The Reason I Like Writing Better than Speaking

On paper (or screen–showing my age here), I am eloquent, witty, erudite, logical. At least I like to think so. I’m not here to argue my delusions. The reason I can believe myself  those things is because I can edit and revise before my words become public. Because in real life I stammer often, I transpose letters often, and I just say stupid, awkward things. I always warn people I’m in-person friends with that I will, at some point, say something either insulting or inappropriate when I didn’t mean to.

Case in point: Many years ago, I met a famous, successful author at a book signing. She outsells me by orders of magnitude. I won’t mention her name because she is rather well-known (not Nora Roberts). It was a free book giveaway at a writers conference; her line was long, so I didn’t have a conversation with her. Just a week before I had read a review of her latest that said her books were all the same. I was thinking about that review–don’t ask me why it stuck in my head–while waiting to meet this author. So what do I say to her when I get to the front of the line? “You’re books are all the same, but you suck me in every time.” Yes, I actually said that. She was magnificent; never blinked or said anything rude back to me, and handed me her book with a smile. But from the shocked look on her face, I know she heard me.

What was I thinking? Yes, there is a sameness quality to her novels, but the sameness is her style, her voice that envelops me like a warm comforting blanket when I read her. I read her before then, I read her now. I still enjoy her books tremendously, and several appear on my keepers shelf. Why couldn’t I have said the blanket thing to her instead? I started to worry about her remembering me for that stupid line. I know she meets a million people who have said stupid things to her, but we tend to remember those people, and I believe I stick out anyway at a woman’s conference because I’m rather taller than most attendees. But it’s not like we wear honking big name tags that advertise who we are. Oh, wait, we do. It’s a conference.

A few years later I passed her walking down a hallway, and our eyes connected. She smiled at me, in friendly manner. I immediately turned my head away so she wouldn’t see me. Yeah, ’cause that works really well walking down a hallway when you’ve made eye contact with someone. Mortification can make you do stupid things. So in essence I’ve snubbed her twice.

Another example: when talking about a subject and someone makes a humorous observation about that subject, I often don’t laugh. I understand it’s a joke, and I understand the humor. It’s not even that I didn’t find it funny, but for whatever reason it’s not funny enough for me to laugh. I will then proceed to address that point as if their joke was serious. I know it wasn’t; I just missed my part of the underlying social cues needed for a non-awkward conversation. For some reason this happens all the time with my sister. With others too, but at least once per conversation with my sister.

We all have our quirks.

–Gabi

Books I’m reading now:

Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett (Yes, I’ve seen the show)

 

 

 

The Foggy Years

I am old.

Not so old that I dodder, but old enough that injuries don’t heal as fast anymore. I’m old enough to remember a world without cable TV, but not old enough to remember dinosaurs. (Ha! That’s a a bad old joke.) Okay, not old enough to remember communicating via telegram but old enough to have received telegrams on my wedding day. Old enough to have gray hair, but not old enough to completely let go about caring that it makes me look old. I’m old enough to see the years whizz by, but young enough to stop and notice details.

People will say that I am middle aged. Not unless I live to be 120. I’m old enough to play in senior volleyball events across the country, but not so old that I can’t pound the ball. Seriously. I think I’d surprise you. I’m old enough to know my knees hurt, but not so old that I want to take up golf instead. Besides, my retirement sport plans to be birdwatching. I’m old enough to have lost one parent, but he died when I was young. The other one is still going strong.

I’m young enough to learn new things. I’m a year and a half into Taekwondo (Orange belt, thank you very much), and I just received my Open Diver Certification this last weekend (for the second time–long story).

But I’m old enough to have failed in my career choice, despite some hopeful and fitful starts, and young enough to have it hurt like hell. And now I fear I’ve reached a point where no one will take my desire to try again seriously. And I want to try again.

So I figure I have about thirty years left in me. What do I want to do with those years? I have family members to take care of, my own health to look after, and a couple of dogs I like. I am old enough to be sensible, but young enough to dream.

Those dreams are still as big as when I was twenty. And I remember twenty. And I feel twenty. So… thirty years. Here I go again.

