My Weblog

In which we talk about reno ...

I suppose I should clarify. I do not speak of the city in Nevada that is chock-a-block with casinos and ski resorts.

Instead I am talking about renovation. Home renovation. The only activity that we are stupid enough to attempt to do while currently occupying the space we're doing it in. And the irony is that we do it in order to make where we live more enjoyable to live in ... by making it less enjoyable to live in for a while.

We have lived in our house for twenty years. For the first few years we didn't have the money to do renovations unless it was absolutely critical - replacing the roof, a new HVAC system. 

Then we were too busy raising a child. I admire and am also more than a little horrified by people who have pristine, museum-worthy homes with children living in them. And who don't have a Downton Abbey-style staff keeping it clean every single moment. 

Don't get me wrong I, too, covet those Chip and Joanna Gaines Magnolia Farm-decorated houses all in creams, distressed whites, and shiplap. But I also realize that I don't have a behind-the-scenes team sourcing all that (surely very expensive) furniture and decor. Or a sponsor who is paying for it all. Or a life that supports a house done all in shades of DON'T SPILL ANYTHING ON THAT WHITE COUCH!

I have three dogs. Black ones.

I have a creek. A muddy one.

Dogs + muddy creek = muddy paw prints all over my hardwood floors, rugs, kitchen floor, furniture, and clothes.

I have a husband who is the least pretentious and least concerned about appearances person I have ever met. It's one of the things I love most about him. He's also very handy. So he changes the oil in the cars and details them; he builds things like decks; and he does sportsy things like martial arts. Dirty and/or stinky past times.

I just do not have a life that supports aspiration of Joanna.

But I do still want the house to look nice. I want to be able to have friends and family over to our home. I want to feel like I'm not living in a frat house.

Unfortunately, every time we start a project we end up waylaid by some bizarre DIY the original owner performed. Bizarre often equals violates code, is unsafe, and causes other issues that violates code and is unsafe. 

We completed our family room a few years ago.

Waylaying then was completely my fault - I decided to write and publish two books. 

BUT! BUT we've finally gotten to where we can renovate our combined living room/dining room space. The grownup spaces! 

We've been working slowly but surely. And we're almost done. The old garden window, inappropriate placed in a wall that gets practically no light, and that leaked like the gash the iceberg tore in the side of the Titanic. The room has been repainted. The old and outdated chair railing was removed and replaced as was the base molding. Art work sits ready to be hung. New furniture, the hardest part of any reno for us because we have this fantastical idea that ... get this ... furniture should be attractive AND comfortable. My darling husband and I have disagreements about what both attractive and comfortable mean. 

Over the two-plus decades we've been together we have come to consensus that since the last time he showed good taste was when he chose me to fall in love with, that I would be in charge of deciding "attractive."

Comfortable is another matter. That decision involves negotiation, compromise, and a willingness for him to recognize that if my feet can't reach the ground I cannot remove myself from the furniture without abs that rival those of all the Avengers combined.

But we persevered and are now hosting Christmas Eve at our house from now on. Now, we just have to finish the last few details and decide on a menu.

Oh ... we have to agree on a menu. *sigh*  

Once Upon a NaNoWriMo

November is National Novel Writing Month, NaNoWriMo for short. I’ve participated in NaNoWriMo since 2010 and I’m doing it again this year. Why? A couple of reasons. One, NaNoWriMo is a non-profit organization that supports writing and education and encourages people to tell their stories. I support organizations that support storytelling. Two, by participating I become part of a fun, inspirational, supportive community of fellow Wrimos who understand what I’m going through because they’re going through the same thing. It’s like being invited to the cool kids’ potluck without the sucky parts of feeling like an imposter or worrying no one will eat the dish I brought. Three (okay, that’s a few reasons, not a couple), NaNoWriMo sets a specific goal with a specific deadline—50,000 words by November 30. NaNoWriMo offers resources to help you reach the goal—pep talks, coaches, Twitter word sprints, local groups, write-ins, and more—but you have to put in the work to meet the challenge. I enjoy a challenge.

The downside of NaNoWriMo? I have to confront the fact that I’m a procrastinator. I’ve participated every year since 2010. I have not won most years. My inner demon (inner editor, in NaNoWriMo terms) comes up with a seemingly endless number of ways to distract me and keeping me from hitting 50K. When it comes to my inner editor, the best laid plans of mice and men are shot straight to hell. No amount of planning, scheduling, promising, motivating, or negotiating with myself can prevent my brain from coming up with a sneaky way to derail me. Social media and online shopping are ever-present dangers. But those are too easy for my demon. Facebook and Amazon are low-hanging fruits. My demon’s got to wow me with the brilliant pointlessness of the snares it lays to trap me. Desks suddenly have to be rearranged. Lipsticks have to be sorted. Books have to be re-shelved. A couple of days ago, I had the overwhelming urge to reorganize my refrigerator magnet collection. Seriously. The distractions aren’t all inane. So far this month, I’ve plotted an adult and an MG fantasy, a new mystery series, and a vampire thriller. None of these have anything to do with the manuscript I’m officially working on for NaNoWriMo, but they are great stories (which I jotted down in a notebook and put aside). But, mostly, the distractions are, well, refrigerator magnets.

