Clarion Write A Thon Begins June 24

Last year: Taos Toolbox

This year: Clarion. Well, sort of.

I was perpetually wait listed for Clarion a while back and absolutely treasure the experience I had with the Taos Toolbox Diesel Bears 2011 in Ski Valley. But this year, I'm celebrating the completion of Boulevard of Bad Spells and Broken Dreams (and the fact that four, count em four) agents have asked to see the manuscript!

So, in order to whip what was originally a 137K behemoth into shape, I'm signed on to the Clarion Write a Thon and hope to join a critique group. My goal is to edit the whole thing, forty seven chapters,  which is going to take a lot of ass kicking.

In a month, I've gotten Boulevard down to about 110K--much more reasonable but it still needs a deep edits pass and line editing. Thanks to Andrew, Carol and Chelsea, my dedicated Critters.org readers, its almost there. But almost isn't good enough.

So, even if you don't donate anything (our sponsors pledge some amount per unit, in my case per chapter edited),  keep track of my progress and kick my ass a bit.  I'll be posting excerpts along the way, and crits as well as a few pennies are most welcome. Proceeds benefit the Clarion scholarship fund.

What am I getting out of this? Hopefully, a sale. Which is why I've chosen the Break Out badge for my symbol.

The link to my profile is here. The excerpt posting area strips formatting, so reading excerpts isn't optimal there.  I'll be posting links to selected non fiction and excerpts of Boulevard of Bad Spells and Broken Dreams on this page.

This weeks nonfiction link is a humorous personal essay published a while back in Noneuclicdean Cafe entitled "Concrete."

And here's some of Boulevard of Bad Spells and Broken Dreams

What is it about?

Hmm, well....

Blurb:

Taina Aponte, sole survivor of the arson that killed her family, was whisked to Puerto Rico by her grandmother to escape the epidemic of crime and violence in The Bronx.

Thirty years later, haunted by her memories, the now grown up witch returns to the ravaged neighborhood intent on finding the murderers.

Fearful and inexperienced, Taina seeks help from Arnaldo Arroyo, a cantankerous male witch with his own style of brujería—and a big secret. An elderly astrologer and santera who knew her mother gives counsel, and she is befriended by fairies that shapeshift into pigeons, rats, and red-tailed hawks.

Discouraged and unsure who she can trust, Taina is ready to give up and go back to Puerto Rico. She learns that a spell her mother placed on her before tossing her to safety endowed her as the White Witch, destined to balance the forces of good and evil and restore order and civility, yet is reluctant to accept the challenge and face her greatest fear—fire.

Taina concocts her own combination of magick and Santería to fight the roving gangs of dhampirs, werewolves, and zombies responsible for her family's murder. But can she summon the courage to use it?

Excerpt:

Taina craved the tropical comfort of a piña colada, with a shot of the best rum she could get to take the edge off the heat—and her nerves. But there wasn't much time to get to the store and back inside before dark—when the creatures of the night took over.

A crowd of men, mundanes, stood outside the liquor store on 149th. Taina immediately regretted wearing shorts and a tank top. Half naked already, their eyes undressed her the rest of the way. She pushed past, ignoring the typical lewd comments.

One guy pulled her ponytail, then grabbed her ass. Taina whipped around and whacked him across the face with her forearm. The crack of his nose reverberated up to her elbow.

He dropped to his knees, both hands trying in vain to stem the bloody torrent. Taina hoped it was broken. And more worried about the delay than the unfortunate prankster.

The men rallied around their fallen comrade, which attracted the attention of the shop’s owner. He plowed through the crowd encircling the victim. "Ay, señorita, lo siento. Entra."

He escorted her into the shop and ran back outside, gesticulating wildly. "¡Vete, ya! If you’re not going to buy, don’t hang around here molestando my paying customers."

The group wandered toward Prospect Avenue. Taina selected a bottle of Puerto Rican rum for authenticity.

Now to the store to buy sweetened coconut milk and pineapple juice. And something to whip it up nice and creamy. "Where can I buy a blender?"

