There’s something about September. I love this month, and I always have. Even when I know we’re losing daylight. Soon, the sun will set at 5:00 p.m., and I’ll wonder why it feels like I should be in bed before I’ve even had dinner.
September is a good time to start things. I’ve (re)started the basement and garage cleanout. I’ve (re)started being more diligent with yoga. (And honestly, I don’t know why I stop; it always makes me feel better.)
So, I was thinking maybe it’s time to start blogging again. Yeah, I know. All the cool kids have a Substack. I don’t want a Substack. I have a perfectly good blog, and maybe no one else is blogging like it’s the early aughts, but that doesn’t mean I can’t.
I’m also thinking of (re)starting an accountability check-in. There are lots of reasons I stopped, the major one being grief. I’d like it to be a community thing to, if others would like to join in and use my blog as a weekly check-in. And it doesn’t have to be for writing or a creative project—it can be for anything you want.
I’d love to have you join in. I will be back tomorrow, fingers crossed, to post that entry.
I—somewhat foolishly, I admit—entered Pulp Literature’sFirst 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.
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.
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.
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.
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 interviewI did with the editors at WOW, where we discuss, among other things, current writing projects and ghosts.
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 saladsAnno 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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
Writing Wrongs 