Fan Friday—Living Your Books


How does an author create a story? Imagination.

Of course, there are other elements: timing, language, and the technical knowledge necessary to put down the words. But the first thing needed is imagination.

Everyone has that, to some degree. Don’t you daydream?

My biggest problem with both, daydreaming and storytelling, is accuracy. Yes, yes, a dream is just that, and a story doesn’t have to be true, but even as a child—and still—I always wondered about the daily, mundane things that characters surely had to accomplish. Why didn’t anyone mention those things?

Kind of like in a movie—the hotel rooms are huge, the bad guys never stop to use the bathroom, and no one has to take time out to cook or clean!

This is why I find it hard to daydream. I keep stopping and thinking, “Wait, that couldn’t work! What about . . .” If you’ve read REDUCED, you’ll see that too—a lot of boring, day-to-day stuff. But I learned from that.

So now, with our recent farm purchase, I really can participate in The Reduced Series. Well, within limits. I certainly don’t plan on using any C4 . . . although, now I think about it, we do have that big trash pile and a couple other dumps around the edge of the woods. Hmmm.

Kidding, kidding!

Mostly.

I mean, Abby seemed to have no problem finding the stuff, but I think I might get in quite a bit of trouble if I went looking for it!

While we do have electricity, at least until SHTF, and that runs the well pump too, we could definitely get by without it. I’m used to cooking outside over a fire; I can make anything that I cook inside on a stove or in an oven. When we camp, I heat water for bathing and dishwashing, and very soon we’ll have an outhouse and a solar shower.

We already spend most of our time down there on the deck, but to be fair, we have no furniture inside yet. And being 20-30 minutes from any kind of store, we’re learning to plan ahead or do without.

The garden is proving to be a bit tricky, but mostly that’s a matter of time. One of the first things you should do when starting a homestead is ensure a food source. I have seeds, and seedlings here in St. Louis, but there’s a lot of cleanup work to do before we can get to that garden area.

And then there’s cleanup to do there, too, before we can mow and plow. So we’ll have a late garden this year, but the ground will be ready for next spring—a full acre, to provide enough food for a year and a bit more.

So while I doubt I’ll be out kicking ass and fighting the government like Abby did, I’ll surely be living out at Walt’s place . . .

Fan Friday—Yawn


I feel like I’m caught up in a whirlwind these days. I have a master list, and a few other smaller lists lying around; I have Word .docs saved on my desktop for things-in-progress. Remember those old TV commercials, “This is your brain on drugs?” My brain is more like scrambled instead of fried.

I sit on two boards now—I should know better, I’ve done that before and the results were a combination of hilarious and sad—so I’m just hoping I don’t promote authors on a charity festival FB page or talk about carnival hours on the MWG page. Or wait, maybe they aren’t mutually exclusive . . .

Besides that, we’ve got this farm project. Right now, we can only go down there every couple weeks or so, but in between times I have phone calls to make and extra bills coming in, and it seems like when we DO get to go, it takes at least two days to plan and pack everything.

Not to mention the animals and the husband and the kid. And me. And my upcoming book, Repeat.

Truthfully, all I want to do is take a nap. I have a sleepy puppy across the desk from me, in a chair, and a cat lying ON the desk with his head on my arm. So I guess I have to keep typing so I don’t move and disturb him. But then again, there’s that list, staring at me . . .

I am, however, a firm believer in naps, especially since I don’t sleep well at night. Between the two periods of rest, I do get about 7-8 hours of sleep a day. I have to keep telling myself that, otherwise I feel like a slacker. The problem is lunch. If I’d skip lunch and just drink coffee, I could probably stay awake, even today!

Oh, and I tend to work in spurts: for a couple days, I go all gangbusters, then I have to take a day to recuperate. And speaking of recuperating, I’m in recovery for two injuries—which isn’t like me at all, although those come in spurts too, about a decade or so apart.

Last month, the lid of Da Beast, a three-gallon cast iron Dutch oven, slid to the floor. I broke its fall with the top of my right foot. A purple bump immediately rose up (about the size of two quarters next to each other) but the pain wasn’t as bad as I expected. I used RICE and it was fine in a couple days, albeit purple and yellow for a few more.

A few days ago, I picked up a wine glass to wash, bumped it into a stew pot, and the darn thing broke. The glass, not the pot. Somehow, some way, something stabbed me in the wrist. Didn’t need much caffeine to wake up that morning! Anyway, now there’s a weird, circular cut of sorts on the inside of my wrist, just below (above?) my hand. Almost like I skinned it.

But it hurts. Still. And not in a good place when it comes to doing much of anything with one’s hands.

Am I making excuses for a nap? Darn right! Besides, the cat finally moved, so I guess that’s his way of saying I’m finished with this post . . .