In Which the Surfer suffers Rock Rash.

Today, suddenly, the depths of depression tried to skitter under my feet as I walked myself through the ending of the WIP. It's a contemporary fantasy YA, and I have it almost finished. I've even written and survived the first conflict of a two-wave climax.

And now, I feel like a surfer too far down the wave, with my surfboard bumping the coral on the bottom, and the fifteen foot wave looming over my head, ready to dump tons of water in an effort to grind me to smithereens. At those depths, I would ask you, my friends and fellow creators, Why? Why do we put so much of our tattered little souls out there? What drives us to create art? I have noticed that it doesn't matter if we are writing novels, filming movies, painting, drawing, dancing, singing. What compels us to create?

I would love to hear some discussion of this because I wonder myself. Why do we take a precious and somewhat private part of our soul or mind or being, and put it out for everyone else?

For Whom the Wedding Bells Toll

It was a quarter century ago that I signed my marriage certificate with my husband, Kevin. That staggers my imagination. Because inside the walls of my head, I'm still about fourteen, and just discovering the world. How could I have been married for 25 years?

They have been wonderful years. I'm so lucky to have been with Kevin H. Evans for all this time. He is kind and loving, and a great protector. He and I stand together through all the storms and trials. He is my courage and my encouragement. If not for him, I would never have dared to risk my fragile self-esteem on the whims and vagaries of critics and readers.

Many of you have never seen the plain and precious things I have seen in my husband, but only know him as "scary Kevin". That's all right, I can treasure them up in my heart and keep them for my own.

I'm ready for another quarter century as long as I get to do this trip with him at my side. I love you, Kevin.

On Safari in Four Corners

I have made it home after a wild weekend in Salt Lake City for CONduit. More about the convention later, I want to talk about the drive.

The drive from Rio Rancho to South Jordan (where my mother lives) is somewhere around 600 miles, and about 10 hours. I always try to leave early so that most of the drive will be in daylight, but that doesn't happen as often as I would like.

We finally got out of town by 11:00 am, and we were on the way. This trip was unusual because Kevin wasn't driving. He didn't get time off work for this trip because we'd spent it in March for World Horror Con.

Everything was going well, I was feeling good, my assistant, Jamie, was with me, as was my son, Morgan. About 20 minutes out of Cuba, New Mexico, I noticed some movement by the fence on the left side of the road. It was a bear. He was probably a yearling, about 100 to 150 pounds, and he was a blonde. We usually have black bears in this part of the country, and this is the time of year we see them most because they wake up hungry. But I didn't expect to see a Grizzly-colored bear. We looked each other in the eye, and he took off running up the hill, I assumed up to where his mother was out of sight.

This was not the only wildlife sighting. Some hours later, north of Moab, Utah, and almost to Crescent Junction where I got to drive on the freeway for 20 minutes, there was the inevitable road construction. The contractor was almost done re-surfacing the road. It's a two-lane, with about as much traffic as anywhere in the state of Utah.

The contractor had painted a double yellow line on the unfinished blacktop, to try and mitigate accidents. Cars were going 70 miles an hour, almost bumper to bumper, both directions. I was paying close attention to the road and my fellow risk-takers.

Suddenly, it looked to me like the center yellow line stood up, and I realized that there was a prairie dog taking refuge in the middle of the road. I could see a hawk and two large ravens circling the highway, and realized that they were looking for lunch. Unfortunately, the prairie dog took exception to their ideas, and was using the cars to keep the predators away from himself.

We also spotted some pronghorn antelopes, and some elk. I loved seeing the wild things, and Jamie was a little frustrated because she could see them, just not get them recorded on her camera.

Fun trip, glad I got to sleep in and take two naps today. I don't think I'm getting too old for this, but I do have to leave myself time to recuperate afterwards.

In which I get very little sleep

Here we are at the opening of summer, and Kevin and I have decided that we need to have more of a presence in the blogoverse. So I get the even days, and you'll hear from him on the odd days.

I find that it's hard to concentrate when I haven't been sleeping well. I left Kevin at home, and headed to CONduit in Salt Lake City. I was confident and pleased to be able to see some of my friends again. I wasn't worried about driving the 10 hours, I've done that before, and besides, I had my son and his girlfriend Jamie, my trusty assistant, along. If I got over-tired, Jamie would be able to drive.

