So I’m looking at the weather this morning before I head out to my office–Thor bringing down the hammer in one last bid for winter–and Tim starts in with the possibility that we bow out of our usually Tuesday night plans. I’m thinking it’s because of the potential ice, but he lovingly takes me in his arms and says, “Honey, it’s not the weather. You’ve got this zombie thing down pat.”
“Zombie thing?” I say, and then realize that yep, I’m shuffling, left leg with a slight drag, and I’m slurring. Damn. Didn’t realize I’d been working that hard. But honestly, don’t freak out or give me advice or be worried for me. I’ve done this since I was five. Best we can figure, it’s a remnant from spinal meningitis and this is just standard “Kim” practice. I’ve had the zombie thing down before zombies were a thing. We laugh. It goes away. I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been in my life. (Except the two summers I worked trap lines.)
And I’m laughing my butt off since all I can think of is calling my mom and saying, “Yo! Ma! Kim’s doing the zombie thing. We might not be over tonight.”
I should know better than to work over the weekend, but when you want something, you want it, and I’m so freaking excited about sharing this new book and making it the best damn thing I’ve ever written that I forgot.
But if it doesn’t, I’ve got that zombie thing going for me. (laugh)
P.S. Truly I’m okay. Slept well last night and work is moving. I’m looking forward to some exercise this afternoon, and I’m happy. It’s snowing, and my office is warm.
I say it’s a white dress with gold trim. My husband sees a blue dress with black trim. He thinks I’m crazy, but that dress is no more blue than the snow under my tree.
I’m looking at the snow and doing the happy dance because I’M NOT IN IT!! Seriously, we are at the last week of February, which has traditionally been my release date apart from a few here and there, and I’M NOT TRAVELING! I’ve been blessed with good weather most years, and wow, it’s a mess out there this time. The Carolinas have snow that’s not going anywhere, and Dallas is bracing for its third snow event. Don’t get me started about Bost-snow-ton. Storm Sparta is gearing up to layer ice and snow over a large part of the lower 48. Even when your destination city is open, the plane that was going to take you there might be grounded in Atlanta. Or Dallas. Or Washington.
My early September tour for THE DRAFTER is looking mighty good right now, and believe it or not, the publicity machine has already opened its sleepy eye, giving me a good stare before rolling over and hitting the snooze alarm. I’ve got stuff to do, and my soft inroads of thought have to turn to action the next couple of weeks. New cards, new freebies . . . new shirts? I’m not sure about the shirts. There are too many now for Tim to address and mail. I may have to go to cafe press this time. I can’t bear the thought of no shirts. You guys want shirts, don’t you?
My cardinals are singing in the snow, and the redwing blackbirds should be back at the end of the week. I can almost see them sitting forlornly on the dead cattails, waiting for the snow to go away. Until then, it feels good to be inside.
It’s official! The first in the Peri Reed Chronicles has a name. Okay. I released the name a few weeks ago, but I just saw it on Barnes and Noble and Amazon–and that makes it really real.
The synopsis is intentionally a little light, but you can check it out on Amazon or Barnes and Noble. No paranormals in this one. Peri is all human, and I think you’re going to like her brand of technological “magic.”
Click to read blurb
Click to read blurb
The Undead Pool is on sale today through Kindle at 1.99 Amazon
Or you can get the first four in the series at Nook for 19.99 Bundle One
I was awake early this morning, long before the sun came up. It gave me an almost singular chance to sit in my office and drink a cup of cocoa and witness the breaking of silence. There was no wind, eerily still with no sun to push even molecules into motion, no birds to mar the perfect beauty of temperature gradient slices of air so defined you could breathe them in like flavors of ice cream. To desiccated for clouds, only the black bare branches marked the subtle shadings from apex black, to blue, to a hint of watery pink at the horizon. Definition came from what lacked, not substance itself.
A foot of Sandman’s sleep lays upon the world, the swollen, ugly red of sun devoid of even a whisper of warmth as the earth rolls in its gravity track and pushes it up through the bands of cream and blue–rainbows so stretched and thin that their color can’t be seen.
It is so cold my attic is cracking.
I had a really difficult time this morning finding my groove. It was all I could do to not give in to other things pulling at me. But I opened up my work file instead with the sentiment that I could at least put out a chapter of dialog, no matter how lame. And after five minutes of pain, the idea I wanted to share showed itself.
The point being, if I hadn’t sat down and opened it up, the idea wouldn’t have evolved and tomorrow I would have been at the same point I was this morning.
Moral of the story? Just put down one page of work when you’re stuck. Then walk away if you have to, but don’t walk away until you put down one page. One page for your mind to mull over, one page to have something to spur more thoughts. Or nothing changes.