This is one way to procrastinate...

I do this:

And there's more here.

There. The cat's out of the bag. You know how my secret procrastination method.

Except it's grown worse. It's invading my writing world. I have this idea...

Wait for it...

I want to tell a story in pictures.

I mean, I see pictures anyway when I write. I see pictures when I imagine my stories, and meanwhile, I think in sentences, even when I look at the world around me. Or at least in words.

Like: "Street sign. Blue. Noticing -- why? Familiar street. Bright against background. Image? Image. Pole, sign -- computer. Maybe. Not my best. Can do?..."

Etc.

That was pretty much the stream of consciousness of a second while I was walking my puppy tonight, and I happened to look up and notice the light and colors of a familiar street corner. And thought that it would be possible to make this exact image in computer art and that I almost had the skills, and then I started going through my computer files mentally...

So I'm thinking... If I'm that visual and the words come naturally jumbled and broken... What if I put images first and words as support, instead of words first and images as ghosts in my mind?

What if I tried my hand at a graphic story with the help of my favorite graphic software?

Plot -- scenario -- storyboard -- actors --

It's beginning to look a lot like a movie, actually. And no, none of my characters are in the Gallery yet, but then I don't know them well enough yet to ask for autographs.

What? Oh, what it's about?

Well, it's set in the real world, but sometime in the future...

Oh, sorry, I'd better check on the puppy. He keeps getting into all the trash baskets lately.

Teaching is Still Cool

There comes a time in a teacher's life when pulling a group of students along just sucks, and you think you'll never, ever want to do it again. Not ever.

But like a stage performer, you're drawn back to the limelight. Because teaching, in whatever form, is a performance, and you have the undivided attention of an eager audience.

I'm not immune to the bug. Oh no. So when I get the chance to show off and teach a workshop to fellow writers, I jump on the opportunity!

It's one thing to offer workshops through my own website at Otter Creations, but it's something else to visit a different site and teach out there in the wide world.

I just finished a workshop for Passionate Ink on world building and another one for Savvy Authors on descriptions. It was fun, that's for sure. It had me rethinking what I thought I knew about the subjects -- or rather, seeing things in a new light. That's the best part of teaching: you never stop learning yourself.

And of course, the attention you get isn't bad either. But you know, we writers have this little issue with self-esteem vs. ego...

Anyway...

Check out the next workshop coming up from Otter Creations. It's about writing a synopsis.

Were you one of the fortunate ones who made it to National? Did you get a request? Or are you just pumped up and ready to send out queries? Either way, you'll need to have a synopsis ready. Join me in a very hands-on, practical, 3-week workshop.

And while you're on the Otter Creations site, why don't you cast your vote for the workshops you'd like to see offered next year? You can even request a brand new one.

Mammals of the Universe Unite

So you thought that my Percy posts were all going to be about puppy cuteness?

Umm... no. After all, a writer's mind is twisted and takes strange side-trips.

What did my mind do this time? What it always does. Observe and step outside the box. Doesn't yours? Maybe you just don't call it that.

Percy the puppy is growing fast, although he's still a baby. Supposedly, he's going to hit "adolescence" in three months or so... Wait, that would make him the dog equivalent of a grade schooler.

Let's see... We got him at 3 months, and he was definitely a fluffy, cuddly baby dog. The first day he slept most of the time.

Then he started growing. The he started growing bolder. And then louder and bitier. Now he's losing his baby teeth... and his adult teeth are already there to replace them.

Darn, he's fast. He's doubled in size and he's only 5 months. He's thinking of lifting his leg to pee and he's debating about marking his territory.

So why is all this NOT gushing over puppy cuteness? Because I keep seeing parallels with human development. Before you say anything, no, I'm not anthropomorphizing Percy the puppy, or equating my toddler kids (back then) with dogs.