So we arrived at the hotel without incident, and I go to my room. I did spend an hour Friday afternoon just lying down in the dark and cool hotel room, recuperating. Then I threw myself into the con.

I wasn't on any panels, even though my name was listed on the website. I had come to this event just to schmooze and visit. I had my hat on, and my crochet bag in case it got slow and boring.

That evening, when I finally went up to bed, though. I was aggravated. I have been using a CPAP system for almost 6 years, and there, on Friday night, it decided that it couldn't work, and just flashed error codes. I stayed up until 4:30 am investigating on the Internet how it might be fixed.

And I finally fell asleep without it. It is worrisome, because I know how much oxygen loss I suffer when I don't sleep with the CPAP. But I had to sleep. I actually got about 3.5 hours before I got up to go to breakfast with Jamie. Not all that unusual for con behavior.

Long story short, I didn't get it working yet. When I got home, Kevin and I opened it up and cleaned all the mechanisms, and it comes on now. But the regulator seems to be toast. It changes volume at random, giving me no air at all up to the maximum, and everything in between. I still can't sleep.

And so today, while I've been thinking about this blog, and the chapter I need to finish, along with Kevin's story that we want my half done on before June 15th, I haven't hardly written anything.

Except this blog. At least I kept up my side of the bargain.

October Follies

Many things have happened in the past couple of weeks, and it's time I got caught up. First, we have been waiting for some time to have one of our stories printed in a book instead of available on the internet. I'm proud of the stories and articles we've sold to the Grantville Gazette over the years, but somehow, they didn't ever seem real to me because they were just part of the ether out on the internet. I didn't have anything I could sign for fans. And I never really heard if anyone liked them.

Well, now that is about to change. Our story, Sailing Upwind, has been selected for Grantville Gazette VI, due out in hardback in January. And the news today is that the e-arc is out on Webscriptions available for download. Yes, it's still electronic, but Baen always lets you read some of the opening chapters, and ours is one of the free stories. If you are curious about the series, I'd love to answer any questions. But you can go here and see for yourself. After reading the lead-in blurb, hit NEXT at the top right corner, and you'll see the table of contents. I am so excited!

Next, we survived the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta. It was a close thing, but we made it through to the end without serious harm.

Seriously, the ten days of Balloon Fiesta can take a lot out of you. Kevin takes leave every year, and we get up each morning at 4:30 am to participate in the cold and dark. At least it wasn't as cold this year as it has been in previous years. Unfortunately, we did not fly as often as we did last year. Mostly too windy. And since I wasn't feeling very well, I sent my assistant, Jamie Walbridge, in my place most mornings. So I didn't take any new pictures.

Also of note, we got the email from the Slush-meister at Baen books. They liked our novels, but they were not what Baen is looking for right now. So we have to start the submission process again. 

They said complimentary things about my novel, Colors of Evil, though. I was always unsure if Baen would want to publish a SF/Mystery/paranormal story. It is a little hard to categorize.

Finally, since we are within sight of November, we have started planning two new novels to work on for NaNoWriMo. Kevin is working on a sequel to his first effort, and I'm going to write a space opera taken from a short story that I wrote a couple of years ago. The working title is Cool and the Pirates, and it's set in the not-distant future in the Asteroid Belt. Jamie is even going to try her first NaNoWriMo, so we can encourage each other. I've already set up my novel page for this year. If any are interested in being one of my writing buddies, my online name is tyrca.

 

In Which the Manic Reclusive Leaves Home

Already the middle of September, and I haven't blogged again. Part of the lag is because I attended two different conventions in two different cities.

When last I blogged, I mentioned that we were about to drive across town for Bubonicon in Albuquerque, New Mexico. That was a fun convention. I didn't attend very many panels, but I sat in the hallway and talked to people, and enjoyed watching the costumes. It was comfortable to feel a part of the celebration. My favorite part of Bubonicon is on Sunday afternoon. First there is the Author's Tea. Several of the lady authors who live in the Bubonicon area organize a tea. They have usually four types of tea from a local tea house, and they all prepare appropriate delicacies like scones or savory crackers and cheese. Everything is always so good.

We are expected to come in hat and gloves as is appropriate for tea.This year, I made a little veil and some gloves from some yellow sparkly tulle. I didn't get a picture taken of me, but I felt really elegant. And the petite fours were marvelous.

