I wasn't jealous of her dress, her husband or any of the celebrity trappings, but I desperately coveted her wedding singer. Pretty much my sole ambition in the area of famousness is to be just famous enough to persuade Neil Finn to sing at my wedding. Yeah, I know, I need a groom first...

And now I'm gonna tag...dammit, Kendra's already done this. Emma!

Christmas is icumen in

I dunno what's up with the 'icumen'. I just like silly words.

Anyway. Christmas. For something that happens every year, at the same time, and gives so much notice that it's possibly outstripped only by a pregnancy test--which, after all, never gives a firm date--it still manages to catch an overwhelming number of people out. Including me. All of a sudden, it's December, and then I realise I don't actually have a whole month left, just 25 days, and when you take out all the days spent travelling to see aged relatives and recovering from festive hangovers, that's not much time at all.

Still. According to the lists I've been making, I'm not terribly behind. Of course, I keep forgetting to put things on the lists, so I'll probably get to Christmas Eve and realise I haven't sent any cards yet, or bought anything for my brother--oh crap, actually I haven't. His birthday is Christmas Day, and once again it's something that catches me out every year. Every damn year! Well, no wonder he thinks he's God.


But look! Lo! I have wrapped presents! I'm actually ridiculously frivolous with present-wrapping. I actually enjoy it. I know a lot of people loathe it, and if you're on a budget (ha, the parents pay for my wrapping supplies, in return for not actually having to do any of it themselves) or short on time, I can see why. I spent two hours the other day wrapping about five presents. Maybe less. I can't remember.

Anyway, if you hate wrapping presents or find they always look a mess, here are my top three tips. Ready? 1. Use lots of tape. 2. Use lots of tape. 3. Use a box.

No, seriously. I wrapped a teapot the other day (don't ask). Have you ever tried to wrap a teapot? Quite apart from the fact that the paper tears every five seconds and it ends up being mostly sellotape, there's just no disguising the shape. I stuck it in a box, and wrapped that. Boxes are your friend. You can buy pretty ones you just have to assemble, or get them from the supermarket and wrap pretty paper over the top, or use the ones your internet shopping comes in. Or, get things giftwrapped by the internet shopping people.

And yes, that's another point. The internet. As Kate Monster points out on my mobile ringtone, the internet is really, really great. No parking hassle, no chavvy teenagers with prams, no hideous, soul-destroying Christmas music (I want to go back in time and remove Doris Day's larynx), no queues, no crowds. Have credit card, will shop.

I remember the dark old days when I used to have to take my dad shopping for my mum's presents. For a man who's been married 35 years, he still has no freaking clue what to buy his wife twice a year. Now I buy everything, wrap it beautifully, give him some tags to sign (with the words 'To B love K'; eight letters which he still never gets around to writing until Christmas Eve) and present him with a credit card bill. He pays it, perfectly happy that he hasn't had to do any of the work. Outsourcing. It really, really works.

Hey, I'm cool!

Look, someone loves me. Sherri Kenyon loves me!

(and how has it been a week and a half since I blogged? Did I get a life or something? Clue: no; but Christmas is icumen, and I have been busy, 'cos in our house if I don't shop for it and wrap it, it don't get delivered by Santa. there will be a blog forthcoming about this soon: but right now, I have to go into town to buy a present I forgot about...)

The Twelve Lies of Christmas...

...the movie!

Well, the book trailer, anyway. Yes, it's meant to be silent. Yes, it's meant to move. Thank you, come again.

Click for the full-size version.