The proprietor had reinstalled himself behind the counter to watch the ball game. "The Yankees are having a bad night. Here you go." He plunked a tiny mixer on the counter, just enough to make piña coladas for two—and she was thirsty enough to drink both.

He rang her up. "I have everything you need for a party right here. Anything else?" "No, that’s it for tonight." She paid and stuffed the change into her pocket for later.

The shop bell tinkled, but the door slammed and locked behind her. The closest bodega was on the other side of the park, and she better hurry. Taina ducked inside as they were closing up for the night, grabbed what she needed, and started home. 

The bottle of rum clinked against the cans. Mountains of black plastic bags sat in front of stores and apartments. Rusty elevated train tracks shed lead laden paint chips like poison manna upon nearby housing projects. She picked up her pace and detoured through the only green space within miles to avoid the dog shit smeared on the sidewalks.

As she went up a grassy knoll toward 149th Street her lungs, long ago damaged by smoke inhalation, fought to expand and contract in the hazy summer air. A pigeon flew so close Taina expected the poop to plop on her back. It flapped its wings to challenge a squirrel scavenging through an overflowing pail filled with remnants of fried chicken, egg rolls, and pizza crusts.

The rodent was faster though, and it scaled a tree with a crescent shaped remainder of something in its mouth. As she passed Ritual Rock, a nondescript gray bird, its wing tips and breast streaked with blue and green bright enough to adorn a peacock's tail, landed in front of her and blocked the way like it had set up a force field.

"What the fuck?" Taina tried to push past, but couldn't. "Humans really like that word, yet they accuse us of indiscriminate breeding." A creature, waist high to Taina, with a Cheshire Cat grin, a British accent, two iridescent blue wings, and a squat, leaf-green body materialized, his choice parts barely concealed by a brown rag.

"What the fuck!" A fairy in this human wasteland?

Like a true New Yorker he ignored the duplicate expletive. "Allow me to introduce myself. Bridge Rat, minion to Hawkclaw, Fairy King of New Yorke at your service, Lady Taina. I am in charge of this sector of The Bronx. My liege lord shall arrive in a moment." He bowed like a praying mantis being eaten by a bird. "I daresay the foul language you've acquired in such a short time bodes well for your ability to rise to your duties."

Tonight couldn’t get more weird. First, she’d broken some punk’s nose. Now she'd dropped the F bomb on a fairy. Twice. And she didn’t give a shit about either transgression.

"Knock it off. The only court around here is on 161st and the Grand Concourse. This isn't Camelot, and I'm not a lady. I'm a woman and don't rise to do anyone's duty."

The fairy rustled its wings. Magick tingled along Taina's spine and soothed the angst roiling in her gut since she'd gotten off the plane and into that fetid yellow cab at Kennedy airport two weeks ago.

"Ah, I beg to differ my lady." Bridge Rat turned his eyes skyward and a silly grin cracked his face.

A majestic ruddy hawk, as big as a dog, glided to a landing on top of the immense black granite slab. Another fae-induced shiver crawled down Taina's back like a spider.

The haughty fairy king coalesced out of rusty dust spiral. Red hair hung in wavy tendrils over his shoulders, obscuring much of a bare chest. Pointed ears, adorned with cuffs and spikes and jeweled earrings, wiggled. A lime green cape swept the gum-stained asphalt as he flitted toward her, bare, six-toed feet hovering only inches above the ground, red and ochre wings beating like a translucent heart.

Bridge Rat announced him. "Hawkclaw, King of The Fairydom of New Yorke." Hawkclaw alighted, swept the cape over one shoulder, and bowed. "Hail and welcome, White Witch. Long have we awaited your return."

Yes, this night could get even more weird. "I think you must be confusing me with someone else. I'm brown and barely a witch at all."

"On the contrary, Lady Taina. You are just beginning to realize your powers. We trust that Sir Arnaldo will be at your side during the impending battle." Taina suppressed a giggle at that image.

"I’m just trying to get to the bottom of a mystery, then get my bottom out of the Fairydom of New Yorke."