After that, we can pick up our purchases from the Art Show. I always go in and bid on some of the artworks, especially if there are dragons in it. I never know until I pick it up whether I won the silent auction for a piece. I could have nothing, or I could have everything. It's kind of like Christmas. This year, I got a print of a piece I've bid on before and lost. It's the picture of a dragon with it's head out the car window, like a dog. I love it.

On Wednesday after our Bubonicon experience, we flew from New Mexico to Atlanta, Georgia, for Dragon*Con. I have to say that this is the largest convention I've ever attended. It had over 45,000 attendees, and more than 400 media stars. They had five huge hotels in downtown Atlanta, full to bursting with fans, and all with rooms for panels. In some ways, it was too much for me. Not only were there too many people, but it was hot and humid outside. Not a perfect environment for a Manic Reclusive from the High Desert.

We stayed in the Weston. It was much more expensive than the Centennial, where most of the rest of the 1632 panel members stayed. But we didn't make reservations until June, so the Centennial was already booked. I chose the Weston because that was where Eric Flint, the publisher for the Grantville Gazette, was staying. I'm glad we did it that way, even though it was so much more money, because that's where all our panels were held. So I didn't really have to leave my hotel for anything except looking for people I know, or to get something to eat.

The very first panel in the 1632 series was my panel on Chocolate. The first piece I sold to the Grantville Gazette was "The Theobroma Shell Game". It can be found here. It is a non-fiction piece about the history and process of bringing chocolate to the Americans in Grantville in the 1630's. So every year I get the first panel. Everybody likes that because I bring samples of chocolate, and it's a good way to introduce the whole concept of 1632 to new readers.

If you were unable to attend Dragon*Con, but are curious about my activities, we recorded the panels, and they are now on YouTube for your perusal and entertainment. I have watched myself on this panel, and it makes me want to lock myself in my room and never be seen in public again. But you will probably not have the same reaction. Look for my YouTube debut at this link. It will take you to Chocolate I of 4 parts. It is informative, and if I haven't figured out how to share chocolate on the Interwebz yet, at least you can see what you missed.

While you are there, you can see other panels we did. I was not on any others, but I did help point the camera at most of the others. And if they spend some time looking at the wall, or not following the person talking, I apologize. I got caught up in the discussion, and forgot I was recording. ADD strikes again.

Now I'm home, and I'm profoundly glad. We are not planning another expedition until LosCon in November. We do have the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta on the horizon, but I get to have people come here and visit, and I sleep in my own bed every night. We came from Dragon*Con with a whole handful of stories to finish for the Grantville Gazette, and novels for me to finish, and plan for new ones for NaNoWriMo. So I will be writing. And hopefully blogging every week.

The Prodigal Blogger

It has been six months since my last blog post. At first, I forgot it was Friday. Then I remembered (I think it was a Tuesday) and so waited until Friday to post. Then I wasn't feeling well on Friday, so didn't post again.

Then, after a couple weeks of that, I began to get used to the idea of not blogging. After all, at my age, a web-log is still a foreign idea. It didn't come at all naturally after fifty-six years of making decisions. So I didn't naturally just fall back into the habit.

But here I am now. Do I have something to say? I think I do. I think I'm ready to re-enter the blogoverse. Today is Friday, and this afternoon, my husband and I will drive across town to the Sheraton Airport Hotel, and register for Bubonicon. We are going to spend the weekend rubbing elbows with writers, fans, and people in costumes. We are going to attend panels, and regain the strength to keep writing. Isn't that why we go to conventions? To revel in our own Geekitude?

At least, that's why I go. I observe people, listen to conversations, and relax into the idea that I'm not the only one. There are many of us, and we support each other in our own form of Geek.

I haven't been to a convention since May. We planned it this way, because next week we are flying out to Atlanta for DragonCon, and we had to save up for the experience. But I didn't plan for the gap between May and September to be so arid and writing-free. I know there are many reasons, but the largest looming one is that while we had a blast at ConDuit in Salt Lake City, and we really loved seeing all our Utah friends, it doesn't change the fact that on the Monday after the Con, my father passed away. It was really a great blessing that he waited for me to be in Utah, and then for me to finish up my responsibilities at the Con before anything really serious happened.

