The Write Space

I want to start a new tab at the top of this page. The old "100 Things" has gotten, well, old.

As you may know, I'm fascinated with people's writing spaces, whether they write email, blog entries, or literary works. If you'd like to have your writing space on the new page, email a photo of it to me. This photo can include you in it, or not, and it can be of the entire space, or just a desk. Your call. Be creative. If you'd like to include a brief explanation of it, that would be cool. If not, cool, too.

Send email to skwaller@gmail.com

Sometimes When I Write

There is a part of me--a part that even my family and my best friends have never met--a part that feels everything too deeply, internalizes everything, absorbs everything. It weeps easily, feels for others easily, feels for itself easily. It is tender, yielding, and has nothing to do with the "Good Time Charlie" that I am in my everyday life. It is solitary and happy to remain so. It hears the deepest nuances of music, the undiluted meaning of words spoken and unspoken, of charged air. It is the real me, without the trappings of Steph, SK, Kaye, or Berg.

Mine is a splintered soul; it always has been, and I've yet to meet the person who truly recognizes and encourages this side of me. It is sometimes dark and sometimes light, but is is always hidden behind the ready laugh and the jokes. It's no wonder that I relate to and understand clowns, and hate the bias and bigotry they experience.

This is the side of me that surfaces when something grand comes from my writing. I weep for my characters. I fall in love with them and mourn the fact that I will never meet them outside the confines of my mind. This is the side of me that drinks too much wine, listens to too many love songs, and never seems to adequately express itself. Sometimes when I write, my soul weeps.

When I was 20 I attributed this to drama-loving youth, but now that I'm 60 I'm beginning to acknowledge that that's far too easy an analysis, for it's still here, undiluted, unfiltered, and more vociferous than ever before.

"You, my own deep soul, trust me.
I will not betray you.
My blood is alive with many voices telling me
I am made of longing."
Rainer Maria Rilke

You Must Read This

There's quite an insightful write up about With A Dream (Book One) over at Byzantium's Shores. It's evident that the author really paid attention. In the words of Felicity, "Thank you ever so much! Frightfully nice of you." Seriously, it's hard enough to get reviews--to get an honest one is even harder. I'm entirely grateful.

With A Bullet is Now Available

Book Two is now available on Kindle!

With A Bullet: Book Two

With A Dream: Book One

What's That Noise?

All night, either in the wall behind our bed, or under the floor, or maybe outside, there has been a weird noise. I can't really define it... a scraping, gnawing sound. Too loud for a mouse. I'm listening to it now, as a matter of fact. We have a lot of "critters" here: opossums, raccoons, a skunk, even an armadillo, so I figure it's one of them, but what the heck is it doing?

Of course, I've seen far too many bad sci-fi movies, so my imagination tells me it's...

Killer shrews!!!

It's Done!

Man, was that a tough writing year, or what? This afternoon at precisely 4:30, With A Bullet, Book Two of my Beyond The Bridge trilogy, was officially a published work. Since I've already written about what comes next on my writing to-do list, I won't repeat myself.

The book will be available at Amazon in both print and Kindle formats in the next week or two. I'll let you know.

All I want at this moment is a bottle of champagne, but, oh well.

Back to Work without My Opium Den

The final draft of Book Two of my trilogy is finally in the hands of a reader and I've finally been released from rewriting, proofing and editing.

My brain has been satisfactorily cleansed over the weekend. In fact, I did little except play Words (a Scrabble type game), sometimes playing as many as seven people simultaneously. That's been fun, but it's time to get back to other projects, namely, editing a Russian epic. It's a good novel and I enjoy working on it. I hope to have it finished by next weekend, but that may be a bit optimistic. Tomorrow, I set myself to my old 8-hour work days. Then, in the evenings, I'll work on Book Three. Prep work, mostly.

I intend not to really dig into Book Three until after the new year. It's outlined and I've started the first chapter, but it has become my habit to put off starting a new work over the holidays. A break from that story will be nice, I think, and it will give me a fresh perspective when I do get back to it. I just hope this book won't be the quicksand experience that the last one was. Writing that was the hardest thing I've ever done. The middle book of any trilogy is difficult, I think, because not only does it have to transition from the first book and to the third, it has to continue issues from the previous and foreshadow the next while telling its own story. After this trilogy is finished it'll be nice to go back to single novels. This has been an ordeal.

