Goodbye Porpoise Spit AKA Later Seattle, it’s been weird


Knihkupectvi Academia Bookstore, Prague

I have lived all the cliches. I am one merit badge away from unlocking an unholy rom-com achievement sash. Teenage girl on a Greyhound bus to New York City with nothing but a dream? Check. Driven, career-focused woman making a u-turn for love on the cusp of 30? Check. Carefree divorcee leaving it all  behind to wander the globe? Well, 2 houses, 2 hotels and 3 countries in the last week later, check. Checkfuckingmate.

The change my life has been through in the last year is breathtaking. Yes, I learned a whole new language. Yes, I lost 78 pounds. Yes, I plotted and executed things most people only ever talk about doing.  Factor in the two years before that, and I get full on vertigo and vapors. Yes, I wrote and published a novel (and have nursed 2 other novels along but that’s another matter).  Yes, I disposed an industrial tonnage of fuckery in the form of people and patterns that no longer worked for me.

I spent 10 years in Seattle. That is most of my adult life, far longer than any of the cities I flitted through in my early 20s, and about 5 years longer than I saw myself being there. That’s a long time to wait for your life to begin. Processing my fervent desire to leave the city when I thought I was stuck gave me Girl Out of Water, and Tabitha’s whole universe. Translating that desire into action gave me total access to superpowers I’ve only ever dreamed of. I am an actual badass. I’ve crossed that threshold of hoping to be acknowledged to owning every ray of my glory.

After months of blog radio silence, grueling overtime shifts, and still no new book, I have made my great escape. The endless work of my emotional life has been accepting, acknowledging, and letting go. I know this is only the first leg of a really long journey, but I am ready to lay down the burdens of other people’s expectations and my fear. My joy is incalculable. I can exhale, take my victory lap, and look forward. For the next while I won’t be wandering the globe as much as setting up shop and looking for my niche in a very targeted area.

If you’re looking for quirky, complicated, protagonists and the universes they inhabit, we’ll all be in Norway (except for those weeks we’re in the Czech Republic, or the UK, or hvor som helst), skating through brand new challenges, forgetting the exchange rate and paying way too much for stuff, and living our best friluftsliv.



Actual size, OK not really, but much smaller than anticipated

Back to Black



Well, not exactly, Dear Reader. While I have been far from a dedicated blogger, I have been writing regulary (I picked up one of those writing partners I’ve heard so much about). My word count is anemic, but it’s still moving on up at a creep. There’s a legit reason I’ve neglected my manuscripts and blog in recent months. I won’t say more until it’s definite but my brain has been consumed with a long cherished goal and I am *this* close to having all that effort pay off. In a few months time I’ll be back, with a currently under construction tumblr no less, with more stories and less angst (witness the total absence of fucks regarding my NaNoWriMo fail). Until then, I gotta go get shit done.

Monster Hospital


367737_630x354It’s November 4th, or technically NaNoWriMo day 4 and I’m starting the day with a word count of 2429 out of 6666 scheduled words. I have until the end of the day to hit 6666 and as ever, it’s always possible but it’s not likely. I’m not despairing however. First, because getting behind in NaNoWriMo almost immediately is the the natural order of the universe. Second, The current word count represents getting up at 5:00 am on Sunday and Monday and fitting time in during lunch breaks while simultaneously clocking 30.5 hours on the day job in that 48 hour period. Day 3 was less action-packed (just a few appointments) but definitely hampered by the wet rag level of energy from days 1 & 2. Today is even more appointments in exotic suburban climes (the glamorous adulting of it all) so I’m shooting for word count of at least 3000 by midnight tonight. All the better for Day 5, which has zero commitments or fucks to give about anything other than writing.

It was exciting to return to this novel (not Broken Wave I’m afraid) because I’d put around 24k into it and hit a wall. I could not squeeze out another word, so I closed the file and hoped it would come back to me. It has and I’m glad about it. Demigodspeed! My next check in is on Day 7 I think. If you’ve ever done NaNoWriMo, win, lose, or derp, talk about it in the comments.

NaNoWriMo Inspo Song of the Day

Monster Hospital by Metric doesn’t have much to do with anything in particular, but it’s a nice jolt every now and then.

I’m Gonna Be Free and I’m Gonna Be Fine


Y’all I am tired. Not of writing, but of the obsessive overwrought hand-wringing Writer Pain that has paralyzed me off and on for the several last months. To be fair, my off-page struggle has been especially severe recently, but even before then, I’d tied my creative self in knots. I’m officially cancelling that bullshit in an effort to lighten up.