I'm marveling at the consistency of our universe and at the similarities in mammalian development and needs regardless of species. Saying that Percy the puppy is growing from babyhood into childhood is more than a metaphor: it's acknowledging a developmental step (or two). Calling a dog who's not a puppy yet not full-grown an adolescent is not the same as labeling him a teenager. Teenager is as much a cultural stamp as a developmental stage. Adolescent indicates a physical stage: growth, hormonal changes, behavioral and developmental changes.

And certainly, having a pet in the house keeps things lively and interesting. I certainly can't rest on my butt anymore. Have to get up to make sure Percy isn't getting into trouble.

What, you thought the kids were going to help? I'm not that naive.

Percy has New Digs

Percy created a welcome fest for Dad today, even though Dad was only gone a few days. But what's a few days to a puppy? Probably an eternity.

For that matter, he created an equally enthusiastic welcome for me today. We went to buy him a crate upgrade. His original, tiny-puppy crate doesn't fit him anymore. He's getting to be a big boy, and he isn't even 5 months old. At 8 lbs, he's about the size of a miniature Schnautzer (although I don't know about the weight of a mini Schnautzer).

How do I know? Well, we went to the dog park last week. Percy is kinda lonely here with us humans. We thought it would be good for him to meet other canines. And he had a good time playing with dogs his own size and temperament.

So there was a miniature Schnautzer (you can't miss them, there's no other dog that looks like a grumpy gramps out there), and Percy is almost as big as the grown-up Schnautzer. Wow. How big is he going to get? It's really a lottery with mixed breeds, isn't it?

Well, anyway. My oldest daughter and I went to get Percy his new digs. On the way back, I stopped at the grocery store for a few missing items, and Sir Percival got really worried about my absence. On the flip side, he gave me a very warm (and kissy) welcome back greeting. I mean, really. I was only gone a few minutes. I guess not only he can't tell time, but he can't really sense time, either?

Or maybe time just doesn't matter, but absence does.

Wow. That's deep.

And right now? He's quite worn out by all this emotional stuff.

Summer Workshops

It's been a busy summer. I'm wrapping up a month-long workshop on Worldbuilding (through Passionate Ink) and preparing for my next one (on Descriptions) through Savvy Authors.

In August, I will be proposing a hands-on workshop directly through Otter Creations on writing the synopsis. There will be announcements and descriptions a-plenty, but if you're impatient, you can always email me with questions. There's a lot of additional information on my workshops in general and on the other services I offer on my Otter Creations site.

It's been a lot of fun doing the Worldbuilding workshop. I've wanted to look at story-worlds (my own and that of other writers') the way I've looked at folklore and folk tales, and I'll admit it worked. I hope that the participants got as much from the workshop as I did, because everything I suspected about my own story-building came out exactly as I thought. All the listening and reading of folk tales, legends, and myths that I've done since I was little did pay off. I read, I write, and I create my worlds as if I were still opening a book of magic tales.

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away...

And no, I did not make a mistake. My imagination always allowed me to endow a fast car, a motorcycle, or a spaceship with the same exciting, adventurous feeling as the black destrier of the Fantasy Hero.

(Why black? Come on, be practical: a white horse gets dirty so fast, while a black horse is so much more impressive!)

Now it's your turn: I'm open to suggestions and requests for Fall Workshops.

A New Beginning

Well, it's been a while.

Oh my, oh my, it HAS been a while.

It's been a crazy year to say the least, and the least said, the better.

Meanwhile, this crazy family really did something crazy.

We got a puppy.

Yes, that's him there, the very afternoon when we got him. His name is Percy and he's an All-American Mutt. What I mean is that he's got traits and characteristics from several breeds, he seems to have taken the best of them all, he's a charmer, he's smart, his pregnant mom is a shelter rescue, and he fits right in our family.

Of course, we wanted a laid-back, couch-potato lap dog.

We got an active, smart, curious terrier-type.

Naturally. I should have known.

