Well, not the last post -- but the last post at Livejournal (unless there's a way to feed new posts into this old blog, and in that case, yay!). I know I'm paranoid, but given the behind-the-scenes rumbles about this blogging platform (perhaps, maybe, having future trouble), I decided not to wait and see, but just jump now. I love Livejournal! I'll miss it! Oh, my icons! But I hope you all don't mind changing your links a little, and following me over to the new blog. Here's the address: http://marjoriemliu.com/index.php?/blog/

I look forward to seeing you guys over there. Don't leave me lonely!

If a person stumbled upon a rifle or handgun that hadn't been used in twenty years, would that weapon still function -- and if so, would it need some kind of internal cleaning? What would be the risks of using a weapon that old, if any?

And yes, this is for a story.

I'm learning more about that basement than I ever wanted to. Things live down there! But what did I expect? Things live in the attic, too! I'm surrounded by an army of small furred creatures (not including cats, poodles, etc) who seem to think they own this place. And they do! I feel like chopped liver.

Here, this is relaxing. Just One More Book is a podcast for children's books, and it really is delightful. Check out their discussion of Cynthia Rylant's Snow.

"The difference between fiction and reality is that fiction has to make sense." ~ Tom Clancy

Right. The bathtub faucet started running uncontrollably today, mere moments after I had a conversation about when the water might be turned on at the new house.

Anywhere else, that would not be a big deal, but this old house (which might be feeling peckish because it's soon to be abandoned for the new one up the hill) is about one hundred years old, and that tub stopped draining properly about a year ago. Plus, water tends to run on its own, here and there, in that bathroom. I blame the cats. Or a ghost. Never been a problem before.

But this time the water was gushing uncontrollably. The water was not draining. And when I merely grazed the faucet with my hand, it popped off the wall.

I turned off the water for the entire house (and let me tell you, there's a reason I never go into the basement), went to hardware store to buy a cap for the newly exposed pipe, but when I got home I realized there's a plastic sheath around the darn thing that was probably glued on fifty years ago. Couldn't get it off. Made the pipe too large for the cap. Hardware store closed.

Water still not turned on. Hoping this is not evidence that the pipes froze. Any advice? (Yes, I should call a plumber. And I will.)

On top of that, the street light has gone out, casting the entire front yard in absolute darkness. Walking the dogs felt like a scene from a horror movie with some stereotypical naive chick in her pajamas mumbling to her poodle while a werewolf hunches behind a tree. Rar!

Taking a short break to rest my brain cells. Aliens is on. Attic creature is stirring for the first time in weeks. Ate some nice greasy pork chops and I'm feeling good.

My schedule is coming together for Comic Con. So far I've got two signings and a panel, but there could be more. Stay tuned. I won't be going to the Romantic Times conference as I had originally planned. I had to make some hard choices about travel this year -- and New York won. I'm so sorry I won't get a chance to see some of you at the literacy signing.

Here, check this out: I've been following LeVar Burton on Twitter. I love him. I watched Reading Rainbow as much as I could when I was growing up, and I dare anyone to find a sweeter, more wonderful show for children. I rank it right up there with Sesame Street. So look at this!


Reading Rainbow was cancelled in 2006 (after first airing in 1983), and at some point they had updated the theme song to something I guess they thought would better fit the sensibilities of "today's children". Whatever. It's the same song, but faster, and with more special effects. It's not as sweet as the old version. But then, I'm an old fogie.

I am a galley slave to pen and ink.
~ Honore de Balzac

Still in the trenches. Crazy day. I want chocolate. It is snowing, and I want chocolate. I want these words to flow, and chocolate will make it better. And if the words do flow and I finish what I am meant to, tonight, then I will get my chocolate. Or maybe sweet potatoes. Or cake. Food would be nice.

Which reminds me that I forgot to eat supper. Darn!

"There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium, and (it) will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly-- to keep the channel open." ~ Martha Graham

Quick blog tonight, as I'm deep in the trenches. Keep the channel open, people! If you've got a story burning inside you, don't hold it in.

John DeFrancis passed away. Many of you may not know who he was, but if you've ever studied the Chinese language, even a little, then chances are you owe a great deal to Professor DeFrancis: adventurer, linguist, and philanthropist. Here is his obituary, and one of his articles: Prospects for Chinese Writing Reform (really, this is fascinating). Below is an old interview with the professor, which is loaded with so much more history and turmoil than what that brief discussion indicates. Agree or disagree with his methods and ideas, he was a good, strong, and brilliant man.

Congratulations to cranberrysoda! Send me your contact info, and I'll get those books mailed out to you.

What a great week. I love my readers -- for a variety of reasons -- but today, I love you all because you have such rockin' taste in comfort reads (which, of course, is highly individual, though I found myself nodding along with all your suggestions, from Anne of Green Gables to Anne McCaffery, and oh so many others).

I think there must be a secret language between readers who love the same books. All you have to do is say a title or a name, and it's like a coded handshake that no one else who hasn't read -- or loved -- those books will ever understand. So if I say that I adore Meredith Ann Pierce and the Darkangel Trilogy, someone out there will know what I'm talking about, without being told -- and if I tell you that I wish Pat Zettner had written more than one book, a sequel to The Shadow Warrior, someone else will understand why. Maybe not more than a handful of someones -- but one would be enough.