I’ve been doing all kinds of things to make that happen, the best of which was read Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic. Twice now in fact. My overall sense of joy is anemic at the moment and my creative process has been akin to using a dislocated shoulder to arm-wrestle a giant. It didn’t go well, it hurt, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t keep at it. In a way that’s admirable but it’s also a bit mad to keep trying in the exact same manner. The price of creativity doesn’t have to be paid with suffering. I’ve always known this in theory but to put it into practice I’m switching up my rituals and calling upon something other than incessant insecurity to get the job done. Maybe now I take up toe-wrestling instead. My toes are mighty (that got even more weird than anticipated)!

So I’m doing what all writer types do when the rainbow has been enough. I’m bringing my bucket to the NaNoWriMo well, and I’m not stopping until it comes up full. I’m using the buddy system with a writer friend. A volunteer even. I said “you’re doing NaNoWriMo with me right?” I’ve dug out every note scrap I have for both WIP, and I’m excited about what’s going to happen. Girl Out of Water was both a 2011 and a 2012 NaNoWriMo project. I didn’t “win” the first time but I kept hacking away at it until November 2012 and with 15 minutes to spare, I’d written a total of 100,548 words for it, 50,000 of them in one month. This time I’ll blog my word count, any Seattle write-ins that I attend and what I hope is a mental shift toward inspired and away from spite via personal accomplishment.

My first NaNo Song of the Day is Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up) by Florence + The Machine. I’ve always loved her/them but after seeing the live show I am a tambourine-carrying devotee. The video is a kind of ecstatic pagan-lite mime of a song that could have had a much darker visual interpretation.

Murder in my Heart



The point here is, Amazon is ticked off and emailing about how I’ll never preorder in this town again, and that’s bad but, if I kill just one more person, this all hangs together for me in a way that I’m happy with. As is, not terrible. With the death, or is it deaths? Better. Be patient folks if you don’t see a book by August 11, unfollow and turn off the lights. I’ll just write in the dark.


p.s. if you’ve read the excerpt from Broken Wave at Goodreads, you know I start the bloodshed pretty early…

p.p.s. follow me on Twitter already

World’s Greatest Procrastinator

I don't know if this is true, but this obviously means I'm Mozart.

I don’t know if this is true, but this obviously means I’m Mozart.

Since I am less than three weeks from the release of Broken Wave and I have a pile of life to maintain until then, I will not be posting again until it’s time to celebrate at the finish line. In the meantime, enjoy this, ebook versions of Girl Out of Water are still on sale for $0.99 at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Kobo and if youh aven’t already, add, review, and rate Girl Out of Water on Goodreads.

Procrastination is a talent.

I’m doing it right now. Blogging is a way for me to share the insides of my brain with people who might enjoy it and therefore enjoy my writing, but let’s be clear: blogging is not writing novels.

There are many things that take me away from the page: social media, texting, midsummer tax projections. There are days when I will go to great lengths to avoid confronting my fear that it’s all pointless, my writing is horrible, and that I will fail again. As I said last week, every writer battles this, but it’s so validating to hear, so it bears repeating. Right now I am banging my head against these notions daily in the run up to the release of Broken Wave, and I was pleased and encouraged to see a series of tweets from the intellectual powerhouse Ta-Nehisi Coates about his The Beautiful Struggle: A Memoir with writing and the release of his latest book, Between the World and Me.

I really, REALLY needed that.

So rather than more kvetching Writer Pain, I give you how I trick my demons into getting out of my way long enough to write words that I like well enough to keep going.

1. Turn off the Internet

Yeah I laughed too, but it can be done. I can afford nice things, on occasion but I live without a data pipe coming into my home for a very good reason. The more internet I have, the more opportunity I have for ignoring my will to create. I love information, I love finding out new things, and revisiting old things. Pinterest? The actual Mirror of Erised brought to life. I can get lost in it for days. I cannot bring myself to unplug via willpower. I deny myself broadband so that I don’t have to. I pay my cell phone carrier to use on-demand smartphone tethering for a limited amount of data each month, and when it’s gone, it’s gone. It’s a primitive solution to curb a primitive addiction. It’s not foolproof but it’s a start.

2. Ditch the Mouse.

This won’t help you necessarily if you use a laptop with a built in mouse, but I discovered writing Girl Out of Water (Cryptid Coterie Book 1), that when I took the batteries out of my wireless mouse and I couldn’t wander away from the page with a single click, my word count shot up. This tip is not as helpful if you’re a wizard with hotkeys, but it made me more mindful of just how often my fingers were unconsciously running away from where they needed to be.