My father was 80 years old, and suffering from a form of cystic fibrosis. He had been dying for almost 9 years, and nobody was surprised. In fact, we were somewhat relieved because he was not happy with the restrictions the disease brought into his life. And my  mother, his primary caregiver, had a hard time as well. His passing meant that he was no longer in pain or restricted to his bedroom, and that my mother could go out into the world again.

What I didn't anticipate was my doldrums. I miss my dad. It's not like I live in Utah where he was at, or that I got to see him more often than every couple of months. But I know that he's no longer a phone call away. It has taken some getting used to.

But now, I think I've broken the ice wall that had built up between me and the blog. I can blog next Friday as well. I will be in Georgia by then, but I can post from there. In other words, I'm back, and I'm here to stay.

In Which I Examine the Contents of My Handbasket

Since I was at LTUE last Friday, I didn't get a new post in my blog. So, it's Friday again, and I'm writing. But it's not about just one thing. It's about a whole basket full.

About the writing conference, Life, the Universe, and Everything. I was on 2 panels for the first time in our 5 year attendance. I shared a panel with Dr. Michael Collings and Charlie Harmon about poetry, and felt that I even had a comment or two that either surprised or delighted my fellow panelists.

And I was one of 7 panelists talking about what does an Editor do. I'm not editing right now, except for my own writing, and the things that I'm collaberating on with my husband. I sat between Dave Farland, who is awesome, and Stacy L. Whitman, who is a big-time New York editor. I felt somewhat intimidated, but I think I contributed a little.

I didn't attend very many panels because there were A Lot of People this year. Many of the panels were more than full, and I was having a touch of crowd phobia. So I sat in the hallway near the Schlock Mercenary and Serial Killer tables, and laughed and listened to a lot of people. We discussed our feelings about BYU policy, and I'm not going to talk about that on this blog.

I attended the first half of Tracy Hickman's Killer Breakfast, which is really an improv to demonstrate how to be the best Extreme Dungeon Master. The audience is called up one by one to participate, as the players at the front table are killed. I didn't get to the table until 9:56 am, and I had a panel at 10:00. I had to creatively fall on my sword character sheet as quickly as possible so that I wasn't late for my Editor panel. I think I at least didn't embarrass myself or my family.

I got a front row seat for the Writing Excuses recordings of the podcasts. They actually did 4 episodes while we watched. That was fun, and I learned some things.

But to me, the most important thing about attending LTUE was that I got to see my Utah friends again. I don't get to see them often enough, and it was fun to sit and visit.

The other reason we went to Utah was to see my parents. My father's health is slipping, and I want to spend as much time nearby as I can. My mother and I can sit and discuss almost anything for hours on end, and that's fun too.

Now I'm home, and I have many projects demanding my attention. Some of them are writing. I have a novel that I'm about midway through. I had to back-burner it because we got comments from an editor on 4 of our stories for the Grantville Gazette, and I need to read the changes Kevin made, and make some of my own so that we can send them back in. We haven't gotten a story published in the magazine since August, and we need to fill the pipeline again.

These are stories that we wrote together some time ago, but haven't been published yet. So they aren't as difficult to work with as they would be if I had to make up large portions out of whole cloth. In other words, it's just revision. I've already done 2, and still have 2 to go.

And then there's the problem of motivation. I have interesting things to do, and great books to read right now, but my major feeling is more "I don't Wanna" than anything. I'm fighting Laziness, and not doing a very good job.

I will say that I'm glad to be home after a week away. The air is clear, and the sun is shining, and I'm reminded every day why I love living in New Mexico. Right now, it's because while lots of other people are getting snow and rain and ice, we are having another sunny day. Precipitation is not a common occurrence here. And the sunshine makes me happy.

My LTUE Schedule

Life, the Universe, & Everything XXIX, the symposium on science fiction and fantasy held annually at BYU, will be February 17-19, 2011. We have a new venue this year: the BYU Conference Center (better parking!). Registration is $25 at the door for the 3 day event, or there is a daily admission price; any student with a current ID can get in free.

This is the first Symposium at which I will participate as a panelist. As others have posted their schedules, I thought I'd post mine as well.

