2 weeks!

Wow, so its two weeks until my release date, February 9th. Liquid Fire is my second full length novel and third published overall. It’s been a crazy ride to this point. I am in the process right now of planning and executing my book launch party.

Add into the stress of the book release the fact that I have started a new day to day job. It will only be part time but the training period of six weeks, is full time. I accepted the part time job, knowing that it would give me and my family security along with still giving me the time to be my usual creative self.

I am working on the sequel to Supernaturally Yours, and am loving the character development. I am learning so much more about Reta than I ever expected. That being said, don’t get too excited. I am still on the initial draft (and only about ¼ of the way through that) there is still plenty of work to go on it. I am tentatively calling it “Supernaturally Mine.” And I hope to have the initial draft done by the time the flowers bloom.

Back to Liquid Fire, I am working on this launch party. Which is like a celebration where I do a little reading from the new novel and answer questions, sign postcards and so on. Because Liquid Fire will be an Ebook only I’ve had a little trouble coming up with what to do at a book launch.
I will include a picture of what I finally came up with – the prototype if you will. I will change a few things when I continue with the production. Essentially what I am giving out, and signing, will be a preview. The first chapter of Liquid Fire, done up in booklet formula with a postcard on the front. I hope everyone will like them. I spent a lot of time creatively cursing at my computer as I tried desperately to get the formatting to work. Mr. Gloria had to come in and calm me a few times, but I digress. They are figured out. Now on to assembly…

Honestly I am pretty impressed with myself and how my little preview copy. Amazing what my ink jet, some card stock, staples and postcards can look like.

Besides that my life has been rushing by, never enough hours or energy. I am sure everyone can understand that feeling all too well. Things have been falling to the wayside. House cleaning for sure, meaningful conversation is another. Friendships have been neglected and for that I am sorry. I am fighting to find the time that I need. Luckily the full time schedule is half over and my life should return to a semblance of normal. Until then I soldier on.

A morose post, for a morose time.

As we approach the dreaded middle of January I find myself becoming more and more morose. January 16th is the anniversary of my Mom’s death. This January it will be twelve years. Everyone who has lost a parent will understand. If you don’t want to read a sad, reflective post perhaps you will want to skip this installment and come back next time.

Twelve years. A lifetime. I often reflect on what, on who my mom would be today. She would be fifty eight. How would those years have changed her? Would she still be the woman I remember? Or are my memories tainted by the pain of her death? I know how much I have changed in the years since her death and I recognize that she would have changed as well. As it is, she is frozen in time, unchangeable. Both the woman I remember and the woman she was at the time of her death.
She suffered so much as the cancer took her from us. Both physically and mentally. My mom was a voracious reader, unbelievably creative and a family woman to her core. As she got sicker she didn’t even read. She didn’t create anything. She faded. I wish I could say it was a slow passing, and in many ways it was. But it was only nine months from the moment we found out until she was gone. A drop in the bucket of time. A drop that seemed suspended in midair at the time.

Mom and I at her wedding in 1981

I wish I could say I said everything I wanted to say to her. That I told her I loved her. That I was at peace with her death. I can’t. I always held the belief that she would get better. That she would recover. Even when the doctors said she wouldn’t I still couldn’t believe it. I didn’t say the words. I held them back believing there would be time. It is a regret I have to live with.

She’s missed so much. Watching my kids grow into teenagers. My sibling’s weddings. The birth of their kids. She’s missed seeing me become an author. My sister become a bigwig at a bank. My brother move away. My other brother finally find the woman he was meant to be with. So much. A lifetime.

I know she’s still here and watching, but it isn’t the same.

Mom, my sister and I crammed in a photo booth in 1990 ish

So I’m going to share some of my good memories and hope that they are enough to stitch my heart together so that these tears that leak out of the holes inside me finally slow. I know I will always cry, always be sad, however I am getting to the point where I can move past the pain of her death and remember the good stuff. It’s a step. Small. But I’ll take it.

-Christmas baking. Mom loved to bake. We never had a lot of money growing up and she would bake up a storm for the month before Christmas making boxes of cookies for everyone. At the time I would roll my eyes and begrudgingly help, now I remember her with flour on her cheeks as she grinned and made yet another bar.