–Gabi

Books I’m reading now:

The Age of Wonder: The Romantic Generation and the Discovery of the Beauty and Terror of Science by Richard Holmes

Battlemage by Peter Flannery

 

Things that Need to Come Back

No, I certainly don’t want to bring back the 1950’s, but some things are disappearing or gone, and I think we should fight for them to stay.

  • First, the use of whom. It’s not that hard, folks. If you’d use the word him or her when you replaced the interrogative or relative pronoun, then you use the word whom. The dog rescue sticker I see on many automobiles? It should read, Who rescued whom? You have a crush on a celebrity and you meet him? I met the celebrity whom I love. But if the celebrity has a crush on you? I met the celebrity who loves me. [By the way, there is a well-covered song and not one singer has fixed the grammar error in it. In “Life is a Highway” a line in the song goes, “There is a distance between you and I.” I want to scream every time I hear it. It’s “between you and me,” damn it!!! You’d think one person would sing it correctly. (You probably don’t want me to rant about the subjunctive here.)]
  • The passenger pigeon. Yes, I know the subject of cloning is fraught, Jurassic Park and all that, but I don’t care. I want the passenger pigeon. While we’re at it, let’s bring back the great auk, the northern white rhino,  the ivory-billed woodpecker, the Tasmanian tiger, and even the dodo. Wouldn’t it be cool to see a real live dodo? Heck, let’s bring all them animals back that should be here.
  • Firefly
  • Comfortable air travel
  • More big publishing houses (or the opposite of bringing back, fewer conglomerates)
  • Art and music in the schools
  • And vocational training

Anything else you want to add here? Please feel free.

–Gabi

Books I’m reading now:

A Princess in Theory by Alyssa Cole

 

Valentine’s Day Blog Hop

Welcome to this stop of the Safari Heat Valentine’s Day Blog Hop. Grand Prize is a Kindle Fire HD 7”. All the rules and how the hop works are listed on the Safari Heat site. Follow the link:

http://safariheatbooktoursandauthorservices.blogspot.com

 

So Valentine’s Day—the day the world is forced to consider romance and love. Go nuts, if that’s your thing. But, contrarian that I am, think a little bit differently.

 

Some people consider the building of the Taj Mahal as one of the world’s grandest romantic gestures. The Mughal emperor had it built for his wife. Okay, it’s beautiful, but the empress never saw it because it was her tomb.

 

Personally, I want my romantic gestures to be something I can enjoy. Just the other day, I had one of my most romantic experiences with my husband. Before you think I’m going this post will have TMI, let me start by saying we went to the zoo.

Greeters at the zoo.

We took my youngest and her boyfriend (both special needs young adults) on a date, but I think Robot Guy (that’s my nickname for my husband because of his nearly thirty years in robotics) and I had just as much fun. We talked, laughed, and learned as we walked. We admired the beautiful creatures we saw and gave respect to the toxic ones behind glass walls or separated from us with moats and high cement walls.

 

Romance isn’t the chocolates, jewelry, dinners out, or flowers, although those can be great, right? It’s always nice when someone thinks about you. It also isn’t sex, although that’s a lot of fun too. It’s the sharing of little moments. It’s the laughing at the dumb jokes he tells (because I never tell dumb jokes >clears throat<) holding hands, sharing information we hope the other finds interesting, and spending time together even in silence. Sometimes, it’s crying together.

 

In my novel MYSTIC,

MysticCover

there isn’t a lot of time for big romantic gestures (Okay, so there’s one at the very end, but that’s to be expected in a novel). The hero and heroine are on the run, but they learn they can rely on each other, and come to admire each other. They find themselves understanding each other and sometimes even taking on the other’s quirks. That happens in relationships. In spite of the magic in the story, I strove for realism. And humor. Because I believe laughing is one of the world’s great ways of sharing one’s soul.

 

Hope you enjoyed your visit here with me. There are four ways to get extra entries into the prize giveaways:

Leaving a comment

Leaving your email (so we can contact you if you win)

Follow my blog

Following me on FB and Twitter

 

You don’t have to do all four, but you must at least leave your name and email.