Friday, February 18th, 2011

- SF-Fantasy-Horror Poetry: how does it differ from mainstream poetry in language, structures, devices
(Michael R. Collings, Charlene Harmon (M), Karen C. Evans)


Saturday, February 19th, 2011

- What Exactly Does an Editor Do, Anyway?
(Lisa Mangum, Suzanne Vincent, Stacy Whitman (M), Tristi Pinkston, Karen C. Evans, Dave Wolverton, LuAnn Staheli)

 I am nervous about participating, especially alone. My husband is attending, but he gets to listen to all the panels. I have to look prepared and intelligent and calm and collected. That's a lot, isn't it?

I look forward to meeting people I've only Tweeted to, and to see all the fans and guests. It really is one of my favorite events of the year.

When Writers Get the Blues

Friday is my designated 'Must Write in Blog' day. I know I didn't write last Friday, but I was feeling less than crappy, which is really bad.

Today, I've read several blogs, and enjoyed them. What pithy and profound wisdom do I have to share? Only this. Depression is a misunderstood, and often misdiagnosed malady that many people, including many writers, deal with. I have had many kinds of depression from the run-of-the-mill self deprecation all the way to severe post-partum. And I can tell you a thing or two about it.

First of all, depression usually doesn't have anything to do with sadness. Depression isn't melancholy, it's more like not feeling anything at all. It is the ultimate stage of apathy. It is emotional nothingness. So if you have never experienced depression, and are intent on "cheering up" your friend, keep in mind that said friend will probably pretend to be happy until you leave, and they can get back to the grey nothingness that has enveloped them.

I'm fifty-five, and can remember dealing with this at least since I was eleven. After all these years of dealing with depression,I know some of the things that trigger a dip into the darker greyness. I've learned to avoid certain things. First of all, I don't handle dystopian very well. I need stories that come out all right. I know life isn't always like that, I deal with it every day. I don't need to see it up close and personal in a story. So I avoid books or movies or TV episodes that seem to make me cry, and don't resolve.

I have also noticed that I tend to be more depressed in the winter. That's the time of year with the least direct sunshine. Now I live in New Mexico, and we have about 320 days a year of clear skies and sunshine. Even so, the last month has been hard for me because of the cloudy weather.

So, when I find myself idly staring at a blank wall for an hour or so, I know I'm depressed. Other signs are that I stop writing, I stop reading, I eat unusual combinations of things, like peanut butter & pickles, or forget to eat at all. And my sleep cycle is disturbed. I find myself awake at 3:00 am with no good reason.

What's the answer? I go back to the basics. I make sure I'm reading scriptures daily and make more efforts in my prayers. I make lists of things to accomplish, and give myself big rewards for accomplishing anything.

The thing about depression is that it's a negative loop. If you allow it, your self will tell yourself that you are worthless because you accomplished so little. Step right in there, and allow yourself to feel good about little things. I folded laundry. Yay! I got the kids to school. Great! I wrote 35 words. At last!

Anything you can cheer for, do so. Let your family and friends help. Allow them to do some of the cheering. You don't get an award for doing everything by yourself. You just get lonely that way.

So now that Spring is closer, and we are getting more sunny days, my mood is lifting. I'm able to read again. I'm able to write again. Yay! I have so many blessings, and life is Good!

This Day in History

The Twenty-eighth of January can mean a lot of things to a lot of people. But for me, it will always have a very special meaning. It was on this day, twenty years ago, that I gave birth to my daughter.

My husband and I already had a son, nineteen months old. We were living in Germany. My husband was  stationed in Pirmasens with the US Army in a maintenance company. We lived in leased housing, which was a very nice apartment building close to downtown, and not in the "American Ghetto". My mother was there with us to help with my son while Kevin and I were at the hospital for the new baby.

Another thing you need to know is that on January 17, 1991, the bombing started for Operation Desert Storm. As we were in Germany, we didn't know what the results of that would be, but the Army hospital had been cleared for the arrival of casualties, so Army personnel that were not wounded were sent to hospitals around the countryside, including the Stadt Krankenhaus in Pirmasens.

On January Twenty-first, Kevin and I drove to the hospital at 10:00 in the morning for my scheduled C-section. They asked if I was in labor, and I as not. The whole idea was to deliver the baby without the additional trauma of labor. Unfortunately, the maternity wing was full, and they sent me home.

I was disappointed, but life goes on. We spent a week showing my mother some of the sights, and being careful with me nine months pregnant. Then, on January 28, at 9:00 in the morning, Kevin and I again drove to the hospital. I was beginning to worry that I would go into labor, and have to have emergency surgery again.

