Free from Anne Stuart

Krissie sends you all this with love:

For the next three days the first book in the Maggie Bennett series, ESCAPE OUT OF DARKNESS, is free at Amazon. (To be followed up with #2). It’s the first series I wrote (many many moons ago) and it’s spies and assassins and exotic locations and a literally kick-butt heroine, plus you can’t beat the price.

Get it while it’s free, folks.

Waiting for the Other Shoe . . .

So two days ago, in a fit of utter stupidity, I deleted Voodoo Pad and all its files. Thousands of files, no exaggeration. All of the world building I’d done for the fairy tale books, all of the notes and pieces of the writing book, and half a dozen other projects I’d organized in there. No, I hadn’t backed it up. Because I’m STUPID, that’s why.
Then Lani wrote today and said Milton has injured his back–dachshunds do that–so she’s been schlepping him to the vet–and thank you very much, Lani–but now he has to be crated and subdued forever so he doesn’t cripple himself. Since Milton is a canine ping pong ball, this is going to be difficult for him, so he’s the puppy I’ll bring back with me in three weeks, poor little guy. He’s going to hate being crated, but he’s going to love all the attention he gets as the Only Puppy in the House.
So now I’m sitting here waiting for the Third Thing. Bad news always comes in threes.
Tick. Tick. Tick . . .

Lost in New Jersey

I know where I am in New Jersey, but I’m lost in thought. I’m also drowning in work, but I’m having trouble getting to it, probably because I’m lost in Thought. They should get a road map for that sucker or at least put up signs. Reminds me of the day Bob and I had to drive to a hotel in Milwaukee and they were doing a Big Dig and they’d taken down all the road signs, and Bob, stifling his rage, said that Milwaukee was an old Indian word for “Land of No Road Signs.” Maybe you had to be there. But the hotel was fabulous except that Bob got the room with the fireplace and gloated. He gloated when he got the suite in Arizona, too. And people wonder why we’re not still writing together.

Where was I? Continue reading

You Again Again, Part 3: The Scathingly Brilliant Idea

Note: I didn’t put the SBI in here because it would be a spoiler. I can put it in another post that says SPOILER DON’T READ THIS at the top, but you’ll all read it anyway. Which is fine as long as you don’t yell at me later.

I always liked You Again. I didn’t like most of what I had written, but I loved the book. The heroine kicked butt, her best friend was a lot of fun to write, the musician was cranky with snark, the godmother had flair, the annoying family (the Awful Inglethorpes) churned the waters, the setting was based on a Clue board, and the hero was a Good Guy, if a little bland. There was Stuff. But it wasn’t enough, you can’t write a book with just Stuff, even if it’s really good Stuff, you have to have Juice. There was no Juice. All the elements were there, but the story wouldn’t go. So I went back to it again and again, trying to find the Juice. Nada.

Ten years later, while I’m trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my career, my life, my body, my mind, I become fascinated by two child characters. One is Delphie from Wild Ride who is still in utero in that book but who has fabulous potential: her mother is descended from two human whack jobs plus the fallen Etruscan goddess of the underworld (now a demon) and the Etruscan Devil, and her father was a mechanic possessed by the fallen Etruscan god of happiness (now a demon). Plus she’s growing up in a haunted amusement park with a mother who’s now a seer and a godmother who’s a sorceress–little dragons everywhere–and a stepfather who’s a completely normal expert on demons and their care and feeding. This kid I want to watch grow up. Maybe in a series of short stories. I don’t know, I’m cogitating.

The other kid has had a tragic early childhood, losing her mother at birth, her father at six, and her aunt at eight, all while living with her older brother in a haunted house (the aunt sticks around after death) being taken care of by harridan of a housekeeper and two ancient murderous spirits. That’s Alice. But when Alice is eight, her soon-to-be stepmother arrives on the scene and kicks supernatural ass and takes the little girl and her brother back to normality or as close to normality as this kid is ever going to get. This, I figure, is actually not very normal; Andie and North can make Alice secure and safe, but they can’t get rid of the ghosts who seek her out with their last wishes. So I tried a short story with Alice in elementary school (“Spooky Alice”), and I started a novella with Alice in junior high (“Ghost of Chance”), all because I wanted to spend more time with Alice.

