SURREALITY

Yes, I made up a word. The past two years have been surreal and reality, hence Surreality. You’re welcome. Like most people, my world has been rocked and rolled over the past two years. I work in health care, so I continued to work through the pandemic, although my patient load and hours got cut back for a while. Things are roughly back to normal on the work front, so that’s good news. The home front is decidedly not normal. Over the years, we have enjoyed a relatively healthy existence. 2021 decided that needed to change, so in January, the entire household came down with Covid-19. I don’t think I’ve ever been that sick for that long, but we recovered without any major issues. During my downtime, I decided it was time to find a primary physician and made an appointment with my husband’s doctor. As a healthcare provider I have certain expectations of doctors, and this one didn’t make the cut. I take issue with any doctor who doesn’t ask basic questions regarding my health history, doesn’t address current conditions and concerns, and repeats no less than four times that I need to eat more plant-based foods (without asking about my diet). At least, she did request lab work, a mammogram, and a colon screen (done, done, and done). Now, to find another doctor. All was going along relatively smoothly until I woke up at 3am over Labor Day weekend in atrial fibrillation. Most might say they had heart palpitations. I’d call it an asynchronized kettle drum thumping on the wrong side of my chest. After an early morning trek to the emergency room (via Whataburger because mi esposo needed breakfast), voila–I now have history of a-fib. Fun. Fortunately, my little, ole heart decided to go back to a normal rhythm without further drama, and I went home with a very nice, shiny cardiologist to call my own. Yippee. That was nothing. The next week, mi esposo went in for a cardiac catheterization–nothing was wrong, but his cardiologist wanted to take a look around his heart’s arteries. Mi esposo came away with two stents and a buttload of blood thinners. Nothing wrong, my fanny! You’d think that would be enough, right? Nope. In October, mi esposo, the Mimi, and I took a tiny trip to Georgia to meet our new grandbaby girl (I shall call her Girlie). She’s gorgeous, adorable, magnificent, smart, opinionated, and possesses a set of lungs that lets you know she means Business (That’s my girl!). Anyway, on our last day visiting, mi esposo decided to help Myrtle the Elder put some things away in the attic. He took an ill-advised shortcut out of the attic and landed on the concrete garage floor. Did you know that bones don’t like concrete all that much? Nor do they appreciate 8-foot drops onto said concrete. We also discovered that morphine is not his friend, and neither is the LSD-type concoction that he received in the emergency room to control the pain. So, while mi esposo experienced life in a Georgia hospital and rehab, I had to come home and figure out how I was going to get him back to Texas. After three weeks, Myrtle the Younger and I trekked back to Georgia, sprung mi esposo from jail–I mean rehab, and hauled him home in a four-day, whirlwind trip that I’m still recovering from four months later. He’s healing well but has more therapy and surgery in his future. And we have a new normal. The weirdness of 2020 and 2021 has given me a lot of time and fodder for my writing. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve entered a few more short story/flash fiction contests and done pretty darn well if you’re interested (well, you must be if you’re reading this). A friend is producing an anthology this spring, and I’ve submitted a story for it. Stay tuned for more details. I have finished the first two books of my newest series, The Tess Corona Chronicles. (No, I did not name her after the virus! The name was given two years before the pandemic, and no, I am not changing it. So, there.) I’m querying agents and publishers for the first novel–And They Danced, and I’m working with my critique group on the second–And They Played. Writing of the third book, And They Hid, has commenced. If that isn’t enough, I still have to write the last book of the Spiritual Gifts trilogy, books 3 and 4 of the Daemon series, a non-fiction work, and at least a dozen or so short stories. Did I mention that I work full-time? And that mi esposo can’t do most of the things I need him to do? There aren’t enough hours in the day. T

Thrilled and Humbled

 A couple of weeks ago, I did this thing–I entered a local writer’s group short story contest. Each month the Granbury Writers’ Bloc posts a challenge to write a story of less than 1500 words for a given prompt. August happened to be an open prompt category. While there are many contests out there, few offer a critique for each entry. This contest offers feedback for each entry, and that alone is worth the entry fee.

This month had the added incentive of receiving a “plot bunny”. Meet Lena the Lizard.

Lena the Lizard ‘Plot Bunny’

Lena promises to help me write more short stories (I have to provide the poop).

Before this year, I had written two short stories–SMACK! and A Smile for Noelle–as a challenge to myself. While I did submit SMACK! for a Texas horror anthology (I figured Hey! Why not!), those stories were never critiqued. In January, I submitted Transplant to the GWB Short Story Contest. I was pleased to get 3rd place for that effort. In addition to this contest, I’ve written a few flash fiction stories (under 300 words) for another group I belong to (maybe someday I’ll post those).

So back to my current short story–I wrote All Saints as a complement to my paranormal cold case series (formerly referred to as The Corona Chronicles, but now will be called Chronicles of the Cerveza Twins–or something like that). Wanting good feedback, I submitted All Saints as a short story.