3. Read Something

It’s better if that something is work you’ve already done but someone else’s work is good too. I’ve read old non-fiction essays or an especially good quip on a WIP and thought, damn. I wrote that? Sure did cupcake, now sit your ass down and write some more. My inner motivational speaker is kinda harsh y’all. It can be inspiring to read fiction that you view as the epitome of skill, but if you’re afraid of intimidation, find work that you despise and rewrite a page of it as an exercise. If you’re reading a book and thinking I can do better, invoke your inner Morpheus: “Show me.”


Superpowers & Secret Identities

Seattle Public Library, well done

Seattle Public Library, well done

I’d long suspected that my superpower was talking for hours without ever stopping to breathe, or maybe having just the right piece of unexpected trivia to sprinkle into a conversation because I am promiscuously curious about absolutely everything. Turns out, it wasn’t these things at all. It would appear that my gift is giving the outward appearance of calm and confident determination 97% of the time.

I  suspect the perception percentage varies on how well you know me, but for the sake of accuracy I’d like to correct that average to 56.6~. That contains a confounding factor of  +/- 12% relative to how clueless I am about what I’m facing. Everyone is confident when they don’t know their parachute is empty right?

It’s been a year since I pulled the plug on the release of Broken Wave the second in the Crytpid Coterie series, and in that time I’ve been functioning as though I did not choke and that I will write dozens of novels any day now. I’ve traveled a lot. I’ve blogged some, and I’ve gone back to my paranormal Seattle universe again and again, hoping to see it clearly. Some days, I would consider a single sentence a success, and others I would cut a whole chapter and sigh with relief because it needed to be done. And all that time, I was still a writer.

I am once again stepping up to the plate with Broken Wave, and putting Girl Out of Water on sale today in the meantime. What I’ve learned in the last year, through my own experiences and reading other authors, is that the tortured Writer Pain of “I suck, I don’t know what I’m doing, and I am a terrible fraud” never goes away for anyone.  OK maybe a few people, but nobody likes them. The rest of us are humming along, secure in the knowledge that we’re fucked but making a go of it.

When I started writing novels  (working on my third at the moment), I thought the woman at the keyboard was my alter ego. I believed she was my juicy secret that made me interesting. The more comfortable I’ve gotten with creating and owning my identity as an artist, I figured out that I’d bought my own cover story. The rule-abiding goddess of multi-tasking efficiency who works too much and runs my life? She’s the real secret identity.

Theres a danger in believing your own facade. Just as those who know me perceive my perfectionist streak as the real me, when I believed it too, I limited my growing process as a writer and took the setback of a missed deadline way too hard. Writer me wants to give that Winifred a cookie, a cup of coffee, and a very short pep talk: “Writers write.”

That’s it. That’s the whole thing. If you’re doing that, at whatever pace, you’re a real writer, no matter what you tell yourself on a bad day.

This writer will be celebrating her second book release with a meme worthy video post, and merchandise you can use to express your love for Tabitha, her friends, and her nightmares. There’ll also be an exclusive free download of the story of Minnie Gagle Yesler. Subscribe already yeah?

Paul Dorpat, Archivist of Seattle


Picture it: Duvall, WA. April 28, 1968.

There’s a 500 pound piano, suspended by helicopter, over a woodpile surrounded by lit votives. Why? Why not?

After my meeting with Paul Dorpat at Ivar’s Salmon House and scratching a few microns into his reign as the historian of the Puget Sound Region, I imagine scenarios like “The Piano Drop”, the event that spawned the Sky River Rock Festival four months later, are liberally sprinkled throughout his life.

Dorpat has authored and contributed to more than a dozen books on Seattle history, co-founded and edited Helix, is the principal historian of History Link, and for more than 30 years, he’s written Seattle Now and Then, a visual diary of the city’s evolutionary ambitions, for the Seattle Times. Despite this, when I approach him for a meeting he assures me that I probably know more than he does. I suppose that’s how one acquires a granular knowledge of a place and its people, via constant vigilance for an unfamiliar perspective. I can reassure you Reader that I am in no danger of eclipsing Dorpat’s knowledge of Seattle anytime soon. In fact, the Cryptid Coterie series was inspired by his research.

