Starting 2024 with a cage match

I—somewhat foolishly, I admit—entered Pulp Literature’s First Page Cage contest. At the time, I used the deadline to spur me to the end of the manuscript, and I was pleased to make the long list. But I figured things wouldn’t go beyond that.

I was wrong.

I’m in the quarter-finals. In addition to the editor judges, there’s a readers’ choice component of the contest. I’m not sure why this surprises me since the contest is a cage match. This sort of thing is implied.

However, it did, and does. But if you’d like to read more and play along, you can do so here. Or, if you’re ready to head straight to the entries and voting, you can do that here.

And if you’re curious about what I’ve been working on these past several months (and why I’ve been so quiet), you can see that below.

The Pansy Paradox

A woman with nothing to hide—except the truth—meets a man with nothing to lose—except his heart. And he’s just arrived in town to fire her.

Meet Pansy Little …

Since her mother vanished, Apprentice Field Agent Pansy Little is the sole guardian of King’s End, protecting it from a supernatural force only a select few can see. The arrival of an agent from headquarters doesn’t bring relief. Instead, it means Pansy’s well-crafted charade is about to collapse.

Meet Henry Darnelle …

Principal Field Agent Henry Darnelle doesn’t want to be in King’s End, but he’s been blackmailed into performing Pansy’s field agent evaluation—with explicit instructions to fail her.

Distractedly handsome and unfailingly correct, he surprises Pansy—and himself—by defying orders to fire her. Instead, his curiosity is piqued by both Pansy and King’s End.

Together, they investigate, unearthing the intricate ties that bind their families. Together, they might even be falling in love.

But someone with a decades-old obsession is watching, maneuvering behind the scenes. This someone won’t rest until blood is spilled.

Welcome to King’s End, where discord falls from the sky and an eccentric twenty-something patrols the streets with her pink polka-dotted umbrella. Where one misstep won’t merely bring disaster—it might spark the end of the world.

Moon launch!

So, way back in the dark ages of 2021 (nearly three years ago now), I mentioned I was going to the moon. Or rather, my writing was. Now, the Peregrine Mission One with Astrobotic is about to launch, barring any delays. (Hey, it’s space travel; delays happen.)

To celebrate, Susan Kaye Quinn has published all the stories behind the stories headed to the moon. I’m #95 on the manifest, and you can read my story behind the story here.

I probably won’t be awake for the launch. Even so, I’m excited to head to the moon.

Edited to add: By all accounts, the launch was spectacular, but Peregrine developed a fuel leak and won’t be making it to the moon. My heart goes out to Astrobotic and the Peregrine team. However, as true scientists, they’re making the most of this situation. You can read the updates here.

Autumn Story Round-up

It’s autumn story round-up time! I had a few stories come out, both new and reprints, during August and September, but clearly have been remiss in actually mentioning them.

Oddly enough, they’re all military-themed to some degree. I don’t often write about the military, so it’s weird these three stories hit all at once.

Steadfast in Does it Have Pockets

This is a reprint that first appeared in Flash Fiction Online. It is also a modern retelling of Hans Christian Andersen’s The Steadfast Tin Soldier, complete with a gender flip and unapologetic happy ending.

Rules of Engagement, second place prose (veteran) in the 2023 Col. Darron L. Wright Memorial Writing Awards from Line of Advance

New story alert! I won’t say much about this one, except the title is a play on words.

Field Manual for Waiting in Women on Writing 3rd Quarter 2023 Creative Nonfiction Contest

A reprint, but the first time you can read it online. Fair warning: this is a piece of creative nonfiction that involves grief. You can also read an interview I did with the editors at WOW, where we discuss, among other things, current writing projects and ghosts.

When life gives you broccoli

This is what it looks like when life gives you broccoli.

Broccoli and cat friends

Trust me, that’s a lot of broccoli.

I didn’t realize before I planted it this spring that broccoli can be a little fussy. It’s prone to bolting. (This always has me imagining the broccoli dashing through the yard—with me and the rabbits chasing behind.)

But! I somehow managed to get this crop and plenty of side shoots as well. We also planted bell peppers and fairy tale eggplant, which are coming in nicely and are very tasty.

Fairy tale eggplant, green bell peppers, and broccoli shoots

But back to that broccoli. I thought, why not make one of those salads Anno recommended on her blog a while back. I picked the one from Smitten Kitchen. However, after adding that ½ cup of dried cranberries, I immediately doubled it. (Why anyone thinks ½ cup of dried cranberries is enough is beyond me.)

But first, I had to chop, chop, chop the broccoli. Then, somehow, I had to keep on chop, chop, chopping the broccoli. It. Was. Endless. I felt like Emma from my story Flowers and Stones—I had an industrial-sized amount of florets by the time I was done.

And broccoli salad for a solid week.

I also planted kale, not that we’ve eaten any of it. The rabbits have also declined to eat it, as have the deer. Still, it continues to grow to spite us all.

In non-vegetable news:

I have ~65,000 words in my current manuscript. I think that’s halfway, more or less. Yes, it’s going to be a bigger book and possibly a series (or at least two books). I’m writing from the point of view of three different characters in this story. I’m doing it in present tense, first person POV; present tense, third person POV; and past tense, third person POV. I don’t necessarily recommend writing a story this way. Still, it’s how this particular story wants to be told.

