BOOK GIVEAWAY!!

At some point today, California and the entire left coast is supposed to sink beneath the surly waters of the Pacific Ocean.  I awoke to some overcast skies and raindrops, but certainly no end of the world deluge, and wondered if anyone else wanted to play a game.

Playing and games are two of the bestest parts of life, I was weaned on pinball as a youngster and transitioned smoothly into the video game era as a teen.  Our house has around 50 board games stashed in various places, a cribbage board always handy and World of Warcraft for my husband.  I stopped playing WoW a year or so back, good game but I got sick of Blizzard's hubris and all the nerfing.

But Clyde, the kids and I are all vengeful gamers no matter what we play because, to us, playing is living.  So let's live on this day of prophesied doom, let's play and let's have a little fun instead.

Naming things is incredibly fun but it's also serious business.  Back when I did play WoW, I was notorious for deleting mid-level toons only because I got sick of their names.  Here's a fun Solstice fact, several character names were lifted wholesale from my toons and those of my WoW friends.   Molca, Soleila and the entire Jash family were derived from the mists of Azeroth.

A good name can get you far in this world, just ask Morgan Fairchild if you don't believe me.  Auld Andrew, my dad, mentions my proclivity for odd names in the book at every opportunity; apparently he would prefer names like Bob and Betsy, sorry Dad.

Making up names is too much fun to stop now and I would love to see what names all of you come up with. So, beginning today and running for one month is this blog's first contest, The Name Game!  The rules are very simple, just conjure up a name for a person or a place and either leave your entry in the comments section or email it to me.

The three people with the best names will each win a copy of The Last Prospector.  BUT WAIT!  THERE'S MORE!!

The grand prize winner, the reader who submits a name of unparalleled majesty and breathtaking symmetry will be able to find that name in a future book in The Song of Solstice series.

I don't know about you, but I'm excited.  There are still only a handful of readers of this blog, but there's more everyday and I would like to meet you, to say thanks for travelling with me.  So come and play readers, there's room for everyone and I will make snacks!

It occurs to me as I write this that calling you 'readers' is kind of boring, you all need a name.

I'll work up something good if you do.

The C.H. Thing

This is the C.H. in question, our departed cat Charles Howard in all his splendor.  I cannot stop thinking about him, even though he died in February, but not in some obsessed, crazy cat lady way.  Actually, I do believe that Chachi was the largest impetus for writing this book, so I could work out the crazy events and make some sort of logical sense of it all.

Perhaps a little back story is in order, Charles Howard came to us while we owned the cafe.  One of my fave customers and amazingly big-hearted animal lover, Patty (she can be found in book one as Pate Ganje, the mount dealer), asked to put up a flier on our bulletin board.  She was trying to find homes for some kittens and I, out of nowhere, said that I wanted a cat.

I'm not sure what insanity prompted me to say that, it's not that I don't like cats, I love 'em and have had many fine felines in my life.  But we were such a busy family, the deli took almost all of our time and we had a relatively young pit bull who was trampling roughshod over us at home.  But it popped out of my mouth anyway and Patty went right to work.  I tried to backpedal, truly I was worried about giving another pet quality attention time AND Blue the pit bull is described best in one word -- heedless.  I was afraid that Blue would smash a kitten out of pure reckless abandon, no malice at all, that dog just don't care where he puts his paws.

Patty heard my concerns and the kittens were put aside for a bit, "I have another cat," she said, "he's six months and a good hunter."  Now, you must understand that our daughter worked at the cafe with us and heard the exchange, she loves cats so I had gotten her hopes up.  And Patty's hopes were up too, and I couldn't disappoint them both, plus I did want a cat, so I hoped that Clyde would be on board with yet another impulsive decision made by moi.

Clyde was cool with it and the cat formerly known as Tiger joined our family, he gave the dog a claw to the snout by way of hello and proceeded to take over.  Cheech (all my pets have at least 1,000 nicknames) was a superb hunter, he ran a tight ship that included all the neighbors and was invited in to their homes when direct pest control was needed.  Like most cats, CH liked to bring in his kills to display to my husband and I'm still finding the odd finch feather around my house.  But he was a loving little Fuzz Man as well and was especially partial to stretching out in the sun to get his fat belly stroked as he purred and rolled back and forth.

