The Fifth of November: Celebrating The Fallow Year

"Read. Read constantly. Read the kind of stuff you wish you could write. Read until your brain creaks. Tolkien said that his ideas sprang up from the leaf mold of his mind: your readings are the trees where your fallen leave would come from."

"The first thing is that writers should be voracious readers. We live in a narcissistic age, which means that many want to have the praise that comes from having read, without the antecedent labor of actually reading. Wanting to write without reading is like wanting to grind flour without gathering wheat, like wanting to make boards without logging, and like wanting to have a Mississippi Delta without any tributaries somewhere in Minnesota. Output requires intake, and literary output requires literary intake."

"Read like a reader and not like someone cramming for a test. If you try to wring every book out like it was a washcloth full of information (and nothing but information), all you will do is slow yourself down to a useless pace. Go for total tonnage, and read like someone who will forget most of it...Most of what is shaping you in the course of your reading you will not be able to remember. The most formative years of my life were the first five, and if those years were to be evaluated on the basis of my ability to pass a test on them, the conclusion would be that nothing important happened then, which would be false. The fact that you can't remember things doesn't mean that you haven't been shaped by them."

All of these very, very excellent quotes come from a slim little volume by Douglas Wilson titled Wordsmithy. I was given this book in the coffee shop I'm sitting in now. It was a gift from a friend who, I hope, didn't feel like giving it to me because she could sense my drought. I must confess the year 2014 was a year of output. Massive output. I published two novels and a novella, started a new job, and worked my precious little butt off. The understandable assumption was that the year 2015 would be the same. It was not, however. 2015 has been a year of immense personal schedules. The girls I mainly nannied in 2014 I am now schooling, which adds a dimension and a half. I now plan their lessons, teach them, and have had the huge privilege of seeing them go from their alphabet to real books, explaining our ridiculous English language, and showing them the world, such as it is. This year I have also rediscovered my love of reading.I'm sorry to say that I forgot about it for a little while. Not about my love of stories - that never faded. But of how easy and delicious it is to lose oneself in a book. To nose so deeply into the pages and words and characters that one forgets present constraints. Is it summer? Is it autumn? Does it rain outside or are we having dry weather?
I forgot about this love because I consciously kept myself in. I am a book drunkard. I give myself up entirely to the story and if I lose myself early in the day, I am lost until whatsoever time the book has coughed me up ashore like a word-soaked Jonah. Knowing this about myself, I was careful not to get too entangled in a book. I only read if I deemed I had time to read. And, predictably, my word output shriveled. If I had no time to read, I certainly had no time to write and here was the vicious cycle. Friends, however, gave me books for my birthday. I visited the Holocaust Museum in Washington D.C. and bought a couple more. Pretty soon I had a stack of unread books waiting on my shelf. Waiting for that day when I had "time to read." The temptation was, quite simply, too much. Since summer began, I have given into my passion and picked up Wodehouse's Summer Lightning. I don't have hours upon hours to read - I am a busy working woman. Still, I elbowed other things to make time. From Summer Lightning, it was a short step to swallowing Schindler's List piecemeal between bouts of more Wodehouse. Harper Lee's Go Set A Watchman grabbed me and shook me by the throat as I soared through it in two or three days, and Wordsmithy dribbled through my fingers as well. Cocktail Time rounded to a close and Blandings Castle was waiting, all uncracked-spine and crisp pages. And do you know what? I found a piece of myself that had gone into hibernation. Ever so slowly, I'm coaxing her back out. I do have time to read. I can choose to put aside my phone, to postpone that drawing commission, or to go to bed a little early and pick up a book before sleep. I can choose to spend my evening reading rather than watching White Collar or The West Wing, as painful as that choice is.

Reading opens massive, massive worlds. How could I ever have let it go? Since picking my books back up, I have found that my mind is brighter. I am not at a loss for things on which to think. Words spring readily to mind. I've almost finished the first draft of my story for the Five Magic Spindles contest with the overflow. But you know what? The paradigm shift was as subtle as it was important: I did not read to turn the words like so much straw into WIP gold. I read for reading's sake; for the sake of losing myself in another world for what might be half an hour, or a full afternoon. I found the joy again of diving so deep that when I emerged, I had to shake myself a bit and look about and remember where and whom I was.

