Well, this blog drifted a little sideways as I went along. It gained a new title, I have a new story idea that intrigues me -- and a partner to convince, if I want to complete it this year -- but it’s time I post a few words for those folks kind enough to stop by here now and again. Originally, I was going to discuss my wheezing chest concerns (yes, again), my improving health (yes, again) and H. P. Lovecraft (for the first time, I think). If you don't mind looking at italicized words, I'll open with where I originally started:
Each time I thought I’d gotten over the Bronchial Blues, I took a turn for the worse. My cough returned, and my chest felt lousy, and…oh, crap, really? The return of the crud was a little scary, a lot depressing, and somewhat boring to the rest of the world. Since I know this to be true, I won’t be talking about my illness again because, happy days, I really am better now.
But, back when I started coughing again, I wanted to pull the blankets over my head, so that's what I did. As you've probably guessed, that has a low fun factor. Once the blankets were out of my hair, I decided to do what I usually do on such occasions. When I’m sick, I read – and, if you’re feeling a little punk-ish at this very moment, maybe you should try reading a little something, too. Pick up One Bride, or Runaway Mail Order Bride, or Live Love Rewind, all of which are available on Kindle, two of which are available in paperback, all of them by me, Anne Glynn, and all perfect for a day in bed.
If you’re wondering why I’m suddenly spinning this post into an infomercial, it’s because the Good Witch says I don’t use this site enough to push our writing. I think I do, but not enough to satisfy her. She’s my friend, and she cares, and I love her, but there are reasons why I do such a poor job of selling my own words. You can pretty much start with (a) I’d prefer it if people just wanted to buy the stories on their own, and I hope they do because; (b) I’m not organized enough to properly market our stuff, and (c) has anyone, anywhere, ever bought something because of THIS blog?
I strongly doubt it. Glynn started laughing when I asked him, so I think we're pretty much together on this, but I see I’ve wandered off-point. That’s something else the Good Witch says, I wander through my blogs, rather whimsically. Again, she’s absolutely right.
Don’t tell her.
On point, once again: Since I like to read when I’m not feeling my best, I went to our bookcase, looking for an old favorite. I have many, many new favorites, but when I’m feeling super lousy, I always reach for a collection of H.P. Lovecraft stories. (If you’re wondering, yes, I would have loved it if H. P. had written a mail-order bride story. Preferably with Cthulu as the groom.) Glynn doesn’t understand why I gravitate toward Howard’s stuff, but he’s come to accept it. Although we write romances and mysteries and speculative fiction, I don’t feel any inclination to read those when I’m at my worst. I go for horror. I can’t say why, but it calms me.
Reflecting on this now, I think the closest thing we have to a horror story is World War Zelda. It’s not terribly frightening, even if the entire world seems to erupt in chaos. It’s largely a story about the perfume industry, and ill-behaved celebrities (can you guess who Ka¢entra is supposed to be?)…with zombies attached. While I was under the weather, a translator wrote to us, wanting to do a Spanish version of WWZ. Carlos led his message with, “I’m a fan of the zombie genre”, and I was sorry to have to tell him, the story he wanted to work on wasn’t all that riddled with the undead. You know what? He responded with, “Good thing zombies aren’t everything”, we signed a contract, and Guerra Mundial Zelda came out a couple of days ago.
If you see G.W., let her know, *bam*, another infomercial.
...and that was where I was supposed to go into the non-Lovecraft book I found, the one offering advice for writers, and what I wanted to tell the book's author. Except that isn't going to happen because, now, I SO want to write the story about Cthulu's mail-order bride.
It's a terrible idea, where is the audience for that kind of story?, and the timing is terrible, too. We've just finished plotting Third Brother, and Glynn has been reviewing our earlier work on The Black-Hearted Mail Order Bride -- and he loves it, and is itching for us to finish that novel. It's two-thirds done and, he says, some of the best work we've ever done. (I thought it was when we were writing it. Strangely enough, he wasn't nearly as excited.)