Charles Howard disappeared one spring night, our daughter was the last to see him and we spent months searching for our wayward boy.  We put up fliers, knocked on all the doors in the neighborhood, went to all the local shelters regularly and checked the websites several times a day for pictures of cats that had been impounded.  I kept hoping though, even as the days became weeks and then months, I just knew in my heart that Chucky would be back someday.

I did not keep that sentiment to myself, just like Lt. Saavik, self-expression is not one of my problems.  I don't know how I knew, but I did, so when people suggested that I get another cat, I would look at them like they were crazy and ask how Charlie would feel when he got back and found a replacement.  No, no.  I did not want a new cat, I wanted my cat back home; end of discussion.  I never stopped looking either, even in the most ridiculous and improbable locations, my eyes were always peeled for a fuzzy orange and white cat.

It took almost two years of looking, waiting, asking the Universal Order for some grace and many, many tears until I saw my ChaCha again.  But it happened, just like I knew it would, he turned up across the street and I recognized his voice.  My heart was pounding in my chest as I went up George's walkway to the porch ringed by shrubs and peered around.  IT WAS CHARLES!!!!!!!  I saw those familiar stripes on his head and the cream colored 'eyeliner' around his green eyes, my knees gave out as I grabbed on and just sat on George's porch rocking my cat back and forth.

At first, Chach didn't seem to recognize me, I could see the confusion plainly in his eyes.  But I could also see that he was working it all out, he didn't fight me as I scooped him up and took him into the house.  I watched the light in his eyes slowly get brighter as he realized that he was finally home and I all wanted to do was scream with joy.  But I stayed cool, I didn't want to traumatize him after all.  Charlie looked well, not too skinny and no wounds, and I remember the exact moment that the cat's memories all unlocked.  It was his Helen Keller moment and I was Annie Sullivan signing out water into his paw, I can't begin to describe the emotions I felt.  Such happiness is rare in life, but it is an indelible memory on my soul now, and Blue's too.  I've never before or since seen that dog be as kind and gentle as he was when I finally let him out of the bedroom to see the cat.

As I watched Blue delicately sniffing Charles Howard, gently wagging his tail in a way that I'd never seen before, I knew that my family was truly reunited.  We had been given a miracle, a truly spectacular one because life gives you many things and takes many things, but almost never gives back exactly what was taken.  But he was back and I rejoiced every day, I told him often how much I had missed him and joyfully groused as he got back to his old routine of entitlement.  Charles didn't wander off too much, he stayed close to home and was a billion times more affectionate than he had been.  He preferred to snuggle on Clyde's warm, stable lap and play endlessly with his new laser pointer.

I wish my Chachi's story ended there, but most stories don't have a fixed ending.  Tomorrow I will continue this post and tell about what happened after.  But for today, let us end on a miracle.

Twist & Shout

An homage is a delicate thing, it needs to be served correctly in order to be fully enjoyed.  A well prepared homage is like an inviting plate of appetizers moving through a crowded party waiting for someone to recognize and delight.  Not everyone will notice it and be familiar with the ingredients but, soon enough, a pair of excited eyes will find that plate and pop the tasty morsel into her mouth wondering how that cagey chef knew what her exact favorites were.

Most of my favorite shows tend to be liberal with homages, references and the shouting of outs.  Buffy the Vampire Slayer was great for that, even after all this time, when Tuesday night comes and there's no fresh eps of the Scoobies, I feel sad.  Joss Whedon's skill at creating clever dialogue liberally laced with pop culture references is a beautiful thing to me.  Lost also did it very well but in a much subtler fashion, it referenced literature like Incident at Owl Creek Bridge and Catch-22 in very quiet ways, weaving many disparate ideas into its own unique mythology.  Doctor Who does it over and over, from Agatha Christie to Harry Potter to Big Brother, the Doctor doesn't miss an opportunity to say a cheery hello to all the diversity out there.