Farmers rotate crops so that a given piece of ground is not stripped of a particular nutrient; different crops suck different things from the soil. And though the farmers, by rotating the variety of crops grown on that piece of ground, can keep the soil fairly healthy and thriving, fallow years are necessary. A year of rest for the soil. A year of building up again the depleted stocks, of fertilizing the ground and waiting. A year where nothing will grow that is lucrative, but wild-flowers and grasses will knit its wounded, harrowed soul back together, leaving that field fresh-faced and ready for the following spring. 2014 was my insanely productive year. 2015 has been my fallow year. But a fallow year is necessary, and I will not apologize for (unofficially) taking it. I will only turn back to my books with a fond smile, write as I can, and thank God for the great, great joy it is to be literate and to know the thrill of traveling lands afar through the wilds of an unread book. I feel myself healing. Oh, rest is a beautiful, needful thing.

It has been a year today since my last release of 2014.  A warm happy birthday to my dear first mystery: Anon, Sir, Anon! If any of you feel like burying yourself deep for a cozy, British afternoon, head thataway to say hello. Supporting independent authors is a wonderful way to explore deeper waters in the joy of reading. Buy a copy for yourself, for a friend, or to show a lonely little mystery that though the promise of a sister-mystery has been delayed, it has not been forgotten.

All My Love,
         Rachel

Joy Inquires, I Answer

Yesterday, Joy Chalaby was kind enough to host me for a bit of a Q & A at her blog, Fullness of Joy. I couldn't possibly let her take all thirty of the questions, though, because I like my hand in the fun. So she nicely obliged my wishes and let me tote the other fifteen questions and answers over here. Enjoy! (There is a treat at the semi-end I've been saving.)

1. How much of a similarity in genre-style do you think your novel is to an Agatha Christie murder mystery or to Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes? Who is your favourite mystery-genre author?

The similarity between my novel and an Agatha Christie is the setting: early 1930’s, rural England. There, it ends. My mystery is a cozy mystery...the authors you mentioned are a little more hardboiled. My favorite mystery writer is Dorothy L. Sayers. :)

2. Out of all the characters from Anon, Sir, Anon which one do you connect with and love the most?

I really do love Farnham. He is a duck. I like people who pretend to be contrary.

3. Have you ever met any people in real life that have inspired you with any of the characters we read about in Anon, Sir, Anon?

Mmmmmm not this book. I wrote the first draft so quickly, there really wasn’t time to bother with shoving in people I know and properly masking them. ;)

4. In the case of Anon, Sir, Anon, are some of the moral or philosophical themes/questions you feel the novel addresses, and were there any philosophic books that helped influence the heart of this tale?

It pretty effectively addresses the sanctity of life, how to fall in love, and the formation of unlikely friendships. I can’t think of any philosophic book that exactly imprinted itself on mine in a sizeable way. I’m made up of all the books I’ve read and they wiggle into the story somehow, I’d bet. But not specifically.

5. In one word each, how would you describe each of the main characters of Anon, Sir, Anon?

Guarded

Steady

Jovial

Charming

Predatory

6. As you wrote this novel were there aspects of the story that took you by surprise?

Mainly, how I was ever going to make the threads connect.

7. Do you outline your books or do you prefer to begin writing and let the plot sort itself out?

I much prefer letting the plot sort itself out. It works best that way, I feel.

8. How do you think the main characters of Anon, Sir, Anon (Vivi and Farnham) would react if he or she were introduced to you?

Farnham would probably actually like me. Vivi would take me quietly, mull me over, and then like me. Jimmy Fields would politely like me but not go wild over me. Dr. Breen would like me because he likes everyone, but then he would probably end up liking me quite a lot just for myself. Michael Maynor would disdain me. I am not his type.