Now I plan on writing up his (mis)adventures on Mondays. Oh, and also how the neighbors' pitbull (no, don't worry, she's a nice dog) wishes she could play with the puppy next door. And how my Mom doesn't quite understand what to feed the dog and why he should get scraps from the table. And our walks in the South Texas heat, and how Percy is keeping me fit in spite of myself.

Ah yes. We're all Percy-crazy now. Can you tell?

Welcome to Kick-Ass Author Fiona Jayde!

 Today, let's welcome Fiona Jayde to Alien Places. She's stopping by on her tour of cyberspace to celebrate the launch of COLD VICTORY. Make yourself comfortable and listen to her tale.

And don't rush off! There's an excerpt, some additional information, and don't forget to leave a comment! Follow Fiona on her tour, read all about her, and chat with her all along -- the commenter with the most posts will win a prize!

And here's Fiona!!!

Fiona Jayde is a space pilot, a ninth degree black belt in three styles of martial arts, a computer hacker, a mountain climber, a jazz singer, a weight lifter, a superspy with a talent for languages, and an evil genius.

All in her own head.

In life, she is an author of kickass, action packed, steamy romances, possesses a brown belt in Tae Kwon Do and blue belt in Aikido, a web developer, scared to death of heights, loves jazz piano, can bench-press about 20 pounds — with effort, speaks English and Russian fluently, and when not plotting murder and mayhem enjoys steamy romance novels, sexy spy thrillers, murky mysteries and movies where things frequently blow up.
www.fionajayde.com


MH-- Hi, Fiona! Welcome to Alien Places. Thank you for stopping by my corner of the universe. Please take a seat and make yourself comfortable. Congratulations on the release of your new book!

FJ-- HI Masha - thank you for having me! I'm thrilled to be here at Alien Places.

MH-- First of all, I have to say that your bio had me all a-twitter. You could be my twin, or my clone, because I'm the same person on the inside! Well, maybe I'm not a jazz singer but a musician who plays a dozen instruments... All in my head.

FJ--OMG too funny!

MH-- And Yay! for the talent for languages.
You did say you're fluent in Russian, and I noticed that the heroine's name in Cold Victory is Zoya. Now that is a very Russian name. What can you tell us about your linguistic knowledge? Is is school-learned or a heritage? And how much do you use, or does it influence your writing?

FJ-- I was actually born in Russia - lived there till I was 11 when we moved to the United States. (Talk about a culture clash!) You could say its both school learned and heritage - since I went to the proper Soviet school, I did take Russian Lit classes - we read Pushkin, and ... Well I can't remember who else, but I remember Pushkin cause I really liked him. Still do actually. And since my family and relatives still continue speaking Russian around me, I continued speaking it by heritage. I actually have a "mental switch" - while I understand both languages equally, I have to mentally switch from one to another in order to speak. So half the time I'll have conversations with my mother where she is speaking Russian and I answer in English.

My knowledge of Russian influences my writing in a lot of ways actually - if I need an exotic word, I don't have to dig very far:) As far as Zoya being the name of my character - I wasn't even thinking Russian much, it just seemed right to me!

MH--  That's amazing and weird all at once. I'll confess that I speak Russian to my mother as well, but I definitely never dared respond to her in anything but Russian! Well... no one, and I mean NO ONE contradicted my mother.

You also admit to a brown belt in Tae Kwon Do. I image this knowledge helps write action scenes. Or does it? Have you found now and then that knowing how actual sparring works has confused your fight sequences?

FJ-- Knowledge of martial arts is a bit  like a double edged sword when it comes to writing action scenes. (And I DO love to write fight scenes!) It helps to know fancy terms - spin kick, hook kick, backfist. It helps to know weapons - I LOVE swords, sai, kamas, nunchucks. I have rubber nunchucks - which often hit me in the head.  It also helps to have access to people who could help choreograph a fight scene depending on what angle you are approaching it - streetfight, military fight, cop vs suspect, etc.

