Author Archives: Eugie Foster

Had an echo-cardiogram yesterday, which is an ultrasound to check out my heart. My rheumatologist is trying to determine the cause of my frequent bouts of shortness of breath. It was a novel experience, watching and listening to the ba-dump of my heart on the monitor. Also a bit painful as my left breast got squashed for a bit as the tech tried to get a clearer image through it.

1. I’m sure the techs wish the heart were smack dab in the middle of the chest instead of off to the left.
2. Men have it easy in so many ways.

Then we went for a brief bout of Christmas shopping before coming home to a lonesome Hobkin who was very glad to see us.

Saw a show on the Discovery channel that I just adored. It was on the platypus. Some scientists fitted a bunch of the (adorable) beasties with radio transmitters and followed them to their burrows and snaked some tiny night vision video cameras in to observe them.

Things I learned:

– The plural for platypus does not appear to be platypuses or platypi, but rather “platypus.”
– These animals have to be the most unlikely things on Earth. Not only do they have a duck’s bill and webbed feet, a beaver’s tail, and lay eggs. But they’re also venomous in that they’ve got a spur on their hind legs which is poisonous AND their tail appears to be prehensile. They showed footage of a female platypus using hers to haul up piles of leaves and sticks to line her burrow with.

An egg-laying mammal, with a bird’s beak, webbed feet, a prehensile beaver tail, and a poisonous spur. Doesn’t it seem like someone just decided to make an animal with whatever spare parts were lying around and the result was the platypus?

There’s a story there . . .

My muse returned! She whispered a fantastic story into my ear from start to finish: setting, main characters, plot, theme, climax, and resolution. I scribbled a detailed outline of it down before she could flit away and I’m 2000 words into it. It’s an Urban Fantasy, a dark and gritty one.

This one’s going to be a hard story to write, despite (or maybe because of) the outline. It’s always a little harder for me to write from an outline ’cause I know what’s going to happen next. But more, I feel like I’m stretching my technical skills to get this one down. I’m not sure why, but I’m plodding along in “engaged” mode rather than “flow.” The words are coming, and coming well, but I’m so fixated on the mechanical aspects–plot, character development, and pacing–that I can’t lose myself in the story. Humph. Well, whatever gets the words on the page, I guess.

My creative process continues to mystify me.

Winter has finally hit Atlanta. I was actually quite cold this morning, although my friends from back in the Midwest would probably point and laugh if they heard me saying that. But I’ve broken out the sweaters and arctic fleece, and am now tromping around the house in my Grinch slippers. Happily, unlike the ferrets who would rend and tear anything on our feet, Hobkin seems unimpressed and/or unexcited by fuzzy slippers and leaves them alone. He has also, if it’s possible, gotten softer and fluffier–and lazier. Winter is apparently a very important napping month for skunk-kind.

December is here. And, despite my dislike of anything cold and shivery, it’s my favorite month of the year. It’s got Christmas/Winter Solstice with Santa Claus and stockings-hung-by-the-fireplace and sugar cookies and presents and festive cards, and my birthday and New Year’s Eve all in the span of thirty-one little days.

Writing stats:
Pfft. No words. No writing. Not even any rewriting. Dammit.

Got a rejection from Crimewave. The editor said “We’d definitely like to see more of your stories though, so please keep trying” which takes some of the sting out. But a “no” is still a “no.”

And it’s already Sunday. Wah! This holiday is going by too quickly!

I’ve done precious little on the writing front. In fact none. Although I finished sending off my “thank you” notes to Critters for this last story. And I’ve got a plan for tackling the rewrite. That’s something after all, I suppose.

Matthew and I saw Love Actually yesterday. Ate altogether too much greasy popcorn, but the movie was delightful. Hugh Grant is just plain yummy. Rrrh! None of the myriad storylines were all that complicated, but all jammed together, the movie was sweet, funny, and charming. Oh, and very seasonal.

Kristin came over to hang and we watched Lilo and Stitch on DVD. She’d never seen it before and I can watch that movie over and over again. And there’s even a Christmas shot at the end, so I can claim it’s a seasonal flick too.

Matthew’s trying to compile a database of all our movies so when we sit around going “what do you wanna watch?” “I dunno, what do you wanna watch?” we can just bring it up and browse it that way. He’s made a dent in cataloging our collection, but there’s a long way to go.

Been reading through the Author’s Market travesty hoopla with dangling jaw. matociquala sums up the link history for anyone who wants to follow the issue HERE.

Basically, Publish America, notorious for their poor contract and multiple writer complaints (nihilistic_kid does an excellent sum-up and explanation of why PA sucks), put together a writerly self-help website which, upon first viewing, looks legit. They espouse the staple advice to aspiring writers: “never pay to get published.” But then they go on to bash SF/F writers, and make some not-very-veiled jabs at some of the top writer anti-scam watchdog groups/people like Preditors and Editors and Ann Crispin and Victoria Strauss for daring to publicize their anti-writer business practices.

Glah. The positive from this is that PA might turn off some poor unsuspecting SF/F writers from signing on with them.

What is it about holiday weeks that just draaaag? I can’t believe it’s only Tuesday. The energy level in the office was as perky as a snail on Valium for us unfortunate few who hadn’t taken the week off already. It’ll probably resemble a deceased snail tomorrow. Sigh.

Continue reading →

Saw The Matrix 3. Actually, I enjoyed it. It was very shiny, although Continue reading →

Skunk snoozing on my lap, home on my day off, and the world is good.

Swung by the post office to mail my acknowledgment of “Razi”‘s acceptance to Cricket‘s editor and also sent them another fairytale. Iron. Hot. Bap.

Only three crits of my current offering on Critters so far. Two positive, one not so much. I was expecting a more lukewarm response to this one. Dangit, I’m just dissatisfied with it is what I am. Well, hopefully the feedback I get will help me fix it more to my liking.

Matthew and I plan to do a little early Christmas shopping and see The Matrix 3 this weekend.

I’m feeling much better today. Although Matthew warned me yesterday not to overdo it as I ran shrieking through the house upon reading the letter from Cricket. Heh.

I just sold my African-flavored folktale “Razi and the Sunbird” to Cricket! This is the other rewrite I was waiting on, and it was definitely worth all the twitches!

Oo, dizzy now from all the exuberance. But happy!

Oh, and I got a reject from Space & Time with a scrawled handwritten line of encouragement on it, but it’s a little overshadowed . . .

Whoooeeee!

That’s four sales to the Carus publishing group and my third sale to Cricket!

So yesterday I was struck down by a throbbing headache, queasy stomach, and chills alternating with hot flashes. Home I came to lie like a lump on the couch and whimper pitifully.

This morning, I feel better, but opted to stay home. I think I have the flu (dammit, I meant to get a flu shot, but forgot). Hoping it won’t turn into a flare-up as I’m taking so many meds to control a flare, I don’t know what they’d give me to stop this one. Stupid physiology.

However, now that I’m less delirious, I can properly examine the mail offerings from yesterday’s post.

Item 1: Form rejection from Talebones. Dammit.
Item 2: Sterling silver Phobos Award! Couldn’t make the awards banquet, so they toasted me in absentia and mailed my award to me. I’ve currently got it hanging up with Hobkin’s ribbons. My first writing award! Isn’t it purty?