9. Can you tell us what are your current favourite movie(s), TV show(s), and/or book(s)? (Stress is on the current!)

The clean episodes of White Collar (IMDB has a great guide), Once Upon A Time S3, The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Barrows.

10. Having been already self-published “Fly Away Home”, as well as having your novella “The Windy Side of Care” published in an anthology through a traditional route, what are some of the benefits you’ve experienced in self-publishing, and what have been its special pains?

Benefits-wise, I am in charge. If I have done it, it is done. If I have not done it, it is not done. The especial pains are that I am in charge of publicity so if I’m not picketing for it, no one is. This is why excited readers are my favorite thing in the world.

11. Can you tell us a little about the lovely cover-design of “Anon, Sir, Anon” and how it came about (designer, etc)? It’s beautiful, and so charmingly fitting its genre as a cosy British mystery!

My designer was a gift to me from Heaven above and she is known to most as Rachel Rossano of Rossano Designs. I know her as St. Rachel. I threw my ungainly and vague desires and she quickly assembled this amazing cover. It’s a hit.

12. Was there any one moment when you were hit with an urgent need to invest your time to this particular work? What kept you going through the tough parts?

I didn’t want to lose track of the threads of thought running through the book, so really what kept me going was my doggedness in keeping up my thousand-word-a-day regime. It really works, I’m telling you.

13. Can you tell us a bit about the new writing project(s) you’re currently working on now? Please do tell!

When I’m not working as a nanny, prepping ASA for publication, blogging, or planning my brother’s wedding, I have begun work on Scotch’d The Snakes. It’s the second Vivi & Farnham mystery, so if you like the people of Anon, Sir, Anon. There’s more coming.

14. Could you be persuaded to share three excerpts from Anon, Sir, Anon or some of your other works with us, please?

How about I compromise and give you a peek at the second Vivi and Farnham book instead? This bit is from Scotch’d The Snakes:

There had been no fire, for it was April, and a clammy-fingered one at that. Hence, there was no light of which to speak and Vivi groped her way along the wainscoting till her free hand caught at the fireplace mantel.

She raised her candle, feeling strangely like a lighthouse keeper. “Uncle?”

Again, no answer. His winged, high-back chair stood empty, like a throne won at dice.

“If this is a childish prank, Farnham, you can stop playing right now. You've rummaged me and Allen out of our rooms so it's only fair you make a peep.”

A mumble, a groan, and a scuttling among papers from the corner library wherein he kept his precious books.

“Farnham, you beast!”

She cleared his footstool which was overturned and looked to be the reason for the crash, and came upon the great Orville Farnham in a case of rumpled glory. The candle showed the man, clad as usual in soft cardigan and tailored pants. Nothing amiss, hair neatly combed. This candid picture of habitual neatness back-slid as she gained a better view: Farnham sat on the floor, crumpled in the corner of two cases. He was mumbling. A tumblement of hard-backed volumes marked the path of the human missile launched, no doubt, by the combination of darkness and ottoman. Flanking him, like well-meaning fairy-dust around an unhappy Pan, lay a sprinkling of shattered glass. There would be no flights to Neverland tonight. His elbow, Vivi saw, had gone right through the glass front of the book case. It was probably cut to bits.

He blinked at her with a content look on his face. “'What to him from England?'”

“The Game? Really, Farnham?”

No response came, save a look of abstracted mischief in his eyes. “'Scorn and defiance, slight regard, contempt, and anything that may not misbecome the mighty sender, doth he prize you at.'”

There was no illness, no emergency of any sort, and Vivi watched her temper lumber to its feet. Now that she saw no reason to have wandered the draughty passages of Whistlecreig on this rescue-mission, she could afford some anger.

Farnham passed a hand over his eyes. “Scorn and defiance...regard...contempt.”

“Well, bravo, Mr. Farnham!” Vivi rolled her eyes and applauded slowly.

Farnham blinked again and gave a foolish smile. “You see, it's rather good. Rather a perfect insult: 'scorn and defiance, slight—”

“Scorn and defiance, you!” Vivi hauled her uncle upright and tore the volume from his hand. “Why on earth did you go pitching into your bookcase in the middle of the night?”