The fairies in PR were more like fireflies, quiet, yet silly, tricky. Of course, everything in The Bronx mutated to the most extreme degree possible.

"Fear not, it has been foreseen and will occur." Hawkclaw pronounced, expressionless, like one who hasn't had good news in a long time. "Bridge Rat will summon me and the others when the time comes."

 He fluttered his wings, rose into the air and transformed back into the majestic bird as he flew west over Ritual Rock toward the Manhattan skyline. Taina shivered despite the hot, humid night. Streetlights blinked on.

She needed to get her royal ass inside. "I don’t mean to be rude, Bridge Rat, but my powers aren’t strong enough to fight off the dhamps and weres. I doubt I’d be much use in a real battle. It’s getting late, and I need to get going."

The fairy crinkled his mouth and scratched a fuzzy chin. "Need an amplifier, then, do you?" He flapped his wings rapid fire and transformed back into a common pigeon, flying east.

A trace of fae glitter, perhaps some of their glamour, sparkled on Taina’s arms and hands, and she couldn’t wipe it off. As she walked, dark shadows surrounded by red auras crept out behind Ritual Rock and the other smaller boulders scattered about the park. The temperature dropped. Los Sangueros were coming out to play, and she’d missed curfew.

My Super Cool, Cool, and Not So Cool Experiences of 2011

Life is a journey, so they say. But this year has been an *&^(ing roller coaster ride, with more chills, thrills, and spills than the Brooklyn Cyclone experience of 2009.

Super Cool

Attending Taos Toolbox for two utterly idyllic, fantastic weeks from July 10-23, 2011.  

There I met very fine writers who I am privileged to be able to call on (and I have) to help out with emergency revisions and to keep me up do date on the all the best brands of beer and whiskey (in the greatest Western saloon tradition).

In addition, I can boast that I had several early morning chats with Nancy Kress over English muffins and coffee, and a discussion on my career goals with Walter Jon Williams in the hot tub.

Thanks to the advice I got and connections I made there, I recently published an article in Lightspeed about smart houses, robots and artificial intelligence and no longer have tachycardia when I see a message from John Joseph Adams. And Boulevard of Bad Spells of Broken Dreams is done and a partial submission is now being considered by a major West Coast agent.

Nope, doesn't get much better than that.

Cool (in no particular order):

One son graduated from high school and went away to college.

The other son is doing well in his music studies and I got to hear one of his "new music" compositions at a end of the year performance.

Published a "playbill" type article for the Washington Metropolitan Philharmonic Association's 360 project entitled Making the Music Dance: Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake Suite. 

I'm still dancing despite the arm injury (details in the not so cool list).


I was cast as Hannah Townsend Lawrence, a Victorian socialite, for the Bayside Historical Society's annual "ghost tour" of the Lawrence Cemetery. After my reading, upon touching Hannah's gravestone, the Paranormal States EMF meter recorded exceptionally high levels  of activity.  I perceived no restless spirits, so I guess she was pleased by my performance.

Just published "Breakwater Beach," a short story set in the same time and place as my Cape Cod paranormal romance series. I would LOVE some feedback from readers if they would like to read more about Mike and Liz (and Edward and Elisabeth) so I can let the agents know there is a ready-made audience.

Check Out Haunted: Ten Tales of Ghosts, edited by Rayne Hall.

I completed Astrology for Writers I and II with Mary O'Gara and can now read and interpret charts (at least for fictional characters). This spring I'll be starting Tarot for Writers. 

I've long been interested in natural healing, herbal, and homeopathic remedies. As a way to make lemonade out of lemons, I've consulted both a santera and two Chinese medicine specialists.

Santeria is a fascinating, mysterious practice that appears to have somewhat alleviated the root causes of my arm pain: stress and overwork. I've also experienced two acupuncture an energy healing/meditation sessions and am looking forward to more. 

Not So Cool

My Dad died in June after a long illness. I miss him so much.

College tuition payments, which require me to do tons of overtime, leading to aforementioned stress and overwork.