So, anyway. I'm going to snuggle in for the night, have a nice supper, write some words, and watch the series ::sob:: finale of Stargate Atlantis. McKay! Sheppard! Teyla! Ronin! I don't care if you are getting movies! I'll miss you all!

Congrats to wendyb_09 for winning the Robin Hood gift set! Email me at marjoriemliu@gowebway.com, and I'll get that out to you.

There was an article in the NY Times the other day, called I Wish I Could Read Like a Girl. I have several small problems with the piece (the title being one of them -- and not out of a sense of political correctness), but she does make some interesting statements, like this:

"I miss the days when I felt that way, curled up in a corner and able to get lost in pretty much any plot. I loved stories indiscriminately, because each revealed the world in a way I had never considered before. The effect was so profound that I can still remember vividly the experiences of reading “Little Women”...[a]nd a thousand others. After each, I would emerge a changed person."

I'm sure there are boys who find themselves just as easily immersed in books -- but that's a pretty excellent summary of how I feel about reading: the delight and mystery; a peculiar reincarnation for the mind, where you remain you, but live again and again, in different lives and adventures.

So, here we have another drawing, my friends -- a small sampling of books, new and old, that have taken me away; and that I hope do the same for you: FRECKLES by Gene Stratton Porter, THE WITCH OF BLACKBIRD POND by Elizabeth George Speare, INTO THE WILDERNESS by Sara Donati, INTERRED WITH THEIR BONES by Jennifer Lee Carrell, THE MAGICIANS AND MRS. QUENT by Galen Beckett, and FORESTS OF THE HEART by Charles de Lint.

Share the books you love, or just leave your name to be entered in the drawing. I'll pick the name from the hat on Friday.

PS: I forgot to mention that NYX #5 is on sale today!

Congratulations to Mishel (creativitygone.blogspot.com/) for winning downloads of the audio books! Email me at marjoriemliu@gowebway.com, and I'll get you settled.

***

New release day here at the blog, but not for me (well, that's not entirely true -- WILD THING, which was previously released in trade paperback, is hitting the shelves in mass paperback format, starting tomorrow).

One book that I've been anticipating is Lynn Viehl's STAY THE NIGHT, the seventh in her Darkyn series -- and this time around, finally, Robin of Locksley gets the spotlight. I still haven't received my copy yet, but when it does arrive I'll be locking myself away in a small dark cave with a flashlight, snacks, and bottled water. Because, not only do I love the Darkyn series, I also just love Robin Hood -- in any incarnation (except the BBC version...sorry).

So, to celebrate the release of STAY THE NIGHT (and Robin 'foxy' Hood), I'm giving away the Robin Hood gift set: Lynn Viehl's STAY THE NIGHT, along with Robin McKinley's OUTLAWS OF SHERWOOD, Jennifer Roberson's LADY OF THE FOREST and LADY OF SHERWOOD, Stephen R. Lawhead's HOOD, and a dvd of THE ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD (starring Errol Flynn). Of course, if you prefer Kevin Costner's Robin Hood, or the Disney animated version (or the one with Cary Elwes or Patrick Bergin & Uma Thurman), I will happily exchange the movie choice.

To enter the drawing, name some characters out of myth and legend that you geek out over -- or just throw your name in. I'll draw the lucky winner on Wednesday.

So much for resolutions. Like, blogging everyday.

I have this old post from PBW bookmarked -- oh, and this one, too -- about making a business plan, organizing your time. Basically, staying on target.

My own organizational skills are notoriously bad. Dreadful. Pathetic. Crummy. Maybe sad. I do, however, have a yearly planner, because there's too much going on not to make an effort. I make a list of all the things I have to write for the year, and then go through and mark the dates. I'm good at marking dates and making lists. I love lists! So much fun. I feel very productive. Especially when I get to cross something off. Give me a gold star for effort, baby.

Seriously, though -- I need whatever structure I can give myself. I write a lot. I write novels, novellas, and comic books. 2009 will have a lot of releases, some of which I can't talk about yet. I have to stay on my game. Keep my eye on those bright stars. The brightest of them, of course, being my family and friends.

So, to celebrate the New Year (and, hopefully, 12 months of prodigious organization and output), I'll be giving away some things over the next couple days. Starting off with an iTunes download of both THE IRON HUNT and A TASTE OF CRIMSON -- the audio books. I've listened to them both (well, excerpts, because it's a bit odd to hear my words read out loud) and I promise they won't make your ears bleed.

Just share one of your wishes for the upcoming year, or if you don't feel comfortable with that, leave your name. I'll pull a name out of a hat on Monday night. I'm limiting this to iTunes only, so my apologies if this excludes you.

(PS: Here's something: Around twenty-five years ago (give or take), I lived around Wallingford/Swarthmore, PA - and took piano lessons from a woman named Toby Blumenthal. She was so nice, and such a wonderful teacher. I wish now that I had kept up with the music, but that's another story. Point is, she's still doing beautiful things.)