As I stated in my first post, it was important to me that my story be filled with references because I wanted the chance to create some of those sly, pleased smiles among my readers.  The Last Prospector starts out with homages and will end on a whopper or five; it's crammed full of gems but many of them are very personal ones that the general public wouldn't recognize.  My friends, family and home town fill up the pages of the book because I actually love them MORE than my entertainments, believe it or not!

My late mother is the very first, she raised African violets somewhat obsessively and, while I hate those damned plants, Iolet came from her.  By book's end, all of my immediate family was entrenched in the fabric of Solstice - all of those who would appreciate such a thing that is.  Just about all of my relations that gave me that quietly deprecating eye roll when I spoke of my new writing venture did not find a home in my world.  Scoff elsewhere you sayers of nay, Solstice is for travellers in search of adventure.

There are an equal amount of well known homages in The Last Prospector too and Bruce Springsteen is the paterfamilias.  He's The Boss, you know winkety wink wink.  It's taken me four books to get every major member of the E Street Band, Danny Federici was an especial challenge, but Solstice is crammed with Bruce-ness.  Star Trek of course, since it was my first pop culture influence at the tender age of three, is not hard to find either.  Tibaryus is named for James Tiberius Kirk while Kanig and the Keptyn Pike are both slobbery kisses to the original series.

One thing I would like to make clear, not that it will matter to most people but I feel that it needs to be clarified.  The Tylers of western Jonquyllum were not a Doctor Who homage.  The Hunts from the east came first and were named for Gene Hunt of Life on Mars, so when I needed a family name for the other side of the lake, I went for symmetry with Sam Tyler.  The Tyler Rose came later and was an obvious choice when I needed a flower, it's just a coincidence of naming and perhaps Sam Tyler's name was itself a reference to the Doctor.  Wouldn't that be cool?

The Words Are Important

Yes, it is a very self serving notion seeing as how I wrote a book chock full o' words, but it is still the truth.  Words are great fun because there are so many of them and, if you look hard enough, you can find exactly, precisely the word you mean.  Since I'm not big on ambiguities, I've always collected words, filing them away until some esoteric nugget surges forward to describe my immediate need.  There is rarely any hidden subtext in my spoken words, no cryptic meanings and only a pinch of pretentiousness.  If I want something thrown out a window, I will say to have it defenestrated, because that one word says exactly what I mean.

Another great thing about words is how fun many of them are to say, yes I know it's weird, but where is the harm?  Not just regular words either, people's names often grab my attention because I enjoy saying them; I'm not a football fan but I know who Drew Brees is and love to say his name.  Personality notwithstanding, Marquis De Sade is fun to say as well, and there is a long standing joke between my husband and I that our next dog will be named Fisher DeBerry, because I love saying Fisher DeBerry.

So, when I set out to write the books, I knew subconsciously that words are important but I did not know that it would be a recurring theme in the series.  Prospector alludes to that notion when he tells his story to the Hunts, but it's Awnyx's friend Snatch who says it first.  Snatch is by no means the last character to say that the words are important and it took me some time to grasp the reason, other than the obvious of course.  By the end of The Last Prospector I realized what that idea meant to Solstice and that realization was an almost blinding epiphany.

Words are as important to the fabric of Solstice as the light stealers and the power of words is almost a character in the story.  However that character has certain rigid demands, if the words are important, then the words that I choose to tell about the words are equally as important.  To make that somewhat less confusing, I have to select my words with more than the usual care because some of our words are not in the vocabulary of Solstice.  They do not have a sun or moon, there is no bible and no chocolate, and it is very hard to find good words for 'brown' that don't involve chocolate somehow.

Keeping away from such common words as angel, heaven, christen, baptize and hell is an ongoing challenge, however I did manage to find a small chocolate loophole in book three.  But those words have no historical context in Solstice so I can't justify using them there and sometimes have to become very creative.  Like most challenges though, there is much to be discovered because of the conflict, things that I wouldn't have even thought about had I not challenged myself at all.