“Oh.” Farnham peered about him. “Well, you see, I had a quotation buffeting my inner man and I could not for the life of me remember who had said it. Never had that trouble before and you know how slight things will worry one. Began to fear I was losing my touch. Just as I'd got it settled it was Henry IV, I began to think it was V and I had to know.” He looked about at the mess, at Vivi, and at Allen, who had lit the candle-tree and stood at the fireplace like a benign ghost. “What,” he said, staring at Allen again, “Is Allen doing in his pajamas?”

“Rescuing you.”

“What time is it?”

“Half-past three, by the clock under the spreading chestnut tree where the village blacksmith stands.”

“That's good.” Farnham chuckled and shook his head. “Half-past three...well, Allen, I propose you dress yourself appropriately and get a jump-start on the morning. Oh, but it's a bang fine day.”

“But, sir—”

“And you, Vivi, you ought to not parade yourself in your negligee. Not that there's anyone here to see you, but you never can tell. I've heard many a story of young girls surprising burglars in their nightclothes. Unseemly. You never can tell.” He shook a finger at her and cracked his spine.

Vivi looked down at her old-fashioned cotton nightgown and thought of the high collar that practically suffocated her if she dared to so much as yawn. If this was the best she could do at scandal, she made a pathetic Modern Woman. She made a mental note to order a real negligee from Avenue Montaigne. Never-mind that such a thing would cost a birthright. It would scandalize Farnham, and that was enough for her, at present.

15. What would you most like your readers to take away with them from reading Anon, Sir, Anon, besides the pure entertaining pleasure of it?

The idea that murder is not to be accepted as a plot device to be used without leaving carnage behind. There are consequences, and people pay them.

16. In ending, do you have any special words of advice or something you would like to share with fellow young writers?

As cliche as it sounds, don’t try to be anyone else. You know deep, deep down what your gift is. The longer you write, the more you write, the better you will be able to see it. Trust me.

I hope you enjoyed reading this interview, and that you had a chance to enter the giveaway. Because believe it or not, the Rafflecopter has landed and I will announce the winner at the end of this post. But I have two last stops in the Anon, Sir, Anon party to show you. The first is where I sit down and peg out for Rachelle Rea what my days look like and how I manage to shove writing into the cracks of life. It's rather humorous and I want to know if you can relate, so head over and let me know what you think. Also, I will be stopping by the immensely popular (and deservedly so) Mirriam Neal's blog for an interview at some point today, and you'll want to read that and say hello to that most vibrant of young ladies. :)

And now you want to know who won the giveaway. Well, I struggled for some time over whether to leave the option open to readers from abroad, and this time I said yes. It might be expensive, but it was a price I was willing to pay just because I was feeling expansive. My wallet might complain, but I am very happy to let you know that the winner of the Cozy Quagmire Party Pack is actually a little ironic, considering the topic of this post...

Joy Chalaby

Joy, if you'd message me your home address, I will get your package to you fairly soon. Too bad it's summertime down-under. The Coziness will rather fail, I think. A huge thank you to everyone who worked together to make this thing a success. We had well over 600 entries and you were lovely about entering for a chance for this party pack. Thanks. If you aren't Joy Chalaby and thus didn't win a copy of Anon, Sir, Anon, you know where to find it. Amazon & so forth.

And last but not least, I want to take a moment to recognize the fact that it is Veteran's Day. I want to thank all the men and women who have served in the past and those who are serving now. I have several friends in the military, several friends whose fathers are in the military, and I grew up in the Tidewater area of Virginia which houses many of the largest military bases in the country. I have seen these men and women and respect the work they have done and the sacrifices they make to keep us safe. Thanks. You guys are heroes.

Whistlecreig, Shakespeare, and Bludgeoning

I love you so much, I wish this for you.