And I won. First place. To say I was excited is an understatement. Mi Espouso said I was going to be difficult to live with (I think he’ll survive). There were only two comments given in the feedback, including the statement “One of the best stroies[sic] of any genre I’ve read in a long time.”

Lena thinks I did a good job.

Well, doesn’t that just put things in perspective? I am floored. This is someone who reads as much as I do, if not more, and my fourth attempt at a short story was the best they’ve read in a long time?

Wow. If that isn’t the incentive to keep writing, I don’t know what is.

My story, along with the 2nd and 3rd place winners, are posted at Granbury Writers’ Bloc. Check them out. Send them love and support.

Thanks!

T.

I'm Blue

For the past three years, I have looked forward to an event created by and for writers. Writers in the Field (WITF) is an opportunity for writers to get inside the head of experts in all manner of disciplines without kidnapping, torture, and self-incrimination. Many of these experts are also writers (or are related to writers) so they understand the strange browser histories which put writers on various watch lists.

The first year was at the tail end of a true Texas summer--hotter than your oven on broil. Last year's event is fondly referred to as Writers in the Flood or Writers in the Mud since Mother Nature decided to dump a load on our heads, complete with tornado. But still we slugged our way to the experts as they did for us. A few didn't make it, including the food truck, but those that did were rewarded with fond memories of slogging through the muck, ruining our shoes, and going mudding in our cars (that was fun).

This year, Momma Nature made up for the first two years. For the past two days, the weather gave us lovely fall-like temperatures (which only last about 5 minutes in Texas). The rain came in early, leaving the ground only slightly squishing in certain places. Life is good.

So, off I went (with mi espouso and Myrtle the Younger in tow) with a clean notepad to attend WITF, intent on meeting like-minded people and experts, to discuss methods of murder and mayhem without threat of suspicious eyes and ears wondering just what the hell was going on out there. There sword fights, loin-girding, Renaissance dancing, lock-picking, blade-smithing, weavers, and dyers (to name a few) mix with experts from the FBI, Secret Service, police, and bomb squad to answer ALL our questions and insane ideas for our story lines. They offer suggestions on how to make our life--I mean writing--more interesting and realistic, while suggesting (gently) that perhaps that plot twist might now work the way we think it will (sigh).

So, why am I blue? Well...I dyed.

I know, it's shocking, but after years of vague ideas on how to make a tie-dyed shirt, I participated in several dying sessions and dyed my very own mustard-y yellow-y handkerchief. Over 2 days and under the watchful eye of Willoc the Dyer, six of us helped to dye a length of hand-woven, wool fabric a deep, rich blue-y purple or purple-y blue. I had the task of being under the wet cloth, dipping the cloth in the dye, ensuring it didn't get tangled on the turning dowel, and basically getting dripped on. One day one, my hands were red. Today, I was blue.

Very blue. As in Smurfette blue. And it DOESN'T COME OFF! (Pics on Instagram)

I'm blue.

T.

The Writer's Life

I must say that writing is exhausting work. My brain doesn't shut down except when it must. Personality tests say its due to being an INFP. If I had ever undergone psychological testing, I might have been diagnosed with some version of attention deficit disorder. The bottom line is, I can carry on a conversation, drive, eat, and watch TV while brainstorming book scenes without breaking a sweat.

This might explain why I'm trying to write 5 books at the same time. Insane, I know, but it's my reality. I have two more books each for the Daemon series and the Spiritual Gifts trilogy, plus the beginnings of another series.

Needless to say, the past few months have seen much time spent researching everything from Viking weaponry, Renaissance country dancing, the Texas Rangers (not the baseball team), and various Texas myths, legends, and murder mysteries. In my zeal for information and ideas, I've visits a few cool places and events, and collected a few souvenirs.

I mentioned previously that I attended a gun and knife expo, searching for information and inspiration on knives. While I didn't find reference material, I discovered a love of custom knives and purchased my first.


Did I need a knife? No, I don't. Do I love my knife? Yes, yes, I do. Ain't it pretty?

In May, mi espouso and I went to Scarborough Faire, one of the biggest Renaissance festivals around. While most women go there to eat turkey legs and get their hair braided, I really wanted to buy a sword, but demonstrated admirable restraint. Instead, I focused on the tour of a dungeon, various forges, maps, and anything that might help my quest.


The woman in the tapestry shop called this guy a library dragon. I called him the Book Wyrm. After she thought about it for half a second, she realized I was right. I'd like to think she will forever refer to this piece correctly.

Yes, I found a few book-related goodies and spent way too much money, but more importantly, I came away with usable ideas for sequel to Healer.

A week later found me in Waco, with mi espouso and the Mimi, headed to the Texas Ranger Museum. I came away with a buzzing head and confirmation that my new series might just work after all. I've collected a few books for research purposes (and curiosity of the absurd).