My New Best Friends

I used to wonder a lot how writers managed to create such diverse characters. It always seemed to me that they are like children and, as such all the characters you create must be like you in some way.  I don't wonder about that anymore, with three books written and a substantial cast, it is now clear to me that the characters make themselves.

Sure, I contribute by writing it all down, but those people already existed and were just waiting for a chance to speak.  There are elements of me in all of them, but they surprise me at every turn which makes writing this story an enormously good time.  Not every voice is easy for me to hear and satisfying them all can be very frustrating at times, but we all get it together in the end.  Here's a quick rundown of the major players from the first novel The Last Prospector, let's start with him.

• Prospector, what an endearing man.  I'm not one much for believing in heroes, but Prospector is mine.  He is the kind of person I wish I could be and is one of the two most consistently surprising characters.  I so did not know going in to this that Prospector really loved cats or that he had eight siblings.
• Tonyo Ylnaranj, so hard to write for because he is so subdued.  He was originally just a one time character named after a friend of mine, but I soon realized that he was meant for more.  I couldn't live with Gomil in the long term, sorry Gordon, so I rechristened him after my grandfather.
• Holema Gialle, she's another hard case but I respect her.  The Doyenne is a perfectionist and demands the same of me, she's a sly one though so watch out for her.
• Awnyx Tiell, I love this guy, love, love, love.  He sits right next to me with a cold beer and a bottle of quavit, telling me stories and making me laugh.  The Captain is full of surprises, bursting with them, and I would travel any road with that man.
• Tibaryus Ceruleya, Prospector's brother is my first real Star Trek shout out and a clever guy.  Bary also gets the honor of homaging Dr Who, so he is truly a sci-fi hybrid.

It's my hope that everyone visits Solstice and befriends the Prospector, maybe this brief introduction will entice you to want more.  The next installment, Travellers & Tramps, opens up a broader world and introduces other great characters to the story.  I can promise you laughter, tears and a great deal of surprises if you travel along with me.

Welcome To Solstice

The idea that I should write my own book series came at a time in my life that found me searching for a new direction, a new place to focus my occasionally ferocious energies.  I had just finished reading the fifth installment of a wildly popular fantasy series and was very unhappy for the money wasted.  I have spent my life digesting other peoples stories in all mediums and have become a very discerning consumer.  I'm not a snob by any means and will take my entertainments where I can find them, but I have a very low tolerance for cheap tricks in place of well thought out writing.

I remember thinking as I put down that disappointing book that I might never find a story that completely satisfies me again, one that made me fall in love and then went on to give me more than I asked for.  Being a do-it-yourself type of girl, I gave myself permission to make up a big story and the floodgates opened.  First I established strict guidelines for my story, I'm an exacting person about some things and this story had to be everything that I wanted.

• Strong, believable characters.  My favorite part of any story is the people I meet, if I'm not invested in them then the story lacks value to me.
• The story must have a known ending and must at all times be working towards that ending.  There will be no X Filing here, no making shit up and hoping for the best at the end.  How a story ends is more important than how it begins because it is the ending that truly decides the worth of all the time invested in the story.
• It had to be fun.  A good story is a good time, why take a trip if you can't enjoy all parts of the journey?
• Neat stuff.  Making up beings and objects to populate a world of your own creation is one of the most enjoyable things I've ever done.  I really do wish that I lived in Solstice with hyacinth shaped light stealers in my yard and a stand of taffy maples in the back forty.
• Easter eggs.  I love 'em, shout outs, homages, references; you name it, I got it.  It's time to give back to the cultures from which I've mined and everything from Springsteen to Bold and the Beautiful can be found in the story.
• Creation story.  How and why Solstice came to be had to be known by me before I could start and everything flowed from that genesis.

From those guidelines sprung the tiers of Solstice a vibrant world born from my unique perspective.  The Last Prospector is the first book in the Song of Solstice series and tells the story of the man who knows that destiny is waiting for him.  Taking this journey with Prospector has pushed me to emotional highs and lows that I never anticipated, but only I can walk this path and I'm very glad I did.