Side story - when I was about 17, and just starting to dabble in writing, I asked one of my instructors how to seriously damage an opponent. "What would you do to have someone go down, instantly, by your bare hands?". So he gives me a really strange look, pulls me into the office and asks me if everything is okay in school.  You can imagine the look of relief on his face when I told him it was for a story!

In all reality though, writing fight scenes that remain somewhat realistic can be hard. A real fight doesn't last that long, and no one does all the fancy footwork we see in the movies. I love writing kickass heroines - but I also worry about giving the wrong idea about safety to my readers. Its great to be Buffy, but the reality of it is that it's always safer to try to walk away from a situation, or try not to put yourself into a situation in the first place, no matter how badass you are.


MH-- Why do we have to "mother" all our readers? Some days I wonder if it wouldn't be easier to be a male author...

Your inner self goes mountain climbing, but your real self is afraid of heights. How does that contradiction translate into your writing? Or have you ever had the occasion to write a mountain climbing (or any kind of climbing) scene? Could you picture it, in that case?

FJ-- Actually that contradiction is especially great for my writing. Similar to flying a spaceship - I can barely tell left from right, but I sure as heck can fake being a hot-shot pilot from research. (Now I got an idea of a character - a hot shot rock climber with a deep dark fear of heights lol). In this case I'm very much an outsider - I catalogue all my experiences to use in writing, but I rarely actually participate. So I might go to a rock climbing class and interview the people who do it, but you wouldn't find me scaling the Alps:)


MH-- All right. I have to ask. How did Cold Victory start? Where did the idea come from?

FJ-- Well, it started with a scene. I had a scene in my head for a long time, and I couldn't figure out how to fit into anything I was writing at the time -it demanded its own story. The scene involved some semblance of technology - and I knew it was some sort of a military operation. Cold Victory pretty much stemmed from that one scene.

****

Stark thought about throwing up. He would have, if he’d had something to work with in his stomach. The raw and empty nausea rolled inside his gut, scraping his insides with its jagged edges.

She’d flinched away from him, and that gave Stark a nasty satisfaction. She’d been aroused despite her own resolve. He’d seen her blood pumping, seen her react. Seen those tired eyes pleading with him for something.

Her orders were kill his crew.

Sick with himself, he braced a hand over a newly replaced bulkhead. Bloodmate or not, he had a duty to Victory and to the crew. Regardless of this fucking biological anomaly, he would stand by them.

 “What the fuck were you thinking?” Two minutes later Dex caught up with him, paler than usual, his scars dark on his face.

 “It needed to be done.”

“You showed her and yourself that you don’t give fuck. Congratulations.”

Stark breathed through tight clenched teeth, and tried to force down the heavy burning low inside his stomach. “Were you able to verify if she carries explosives?”

“I didn’t have time.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I’ll show you.” Dex stabbed at his wrist unit calling up a pale gray column of transparent light. The base of the holo-output showed a small figure huddled in a corner, arms wrapped tight over her knees, her body curled into itself as if to ward off a beating.

Rage wasn’t questioned as he grabbed Dex’s uniform. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Nothing her bloodmate hadn’t done already.” Dex spat the words with fury in his eyes. “I simply administered her meds.”

Cold Victory © Fiona Jayde

****


MH-- Do you usually start with characters, a plot, or just a situation?

FJ-- I usually get a scene in my head which dictates the rest of the book. So I would have to guess the answer here would be a situation. Usually the scene is pretty dramatic - which then leaves me with the fun and grueling job of figuring out what comes before and after.

MH--  Hah! So I'm not the only one!

What is the most difficult part of the actual writing? And which part do you dislike the most (are they the same)?

FJ-- For me, the most difficult part of the actual writing is the second draft. My process requires three full drafts and then post critique polish. The first draft is really me spewing words on the page - just raw emotion. The second draft is where it all has to make sense. The third draft is where I question my sanity, my chosen career as an author, and the small semblance of talent I may posses.

MH-- Oh, I hear you. I think you have more fortitude than I, because I question my sanity every time I sit at the computer!