-Cleaning. We moved a lot growing up, but in every house we would crank up the old stereo (with a record player) and dance around singing Janis Joplin as we vacuumed or dusted.

-Roller coasters. Mom was deathly afraid of roller coasters. We, as a family went to Cedar Point Amusement park in Ohio. My grandparents, my dad, sister, brother, Mr. Gloria and myself drove down. We convinced mom to go on one roller coaster with us. She agreed, providing it had no loop de loops. We took her on the worlds (at the time) tallest roller coaster….I still have the picture of her face coming off that ride.

-Her creativity. Any craft or art thing my mom picked up she did beautifully. She decided to knit and effortlessly whipped out these beautiful sweaters with 3-d dragons on them. She decided to paint and painted with oils amazing pictures of dogs and landscapes that could have hung in a gallery. She decided to write and became a columnist for the local paper (I have all her columns and still read them when I need to feel close to her).

-Her ability to drink anyone I know under the table. She introduced me and my friends to the wonderful world of tequila poppers.

-Her love of her grandchildren and practical jokes. She taught my son to say ‘redrum’ in a creepy voice while wiggling his pointing finger. Of course she didn’t tell me about it. I found out when I woke up to my two year old kneeling on the bed croaking at me, a scene right out of the shining. Of course she laughed like a fiend when I told her about it. She also bribed my son until he referred to her as “Grandma Jenie Queen of the World. Master of all she surveys.”

-I married into a fairly traditional family. Or at least that is how they seemed to my dysfunctional, loud, freeform one at the time. So just before the wedding my mother in law asked my mom if she had picked out her mother of the bride outfit and that perhaps the two of them could co-ordinate their dresses. My mom deadpanned (and I remember her exact words) “I found this hot little number in purple sequins and ostrich feathers that I thought I would pick up for the shindig.” Needless to say my mother in law didn’t quite know how to respond.

-Lunch. After I moved back to town, once a week my mom and I had lunch. We always went to Sids (a local pub) and we would talk about everything. Sometimes friends joined us, but not always. Most of the time it was just her and I. I treasure those times with her.

-Kindergarten. My mom was a very young mother. She had my older brother at fifteen and me at sixteen and in the small town we were born in that was a big no no. I think most people would expect her to be a pushover. To let other, more experienced (aka older) people tell her what to think. Not so much. When I went to kindergarten, I came home crying every day from school and no matter what mom did she couldn’t get me to tell her what was wrong. Finally, months into the school year, I confessed that every day my teacher would tell me that my tongue was too big and that I would never talk right. Mom calmed me down and reassured me then made an appointment to speak with my teacher. She went into the classroom and didn’t pay attention as the teacher spoke. Instead she kept looking around at the walls, refusing to participate in the conversation until the teacher, exasperated asked her what it was that she was looking for. Mom answered, “I’m looking for your fucking medical degree to dare to tell my daughter she won’t ever talk right.” Needless to say the conversation went downhill from there. But on the upside, my teacher never said anything like that to me again.

-when I was thirteen Mom worked at a printing place. They were small time, making notepads and business cards and promotional materials for businesses. For Christmas that year she made me my own set of business cards. They said “Gloria Balfour (my maiden name) writer” Maybe she did know, at least in some hidden part of her what would happen for me.

Those are a sprinkling of the memories I hold close to my heart. A snapshot of the woman who made me what I am today, my Mom. Thank you for letting me blather on and remember her as she was. If your parents are still with you, hug them today. Tell them everything you ever wanted to but felt stupid saying. Don’t wait. For those of you, like me, who are missing a loved one know a virtual hug is coming to you from me in lieu of the parent who would put their arms around you if only they could.