Meanwhile, Thanksgiving stares us in the face. My favorite holiday! I'm not really sure who will be here and how many to expect, but that doesn't matter, Thanksgiving is always great at our house. But damn, that means that in the next ten days I'll have to remove the opium den and return the dining room. I really like it, so I've put off changing it back; I'm still in the afterglow of that party.

Have a great week, everyone!

Eleven-Eleven-Eleven

There are enough red poppies in the fields to cover every brave human soul who has served his or her country since time began. In peace time and in war, these people have served and continue to serve from a deep belief that they are working for a common good and a higher purpose. Let us bestow upon them the greatest honor and show them our deepest gratitude by ending war. Throwing more seeds out into the field does not say "thank you", it says "you are expendable".

Thank you to all of the soldiers and veterans!

A Birthday in Her Ladybits

If you haven't dived into Mrs. Anke's Ladybits, you don't know what you're missing.

Happy Birthday! I hope you get sozzled to the ruff  (just don't lose your head).

Put Your Head Between Your Knees and...

This is crazy shit. Tonight, in the middle of one of the biggest thunderstorms of the year--and while in a tornado watch--we had another earthquake. A 4.7 aftershock, actually. That's three nights in a row that we've had a 4.7 or higher quake. And we've been feeling all those little 3-pointers, too. Believe me. I wonder what I should do when an earthquake happens during a tornado. Can't go underground. Can't stand in a doorway. Guess I'll just go to the wine cabinet. WTF ever.

Only in Oklahoma

I just have to update this entry to include the following clip. The earthquake hit just as the OSU/KSU game (played at the stadium just a few blocks from our house) ended, OSU winning by a hair at the last minute. We were having mimosas with a couple of friends in our livingroom.

Welcome to Oklahoma!

A Night to Remember

I know I say this a bit, but that was the best party, ever! Friends (Bonnie and Glen) from California whom I hadn't seen in 33 years, new friends (from Facebook), and the usual crowd all made it a very special night. And we had an earthquake, too! I slept through that, however. A 4.7 is a mild tremor to a California native like me. Sorry that the camera flash destroyed the ambiance in these pix. I've added some more pix that Bonnie and Glen took.

Ville and I sing "Fake Mammaries".

Micah, Bonnie, and yours truly.

Ah, ambience!

When Led Zeppelin's "Dazed and Confused" came on,

everyone got into the act. This is Glen.

With Bonnie again after 33 years.

Just Micah being Micah.

With Glen.

Allen and Ted's Great Adventure.

With Nettl.

We can't even begin to figure out this picture.
That's myself, Nettl, and Heather, but the looks on
everyone's faces tell different stories.

How About a Cozy Opium Den?

I don't know why or how these things happen, but they do.

Last year I planned a psychedelic 60s party for my birthday. It was a lot of fun, but not nearly as many people came as I would have liked. I'm one of those who really needs to own a huge, rambling country house in England so that I can have tons of guests for an entire weekend. Anyway, tomorrow night we're celebrating my son Micah's birthday, as well as Allen's.

My idea was a simple little gathering of our closest friends, with wines, cheeses, and other winey nibbles. I made a mix of folk, jazz, and blues and began decorating the dining room like an opium den. We took out the table and chairs and set up the bay window seat with pillows and fabrics, etc. This picture isn't that room. I was going to take a picture for you, but it's daytime and the opium den look kind of loses its flavor in broad daylight. This is the kind of look I went for, though, and it turned out really well.

With surprise guests, some whom I know only online and some I've not seen in years, this party is turning out to be bigger than any I've held in about five years. I'm so stoked! It has turned into a Scorpio party because we know so many Scorpios. My Brit compadre, Bettina, whose birthday is the day after Micah's, says she'll be here in spirit, but shall be celebrating from her throne in Royal Tunbridge Wells. Hope she has a long straw.