I’ve got no easy answers or sure-fire tactics for caging the demon. I just have to keep on writing and do my best to ignore the distractions or, at least, give in to them only briefly, acknowledge them as distractions, and get back to work. I’ve given some thought to why my brain does this to me. One reason—my mind is so full of stories (As an introverted only child, making up stories in my head was one of my primary modes of entertainment. It’s practically reflexive now.) that when I open the door to one, dozens, tens of dozens, rush the door trying to get through. “Pick me! Pick me!” they shout as they bombard me. It’s like a stampede at a Black Friday sale. Hence the notebook(s) for jotting random ideas down, in the hope that I can get back to them some day. Another reason—NaNoWriMo encourages you to just let go and write. Unleashed creativity is scary. I operate in a day-to-day world where putting on a game face and knowing when to keep your mouth shut is crucial to professional survival. (And before you @ me—Do you really want to work in a place devoid of professional courtesy, where everybody just dumps on everybody, all the time? No, you don’t, really. Manners matter.) Unleashed means out of control. What if I say (write) something that’s—not nice? Not polite? Not ladylike? What if I unleash and let all those inner demons run rampant all over the page? Scary.

Again, I have no solutions, no Obi Wan-style sage advice. Unlike in my books, I have no occult library with grimoires full of demon-banishing spells. But identifying the problem is the first step to solving it. And I’m a problem-solver. I’ll get there. For now, I’ll content myself with calling myself out when I give in to foolishness. And I’ll remind myself of a couple of the best things about NaNoWriMo: you’re only competing against yourself, it doesn’t matter what anyone else does, and there’s always next November.

Giving thanks

by Kris Neri, with the Femmes Fatales

In this month of gratitude and giving thanks, I have so much to be thankful for: a roof over my head, enough (too much!) food in my belly, reasonably good health, friends near and far, Netflix, and…

I have a new book coming out!

My next novel, Hopscotch Life, will be out mid-March.

Someone asked me recently if the publication of a new book ever gets old. If that means will I ever feel blasé about it, absolutely not. 

However, right now, I’m immersed in proofing my galley. Many, many times. Forward, backward. Okay, if I’m telling the truth, that gets old. It’s simply hard to proof something I know so well. My mind simply fills in the missing words, and skips over the extra ones. Apart from needing to do a hard, unenjoyable job well, moving along the publication process is always exciting! It means the gestation of project you feel passionate about sharing is drawing closer.

Hopscotch Life is a departure for me, and that makes it extra exciting. I’m one of those writers who likes writing variety. That’s why I skip from novels to short stories, humorous mysteries, to humorous paranormals.

And now, to general fiction. Sorta. Although I am at heart a devoted mystery writer and reader, I was in a general fiction book club for ten years, and I read mountains of mainstream fiction during my ten years as a bookseller. I wanted to see how well I
could write more of a book club-type book. The blurb for Hopscotch Life does read like one:

Poor Plum Tardy. Between being saddled with a goofy name, to the way she misquotes adages, to her quirky style of dress, Plum always feel out of synch with other people. But even if others do seem to move in lockstep to successes Plum can’t even imagine, while she erratically leaps through life as if it were some giant hopscotch court, that doesn’t explain the startling way her life unravels.

After losing her job, Plum catches her fiancé Noah Rowle in the act with sexy Claire Denton, his partner in a real estate deal designed to allow the soul-sucking Budget-Mart chain to gobble up blocks of land across the country. Thinking her life couldn’t get any worse, she also learns he’s cheated her financially. Desperate to flee, Plum stumbles onto a bag of cash. Assuming that to be the booty Noah took from her, she runs off with it, toward a destination that’s just a name on a map. There, Plum finds a quirky town that needs someone like her. In one crazy leap, she not only makes that place her home, she thinks she’s hit on a way to stop to Noah and Claire’s land score.

But while Plum tries to help her new town halt the steamroller of progress, even with her unconventional perspective she could not have predicted the way her past would collide with her present. Will her offbeat approach save her, or land her in behind bars in hopscotch hell?

In fact, though, I hedged my bets a bit. In my mysteries or paranormal mysteries, I devote
roughly 75% of the action of the advancement of the main plot, and roughly 25% to the personal growth and relationship subplots. It’s a nice balance.

For Hopscotch Life, I reversed that percentage: 75% devoted to the personal growth and relationship narration, and 25% to the crime aspect. Yes, I call it general fiction, but it still contains a crime. Since all those years ago when Nancy Drew first led me into what's been a long life of crime, it's hard to imagine anyone’s life without a little crime mixed in.

In January's blog I’ll share a little more about crime enters Plum Tardy’s topsy-turvy
life.

For now, I'll just say I’m especially thankful that Plum entered my life and my imagination.

So, in addition to the many blessings I’m thankful for, I’m insanely happy that Hopscotch Life is slowly making it’s way to the market. And I’m grateful for a supportive
publisher, Greg Lilly of Cherokee McGhee Publishing.

What are you especially grateful for this November?

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!