Yesterday was Sunday, and thus a terribly busy day for me. As you know, I've gone down to North Carolina to stay with my brother's fiance till the wedding on Saturday. Since getting down here yesterday afternoon, I have had all sorts of excitement:
I stopped in Wake Forest and got coffee and explored artists' lofts. Then my phone died so I had to run on a wing and a prayer and hope I remembered the way I'd wended so I could get back to the house at which I had dropped off Mama for an event. Nothing like exercising one's brain. When I finally got to my STBSIL's house (Soon-to-be-sister-in-law), we found out her brother had caught a bobcat in a trap--the gorgeous creature had eaten twenty chickens over the past six months. This meant I tramped out several times to the back pasture (in the dark with a rake over my shoulder, or in the daylight to avoid cow pies) to see it. The brother decided not to shoot it because it was so pitifully not in the act of catching a hen, so he called an old wildlife rehabilitation fella to come get it. The man came and took the yowling, hissing, clawing bobcat in the cage without using so much as a pair of gloves and hefted the cage into the back of his pick-up beside two road-killed deer he meant to feed his wolves and his bald eagle, and took it to a distant river to have a new purchase on life. That cat was so angry. And she was not a bit like a house-cat...far more like a pint-sized lion. That roar!

Isn't she a beauty?

Anyway. Between church and bobcats and scouting for greenery for wedding decor and doing exercises to insure the bridesmaid's dress fits and all that sort of business, there was no time to sit down and write a blog post. Thus, I'm giving you yesterday's links with today's and hope you will enjoy all of them. :)

I sit down for an Interview at Whistlecreig with Esther Smith at The Pen of a Ready Writer.

Then I go bludgeon some inspiration at The Destiny of One.

Next, I get to talk Shakespeare with Elizabeth Rose on Literary Lane, about which I am super excited.

Fourth, trot over to Fullness of Joy for the first half of an interview which will continue here on the Inkpen Authoress tomorrow.

And fifth of all, the author of My Lady Bibliophile weighs in on some of her favorite aspects of Anon, Sir, Anon. She got to be an advance-reader so you ought to hear some...interesting things. ;)

Thanks so much for reading! I know your lives are busy and I treasure your time. (Psssst. Only a couple more days till we discover who wins the awesome Cozy Quagmire Party Pack.) If you don't win, don't worry! You can always purchase your own copy here. As usual, keep your heads high, your hats clean, and an umbrella under you arm so you can rescue someone in a distress during a rain-shower. Hey, it worked for Psmith--why not the rest of us?

Day Four: Geckos and Mysteries and a Hoar-Frost

Dear Folk:
    Saturday in my corner of Southern Virginia has dawned brighter than bright with a deal of sunlight and a hard hard frost. So festive it seems with the silver filigree of a hoar-frost that I have almost forgotten the dubious fact that I am to wear a sleeveless chiffon dress in an outdoor wedding a week from today. Frost, on such occasions, is a dreadful event. I should very much like to not be freezing up there in the bridesmaid line. We shall see. For today, I am wonderfully glad for the cheery morning and the prospect of a week spent down North Carolina-way as I stay with my almost new-sister-in-law. Nothing--absolutely nothing--like weddings to get one "brisked round and brisked about." I will be able to continue this lovely blog party, which you have been so good as to join me in, from there.

I finally got my copy of Plenilune yesterday. It's massive.

Today, Ness Kingsley--my British contact, who critiqued Anon, Sir, Anon from the British-y standpoint--interviews me about plotting, geckos, and writers block. Not necessarily in that order. If you'd like to read this conversation with my favorite Brit besides Tom Hiddleston, you ought to head thisaway.
Later, I shall be dropping by Charity Klicka's blog to discuss the alchemy of words. Things like this:

Words give birth to communities. I can take your heart and make it mine with a clever rearrangement of a few meager words. You never know what I’ll say, but I’ll mean every syllable, for I’ll have arranged every syllable. It is craftsmanship that must be learned. Everyone uses words; everyday; everywhere. Words aren’t special in the way most people mean special. Words are…common. But their very normalcy makes them the perfect in-road to the element of surprise. If you know how.

 If you want to read up on such things, head thataway.