Happily, this time, there was a bed available, so I was admitted. The anesthesia was General, and done very quickly, so the baby didn't get any of it. So by the time I woke up, everyone was admiring my beautiful daughter. She was named after one of my Great Grandmothers, and we were completely delighted.

Twenty years have come and gone, full of joy and tears, of hugs and upsets. Nobody ever said that raising a daughter was easy. Now she's a beautiful woman, and I'm so proud of her abilities and talents, and her open and giving heart.

Others have commented today on the tragedy of the Challenger disaster, which happened five years before my daughter was born. The truth is, that to me, it just doesn't seem very real. When it happened, I was in Joao Pessoa, Brazil. I was there serving a Mormon mission, and had been in Brazil just over a year. I didn't even find out about it until a week later. I was walking through the town square, and happened to see a newspaper for sale, with the picture of the explosion. I was stunned that it happened, and perhaps even more stunned that something that monumental could happen, and I wouldn't even know about it for a week.

I think the most profound comment I heard was six months later, when I got home. I was discussing it with my mother. She told me, very emphatically, that she hoped it wouldn't shut down the NASA program, because there were great things in space for us to discover.

My mother's not an SF fan, and I was rather surprised at her attitude, until I realized that it wasn't the science fiction aspects of space exploration that my mother hoped for, it was the pioneer spirit.

She comes from a long line of pioneers, some that crossed the plains from Nauvoo to the Salt Lake valley, and some that found the LDS church, and joined, against family opposition, because they could see no other way to follow their hearts. To her, the thought of not exploring the Solar System, which we have been given as a home, would be tragic. The pursuit of knowledge is utmost in her support of the space race.

So how do I conclude this little ramble? I agree with my mother. We should always seek to discover things about ourselves and the world around us. And with the birth of my daughter, I was introduced into the wild and wonderful world of being the mother of an intelligent and talented daughter. That adventure is ongoing. And I'm very grateful for it.

Writers Conferences, Pro or Con?

Last week, my husband and I attended the SuperStars Writers Seminar in Salt Lake City. This was our second trip back to the conference. We attended it in Pasadena last year. I have to say that it has been one of the most valuable workshops that I've ever attended. It is three days of intense panels and discussions presented by six professional writers that make their living from writing, and no other outside job. It is focused on the business of writing, including agents, contracts, how publishing actually works, the risks and benefits of dealing with Hollywood, and how to keep it together and actually produce quality stories to sell to publishers.

I'm glad we attended. I picked up more from things I missed or didn't fully understand last year. I met new people, and reacquainted with those that I met last year. Kevin and I were not the only ones attending for the second time.

Kevin pitched a new story to our publisher. We write for the Grantville Gazette, and Eric Flint is the publisher. We talked over possible new story lines we want to pursue. When we did this last year, we sold the magazine a novella that they serialized in four issues. Hopefully we will have the same success with this one.

Now I'm home, and trying to get back into my writing routine. It hasn't been easy. I'm working on an Urban Fantasy, hopefully YA, and when I stopped, I was at the midpoint of the story, where Major Bad Things happen to my female protagonist. I'm having difficulty stepping back up to the plate and swinging the bat at her head. I know it has to be done because if there is no conflict, there is no story. But I like this girl, and it has been difficult to drop the anvil on her, metaphorically speaking.

I'm already planning for more conferences later this year. We are attending LTUE at BYU in February, and the LDStorymakers conference in April, CONduit in May, then Dragon*Con in August. I have to take time to purchase memberships, and make reservations in hotels, and airplanes. I have to plan when the money is available, and balance all that against getting the mundane bills paid.

I like attending conventions and conferences. I like associating with other writers, and I think I really need the feeling of shared creativity. I come away from them with a renewed excitement for writing, and enthusiasm for the time I spend with my keyboard. But I begin to wonder if there is a place where the conference, or the networking, or the marketing will finally overwhelm the actual writing. 

So far, this hasn't been a problem, but I'm looking at the future. Will there come a time that I have to struggle to have the time to write? I hope not. The truth is, I have never been happier in my life than I am now. I'm writing, and people read and buy things that I write. I get to travel, and spend special "just us" time with my husband. We collaborate on almost everything we write. I have never felt closer to him in the 23 years we've been married.

