June 2018Read Now
The time has come when I look at my book projects and cringe. June is always the beginning of the most painful time for my writing. Usually I spend the winter and spring in character sketches plot outlines and copious amounts of research and setting development. June is when I actually begin the work of writing, and it is work. My greatest pet peeve is when someone says "why should I pay for books, writers don't actually do any work, I mean I could do that in an afternoon." A friend of mine used to say that all the time until she actually tried to prove it. All she could concoct was just her own spin on someone else's book. Not one fully original novel or even a short story sprang from her pen. All she could do was just derivative doggerel. She stopped saying the above quote after that, which saved the friendship. I never look forward to June as I know it means long nights, neglected meals, cold tea, and knots in my back the size of dinosaur eggs. For one book--Secret Sorcerer to be precise-- I developed 27 knots, all at one time, ranging from the size of pigeon eggs to the dinosaurian. I was walking around like Quasimodo. Getting the knots massaged out was even more painful than the knots themselves and took a couple of hours to remove. I generally try to distract myself from the knowledge of summertime agony and hunger pangs by planning craft projects. To that end I have been collecting crochet patterns for dolls, a natural blend of my love of porcelain doll making and crochet. It began when I picked up a pattern for Diana, Princess of Wales' wedding dress, Tiara, and bridesmaids dresses specifically to try the tiara pattern for a porcelain doll tree-topper I made years ago whose Gothic angel costume I've never completed. I think that pattern of beaded thread in gold, green, and red beads would look stunning with her medieval green gown, red robe, and gold wings. Maybe I'll get to that some time before Christmas, at least I hope I will. For now I'd better get back to my pen, but first I would like to share this with you. This was Harold, my parents Norwegian Forest cat who died when I was five years old. I have vivid memories of having to carry his rear end when ever my brother carried Harold's front. The old boy was huge, the length of my parents' coffee table to be exact, and a real character to boot. He used to swim in the ditch and terrorize the neighbor's German Shepherd! He is also the model for Feline's cat form in my Moon Child Memoirs series.
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Hello, I am a writer of High Fantasy utilizing ancient myths mixed with modern anthropological discoveries to create the worlds in which my characters live. Please join me in my journey to uncover those mystical worlds of myth and pre-history.