Glynn wants us to complete both stories, side by side, and he wants us to start in the morning. Do I mention Cthulu now, on our evening walk, or do I casually drop it into the conversation tomorrow? Don't know. What I do know is, I have to talk about it.
Swing by next week, I'll tell you what happened.
Each time I thought I’d gotten over the Bronchial Blues, I took a turn for the worse. My cough returned, and my chest felt lousy, and…oh, crap, really? The return of the crud was a little scary, a lot depressing, and somewhat boring to the rest of the world. Since I know this to be true, I won’t be talking about my illness again because, happy days, I really am better now.
But, back when I started coughing again, I wanted to pull the blankets over my head, so that's what I did. As you've probably guessed, that has a low fun factor. Once the blankets were out of my hair, I decided to do what I usually do on such occasions. When I’m sick, I read – and, if you’re feeling a little punk-ish at this very moment, maybe you should try reading a little something, too. Pick up One Bride, or Runaway Mail Order Bride, or Live Love Rewind, all of which are available on Kindle, two of which are available in paperback, all of them by me, Anne Glynn, and all perfect for a day in bed.
If you’re wondering why I’m suddenly spinning this post into an infomercial, it’s because the Good Witch says I don’t use this site enough to push our writing. I think I do, but not enough to satisfy her. She’s my friend, and she cares, and I love her, but there are reasons why I do such a poor job of selling my own words. You can pretty much start with (a) I’d prefer it if people just wanted to buy the stories on their own, and I hope they do because; (b) I’m not organized enough to properly market our stuff, and (c) has anyone, anywhere, ever bought something because of THIS blog?
I strongly doubt it. Glynn started laughing when I asked him, so I think we're pretty much together on this, but I see I’ve wandered off-point. That’s something else the Good Witch says, I wander through my blogs, rather whimsically. Again, she’s absolutely right.
Don’t tell her.
On point, once again: Since I like to read when I’m not feeling my best, I went to our bookcase, looking for an old favorite. I have many, many new favorites, but when I’m feeling super lousy, I always reach for a collection of H.P. Lovecraft stories. (If you’re wondering, yes, I would have loved it if H. P. had written a mail-order bride story. Preferably with Cthulu as the groom.) Glynn doesn’t understand why I gravitate toward Howard’s stuff, but he’s come to accept it. Although we write romances and mysteries and speculative fiction, I don’t feel any inclination to read those when I’m at my worst. I go for horror. I can’t say why, but it calms me.
Reflecting on this now, I think the closest thing we have to a horror story is World War Zelda. It’s not terribly frightening, even if the entire world seems to erupt in chaos. It’s largely a story about the perfume industry, and ill-behaved celebrities (can you guess who Ka¢entra is supposed to be?)…with zombies attached. While I was under the weather, a translator wrote to us, wanting to do a Spanish version of WWZ. Carlos led his message with, “I’m a fan of the zombie genre”, and I was sorry to have to tell him, the story he wanted to work on wasn’t all that riddled with the undead. You know what? He responded with, “Good thing zombies aren’t everything”, we signed a contract, and Guerra Mundial Zelda came out a couple of days ago.
If you see G.W., let her know, *bam*, another infomercial.
...and that was where I was supposed to go into the non-Lovecraft book I found, the one offering advice for writers, and what I wanted to tell the book's author. Except that isn't going to happen because, now, I SO want to write the story about Cthulu's mail-order bride.
It's a terrible idea, where is the audience for that kind of story?, and the timing is terrible, too. We've just finished plotting Third Brother, and Glynn has been reviewing our earlier work on The Black-Hearted Mail Order Bride -- and he loves it, and is itching for us to finish that novel. It's two-thirds done and, he says, some of the best work we've ever done. (I thought it was when we were writing it. Strangely enough, he wasn't nearly as excited.)
Glynn wants us to complete both stories, side by side, and he wants us to start in the morning. Do I mention Cthulu now, on our evening walk, or do I casually drop it into the conversation tomorrow? Don't know. What I do know is, I have to talk about it.
Swing by next week, I'll tell you what happened.
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