So how do you write? Do you plan? Do you plan on paper or think out your stories? Do you just write your books as they come and re-write until they're just right? Do you use some magical software to help your process (I wouldn't mind a “make novel” button myself)?

FJ-- I'm an avid plotter. I used to be an avid pantser, but I would continuously get stuck.  I usually do a lot of preplotting before I even start writing - I need to have a full outline before I begin the first page. (It all changes of course, but this way it's not near as painful as it used to be).  As far as magical software LOL. I wish. But I could recommend the writing blog which I run with my good friend Lacey Savage - tipsandwips.com. We talk about our processes (Lacey is an avid pantser), snippets from writing books, anything really writing related.

MH-- Thank you for stopping by! Best wishes for the rest of your tour and for a resounding success of your book!

FJ-- Thanks so much for having me, Masha - it was a pleasure!



Blurb for Cold Victory:

Intergalactic warfare has not been kind to humans. Convicted pilot Zoya Scott has the chance to avenge her family, redeem an act of desperation with that of sacrifice. She’ll end this war if she betrays the man whose touch burns through her soul, the man whose ship and crew she must destroy. The man who is her bloodmate.
Commander Galen Stark never expected the convicted pilot on his ship to be anything more then a good looking inconvenience. A small brush of their hands grips him with vicious lust, a need he can’t control. She is his bloodmate – a biological reaction burning through his veins.

Except she carries an explosive. And Stark may have to give the order to destroy them all.


Excerpt:

"Excuse me, Commander.” Those gold eyes flared. “Perhaps you were misled about their skill level. Most of them never had field experience. Their battle skills were taught in hologames.”

Stark had to get away from her before his damned glands forced him into doing something stupid. Like kissing her. Fucking her breathless. Feeling her shuddering around him as she came. “So noted.”

“Right.” A bitter smirk. Those eyes went dull again, as if he were responsible for leeching out the light inside them. “Your job is to give orders and coordinate attacks. You don’t know who is out there dying.”

He couldn’t breathe without taking in her heat, couldn’t think beyond the words she hurled at him. “You’re right, I don’t. I don’t know their names or anything about them. They’re just soldiers. They’re trained to follow orders.”

Before he knew what he was doing, he roughly pulled at the sleeve of his undershirt, exposing neat rows of tattoos. “I don’t know them.” He shook his head, battling arousal, emotion, and frustration. “I just count their deaths.”

Silence. He was an idiot to lose control like this, to share the part of himself which he’d always kept hidden. He was an idiot to need her to understand the only way he could grieve. He was an idiot to feel this raw, sexual pull toward her.

“I’m-I’m sorry.” Her voice thick, her eyes shattered, Zoya lightly touched the dots on his upper arm.

Shock rippled on his skin, pinpricks of heat and vicious, coiled lust. He nearly staggered, fighting the dark urge to cover her lush mouth while his body primed to take, to feast. Her eyes flared wide, yet she didn’t pull her arm away when his fingers closed around her wrist.

“You shouldn’t touch me.” Her pulse beat hard under his fingertips, her skin like warm, smooth silk. He gave her time to back away, to rip her arm away, say something cutting. Yet she did nothing, simply looked up at him with hot, unguarded eyes, her mouth vulnerable and soft, seconds from his.

Flashes of skin, hot gripping palms, moist hungry lips. Stark didn’t know when he pressed her against a bulkhead, when her hands clutched his shoulders, when her ragged breaths became his own. He couldn’t get enough, couldn’t take a breath, couldn’t tear himself away from ravaging her lips, plunging into the sweet depth of her mouth.

Her scent was like a potent drug pumping into his veins. Lips fused, tongues mated, he kissed her like a starving man, as if both their lives depended on it. Cupping her head, he held her steady for his onslaught, fighting himself, fighting against the soft, hitched breaths she made against his mouth. Even as someone screamed inside his head about duty and protocol, the beast inside him wouldn’t let him stop.