Mom and I at my wedding in 1995

Uh oh, here comes the freak

I have been described as a little weird. Odd, just a touch off. My tastes are eclectic to say the least. Being able to quote most of The Princess Bride, paired with singing every word from the Buffy musical episode makes me different than the norm. I wear a Wookie jacket while I ride my electric blue scooter through town. I love zombies as much as I am fascinated by romance novels. I go to karaoke, but can’t talk in front of strangers. My bucket list contains living in a musical for a day and being on reality television. My musical playlist contains everything from old school jazz to Gwen Stefani to Adele to Nine Inch Nails. I read Anne McCaffrey, Jean M. Auel, Maya Banks, Stephen King, Phillip Pullman and Lorelei James equally - my tastes vary as often as my mood. If that makes me a weirdo, well then I’ll take it. I, as they say, let my freak flag fly.

For so many years I tried to fit into the mold that was pre-destined for me. Even as a teenager I tried to be like everyone else, I wore the right jeans and refused to admit that I didn’t like them. I listened to the top forty and gushed over Rick Astley (I know I am showing my age here but whatever). I had the prerequisite teen heart throb posters covering my walls. I thumbed my nose up at the freaks. Then I became a wife, and wore the perfect dress beside my equally conventionally dressed husband. I put away my ‘childish’ dreams and became an adult, or should I say an adult the way society says an adult should be. I set up house, popped out the two kids and got myself a dog. We bought a house and did everything the way we were supposed to. I had mom hair for god’s sake.

Then I guess it would have been when I was around thirty I changed. I don’t remember an epiphany, or a moment that the lightbulb went on. It just happened. Maybe in little ways. Tiny steps taken towards my authentic self. Tiny steps taken that I realized just how much I loved the unconventional. I was happier the more I moved towards the person I am today. Each step was like the shackles of the expected were removed from me. I learned how to be happy with who I am. To be the misfit I have always been but hidden from the world. I brought out my childish dreams and ambitions and dusted them off.

I was labelled, I have always been labelled. From lower class child (my goodwill clothes put me firmly in that place), to preppy teenager, to mom, wife, adult. I allowed these labels to shape me, I became what the label said I had to be. But you know what? That’s bullshit. That’s right, I said it. The only place labels should offer directions are on your clothes. They shouldn’t define who I am, what I can do, who I can be. Who I should be, what I should like. Screw that. Labels are always going to exist, we as a society need to accept that. What we don’t have to accept is what those labels mean. Being a mother doesn’t mean I can’t have pink hair and tattoos. Being a wife doesn’t mean I have to like loafers and have inane small talk about cooking and what cleaning products work best. I can have all the labels in the world, but I don’t have to let them define who I am. I can still be me, within the labels.

Today I want everyone to accept what they really like. If you like top forty then so be it. If you are an anime loving guy who wants to cosplay, do it. If you are more of a country music twangy shit-kicker wearing girl – own it! Be your authentic self, don’t let anyone tell you what you should like, who you should be. Be you. That’s the most important thing, learning to like ourselves and accept who we need to be. I hid from myself for so long that I almost didn’t recognize the real me when she finally surfaced. Don’t let that happen to you, be the person you want. Dream the dreams you want and don’t ever let anyone tell you they shouldn’t be your dreams. You can be the person you were always meant to be.

I am me. Freak for sure and loving every minute. Now if you’ll excuse me I feel a marathon of Firefly coming on.

New Year?

It's January 2nd. It's a new year. 2016 says hello while 2015 waves its final goodbyes. I've spent my day reading - mostly blog posts and facebook posts. Everyone is all inspirational about what they have planned and what they will change from last year. There were a few sad posts about what went wrong last year as well.

And then there's me...sitting over in the corner just hoping I remember to put on pants everyday in 2016. It's not that I don't feel all emotional (both up and down) about last year or that I am not looking forward to this new year. It's more that I don't feel like writing an obituary over last year. What happened - happened. And I don't want to write a wish list for the next twelve months. What will happen - will happen.

I've never been a resolution maker. I am by definition a planner. A slightly obsessive, excessive thinker, who plans out EVERYTHING. I have to do lists coming out the wazoo. Resolutions to me seem like wishes. What we hope for, rather than what we plan to do. Trust me, I have tried the resolution thing but it seems as soon as I put the title 'resolution' on anything the rebel in me screams "I don't have to do everything you say!" And refuses to co-operate. So I've spent the last year meticulously planning out my year. In a reachable, orderly fashion. Not just throwing thoughts out on the wind and hoping for the best.