Two teenagers, who tax my brain, my heart, my soul, my pocketbook, and my patience to the breaking point.

Being a health care professional in the United States--and the triple whammy of being woman, in a women's profession, taking care of women.

Hurricanes, tornados, assorted floods and other manmade and natural disasters.   

The  combination of all of the above, which resulted in calcified tendonitis of my right shoulder which has morphed into fibromyalgia and chronic pain. Typing doesn't help, but voice recognition software doesn't like my pitch or Bronx accent.




Yes, life is a journey. But I will keep Going On Pointe for as long as I can.

Happy 2012.

Chat on Urban Fantasy and a Reading, November 21

Fellow Urban Fantasy author April Gray and I will be chatting with readers about the genre at the Columbus Library in New York City on November 21 from 5:45-6:45 pm. I plan to read from my novel in progress Boulevard of Bad Spells and Broken Dreams.



If you are in the area, please try and stop by. If not,  feel free to forward this to anyone you think might be interested.

Is There Life After Novels?

(Shells on the Beach, Southhampton, New York)

There are a lot of drains on my time and energy right now, including a painful shoulder injury and attendant doctor/physical therapy visits and medication related side effects, which, threatened to sideline my writing for a while.

The overuse injury is due in part to exercise and, since it's my right arm and the pain extends from shoulder to wrist, typing surely has something to contribute. I am a fitness and outdoor enthusiast, and a novel writing fanatic.

For the last two years, I've been focused on revising or writing novels and a novella and have a lot to show for it--besides the stupor, brain drain, and arm pain. I'm typing again, a bit slower and mousing with my left hand.

My Cape Cod paranormal romance series consists of two completed novels, Unfinished Business and The Widow's Walk, with the third (working title: Hurricane Watch) partially outlined.

Boulevard of Bad Spells and Broken Dreams: Void of Course, is the first of two, maybe three, urban fantasies. The plot of the second book, likely with the same title and a subtitle involving tarot (as opposed to astrology), is beginning to gel in my mind, my dreams, and my ruminations even before the finishing touches have been put on book one.

That's a total of 330,000 words written, plus the 20,000 I cut out of The Widow's Walk, and the 2500 for the first chapter of Hurricane Watch. In order to keep momentum going, I've had to work on all three over the last twenty-four months, sometimes two at a time, and when the worlds and characters are so different, that becomes a real struggle.

I strive for 1000 words a day, either new material or revisions, and sometimes succeed, though more often I will nod off over the keyboard after a measly 100 or a chapter of revision. Sometimes, I get no novel work done, and I've neglected my short stories, my nonfiction, my reviews, my blogs, and my reading with the result of a to do pile threatening to collapse my nightstand.

I have a new nonfiction gig but have to wait until the ink is dry on the contract before going public. And I'm still reviewing anthologies and collections for Tangent Online and The Portal, with a review of After the Apocalypse by Maureen McHugh due out in the next week or so.

What else have I been reading? Tom Wolfe's Bonfire of the Vanities, which is somewhat comparable to the setting of Boulevard, except for the fairies, vampires, and werewolves. And a book Nancy Kress recommended I take a look at: The French Lietenant's Woman by John Fowles, mainly to absorb the Victorian flavor. The interesting omni/intrusive narration and footnotes are a curious mix. Both good stories, though.

At this point, with summer done and fall weather here, the Cape characters and scenes are quiescent, with the manuscripts out with three agents.

But I'm so deep into research for Boulevard, having just completed a basic and advanced astrology course, reading backround material on Santeria and Voudoun, and field trips to botanicas and the Bronx County Courthouse that I dream in scenes and drive with a pencil and pad in hand, taking notes at red lights, recording ideas and inspirations, and trying to focus on reality.

It's been a great, productive summer--and the momentum after Taos Toolbox has been exponential--but the problem with intensive workshops is that when one returns to real life, which for many of us involves a full time job (with teenagers), that does not include fiction writing, not to mention a family (with teenagers) there is bound to be some shock and denial, which is probably why I'm in the physical condition I'm in now.

