To celebrate the upcoming release of Broken Wave, the second installment in the Cryptid Coterie series, Girl Out of Water is on sale! If I was Scooter from Borderlands, I’d say “This is where the awesome lives, get you some!” Oh Scooter. For a limited time, pick up an ebook edition of Girl Out of Water in the flavor (Kindle, Kobo, Nook) of your choice for only 99 cents. You can know where the awesome is going to be ahead of time by subscribing to this blog. Join the mailing list for promotions, giveaways, and up to the minute Winifred whimsy and whinging. Go on, fill this out, I’ll wait.
Ok, resume whinge. So sequels. Even though Girl Out of Water was always the first installment in a much longer story, writing a series is a bit mad. As a writer you’re basically saying, “So you thought those casually mentioned details were unnecessarily mysterious and inconsequential, well Reader, they’re HUGE! Got your nose, can’t believe you didn’t see that 2000 pages ago. If you’re pulling that off, well good on you, gasps and golf claps. If you’re not, you’re confusing the hell out of people.
They like it, the real fantasy addict, fangirl types (such as myself) love to hunt for the one true clue that lets them say with satisfaction, after they’ve devoured the latest/last installment, “That’s how it had to be. If you look at the characters, their arc until now, there was no other path they could have taken and stayed true to themselves.” Yes we know how it sounds, yes we love saying that sort of thing anyway. As I grind away in preparation to unveil and further muddle the world of Tabitha Slate and Seattle cryptid society with secrets and unanswered questions for every revealed detail, know that I’m just as surprised when something happens in my books as you are. How cool is that?
I once dreamt, when I was going through a different but also rocky time in my life, that I was in a therapy session with the dear and now departed Dr. Maya Angelou. For my troubled sub-conscious, there was no better healer or guide available. She sat in a comfortable chair and I reclined on a sofa in the traditional therapy poses, but we were on a platform of a flatbed truck that drove around a city, as I talked through what worried me, what I hoped for, and what I wanted to be. It was like a literary feminist music video. I have no idea what she told me, but I woke up feeling whole. I remember thinking, yes, of course Maya Angelou fixed my life. Reflecting on her life’s work now that she’s gone, I remember how giddy I felt when I read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, at the thought of a life that generated volumes of autobiography. The woman sang for Billie Holliday and cooked for M.F.K. Fisher. She did. She was. I can. Her life and her work have always made me feel that way, that I can.
Weekend Glory by Maya Angelou
Some clichty folks don’t know the facts, posin’ and preenin’ and puttin’ on acts, stretchin’ their backs. They move into condos up over the ranks, pawn their souls to the local banks. Buying big cars they can’t afford, ridin’ around town actin’ bored. If they want to learn how to live life right they ought to study me on Saturday night. My job at the plant ain’t the biggest bet, but I pay my bills and stay out of debt. I get my hair done for my own self’s sake, so I don’t have to pick and I don’t have to rake. Take the church money out and head cross town to my friend girl’s house where we plan our round. We meet our men and go to a joint where the music is blue and to the point. Folks write about me. They just can’t see how I work all week at the factory. Then get spruced up and laugh and dance And turn away from worry with sassy glance. They accuse me of livin’ from day to day, but who are they kiddin’? So are they. My life ain’t heaven but it sure ain’t hell. I’m not on top but I call it swell if I’m able to work and get paid right and have the luck to be Black on a Saturday night.
Mark your calenders! On 2/27/14 I’m making an appearance on Seattle Geekly Podcast – Episode #213 – Geeks of Color