And, as usual, please don't forget to enter the giveaway for your chance to win a lot of prizes and Anon, Sir, Anon! The prize is totally worth the little while it takes to enter, and if I wasn't the author and organizer of said book and giveaway, I would most definitely be entering. But I am, and I have to fit into this bridesmaid's dress so sourdough toast is a little out of the question at present. Better luck for you lot. I hope you have a bright and beautiful day, and that if you find yourself in need of a cozy read for a nippy November day, you might choose to spend it with Vivi & Farnham.

Day Two: 10 Things Non-Writers Misunderstand About Us

    When outside and away from the crush at last, Allen put up a modest black umbrella. He hovered on the slick curb and waited. Presently, a bespectacled man who looked about as fond of rain as a rheumatic feline hitched up beside him and glared for a taxi.
    "Messy day," Allen offered.
    "Never wuss," the man croaked. "Shoes wet. Socks too."

-Anon, Sir, Anon

It is a messy day here as it was in Allen's London. November. I give a shrug. Anon, Sir, Anon is safely released into the real world, many of you have entered the giveaway, and today the games continue. I am so thankful for all of you who have spread the word in all the various ways that this mystery is alive and kicking. Thanks a mil! I know we've gone over (multiple times) how much this helps things. At the party today, I'm talking about Ten Things Non-Writers Misunderstand with author Jack Lewis Baillot. Ever been misunderstood by a non-writer and labeled things that you don't think are true at all? Than this post is one for you. I laughed the whole time I was writing it, and I hope you will too. ;)

For those of you who want to know what readers think of Anon, Sir, Anon, there are three fresh opinions on the book! Readers are saying this:

"It is a mystery of the kind that makes you think of words like "Cubbins" and "tea-time" and "bash it" or if you are Farnham "bang it." ...

-Anne Girl of Scribblings of My Pen And Tappings Of My Keyboard.

"Rachel Heffington is back with another unique take on historical fiction! This time, the story is heavier on the mystery, lighter on the romance, and all shades of interesting with the colorful characters."

-Amber Stokes of Seasons of Humility

If you’re searching for a fresh take on the quiet, quaint and cozy mystery genre, then Anon, Sir, Anon is one for you to add to your shelves. - See more at: http://scribblesscriptsandsuch.blogspot.com/2014/11/anon-sir-anon-by-rachel-heffington.html#sthash.XE1Xf1dR.dpuf

 "If you're searching for a fresh take on the quiet, quaint, and cozy mystery genre, then Anon, Sir, Anon is one for you to add to your shelves."

If you’re searching for a fresh take on the quiet, quaint and cozy mystery genre, then Anon, Sir, Anon is one for you to add to your shelves. - See more at: http://scribblesscriptsandsuch.blogspot.com/2014/11/anon-sir-anon-by-rachel-heffington.html#sthash.XE1Xf1dR.dpuf

If you’re searching for a fresh take on the quiet, quaint and cozy mystery genre, then Anon, Sir, Anon is one for you to add to your shelves. - See more at: http://scribblesscriptsandsuch.blogspot.com/2014/11/anon-sir-anon-by-rachel-heffington.html#sthash.XE1Xf1dR.dpuf

-Rissi of Dreaming Under the Same Moon

I think one of my favorite parts of releasing a new book is reading the new reactions each day. Reviews are pretty much what authors live on. We like to know people are reading our books, even if they don't absolutely adore them. And if they do? Well, we suddenly have a great new friend.
Yesterday was terribly busy in real-life just as it was busy in writing-life, but at the end of the day, my mother brought home mini-scones from Panera and we had scones and tea. She also brought me a live orchid! It's one of those things I never knew I'd always wanted until someone gave me one! I am thrilled to death with the idea of feeding it three ice-cubes a week...I mean...isn't that adorable? It eats ice-cubes. This makes me terribly happy. I feel that she needs a name, however, if she's going to be living in my room for the next couple of months. Any suggestions?