Is there life after novels? Was there life before them? What will I do when they're done, or will I ever be done?

Moving Along and Getting Back in Business

I have months of blog entries written, but haven't had the time or energy to post any of them. I'm numb and in a fog after being up, up, up for so long. I lapse into these moments where I see or remember some moment with Daddy and either burst into tears (very unlike me) or stare into space for an hour lost in thought. Here is one reminiscence, if you're interested. Going back to work helped me focus on something and my co-workers fed me tea, cookies, and strategically distributed hugs. OMG, Madeleines are just what you need for sinful, buttery comfort. While I've been silent, I have been working on keeping promises I made as well as getting ready for Taos Toolbox, which begins on July 10. Boulevard of Bad Spells and Broken Dreams is half way there. Thanks to the writing odyssey on the DSDB group I've got 50K words so far, and my early readers have been very encouraging. I am thrilled with the way it's turning out. Two agents I pitched at Fiction Fest have already asked to see it, but I will wait until the pros at TT weigh in. Today was day three of the Romance Writers of America National Convention in New York City. I have already met up with several friends for the luncheons and am looking forward to some drinks with Deborah Blake and other members of Creativity Cauldron tomorrow. I pitched Someday I'm Going to Write a Book: Diary of an Urban Missionary (I know its a romance writers convention but the agent with whom I was scheduled represents nonfiction and my paranormal romances are already under consideration with three agents from Connecticut Fiction Fest). Today's agent was very enthusiastic about it and I'll be sending out the proposal and first two chapters to her before I disappear into the mountains of New Mexico. Best of luck to OWW buddy Amy Raby who is a Golden Heart Finalist. I've read the opening of Assassin's Gambit, and it's wonderful. I'll be at the awards ceremony, Amy Check out my latest reviews: For Tangent Online: Tales From the Ur-Bar, edited by Benjamin Tate and Patricia Bray, which contains two stories on my Tangent Reviewer Recommended List (by Tregellis and Kessler). For The Portal: Strange Horizons, April and May, 2011, which is, as always, chock full of the odd and experimental tempered with a reprint by the incomparable, unclassifiable Carol Emshwiller. I promise to check in when I can.

Luna Con and Taos Toolbox

I am alive. The submission deadline for the DelRay Contest is 3/18.  I've been working nonstop on revisions of The Widow's Walk  I'm now more than half way through final edits and formatting. Big kisses to all those who've critiqued any of my chapters on OWW, and to Brent and Andrew, my RFDR's on critters.org, who have read the whole thing in record time.


It will be done, so help me God. But I haven't been doing anything else, except recovering from some nasty virus which knocked me out a couple weeks ago, then made a back handed swipe this week. I'm still coughing.

For those who don't follow my Facebook or LiveJournal (please do), I've been accepted to Taos Toolbox this summer. Am I excited at a chance to work with Walter Jon Williams, Nancy Kress, and Jack Skillingshead? You bet? My project will be my new urban fantasy: Boulevard of Bad Spells and Broken Dreams. Stay tuned for chapters on OWW and critters, as soon as I get The Widow's Walk launched

Time to celebrate, and relax. I hope to see some of you next weekend at LunaCon. Please let me know if you're going so we can meet up. Am I missing something? I can't find a program anywhere. My emails to volunteer went unanswered, and the program committed has yet to respond. Makes it a little hard to plan. Not that I've had any time for that.

What I'm Thankful For Today

Turkey in A Nest by Maya Virzi, class 3-204.

Happy Thanksgiving to all those celebrating. And for those who aren't, this traditional American holiday provides us Yanks an opportunity to focus on what we're thankful for rather than complain about what we don't have.

I'm really lucky. First off, I have my health and my family, without which nothing else matters. I have a job, a house, a wonderful husband, three happy, healthy kids, a big sloppy hound, and a sassy cat who sleeps on my feet every night. If you're interested there is more on the personal things, and an excerpt of Someday I'm Going to Write a Book: Diary of an Urban Missionary here.