That being said, don’t blame Dorpat for the fanciful liberties I’ve taken with history, the Yesler family tree, the personalities, motives, and habits of the Denny Party (the founding families of Seattle). ‘Tis fiction. “Minnie Gagle Yesler was involved in the death of Henry Yesler? But how?” he asked. Because Magic Paul. I explained that my novels also include cryptids and mythology so no, I have no proof the heirs to the Yesler legacy have lately met with mermaids aboard the defunct MV Kalakala. I also don’t have definitive proof they haven’t. Shrug.

Still, speculative fiction is not Dorpat’s wheelhouse so we focus on the various creative avenues his appetite for history have taken him down. In addition to being a living treasury of the past, he’s also created a photo series called Wallingford Walks, and he’s working on a novel about Ivar Haglund, famed restaurateur. We bond over the endless allure of just one more click on Wikipedia, the necessary neuroses of the writing process, and the things you want to change after you’ve released a book into the wild of the world. When I ask him about the differences in his approach to writing versus photography, he’s puzzled by my insistence that there’s a connection. I maintain that the storytelling in image composition shares DNA with writing, but because I’m not a photographer, perhaps not. Dorpat explained that anyone with a camera is a photographer. “I’m a Promiscuous Photographer, I can just drive down the street taking pictures of everything and anything.”

I rather like the idea of Promiscuous Creativity, and Dorpat seems an archetype of Promiscuous Curiosity, also a good thing. He’s a pioneer in the Seattle tradition of D-I-Y and committing to the life of the mind. His first volume of Seattle Now and Then, was self-published when he had no money, solely on the credit of his assurances to the publisher that it would sell well, and it did. According to him it was luck; there were no other amateur historians focusing on regional history to the exclusion of everything else, but his legacy is inspiring because you can’t be lucky if you’re not prepared to act on a benefactor’s leap of faith.

About “The Piano Drop” spectacle: Dorpat maintains that it wasn’t his idea, he was just the ringleader and promoter. His friends did all of the organizing. They merely wanted to hear what it would sound like when it landed. The helicopter pilot was fearful about the physics involved in hoisting and releasing the piano, but up they went. Dorpat wasn’t near the woodpile, he was further away, trying to keep people out of the drop zone. His unease grew the higher the piano went, and when it was released, “something in my gut or my heart just came up”, Dorpat gestured around his impressive snowy beard. The piano came down into the soft mud near the woodpile, with scarcely a sound. Because shrapnel is a thing, this was likely for the best, but considering the absurdity of the plan, the outcome of the event becomes outright hilarious.

My meeting with Dorpat was cut short by the growing noise of a busy lakeside restaurant on a beautiful day, and my powerful fear of evening Seattle traffic, but stay tuned for our rematch. Paul has promised to answer more questions than he asks next time. I don’t believe him, but I’m still looking forward to it.

For more from Paul Dorpat visit and check out his latest book, Tradition and Change on Seattle’s First Hill: Propriety, Profanity, Pills, and Preservation


Turning to the Light


If you’re black and American, or simply a human who values the lives of other humans equally, it’s been a horrific week. I’ve said plenty on Twitter, so I won’t revisit here, but know that the malignancy of American racism flourishes in the hearts you’d least expect it and almost nothing is done to curtail it.

After several days of reflecting on it, I consulted one of my influences for guidance, the regal Toni Morrison.

This is powerful and instructive. I must not waste time refuting the absurdity of racism to the detriment of doing meaningful work.

Because today is the summer solstice, I want to share a review of my annual read, Imajica by Clive Barker.

ImajicaImajica by Clive Barker

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Every Midsummer, I dream of the Dominions.

Imajica by Clive Barker is one of my all time favorite books as a reader. As an author, this novel is a master class in world building. Barker’s details are impeccable, but that’s not all that impresses me. I’m drawn back into the story of Gentle, Pie, and Judith, on an almost annual basis, because fantasy and imagination on this scale, with complex and diverse characters is rare. If all you know of Clive Barker is the Hellraiser movies, and you love epic and contemporary fantasy, go get this book right now. Probably read the Abarat series first to train for a twisting “not your mama’s fantasy novel”, but then dive right in.

I have two editions, a hardcover single volume, as well as a greatly abused single volume paperback with an illustrated appendix. I couldn’t say why there’s a paperback version of the book split into two volumes, but I will say, this book is best read in one go. It was never intended to be serialized.