I think it needs to be something stately and regal...it is, after all, an orchid. Did I ever tell you that I went to the National Botanical Gardens in DC and saw an orchid named Shelob? It looked exactly like a spider. It made me wish all orchids were named. As much as I'd rather stay and chat, work calls and I must leave. I'll only say one final thing: don't forget to purchase your copy of Anon, Sir, Anon. I know places all over the country are getting snow. This book is the perfect read for a wintry afternoon. Believe the readers. They know what they're saying. You can purchase it in paperback here or Kindle version here. Guys, the Kindle version costs less than that latte you're sipping. You can afford it. :)

One More Dawn, One More Day...

ONE DAY MORE...
ANOTHER BOOK, ANOTHER MYSTERY,
I SEE YOU LOOKING AT IT WISTFULLY...
THESE PEOPLE WHO HAVE AM'ZON PRIME
WILL GET IT THEN IN RECORD TIME
ONE DAY MORE-OR....

HOW WILL I EVER LIVE TODAY?
I NEED THIS BOOK ON KINDLE NO-OW.
ONE DAY MORE.
TOMORROW I CAN FINALLY PAY
AND WIPE THE SWEAT FROM NERVOUS BROW.
ONE MORE DAY ON MY iPHONE
(WILL IT EVER CHARGE AGAIN?)
ONE MORE DAY TILL GOODREADS SHARING
WHAT REVIEWS I MIGHT HAVE STREWN,
IF SHE'D LET ME BETA-READ...EAD..EAD...EAD...EAD...EAD!!!!!!

(cut it out already!)
That's right, ducklings!
Tomorrow AM it will be public knowledge that you can purchase Anon, Sir, Anon for your very own! For now, if you plan on getting the book on Kindle, pre-orders are open here! I sent a proof copy of the book to a friend in Romania because I have not yet ordered my own copies, so if someday someone is looking for a rare edition, you might try Romania's used book-shops. Tomorrow begins your chance to win a fabulous giveaway, read interviews, guest posts, and start haunting your mailbox for your copy of Anon, Sir, Anon. For today: don't forget to vote (polls are open from 7 AM to 7 PM) and add the book on Goodreads!

Letters to Plums

Hello, Plums!
I have finally got nearly everything straightened out with the Anon, Sir, Anon kerfuffle on Createspace. The second proof looked gorgeously out-of-line and I had to call the company up and discover whether it was an error in printing or my file--a little of both, it seems. The book should very shortly be available (Remember, remember the fifth of November!) and will be available for pre-order on Kindle even sooner! For anyone who is nervous about issues coming up if you decide to indie-publish, it helps to have someone like my St. Rachel on hand who has a door on which you can bang rabidly till they pop out to answer your frantic questions. Also, Createspace was amazing over the phone. They make the problems, so I suppose it doesn't much matter how good their customer-service staff may be, but I was helped by a very nice German woman who remembered my name at the end of the conversation and gave me terribly sensible advice as for how to proceed. The entire call took three and a half minutes and my issue was resolved by the end of the day via email. So don't fear: if you a get a problem, tech support is there for you. I was polite and waited to call after 9 AM...turns out their customer service is available 24-7. Well then. Anon, Sir, Anon is coming.
I haven't written anything more in Scotch'd the Snakes. I gave myself a break, realizing that I needed to focus on actually releasing this mystery and getting my brother's wedding over with, and all that sort of thing. Anyway, how soon can anyone possibly want another of my books? There have been three this year: buy one for yourself, request another for Christmas and another for your birthday. When you've used up a year's occasions, let's talk. But while I've been shirking the mystery, I have been pegging away at a Christmas novella--since I'm not entering this year's Rooglewood collection contest, I have time to take up my old habit of producing a Christmas story. This one is Ring the Belles and is semi-autobiographical in tone. In my other spare moments which really aren't so spare, I've been making new friends. Doesn't that sound childish? And yet, I have. And something I've learned is that as a writer and reader and a very verbose person, my speech is considered quaint by them. I never realized how many things I say that very few other people say until I was with this group. Following is a list of some things that have been remarked upon and laughed over:

"Your laugh is so adorable. It sounds exactly like a screen door squeaking."
"Oh crumbs."
"Great Jehoshaphat."
"Blast."
"Draw five? Last I checked the penalty was one card! This is steep."
"I have no idea what color that was supposed to be." (having stirred food dye into icing) "It looks like a piece of bubblegum that was chewed while drinking Coca-Cola and then spit out."
"Dash it all, you meanie!"
"Haven't the foggiest." 
"Silly goose."