That being said I know there is much to do, much to dream about and wish for, I just won't put it down in words like 'resolution'.

I spent my new years eve surrounded by friends, laughing and singing objectionable karaoke like fools. Then the first day of 2016 was spent in bed trying to recover from an unrelated migraine. Once I managed to medicate myself enough to drag my sorry butt out of bed, my family and I followed our tradition of staying in our pjs and watching action movies all day. This year we didn't blow up the air mattresses but we did cuddle under blankets and laugh and talk. It was a good day.

I sincerely hope that everyone out there in the wonderful world of cyberland (Rent reference anyone?) had a great new years eve and that their plans for 2016 come to full fruition.

Post holiday ramblings

The holiday season is almost over and I am still feeling overwhelmed. I’ve done the family get togethers and the parties with friends, the travelling, the shopping, opening ond oohing over gifts. Now this week it’s catch up time. I have dentist appointments, hair appointments, cleaning, planning our vacation, new years eve parties and work to do as well as preparing for my new job that starts next week. I look at my to do list and wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. The kids and hubby are off school and work and running around underfoot making noises and generally being themselves. Which normally I love, but it isn’t very conducive to writing time. I guess I need to become Dory and “just keep swimming.” One step after another. What gets done will get done.

Add into the holiday rush the grief that inevitably comes around this time of year. Forcing a smile when those you are missing aren’t here can be the hardest thing. I’ve lost so many relatives, so many who I can’t see any longer. I still find myself turning to say something to them. Or thinking I should call them. Or wishing they were here to see this, or that. Those emotions aren’t fleeting, they are there every moment of every day, but they seem more intense around this time of year. It makes focusing on the here and now very difficult. Is there a solution for this? A cure for grief? I don’t believe so, but I think we need to take those feelings in and let them go again. If not for our own sanity than for the sake of those around us. We need to feel them, but not dwell. And in the thread of not dwelling I will move on…

I’ve just signed up for my first ever blog tour, for Liquid Fire. Beginning February 10th and running until the 24th. Don’t ask me what that means, I’m not quite sure yet. I am sure I will figure it out though. It’s getting pretty damn exciting, I can’t wait until everyone can read Lee’s story. She’s quite the character – a strong woman who has run into some bad luck along with being thrown into a world she knows nothing about. Lee is the epitome of todays woman, unwilling to take any crap from anyone, confident in herself and unwilling to let anyone tell her what she should be. Add into that a potty mouth and a heart of gold and we have a character that we can all relate to.

The one thing I’ve been thinking a lot about lately is my “tribe”. The word has been bandied about in all sorts of meme’s and on facebook recently. A tribe, for those disconnected from the google, is the group of people one chooses to surround themselves with. I love my tribe. It consists of both friends and family.

The friends I have are creative, supportive and wonderfully delightful to have conversations with. We have gone from drinking buddies (with many nights at bars dancing and laughing) to having breakfast and coffee dates. I refuse to think of it as getting old. We have changed our circumstances and the way we socialize with one another, but a true friend can be there in the quiet moments as well as the loud obnoxious ones. I am one of the lucky ones, being over forty and still having a wide social group of friends is a blessing. The friends I write about are similar to the ones I have in real life. The conversations they have and the way they get along are very much evident in my everyday life.

The family part is a little more complicated. I love my family, and while I may not have chosen them I enjoy the time I spend with them. It’s very different from the relationships I have with my friends. We joke around, usually at each other’s expense. Making fun of ourselves is a great past time that prevents any of us from getting too big of a head. We are all very different, but it’s like pieces of a puzzle. While each piece is unique they all fit together to create a whole picture.

Mr. Gloria, is the biggest part of my tribe. With him, as with no one else I can be myself. He accepts me, he makes fun of me, he drives me and inspires me. He is my other half.

Thing one and Thing two, are also becoming more and more a part of my tribe. I am incredibly proud of how they turned out, the people they have become. We’ve raised people that we want to be around and there is nothing more perfect than that.

Have you thought about your tribe and what it means to you? How do you define your tribe?

Ho Ho Ho!