Even though I’d read nearly all of Barker’s other work, and knew he was not shy about visceral, bizarre, multiple ethnicity, queer, feminist themes, the first time I read Imajica, I couldn’t believe a woman hadn’t written it. This book is a big ass love letter/apology to gender studies. A heartbroken gender fluid, ethnically ambiguous assassin, is in many ways, the voice of reason. A man and a woman each at war with their biological definitions of themselves, are struggling with identity and culpability. All this was written in 1991, when diversity in speculative fiction wasn’t a hashtag movement because there was no such thing.

Ancient mysterious rites of women is familiar territory for Barker. His novels are full of dangerous women who are perhaps behaving badly, but not without provocation. His constructions are as grotesque as they are gorgeous, but not in a way that raises men above women or vice versa. There’s a sense of women having so far lost all the gender battles, but the war is very much still a go. Judith, Quaisoir, Clara Leash, and Celestine are a lively and problematic bunch.

Aside from all this heavy duty battle of the sexes, religion, dictatorship, murder, and whatnot, there is fantasy crack making each Dominion vivid and threatening. I want to stroll the Merrow Ti Ti, shop in Patoshoqua, and of course reconcile the Dominions while defeating the Autarch and the Unbeheld.

There are parts of the book that drag on the plot,like Little Ease, but, raise your hand if your own internal monologue has ever been negative to the point of derailing your entire life. I think of the Clerkenwell diversion as an odd bit of realism. If you’re trying to save the world and change it irrevocably at the same time? You shall overcome some inner turmoil. Unfortunately for Gentle, his is a bit…insistent.

Imajica has a massive character roster with peculiar species and all sorts of unnatural phenomena. It’d be a parable if it wasn’t SO long.
The story takes common plot conventions like love triangles, assassinations, and blood thirtsty madmen, adds insanely inventive imaginary things that you’re certain exist, and weaves them into an adventure tale about self-discovery. Damned impressive.

View all my reviews

Our Novels Ourselves


Writing is therapeutic. Sometimes I like writing about mermaids. Therefore, I have invented the Mermaid Self-Help genre, an exciting development in literature and mental health.

We all know that writers put observations about themselves and their world in their work. The challenge then becomes how to create authentic characters without sliding from forgivable Author Avatar to indigestible Mary Sue. Tangent: the best explanation I’ve ever read about why the Mary Sue template “works” is The Oatmeal’s take on Twilight. Good writing invites readers to connect with the authenticity of a character’s experience rather than the optics of the reader’s mirror image. The main pitfalls are confusing archetypes with default relatability and being oblivious to how much of your work is effortlessly you.

I’ll explain.

Mary Sue characters are directly connected to one of the fallacies against diversity in books. Able bodied readers who don’t kill people will connect with your down on her luck quadriplegic assassin (I have to write that now, tucking it into the idea file) just fine if you promise them a really good story and deliver. Sure it’s possible to give an Every Hero archetype a single feature that makes him so unique he is both familiar and totally novel from the outset, but considering the breadth of fiction ever printed it’s not plausible. Guy transforms into a robot dragon in space has probably been done already. Try harder, do better. I doubt J.K. Rowling consciously set out to make a Diverse Book, by creating Cormorant Strike, a veteran with a prosthetic limb, it was merely a side effect of expert character creation.

Taking my own advice, the Cryptid Coterie series was an act of therapy from the outset. When I started writing it, I was stuck in Seattle. The move I desperately wanted was not in my cards at the time, and it was my outlet for working through it. Toni Morrison said write the book you want to read, so I did.  Characterization is one of my strengths as a writer so while Tabitha is without a doubt my Author Avatar (but then so was her antagonist Irene) there are significant things that separate Tabitha from being a Mary Sue copy of me. Flaws were an integral part of Tabitha’s build. I didn’t want to write about the perfect, gold-hearted elemental that triumphed over the mean two-dimensional people. I wanted to create a living, breathing person and that meant obnoxious personality traits. Tabitha is a fair parody of myself at her age, in a wardrobe of self-awareness as well as wish fulfillment. Likewise Irene was Neutral Evil but also an exploration of aspects of myself. Dividing the chapters between them allowed for an antagonist with her own demented humanity that readers could identify with. The Villains we love to hate are successful because on some level, we understand them. We applaud them even.

When it came to being vulnerable in writing, I discovered that I was infusing my work with vulnerability without even trying. Every word comes from some nook deep inside the writer, how could it not be revealing? Blame shifting is difficult when it’s your name under the title. My magic happens when I can take the Reader to that same place inside themselves.

Go forth, and trope responsibly.