spring daisies in the grass

I snapped this picture as I was hustling home today after an early morning Pilates session. I forced myself to stop and take multiple shots. To slow down just for a breath and, well, breathe. To try to not think, think, think all the time.

daisies for the blog

For those of you celebrating this weekend – Easter, Passover or simply Spring – please take a moment to notice the pretty daisies in your lawn or park. And then send me all your leftover chocolate … well, anything over 60% cocoa.

Please and thank you!

Behind the pages of After The Virus

How about a paperback giveaway and some insight to the story origins of After The Virus?

Okay, so I planned to do my very first vlog (video blog) with this giveaway and then figured out that ­­– being rather obsessive about these sorts of things – it would take me DAYS to shoot a vlog. And chances were I’d never be happy with it, so a written post made much more sense!

I haven’t paid much attention to After The Virus lately. Writing the Dowser Series occupies 90% of my time and Jade and cupcakes and chocolate are so much easier to chat about and share than a post-apocalyptic novel. ATV is a love story, yes (in more ways than one), but – as my father said – it’s rather relentless.

Funny thing is, ATV is STILL my best seller even though it was my first novel. Granted, I’d been writing screenplays for over a decade, and thought I was writing just another screenplay (in a long treatment form) when I realized that ATV was a novel. A novel I’d pretty much sworn I’d never write, because I wasn’t THAT sort of writer. *glances at the row of book covers on the side bar**ahem*

The story for After The Virus – heavily influenced by Stephen King’s The Stand – started with a single scene. A scene I wrote as a short film, and later looked to expand into a full-length screenplay. The scene was about two people meeting in a post-apocalyptic wasteland with nothing left to lose except their hearts (and souls?).

In the novel that short film script turned into chapters five and six (which I was going to read, but will now just copy and paste below). Without this scene, this germ of an idea, I wouldn’t have my best selling novel. I find that supremely interesting and super cool … and hope you do as well!!

———–

After The Virus - chapter five

CHAPTER FIVE

Other than evidence of travelers along the road, she hadn’t seen anyone since Wee Wee a week back, after which she’d changed course twice.

Rhiannon had known something was up the second she entered this middle-of-nowhere town. Except for a few boarded windows, the buildings were… tidy. Even though the place looked deserted, she leashed B.B. The mountains loomed immediately behind them, but here the land was flat and dry.

After she’d found the Beretta, she traveled by day. It was easier to shoot what you could see, and thanks to lots of film prep, she was deadly.

She eyed the almost inviting hotel, but as she approached the general store, she heard the music. Paul Simon, she thought. He’s old then.

She adjusted her hat so it was low, but without compromising her sight lines. She’d been dressing as manly as possible for her slight frame.

As if he’d heard her approach, he stepped around the corner of the store. His rifle was slung over his shoulder. He stopped when he saw them.

B.B. didn’t growl.

He grinned, and she was surprised that she noticed he was oddly beautiful — rough, tanned and manly — not her usual type. He threw his head back and laughed, delighted, and then hunkered back on his heels and held his hand out to B.B. She let B.B. off the leash.

B.B. hesitated. The guy wiggled his fingers, still grinning, and to Rhiannon’s surprise, B.B. wagged the tail she barely had and bounded to him. B.B. nuzzled his hand. Then he let her lick his face, all the while laughing like a kid. She was unjustifiably jealous of B.B.’s affection.

She moved closer and caught the dark look that passed across his face when he saw B.B.’s numerous newly healed wounds. Then he looked up.

He wasn’t old. Maybe younger than her; if she ever admitted her true age. Then, with a thrill, she realized, there was no reason not to.

“It’s been months since I’ve seen a dog,” he said.

Now that she was near, she thought he might be part native, but that didn’t fit her impression of the twang in his accent. A native cowboy? She shouldn’t tease, but she thought it best to know quickly how easily he rattled. So she pulled off her glasses and asked, “And a woman?”

After The Virus - Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

Her sky-blue eyes cut his soul, though he instantly felt stupid for thinking so. He also thought he might know her, but dismissed that.

“About the same,” he drawled, glad, not for the first time, that his sister’s tendency to leap around corners had made him hard to surprise.

He glanced at the gun on her hip, the knife strapped to her leg, as he slowly gained his feet. He didn’t want to stare, but couldn’t help it. She’d looked away to survey Main Street, so he could really only see the line of her jaw. She must be sweltering under all those layers.

“Where are all the bodies?” she asked and he noted that she had no distinguishable accent.

“I cleaned,” he replied, blunt but kind about it.

“Ah,” she breathed, and then actually raised her perfect nose to sniff the air. “Bonfire,” she concluded.

“Seemed best,” he agreed.

She stepped away to look into the store. He’d been restocking the shelves, which, he was aware, might make him seem more than a little crazy.

“You alone?” He called her attention back, but then instantly regretted the tension his aggression evoked as she placed her hand on her gun.

“Just B.B. and me,” she answered, testily. The dog glanced at the woman, opened its mouth in a big grin and lifted its nose for another pat.