It’s Boxing Day and I am sitting wrapped up in my onesie with a tea, fingers traipsing across the keyboard as I continue to work away. I’ve taken a little break from my current WIP (work in progress) to post a little update. And maybe to ramble a bit (I have been known to do that once in a while).

First things first the update, I got my new artwork for the cover of Liquid Fire (Yaah!) And here it is:

I thought I’d share the blurb for Liquid Fire as well, just so everyone knows what it is about:

Liquid Fire
Everyone remembers their childhood as being magical, Lee just found out hers really was.
After suffering a run of bad luck, Lee wants nothing more than to lick the wounds of her past and bury herself away from reality, but she discovers a world of magic, a history she never realized existed. Her destined elementals are being held against their will and the only way to find them is to align with the incredibly delectable, unbelievably stubborn Jeremy. They wind down pathways that will take their undeniable chemistry even higher as they move closer to the sinister plot that has stolen her birthright. Together they will find the villain and learn that sometimes fire and water can mix with steamy, hot results.
A spark of flame glows, A sprinkle of rain slows….

Woohoo. I am thrilled with the cover art, Cora, my cover designer did a fantabulous job capturing the spirit of both Lee and Jeremy as well as the overall feel of the book. Liquid Fire’s release date is February 9th 2016, and is available for preorder now. If you preorder from Amazon, you can get a great deal (sale ends on release date so I would definitely recommend preordering it and saving some $$$ or if you really like me you could order more than one copy at the sale price still save some money and help me out in the process.) Here’s the link to my publishers website where you can click on your preferred link to buy as well as read an excerpt.
http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Bishop_GloriaC/liquid-fire.htm

So besides fighting through the edits and excitement of new book artwork and release dates, I’ve been quite busy. (I did some crafting for Christmas gifts and a reduced version of my usual Christmas baking – I only made 55 dozen cookies this year instead of the usual 120 dozen, I’ve been keeping busy.

After my great talk and reading with the local paranormal book club my muse decided to whack me upside the head with the next book in that series. So I’ve been furiously typing away at Reta’s story. If you read Supernaturally Yours you will remember Reta. She was Nathan’s partner at the Enforcement agency and a werewolf. So far she’s been a lot of fun to write, more than I thought, she has hidden depths that one wouldn’t have expected.

I’ve also just finished up writing what I’ve tentatively titled ‘Three times the Charm’ a novel for the Wiccan Haus series, by Dominique Eastwick. I finished up with the beta readers and all the initial edits and sent that one off to the publishers. Now fingers are crossed with that one as I wait to hear back.

The Christmas celebrations start for me on Xmas eve night. My baby sister and her hubby, along with my bio dad come over for dinner. We had a spread that was way too much food for the seven of us. My brother in law finally got to immigrate to Canada so it was his first Christmas here in something like four years so it was great to have him back. We laughed like hyenas as we played cards against humanity. If you haven’t heard of the game yet, look it up. It is a migraine inducing, laughing all night horrible game for horrible people. And we loved it.

Yesterday I got to spend Christmas with my family, Mr. Gloria, thing one and thing two and I spent the morning together just chilling. Them being teenagers definitely puts a different spin on what Christmas morning looks like. It was more relaxed (hell we slept in until after nine) but the excitement was definitely there. I love seeing their faces filled with joy and happiness. There were no fights no arguments and it was wonderful. Spike (my Cockapoo) even loved his gift. In the afternoon we went to my sister’s madhouse. She has three little ones ranging in age from eight to two, and my brother and his wife brought the newest addition a beautiful little girl who is four months old. Add in my clan and my dad and we have a loud, rambunctious bunch. Dinner was tasty and fun. We laughed and opened gifts and had an ear splittingly, thunderous good time.

After dinner we came home and concluded our celebrations with the annual viewing of Die Hard, the best Christmas movie in existence. Today we head up to Mr. Gloria’s family for the celebrations there. Whew. I get tired just thinking about all the running. I love it though. I love seeing family and friends and catching up.

I sincerely hope that everyone out there had time to spend with those closest to them and took a moment to look up at the sky and be thankful for what we do have. Tomorrow is soon enough to think about what we don’t have or what is missing, for now focus on the good. Focus on the here and now. Love the tribe you surround yourself with and enjoy them and the little moments. They are what counts in the end.