What does this have to do with You Again? Well, all of this is swimming around in the back of my brain along with Claire and Rosie and Liz and Vince and Zo and Ecks and Petulia and Wyland and Gleep and Owl (turns out if you don’t write for three years, the ideas build up) and there tends to be some leakage between stories. Which is how I ended up wondering what would happen if Alice showed up at Rosemore.

Maybe This Time was a house book in the sense that the setting determined the boundaries: Alice couldn’t leave the house because the ghosts would kill if she left. Getting Alice out of the house was Andie’s biggest goal because it meant saving Alice. You Again is a house book in the same sense: the house isn’t the goal, but getting everybody out of the house before they’re all dead becomes the hero’s goal (subplot). Then in the adult Alice book I’ve been thinking about for three years (Haunting Alice and its companion book Stealing Nadine), Alice goes back to Archer House as an adult to a final confrontation with her now entirely batshit Aunt May. So I had Alice at eight (Maybe This Time), Alice at nine (“Spooky Alice”), Alice at fifteen (“Ghost of a Chance”) and Alice at thirty (Haunting Alice). There was a big leap in there, so while I was idly thinking of where Alice would be between fifteen and thirty, and thinking in terms of “Alice” and “trapped in big houses,” I remembered You Again, which had been intended to be my homage to Agatha Christie. What if there were three Alice Big House books? She’d only be the protagonist in the first one and the last one, but in between eight and thirty, maybe she could show up as a major supporting character, a teenager, wise beyond her years, stuck in a big house in southern Ohio again.

Of course, that meant there would be ghosts in You Again, which would mean that those two damn huge back story house parties could become part of the now because the people who had been killed at each of them could still be roaming the house. And my practical, just-the-facts driven heroine would be confronted with the antithesis of her world view. And her dreamy, life-is-a-movie-and-I’m-the-star best friend would think she’d lost her mind and have to change to take care of her. And the hero who’s the practical sort–he’s a lawyer–would have to accept that she can see ghosts.

Except why would Zelda start seeing ghosts?

Which is when the Scathingly Brilliant Idea occurred. I’d put it here, but it would be a spoiler and I’m not sure how we all feel about spoilers here. But trust me, it is SCATHINGLY brilliant. Even now, three months after I first had this SBI, I am stunned by its simplicity and its beauty. Sometimes I just get it right.

So then all I had to do was get Alice there, and part of the plot is that Rose is trying to get everybody to help her turn Rosemore into a B&B and then run it for her (she’s broke, but working herself would be tacky) and that her marketing strategy is that Rosemore is haunted, so she invited a medium to the Christmas party as entertainment, and since the medium is in her seventies, she brings her assistant (that would Isolde bringing Alice) and then there’s a snowstorm and they’re all snowed in . . .

See? Juice. All you need is a Scathingly Brilliant Idea and you’ve got juice. I think. I still have to sort out the plot, but I’m thinking that with three deaths, one at each turning point, and a big fight-to-the-death-in-a-raging-Ohio-River at the end, I may have a book here. Maybe. Probably. Kind of.

Back to work.

You Again Again, Part 2: What the Hell Is This Book About?

I have such a mass of stuff from trying to write You Again that going through it is going to be a nightmare. That means I need a touchstone, something that I can hold up beside each piece I find to see if it fits the concept of the book I’m writing now. Which means I need a concept. After which, I design the touchstone, which in this case is revamping my old collage. And after that, I go through a ten-year backlog of notes, pictures, drafts, outlines, e-mails from beta-readers, hoping that some of it strikes a chord and can be used again. Thank god it’s the Mercury retrograde; this stuff is perfect for that astrological clusterfuck. Continue reading


I will be back to go through all the recommendations (Thank you!) and to catch up some time next week. We put off the move to NJ because of Sandy, so the three of us–Krissie, Lani, and Jenny, together again–will be on the road come Thursday. In the meantime, I’m still going through sixty-three years of stuff here and throwing things out like mad, sending the rest to Goodwill, including well over a thousand books (I don’t think I’ve ever gotten rid of a book in my life so they were everywhere). We moved up the date because the dry AMD in my right eye turned to wet AMD about three weeks ago, which ups the chances of the same thing happening in my left eye, at which point I won’t be able to drive. So we move now. Stay tuned for posts on low vision coping devices and how to write while rehabbing a cottage, coming some time in the last half of the month. And thank you again for all the book recommendations; this is going to be fun.