Writing wise, I also have a lot to be thankful for. Progress along the path to publication, wonderful literary friends and partners on several groups and loops, and a bunch of editors who've been generous with advice, support, and venues for me to prove myself. Writers Eugie Foster, Michaela Roessner, Marta Randall, Mary Buckham, Margie Lawson, and Ana Maria Spagna who truly taught me everything I know about how to write and give me encouragement to keep going.

So to all my friends and followers, crit partners, group mates, soul mates I am thankful for YOU today. There are too many names to list here, but you know who you are.

If you've noticed my absence, well this month has been quite busy--and trying.

Please visit and "like"my writing and professional Facebook Fan Pages.

The Widow's Walk (paranormal romance novel/sequel) is almost done! Look for it on the newly expanded Critters and OWW soon. Anticiworkshoppers, no snitching about the first draft.

Boulevard of Bad Spells and Broken Dreams (first book in my urban fantasy series) is fully plotted, outlined, and research is completed.

My alter ego has completed final edits and marketing of the novella. Now it's time to enjoy the release party. Email me for an invite.

Reviews have been posted on Tangent Online and The Portal.

Submissions:

To Wordrunner E-chapbooks: Six excerpts of Someday I'm Going to Write a Book
To Alimentum: "Artichokes," a tribute to Grandma Clo, who died 11/18/99 leaving a big hole in my life--and my heart.

To agents:

Requested proposal for Someday I'm Going to Write a Book
Requested partial of Unfinished Business

And I'm very thankful that only one (so far) was a lovely, personalized rejection.

I'm Back!

I can't remember exactly when I fell into the black hole, but seem to recall it was sometime late last summer.

A victim of my own success, covering Worldcon and being away for eleven days last August, really set me back on writing activities. I had four nonfiction pieces come out between September and November, and a piece of fiction in January so my focus was on promotion and meeting deadlines for reviews and freelance assignments, not doing what I wanted to which was write some new fiction.

My job responsibilities and family demands and some bad stuff like dealing with my parents' health problems, have been a steady drain on my time and energy since last September.

It's taken me nearly a year to revise a paranormal novella and my novel Unfinished Business, and get the jump start the stalled process of selling them. I recently sent the full manuscripts for both to publishers that requested them (bites nails) and frankly, I'm very glad that I don't have to look at them for a while. The stories are solid, and I'm proud of them, but I need a change.

I've begun work on The Widow's Walk, a sequel to Unfinished Business, and since I know the characters so well, they're spilling their guts. I'm also doing some research to flesh out the plot of my urban fantasy Boulevard of Bad Spells and Broken Dreams, which I'm really excited about since it's so different than the paranormal romances.

I'm celebrating the five-year anniversary of my entrée into creative writing, and the four year anniversary of Specfictionfledglings, a Yahoo group formed by myself and several other workshop buddies. It's been such a delight to see folks who, like me, started at the beginning are now writing (and publishing) such diverse works as novels, short stories, graphic novels, and screenplays. Where else could I find people debating how and when bananas were cultivated in the Caribbean? How's that for fact checking?

And I can't be more thankful for groups like Professional Authors and its many spin-offs, all moderated by Rayne Hall, and the Anticiworkshop (born after Worldcon) where I've gotten super-solid help with all my works in progress. Special shout outs to Rayne and Barbara G. whose detailed critiques and background knowledge on a vast number of subjects helped immeasurably with both works. Oliver helped me sink the boat, and when Alice, who's a pro romance writer, says she likes something--wow, what a boost.

Right now, I'm shell shocked, wandering around the house looking for this big monkey that's been hanging on my back. It's going to take me some time to get back into the writing mode--but I'm really looking forward to it.

No reviews this month and my report on the Fantastic Fiction readings for June are at:

http://www.caroleannmoleti.com/forum.html#bn-forum-1-1-4113162193/6990

Coming soon:
A review of Alice Gaines newest novel Miss Foster's Folly--just released by Carina Press. I give it a five star rating for delicious, Victorian humor. Five flame warning for the less adventurous reader.