Here is an example:

Name: Carey Abbott

Email: careydoucet@yahoo.com

Comment: Great Post

Twitter: Followed

FaceBook: Followed

Blog: Followed

 

There are daily prizes from the Safari Heat site, but for those of you who comment here, I will assign a number (only one) at the end of the hop to you in the order of your response and select one randomly to receive a copy of MYSTIC, a tote, and a little stuffed cat. (Yes, the cat is in the book—not a stuffed one). Please let me know if you don’t want to be added to my newsletter. And although the Blog Hop prizes can only be won by US or Canadian readers (except ebooks—those can go world wide), I’m willing to send my prize anywhere.

 

Each day the coordinator will choose a different blog to visit to give away prizes to those readers. At the end of the hop, the coordinator will collect all names with the required info and give award grand prize.

 

To keep hopping, don’t forget to follow this link:

http://safariheatbooktoursandauthorservices.blogspot.com

 

–Gabi

Books I’m Reading Now:

Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

As a Service to Other Writers…

Here are some handy websites:

Need to name a color?  http://mentalfloss.com/article/75713/name-every-shade-rainbow-color-thesaurus

Need to have a grammar question? https://owl.english.purdue.edu/owl/section/1/5/

Need words to describe emotions? http://www.creativindie.com/wheel-of-emotions-poster-for-writers/

More to come when I have time.

–Gabi

Books I’m reading now:

The Shadow of What Was Lost by James Islington

It’s Here!

My latest novel is out and available. MYSTIC is the story of skeptical novelist who has to help a psychic find sanctuary. Although it has romance, MYSTIC is more of an urban fantasy with lots of action. I’d love it if you read it. And, yes, the cat on the cover is relevant.

MysticCover

–Gabi

Books I’m reading now:

THe Secret, Book, and Scone Society by Ellery Adams

Five Reasons I Will NOT Survive the Zombie Apocalypse

We’ve all done it—played the mental game “Will I survive the Zombie Apocalypse?” or other variations of that game (What if I had to go on the run? Would I survive the Nazis? What if Armageddon happened today? What if the Yellowstone Supervolcano erupts? What if Aliens destroy the world? And so many more). I do have rudimentary survival skills—fire building, camping, trapping, etc.; they’re rusty, but I’m sure they would come back—but that’s not the reason I wouldn’t survive. Here are five reasons I would be among the first to go.

 

  1. I need to floss my teeth.

I just read a sentence somewhere that said, “We’ve all fallen asleep without brushing our teeth.” Nope. I can’t. Not only that, I have to floss. Have to. I’d be a month into survival, when the floss would run out, and I’d hang it up. It’s over.

  1. I need to wash my hands.

I can hear you saying, “What’s so bad about that? It’s hygienic.” Nope. I can’t stand the feeling of having dirt or other things on my hands. It’s why I don’t garden. I can’t have the dirt on my hands for any length of time. And don’t tell me to wear gloves. The sweat and lint from the glove is just as bad. I have to wash my hands after I pet my dogs, after I touch dough or vegetables or meat (Cooking is a nightmare and please don’t make me decorate cookies), after filling the gas tank, after loading the washing machine and after doing dishes.

  1. I need to sleep.

I love to sleep. I don’t do it well, but I do like my 8.5-9 hours in bed. After a couple of days without that much sleep, you’d want to shoot me yourself.

  1. I am not in the best shape.

Yes, I play a mean game of volleyball. For my age, I am an outstanding player and even strike fear into the hearts of many younger players. But even though I play well and often, I’m not in great shape. Yes, I’m not a slug, but I couldn’t imagine being on the run for several days in a row. Or even running. I can do the quick bursts of speed needed to play VB, but I don’t run. My knees are shot after forty plus years of volleyball. I can ignore it on the court, but you should see me get up in the morning.