“Well, I imagine you’re both hungry,” he offered, and was confused when her jaw clenched and she looked out of town as if planning to leave.

“Just because you didn’t rape me at first sight doesn’t mean I’m your friend,” she finally sneered, and he caught the edge of fear in her.

“I never did make friends easy.” He spoke in a light tone like he would with a wounded animal, which, he didn’t have to guess, she’d been. The woman looked at the dog, B.B., who hadn’t left his side, and then suddenly, he could feel the utter weariness she didn’t let show.

She pulled a glove off and offered him her gun hand. “Rhiannon,” she said. Her skin seared his when he folded his callused hand around hers.

———-

After The Virus paperback

Want to win a signed paperback copy of After The Virus? Just comment below (make sure to fill out your email address in the form). The contest is open INTERNATIONALLY. The winner will be selected by random number generator on Friday, Jan 31 after 12noon PST.

Bonus entries?? Do the above and add any or all of the following:

  1. Sign up for my new release mailing list
  2. Follow me on twitter and tweet giveaway info … such as:  After The Virus – behind the pages #giveaway via @mcdoidge – #win a paperback http://wp.me/pP9tA-D8
  3. Like me on Facebook. I cannot ask you to post a link on your Facebook page because that is against FB’s code of conduct, but if you felt so inclined that would be lovely.
  4. WordPress user? Like this post.
  5. Blogger? Post a link to this post via your blog.
  6. Subscribe to this blog (link on side bar).

Are you already following me on any or all of the above platforms or mailing lists? Thank you!! Just remind me in your comment so I remember to give you the extra entries!

The conversation right before I got my ass cardio kicked yesterday

Martial Arts Instructor: “What is the most important step in self defense?”
Me:”Running away.”
Him: “Close. Confidence.”
Me: “That is the exact opposite of running away.”
Then he told me I had to do push-ups on my knuckles.
Yeah, that didn’t happen.

Skyping with Irene…

So I just finished a great Skype chat with Irene Langholm, who is the brilliant artist who has done all the covers for my books. While the chat ended very well – we were discussing the cover for the soon to be released Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic – it started out a little embarrassingly … for me. You see, Irene requested I send her a sketch of my basic idea for the cover.

Ahem.

I cannot sketch, or draw, or paint … but – in the spirit of cooperative creation – I made an attempt.

Yes, this my attempt to sketch a book cover idea ...
Yes, this my attempt to sketch a book cover idea …

Note all the fine details I included – the figure is obviously female, one of her hands is caressing the Y of the word deadly … the glowing ‘door’ is hanging on some sort of grid and the woman appears to be standing (on her heels) on water … um … that’s not right …

I’m surprised Irene didn’t fall over laughing. Well, perhaps she did, it would be difficult to tell during a text based chat, but she was very understanding about my perspective issues, and even thanked me.

I have a feeling the finished cover will be a bit more … hmmm … what do I want to say here … well, perhaps we’ll have to do a comparison when Irene sends me what I know will be a work of art.

At least I spelled everything correctly … beside that ‘D’ … I guess I had trouble with that.

Ah, it’s good to know your shortcomings, no?

Some times I forget …

Sometimes I forget what it feels like to be me.

I get buried in some physical or … occasionally, emotional pain. Or a cold or illness that only time can heal no matter how much echinacea tea I drink.

When like this, it’s as if I can only inch forward … get out of bed, keep the house (vaguely) clean, feed myself, care for the cats, answer only the emails that desperately need answering … I keep telling myself this illness/pain/hurdle will pass as it always does, but it feels like lip service.

Friends and family – those who may see or know me in this state – tell me to take it easy, that I work so hard that I deserve a break, etc. So, attempting to heed their advice, I read or watch movies or whatever, but still I’m constantly aware I’m only half available, only half engaged.

But then the day comes – perhaps a rainy, cold one like today, where my office is the warmest place in the house and I suddenly feel like checking out the top singles on iTunes ­– when I turn my mind to the current work in progress. I open the file or notebook, and I take up my pen or keyboard. It just happens, effortless. I don’t even think about it. The rhythm moves me, evokes the muse before I even realize it is happening.

And the words follow. The story flows through me. And I let it. I put everything else aside. I immerse in the story. I know everything. I create all.

Then today, perhaps hungry, I paused to realize and recognize the energy, the feeling.

I’m suddenly whole once again. No gradual gain of energy or warming up. I am suddenly me again.

Sometimes I forget what is feels like to be me.

It feels damn good.

—————————

Writing: Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic (Urban Fantasy, 1st Draft).

Listening: Marianas Trench’s “Stutter,” Tegan and Sara’s “Closer,” and “Don’t You Worry Child” by Swedish House Mafia.

Sipping: cool water

Eating: roast chicken sandwich with cheddar.

Cats: Darby and Parker are passed out and occupying the entire middle of the desk. Leo is watching the chickadees from the west window sill.