So, for now, I will continue to plan attendance at conferences, symposiums and conventions. And I will continue to write.

End of the Year Blues

I find that I usually have the blues this time of year. We have the big build-up of Christmas preparations, lasting a couple of months. But the actual delivery of the holiday is over in half an hour, if you really work at dragging it out. 

Ever since I was a small child, I've tried to deal with the "is that all there is?" feeling of Christmas afternoon. And I would feel guilty that I wasn't still excited and ecstatic as I had been that very morning. Alas, the best part is over, and there's no going back.

I really wish sometimes that other people could hear the soundtrack in my head. This blog post has a great blues track. It's slow and plodding, with a smooth guitar back and me singing my heart out. But you can't hear it, and actually, it changes every time I try to think about it.

I don't really do the resolution thing, and I'm not going on a new diet. I don't like the feeling that all of America, if not a good share of the world, expects me to follow the rest of the herd, and start dieting. I gave up dieting in the 80's when it was either stop obsessing about my scale, or be overwhelmed by my neuroses, and curl up in a little ball in the corner for the next decade. I threw away my scale, and now only get weighed when I go to the doctor.

And that's traumatic enough once every three months. I don't sleep for two nights before any doctor appointment, because I know that no matter what, the scale is going to lie. I know I'm pleasantly plump, to put it mildly. I don't need to step on a scale and worry about the fluctuations to know that. And I'm happier without the guilt. I'm a fat white woman, and glad of it. I embrace my body type, and love myself the way I am. How many other women in the United States of America can say that?

I qualify that as an American obsession because when I've lived in other places, Brazil and Germany to be specific, I didn't find anywhere near the same paranoia about fat as I do here. People in these other countries don't despise me automatically because I'm not willow-thin. In Brazil, I was considered a beautiful woman that old men wanted to talk to, and little boys would follow down the street. It was a new thing for me. I finally saw myself in a more favorable light than I ever had before. I am a beautiful woman, with flashing blue eyes, and (when I was younger) striking blond hair.

But enough Maundering for now. I've got the blues. The only thing I can do now, is HOKAIC. For those of you that don't know the acronym, it means Hands On Keyboard, Ass In Chair.

I'm going to take the New Year, and get back on schedule. I'm going to write.

Miscellaneous Maundrings

While it may seem perfectly natural for writers to long for a blog of their own, where they can express their thoughts, both deep and shallow, it did not seem at all natural for me to have a blog. I don't spend a lot of time reading blogs, so why would anyone want to spend time reading mine?

And, besides, what would I say? How could I keep random strangers entertained week after week?

But I have finally dragged myself, kicking and screaming (well, there was very little screaming, but I did give myself some rather harsh words) into a blog.

Why Manic Reclusive, you may ask? It would be a very good question, after all. It really all started in August of 2010, when I sat in the lobby of the hotel where NASFIC was about to begin. My husband and I and a couple of friends were waiting for other people we may know to appear, especially Eric Flint. He is the publisher of the magazine that has previously bought pieces from myself and my husband Kevin. We were on the NASFIC program as participants in the mini-con. Kevin had a panel on Steam power, and mine was on Chocolate, with samples.

As we were waiting, a very pleasant man approached me with hundreds of un-inflated balloons  hanging from all the pockets of his white lab coat. He asked me if I wanted a hat made from balloons. I politely assented to his request, and he proceeded to inflate balloons with a hand pump, and tie them together. Then he suddenly placed the hat on my head before I had a chance to assess the situation. Then he was gone, and there I was, shy and retiring Karen Evans, sitting in the main lobby of a busy hotel, wearing a balloon hat. It was four feet above my head, and was beyond the boundaries of ridiculous.

The balloons were brown, for the chocolate, and it had a red heart on the top for chocolate lover.

I kept the hat on for most of the rest of the day. I was informed that the hat would not be allowed on my panel with me, but all of a sudden, I was reveling in the brazen status of an exibitionist. I made the most of the attention that my wonderful balloon hat brought. I was no longer a frightened reclusive, I was a maniacal show-off.

That was when I realized that I really am Manic Reclusive. I swing from the need to be almost invisible in the back or to the far side of a room, to a blatant attempt to become the center of attention.

Needless to say, many people who attended NASFIC will remember me for the balloon hat alone.