In even more non-vegetable news:

I’m going to see Ann Patchett! She’s coming to town for Talking Volumes, an author series our local public radio station sponsors. I didn’t even know she was coming to town. One day in June, I wondered whether Talking Volumes had anyone interesting scheduled for the fall. So I decided to do a quick check.

Ahem. Anyone interesting, indeed.

The tickets for Ann Patchett had just gone on sale, were selling fast, and somehow, I snagged the last lone seat in the main orchestra section, row M, right in the center. It was like it was there, waiting for me.

I can’t wait. I just finished Tom Lake, I’m rereading Bel Canto, and I think I’ll move on to The Dutch House next. I even bought a new dress.

Although, I can’t help but wonder if Ann might like some broccoli. Because I could bring her some.

I have plenty.

Today’s puzzle

Find the toad.

Because everybody loves a makeover

OR what I’ve been doing other than blogging.

Before:

If you’re thinking to yourself, wow, that’s a lot of pink landscaping rock, well, you’d be right. It’s pink landscaping rock my daughter and I decided to remove by hand.

I’ll pause while you laugh.

Also, if you’re thinking pink rocks are the glitter of the landscaping world (we’re never getting rid of all of them), you’d be right as well.

I suppose the pink combined with the green hostas was a design aesthetic for a hot minute sometime in 1988. Mind you, the design and the rocks came with the house.

After:

I mean, clearly, we have nothing against pink. And sure, we could divide those hostas. They’re like super-hostas. They’ve been going strong for years decades without any intervention. At this point, I’m a little superstitious about doing anything with them.

Honestly, I think they’ll just continue to grow, become sentient, and take over the world. And really, we might all be better for it.

Timelapse of the project

Of writing tears and garden friends

So, I’ve been on a patented Jo March writing tear (I really need to get a writing cap like Jo has). This is on the new book (series, duology—your guess is as good as mine) I mentioned a while back.

It is coming along, which is all I’m going to say at this point in the project.

Mattie and Oscar helping in the garden.

In other (wonderful) news: Spring. Has. Sprung.

We are planting, haphazardly, it’s true. Despite taking the master gardening course, I will most likely remain a haphazard gardener.

So, yes, that’s an entire flat of zinnias you see. No, I have no idea where I’m going to plant an entire flat of zinnias. It’s true our eyes are much bigger than our garden space.

Toad resting beneath an eggplant.

Squirrel despondent since I replaced the birdseed feeder with the hummingbird one.

March: out like a lamb, an angry, angry lamb

The last day of March went something like this:

Lightning, thunder, rain, sleet, hail, snow, BLIZZARD.

Yes, an angry, angry lamb.

Angry lamb in blizzard generated from DALL·E

Then, yesterday, we had this:

Those lumps and stakes on the right? Those would be my raised beds, assuming they weren’t under another foot of snow. So, April Fools on us.

In other news, I might be writing a bit. Don’t want to say too much about it. Honestly, I’m not exactly sure what it is quite yet. One big book? A duology? A series? Your guess is as good as mine. (No, really. At this point, it is.)

But I suppose the snow is an excellent excuse to stay inside and read and write, no?

This winter: so very taxing

So yes, I fell off the blogging bandwagon.

More accurately, I fell off the blogging bandwagon, hit the slush-covered gravel road, rolled into a ditch, and then low-crawled until I found an abandoned fox den, where I proceeded to curl up and hibernate.

Just kidding. I didn’t actually hibernate.

Because neither does my new friend.

This little one has been hanging around our back deck, probably because that’s where the birdfeeders are.

He/she is highly skilled at finding everything the chickadees and squirrels leave behind.

And since opossums also eat ticks, I’m hoping this one sticks around for summer.

In other news, I have a drabble (a story that’s exactly 100 words, minus the title) in Issue 27 of Scribes*MICRO*Fiction. And They All Lived is not a fairy tale, but I think (hope) it’s a complete story.

Turn, Table, Turn

A few weeks back, I’d put in my earbuds and was planning on listening to a podcast while I cleaned the kitchen. Somehow (because, apparently, I don’t know how technology works), I loaded my old Apple Music library instead.

I hadn’t listened to these songs in ages, these relics from back in the days of my old iPod.

The first song made me smile. The next sparked a particular memory. The third was from a playlist I’d created for a long-ago novel. I kept listening even after I’d finished up with the kitchen.

And it struck me—hard. There’s a significant difference between a curated playlist and one generated by an algorithm.

So much so that a few days later, I went out and bought a turntable.

I’d been planning on doing this for a while, but I was hemming and hawing over what to buy. Then I found this little fellow:

It does everything. It plays records, CDs, FM radio. It even has a cassette tape deck. (Somewhere, I still have mix tapes.) And if I really want to, I can stream via Bluetooth. (And I might. See above re: Apple Music library.)

The sound is lovely, and its size is nice and compact. It now lives between the kitchen and the living area, so I can hear it while I’m cooking, then turn the volume down for reading in the evening.

Then I unearthed some actual records. We have more—somewhere—but these are the ones I’ve found so far. An eclectic mix, to be sure. These particular records belonged to my parents. Except for the Sesame Street one. Pretty sure that was mine.

After my surprise Apple Music encounter, I realized that I hadn’t been listening to music lately. I miss it. What I also miss is doing it myself. Streaming is fine (I guess). But sometimes, all you want to do is pull a record from the stack, blow off the dust, and hear the telltale scratch and hiss of the needle before the music plays.

Sometimes, you don’t need perfect.