Don't judge. I'm a writer. (I saw a tshirt today: My Browser History Can Get Me Arrested. So true. Too bad they didn't have my size.)

The past 2 days have been spent at my first DFW Writer's Conference, complete with agents. I haven't tried the agent route, so being in the room while they played the Query Gong Show was an interesting experience. (Panel of agents are read an anonymous query letter. They hit a gong when they've heard enough to reject. Three gongs & you're out. At least, you hear the reasons.)

So for 2 days, I have attended lectures about screenwriting, the hero's journey, editing, marketing, book covers, challenges, writing courtroom drama, and historical research. Each topic could have had another 30 minutes tacked on. To say the speakers were excellent would be an understatement. The keynote speaker was Scott Westerfield, author of The Uglies. His topic was amazing: the evolution of the novel and teens into the current popularity of Young Adult fiction.

While I am still processing all the information and ideas from the event, I did come away with a few souvenirs.


Mi espouso can never have enough tshirts.

I think I'm done for today.
T.

This is Texas

I am cold.

Yes, I live in Texas which typically has summer temperatures ten degrees higher than Hell (and Hell doesn't have the humidity). This week will see the first 100 degree temperature streak BEFORE the heat index.

Here I sit, at 10:22 p.m., on July 18, outside temp of 85 (feels like 91), AC set at whatever setting my hot-natured espouso determines necessary for survival, and sitting under a freaking ceiling fan. I should be comfortable, right? Wrong. I sit here in silent misery wearing a crocheted wrap over a 3/4 sleeve cardigan, sipping hot tea with honey (and just a smidge of Crown Maple). And, as soon as I finish this little rant, I will be putting finishing touches on my next crocheted sweater. For dinner, I made Lima Bean Soup (yum!). I keep extra blankies by my bed just in case the comforter doesn't cut it. They're small ones that cover just me, not the espouso. The dog is rather opposed to those as well this time of year.

I tell you, people, I am cold. I go outside to warm up and stay there until the humidity makes me sweat, then I go in. I can appreciate the AC for about 5 minutes after that, but then I'm done. Do not put any AC vent or fan directly on me or you will lose important body parts. (You would think mi espouso would have figured this out after 32 years. No. He hasn't.)

Now could someone please explain how I can be freezing my keister off in July, when I am perfectly comfortable the rest of the year when the temperatures run in the 70s and 80s? It's a good thing I don't live in Montana, or even the Texas panhandle, for that matter.

Rant over. Blankie calling.

T.

Texas Springtime Road Trip

I just returned from another trek around central Texas. It's good to be Texan.

Last fall, my grandfather passed away at the ripe age of 93. It is through his family that I have roots growing in Texas since the 1830's (Texas became an independent republic in 1836.) After he died, the family decided to scatter his ashes at the old family plot on privately owned land and scattered wildflower seeds in the plot and along the highway to make the location of the plot a little more visible. (We hoped.)

With wildflower season in swing, we decided to make an Easter weekend trip south. Luckily for us, Myrtle the younger announced she had an extra credit assignment due for German III, giving us the opportunity to kill multiple birds with one stone. How, you might ask? German settlements are scattered throughout central Texas with a famous German restaurant in Walburg and a large settlement in Fredericksburg which also happens to be the wildflower capital of Texas.

So off we go with our first stop in Walburg to fill up on saurbraten, schnitzel and a few other German delicacies which I can't spell because I never studied German. Myrtle took her assigned selfie with food and off we went on our quest for wildflowers.

Along the way, Mimi (the resident genealogist) realized we did not have pictures of her grandparent's gravesite in her database (72K names, people!) and guess what happened to be on the way to Fredericksburg--you guessed it--the cemetery.

I love cemeteries. The older the better. In fact, I have a peculiar talent. I find dead people. Put me in the middle of any cemetery and give me a name to hunt for and I will find them in record time. Turn up the heat and humidity and I will find them even faster. It's fun and it drives Mimi crazy. (How do you do that?!? IDK.) The last time I was at this cemetery was in 1985 when my great-grandmother passed away. I did not go to my great-grandfather's funeral in 1992 (Mimi did). That being said, an argument ensued about where their burial plot was located. Guess who found the marker in less than one minute? Yup, went straight to it.

Mission accomplished, we proceeded to Wildseed Farms to see fields of poppies and bluebonnets. Absolutely gorgeous!

After spending the night overlooking Lake Marble Falls, we headed north to Burnet (pronounced burn-it) County where the family plot is located. Since we did not get permission to go to the plot beforehand, we just looked through the fence. No sign of wildflowers in the plot, but along the highway there was plenty of evidence that our seed scattering was productive. Yea!!

Now Mimi wants to get five pounds of seeds for each departed family member and scatter them at the highway and at her property. Stay tuned!

T.