Time is the substance from which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along, but I am the river;
it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger;
it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire.
- Jorge Louis Borges

New Year's Eve tomorrow, and I'm contemplating the end of the year, the end of a comic book script, and the end of a novel, all of which require the tying up of loose ends, while leaving the promise of more adventures yet to come. In stories, there's never really a final moment -- I mean, there is; a last line, a last page -- but for the writer, the reader, the possibilities continue; and if the story and the characters are particularly strong, then the urgency of what you want to come next takes on a life of its own. Like real life, in general.

I'm rambling, I know. Of course, here's something else: I applied to the Air Force JAG Corp after law school, contemplating a future as both an attorney and a military officer. Basic training, deployment, the whole nine yards. I thought about the FBI too -- though for reasons that aren't clear to me now, I never did apply there. Obviously, I wasn't hired. Just as obviously, if I had been, I wouldn't be writing books for a living. I would be writing, I know that, but not like this. Maybe not ever like this.

So. I like fate. I like chance, and luck, and the occasional, remarkable, outcome.

And I wish you an abundance of all those things -- the very best of destiny -- in this upcoming year.

Yes, the cat loves musicals; tonight, Hairspray. Next thing you know, he'll be packing his bags for Broadway (there is a cat in those pictures...look for the ears).

Picking out paint colors for my new studio, and am discovering that I'm a terrible creature of habit: I work now in a lavender/periwinkle room, and am being drawn to the same, again; but only darker. Cool colors soothe me. Walls and towers of books feel safe. Cluttered desks and rag rugs, random bits of art and rock -- other odds and ends -- seem endlessly warm and full of order. I prefer natural light, and at night work with no light at all, or only one lamp; enough for atmosphere. Music varies. A cup of tea or hot chocolate keeps the engine rumbling. I sit and stare a lot. And soon I'll be bringing my old antique swiveling chair out of storage; the one I wrote Tiger Eye in.

Writers, what about you? Readers, where are your favorite spaces to curl and dream with books?

So, if you've read THE WILD ROAD, you might possibly remember that the latter half of the novel takes place in Indiana, at the West Baden Springs Hotel. Quite a few people have asked if this place truly exists -- and indeed, it does; remarkably so. I remember visiting before it was renovated, and there was (and still is) a mythic quality to the place, something I can't quite define, but that makes you feel as though there are ghost stories in the walls.

I was there today, taking another look at the Christmas decorations, and snapped some photos.









Incidentally, it seems that Shanghai real estate developer might be tearing down the rest of the historic site -- despite promises to the contrary. Oh, man. That hurts. It's impossible to convey just how special that place was.

Back in June I blogged about Shanghai Film Studio, and mentioned then that a real estate developer was planning on tearing down the historic site to build yet another office building. Well, these pictures were just sent to me from Shanghai. And honestly, I'm so saddened. What a lovely place that was, and such history! I think Joan Chen made movies there, and Gong Li and Zhang Yimou (along with many other talented individuals). I was told that an old dorm for nuns, still on the property, is being preserved -- but nothing else.

Here's what it looks like now:

Had a wonderful, relaxing Christmas -- and now three nights of sleep. Blissful, lovely, sleep. I can honestly say that for the two weeks preceding, I hardly got any shut-eye. Too much work. But, you know, weird things start happening when you stay up too long. In my case, I began writing dreams into my books. Literally.

This has happened before. I'll be up, pushing myself -- half-falling asleep as I write -- and as I doze and work at the same time (like a person drifting off at the wheel), I begin to dream.

It's a desperate kind of dreaming, as though my brain is so starved for REM sleep, it snatches it when it can. And yet, there's another part of me that is still typing away. So as this is going on, I unconsciously place lines from those brief dreams into whatever story I'm working on. And I don't realize it until later, when I'm rereading.

Here's one section where that happened recently (and please forgive the unedited awkward phrasing):

"She was no expert in kissing, having only experienced the sensation in her dream of the night before, but even that had been much better than this pressing of lips, which most certainly served a purpose beyond preparing one’s soul for the afterlife."

I was lucky. I reread that section soon after it was written, and was alert enough at that point to go, "Huh?" In a way, the underlined sentence makes an odd sense, but it doesn't fit the context of the story. Of course, it just so happened that I remembered the dream I was having in that moment. It was the pulpit scene in Footloose.

Dudes, whatever. My brain has a mind of its own. So to speak.

***

This is adorable! Doggie Shoplifter!

Also, though it might seem odd to some, I find this one of the most uplifting essays on life that I've read in quite some time: Oliver Morton's Not-So-Lonely Planet.

Finally, a little known fact: I LOVE TOM JONES. It's not the kind of love that would compel me to throw my panties at him while he's on stage in Las Vegas at the MGM (which he was, years ago, looking superfine and sounding even better than some ditzy recording can reproduce) but my appreciation is nonetheless strong and mighty.

"My idea of Christmas, whether old-fashioned or modern, is very simple: loving others. Come to think of it, why do we have to wait for Christmas to do that?"

~ Bob Hope, American film actor and comedian.