I am a lucky woman.

I’ve come to a realization. I’m a lucky woman. I know it sounds weird to say out loud or think, but it is true. And what you may ask brought this epiphany to me? Pillows. That’s right. Pillows. Last night I crawled into bed incredibly late, back sore from hunching over the computer editing, and way later than I would have liked. As I crawled in I looked at the pillows on our bed, there are 6. (I know that’s a lot of pillows – but we do have a king sized bed and haven’t upgraded to king sized pillows yet) Anyhoo as I studied the pillows I realized there were 5 pillows on my side of the bed and only 1 on my hubby’s. He took the flattest pillow for himself and left the rest on my side so that I could be comfortable. Damn that man. I almost teared up. Over some god forsaken pillows. I’m not normally an overly emotional person (I have been called an emotional mute for my inability to cry at chick flicks) but this did it for me. I was standing there in the dark, looking at the pillows on my bed and that’s the moment I saw what a good man I had.

At my writers group earlier in the night we spoke about how different things would be without the support of our partners. What their negativity can do and how it affects us. Don’t get me wrong constructive criticism is one thing, and it is needed but support through those assessments is so important. We also discussed the creative brain and how it works differently from other mind sets. With artist brain we can so easily become lost in our own imagined failings and see them as indicators that we aren’t good enough. Or that we can’t be the person we want to be. I guess we are more sensitive, more prone to doubts. When we look a piece we’ve created, or written, we see the flaws. The errors, and forget to see the overall piece, the beauty. Sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes, that self-doubt can snowball into a pervasive feeling of failure. A lack of faith.

Believing in yourself is the most important thing, it took me a long time to realize that, but having someone support you unconditionally can help you to get to the point where your faith in yourself is where it needs to be. Mr. Gloria taught me about confidence and shored me up when I didn’t have it in myself. Together we make a pretty darn good team.

So, looking at the pillows got me to thinking, never a good thing at three in the morning let me tell you. But my brain, as always will do what it wants with little input from me. So I started thinking about all the little things Mr. Gloria does for me. He leaves a light on in the bedroom when he goes to sleep so that I don’t trip when I come to bed. He hugs me every day. Every single day. If I am gone somewhere overnight, he calls me just to say he misses me. When I get my migraines, he rubs my head and gets me ice packs and water, sitting with me to offer comfort. He’s worked at his job for the last twenty years. Not a job he hates by any means, but not his dream job that’s for sure. He works there day in and day out and tells me to live my dream. Stay home and write. He encourages me, and he supports me in all of my crazy schemes (except for crafting too much – he does put down his foot when my craft supplies start to take over the house) and he loves the cray cray artist that resides in me. He believed in me, when I didn’t believe in myself. And so many other things that writing them all down would be an impossible endeavor. Added to all that is the fact that he’s still the sexiest man I ever wanna see at the end of the day and we have magic together. We still laugh and talk and genuinely like each other.

So while I absolutely hate it when people tell me that “I lucked out” with my husband, children, career any of that; because to me, it’s not luck. I picked a great guy. I raised my kids to be great. And I worked really hard for my career. That’s not luck. That’s hard work and dedication and generally making the right choices. HOWEVER, last night I really looked at him and thought DAMN, I’m one lucky girl. Because not only did I make the right choice, I am also lucky.

In case anyone is feeling really bad I will say that he snores like a truck and purges lots of things that aren’t his just because he thinks we don’t need them anymore (like my makeup, and loaf pans, and a new deep fryer). He’s not perfect, but I’m lucky to call him, mine.

Now that I’ve made everyone uncomfortable with my love letter to my husband I will stop.

What does your significant other / family / friends do to let you know you’re special? Those in our lives are trying to show us with little, seemingly insignificant things that they love us, usually they tend to be tiny things that we won’t pay attention to, like the number of pillows on your side of the bed. Pay attention, I’m sure you’ll find them.

So anyone have any good ones? I’d love to hear them, maybe you could help melt my cold cold heart and allow this emotional mute to open up and cry.