Apparently, this set of friends has a long way to come before they are accustomed to "Rachel-isms" as these expressions have been dubbed. I can't remember where I picked up my manner of speech...probably a combined effort of books, whimsy, imagination, and the BBC. It sometimes reminds me that I live in a world where most people are not writers. It can be easy to sit here in the blog-world and think I know a lot of writers. But the reality is that I know of not a single novelist I've ever met in person. Except for myself, of course, and I suppose that can't really count. We're not spread so thickly as we think and it's funny to me that my way of looking at the world could be so highly unusual to someone. New friends make you do a double-take. It's hilarious, actually.
The other thing I've been appreciating of late is the way that letters can connect people. You know how much I love sending and receiving mail--the thought of no Post Office makes my heart sink. Three and a half years ago, a Kiwi girl named Felicity Deverell won a contest on The Inkpen Authoress. When I sent her prize of a watercolor illustration of her winning poem, I included a letter. What makes me laugh is that Felicity is the artist and I'm the writer...but in that moment, we switched positions. Since then, letters of twelve to sixteen pages have flown across the seven seas between us and cemented a wonderful friendship. I have saved every letter tied up with a sheer pink ribbon. It's quite a stack and I love that stack. Because here's something unusual in this day and age: everything I know from Felicity except one Skype chat is contained within that bundle of paper and words. Everything. Anyone could know Felicity as well as I do by sitting for a day with that brick-sized packet and getting to know her. If our relationship had been conducted through nothing but blogs, Facebook chats, emails, and phone conversations, there would be no such record, but there is...and I am incredibly thankful. Not to mention the fact that Felicity has become a stunning artist, as you can see from this photo of her most recent painting, below.

//source//

Well this post was full of randomness. We've covered releases, letters, art, friends, linguistics, and new projects. What have you been up to?

Anon, Sir, Anon and Williamsburg!

Hullo-ullo-ullo!
I trust you are all still alive, still kicking, still waiting for Plenilune to come out in paperback form. I was feeling quite anxious for that event till I realized it couldn't hurt matters to wait till next paycheck, so that's my goal. I get paid weekly. Hopefully by the time I get this week's check deposited, I'll be able to trot straight 'round to Amazon and get my copy. Did you see that Jenny got her proof copy of Plenilune? Looks like I'm going to have to move more books around on the shelf to fit it in. That baby is nearly two inches thick. Such a looker.

After finding a great number of extra spaces around ellipses (for heaven's sake, people, NEVER MAKE THAT MISTAKE) and panicking to St. Rachel, all formats of Anon, Sir, Anon are fixed, edited, and approved by Createspace. Just to be sure, I've ordered a second tangible proof-copy and am going to be receiving that before terribly long. Tonight I am sending out the guest posts, interviews, and announcement information for the release. And guys, The Giveaway is called "Cozy Quagmire Party Pack." I will leave you to guess what it contains, but I will say that it is pretty wonderful and I wish I could win it myself.

Have you ever had the opportunity to do something terribly bookish in real life? I have had a few experiences with that sort of thing, the most recent being my "Box Hill" expedition to Williamsburg two summers ago. Well. After hosting a couples' shower for my brother and his fiancee this weekend, I am heading to Williamsburg again, this time with the inimitable Charity Klicka. I don't know Charity terribly well--we've been more like ships passing each other in the night when we've met in person--but love of ships, The Wind in The Willows, love of quotes, and general kindred-spiritness has given us a budding friendship. I could not be happier at the prospect of escorting her to my heart-town on her very first trip there. We have lots of plummy larks planned. Pray for good weather. <3 I will take pictures and be sure to post them when we've finished. I cannot wait.

Well, cheers and all that, darlings! I'm off to catch The Voice and eat ice-cream. I know. Terribly authorish.