  1. I don’t play well with others.

There’s a reason I write books. I create them, I set the plot, I can do it alone. As soon as I disagreed with the group, I’d want to set off alone, and I’m smart enough to know that’s dumb. I don’t take orders well. You won’t catch me doing the wave at a stadium. No one can tell me what to do. When I do play with others, as in games, I play to win. I love games, but I’m not a nice player. I’m ruthless. Heck, I never even let my kids win at Candyland when they were little. If they won, it was on their own merit.

 

My novel MYSTIC (coming soon, real soon) is about a cross-country chase where my protagonists had to leave their lives behind and survive. They don’t floss.

 

–Gabi

Books I’m reading now:

The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker

 

Networking, or the Things of Nightmares

I am shy. There you have it. I am shy. Put me at a party where I don’t know people, and I’m in my living nightmare (happened just recently to me–I barely kept it together). Trying to initiate conversation with someone I don’t know is absolutely excruciating.

But that’s not the whole story. When I tell my friends (and volleyball teammates) that I am shy, they don’t believe me. That’s because I don’t have any issues with speaking one on one, or telling anecdotes to a group of friends, or even giving talks in front of people. I can give a talk to room full of strangers and feel fine. Put those strangers in a party setting, and I won’t say a word. I was in a situation where I stood beside a good friend (a well-known author) and soon we were in a circle of other authors I didn’t know. I said nothing. A few minutes later, George RR Martin (name-dropping here) joined the circle for a little bit (a couple of his best friends were in the circle). I literally froze inside (Yes, literally. I was cold, I didn’t move, I was barely breathing). The worst part is that I’m tall, and I stuck out. So I remained nameless and voiceless for the entire time. I am way too self-conscious for my own good.

See? I’m not so mean looking.

Here’s what I’m trying to get at. As an author, we’re supposed to get out there and network. I die a little inside when I have to introduce myself to someone. Conversely, if a stranger initiates the conversation with me, then I have no problem speaking to them. So I’m begging you, if you ever see me, or have the opportunity to talk to me, or you want to write to me, by all means, stop me and talk to me. I DO love to meet new people, but I can’t do it myself, and I enjoy the opportunity to meet new people. Drop me an email (or tweet or facebook me). I’m trying to overcome my paralyzing irrational fear of initiating contacts, but it’s not an easy task.

You’re not human if you’re not filled with contradictions.

–Gabi

Books I’m reading now:

The Duchess Deal by Tessa Dare

Promise of Blood by Brian McClellan

Bring on the Cheese

Do you remember how you felt the first time you saw Star Wars (we’re talking original series here)? The elation at the end of the first movie, the agony at the end of the second (don’t get me started on cliffhanger endings), and the satisfaction at the end of the third? The cheesiness never mattered. I loved the experience of it (except the cliffhanger ending, don’t get me started). The same thing happened at the end of Indiana Jones (the first, and while I liked the second and third ones, they weren’t the first. I’ll just ignore number four.), and Jurassic Park, and Shawshank Redemption, and Notting Hill. Movies that left me optimistic about mankind, that justice will prevail, that love triumphs (hey, there are all kinds of love: romantic love, the love between friends, the love of a T-Rex for its dinner) . It’s that feeling that I crave and search for in my entertainment, and that I seek to create in my books.

That type of ending is harder to find in books. Harry Potter did it. So did Ready Player One. So did the Ryria Revelations. Some books have absolutely the ending they deserve and need to have to make the story work. The Mistborn series had a brilliant ending. Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom ended just as they should have. I enjoyed those books too, but they don’t leave me with that ebullient sensation I got from the other works mentioned. I can even recommend those books and analyze them and point out their strengths and show how deep and complex they are. They are satisfying in their own way. And therein lies the rub for me. They are satisfying in their own way. I loved the ending of Rogue One. That’s how that story needed to finish. But I adore the cheese.

I know there are people out there who didn’t like Star Wars (my mother being one of them), and that’s fine. Their opinions are valid. But for me, leave me the cheering for the good guy. Let the bad guys be defeated, let justice prevail, let love triumph, let the heroes win and survive. Those are the endings I seek. They are all too few in the real world. Let me embrace and escape into the fantasy. Just for a little while.

–Gabi

Books I’m reading now:

Age of Swords by Michael J Sullivan