All is as it should be. Why can’t it always be this way? Ah, life.

I hope you catch the flow today as well.

Tegan and Sara’s new single “Closer”

I wrote a pivotal scene of my new work-in-progress, an urban fantasy novel, Cupcakes, Trinkets and Other Deadly Magic, this afternoon while listening to Tegan and Sara’s new single, Closer. I went looking for new music and found this song on iTunes Top 100 (or so) chart. It was just so perfect for my main character, Jade, a witch who likes to play with magic and a little bit of danger without committing herself to either. Not necessarily literal, but in the emotion the song evokes. The iTunes player informs me that it took 27 noncontinuous plays via headphones to brainstorm and write the first draft of this scene. I’m not surprised, it’s a long, important scene. You know, the scene where the main character makes an error in judgement that’s going to screw her life up really badly, but she doesn’t know it yet. That scene.

Thank you Tegan and Sara, for the creative support this afternoon. Thank you to all the artists who enrich me with their music, words, and energy.

Tegan and Sara. – this is the video of the song on Tegan and Sara’s website – I was hoping it would embed here, but it didn’t  – click through to view!

writing a (crazy, bloody, funny)(insert adjective) love story

writing a (crazy, bloody, funny)(insert adjective) love story.

Someone clicked through and stumbled across this post from March 2011 on the blog yesterday which called it to my attention this morning.

… and that does sound like a great story … I should work on that again, but maybe it needs to be a novel first THEN a screenplay … after I finish working on this Time Walker edit and the first book in the urban fantasy series … oh, yes and then there is the zombie vs samurai YA story …

I love it when the muse is with me.

From this week’s writing:

I am currently in the middle of writing the first draft of The Seer of The Wastelands, which is the direct sequel to Spirit Binder, and will be hopefully released this December. Here are some bits from this week that struck me as tiny pieces of gold among the dull, serviceable rock of the first draft.

Monday:

Jose stepped toward Ema. “You underestimated me, Seer,” he growled.

She shook her head sadly, “No, you underestimated the wolf.”

He glanced back at the wolf, it regained its feet with a shake of its head. A nasty cut sliced through the thick pelt of its broad shoulder.

“A second blow with finish the beast.”

“Not from your sword.”

He turned back to her, holding his bloody sword aloft. “And why not this sword?”

“Because its wielder is already dead.”

“What — ” He stumbled, and looked, rather belatedly, down at his leg. It was bleeding profusely. “But I heal,” he murmured, confused.

“Not this,” Reyes snarled, and stabbed Jose through the heart from the behind.

Tuesday:

Reyes snickered. “Let the Seer do her tricks if our host requests it. I wouldn’t personally believe a word out of her mouth.”

“A man like you wouldn’t want to believe in anything beyond himself,” the Rancher replied, calm but forceful.

Reyes narrowed his eyes as he bared his teeth in a grimace of a smile. “We are your guests,” he growled, and then rose to leave the room.

Wednesday:

As he came to his finish he whispered, “Ema,” into her neck, and she realized it was the first time he’d called her by her given name. Later, when she cried his name again and again as his fingers brought her over the edge of bliss and beyond, she understood the need to name the source of that utter pleasure, that moment of utter freedom … no matter how fleeting it was …

Thursday:

“Get out of bed, Seer,” Wyn snapped.

“They will wait,” she murmured.

“You knew they would come,” Jared said, something dangerous not well-hidden in his tone.

“Yes,” she whispered, and he moved away from her.

“You knew they were coming when you came to me last night?”

A door click indicated that Wyn had retreated into the hall.

“Yes,” she answered, pulling up the sheet to try to dampen the chill that surrounded her now.

Friday:

“We are well met, Jared Null,” she whispered. “All will be well.”

“You are dismissed, Null. Run along after your friends,” the corporal sneered, and Ema suddenly hated him for his prejudice toward the mercenaries, even though his attitude was typical and expected.

“Ema,” Jared said, her name a quiet and desperate sound that seemed to explode from his chest painfully and without intention.

She closed her eyes and repeated, “We are well met.” Then she turned away.

Hmmm, bon bons …

I just exchanged the following series of texts with Michael:

Me: Finished the final pass on LLB*. It’s pretty clean. Only minor corrections needed. I should be able to upload it tomorrow.

Michael: Fantastic baby.

Me: Yeah!! Happy.

Michael: You should be. You’ve been working really hard this year.

Me: Really? Seems like playing. You work hard!!

Michael: Still. It’s not like you have a secretary taking diction while you lounge on the sofa eating chocolate. Oops. I hope I didn’t just give you any ideas for the future.

Me: Hmmm, bon bons…

Michael: Crap. Now you’re going to work twice as hard if you have that dream in your sights.

Me: Maybe I could dictate while knitting. Or doing Pilates. Maybe someone could just follow me around and record my every word. How riveting would THAT be??!

Michael: I’ve created a monster.

———

*Note: LLB refers to my soon-to-be-released novella, Love Lies Bleeding.