Miss me? I miss blogging, too, and I need to do a follow-up about the Pennwriters Conference. Let’s just say that each year I go, I have an entirely different experience. So far, it’s all been good, even if it hasn’t been what I was expecting/hoping for.

Anyway, the real reason you miss me isn’t the conference. It’s that the hurricane that is West of Mars Editing has blown back up into a Stage 3 storm. Maybe it’s Stage 4; being able to tell involves lifting my head out of my current project (another good one!) and taking a good, hard look around. I’m too busy to do that, with manuscripts lined up and my awesome clients waiting patiently for me to work my fingers to the bone.

With every day that passes, I love what I do even more. I paid a high price for this career, but I don’t regret it. If anything, I wish I’d been able to do it sooner.

I hope to be back with regular stuff here soon — I have at least two Featured New Books to bring you, and one Rock Fiction review, too. In the meantime, know that I’m working to bring you guys some great reads. And yes, I’m being a good nag and staying on Teen Boy to bring you more of what he’s reading. He’s got drafts saved. He just needs to finish them up. He’s got that end-of-the-school-year funk. Or something. I do know he’s not nearly as busy as me.

In the meantime, keep me in your reader (I’ve switched to Feedly. It’s … different), keep buying the books of the Trevolution (did I mention I’ve been writing more again? Well, I am!), and keep telling your friends about the Featured New Book spotlight and about what an awesome editor I am.

Even if it means less regular blogging, at least you know I’m loving life.

It’s been a long time — years — since I last attended a writer’s conference. In that time, I’ve done scarcely anything that’s been writerly in or around the Pittsburgh area. It’s been rough. I’ve missed it.

I think.

This morning, as soon as I put The Girl Band on the bus, I’m headed down to the Pennwriters Conference. I’ve been volunteering and helping out… I have to say, it was way more fun when I did it two years ago. I had more time, fewer obligations, and no editing clients who simply have to come first.

I think this is a great organization, but I have to take a step back and evaluate. Although I have six books out, they won’t consider me published. Although I volunteered to lead a few panels — including one all about reviewing, including how to respond to negative reviews, how to solicit reviews, where to look, and why you should/shouldn’t pay for a review, something I’ve never seen offered at ANY conference — my offer was lost. When I brought it up to the very person I’m volunteering my time for, she said if something opened, she’d be glad to plug me in.

You know where this is headed. Someone was needed to fill a Sunday morning spot.

It’s not me.

In fact, I am not even planning on being on-site Sunday. After the book signing on Saturday, I am going to pack up my books — I don’t expect any to sell and, being that horror show called self-published, I have to schlep my own books to/from the signing — and call it done. Smile through dinner with the local group who is smart enough to value and like me.

For me and Pennwriters, it’s going to come down to how the weekend goes. There are very few, if any, panels I’m interested in taking. I don’t need to learn how to self-edit. I don’t need social media for beginners, which has been taught at every conference since at least 2010. I don’t need to learn how to pitch to literary agents, or what happens after my book sells. That’s not my path. And lunch today? The choices are the hot buffet luncheon for the published group who won’t consider me published or the more expensive cold cuts in a box (at least, that’s what it was two years ago) with a talk given by someone who was less than gracious (to say the least; my group of friends has banned me from ever inviting anyone to our group dinner ever again, based on how he acted) about … how to find a literary agent.

Needless to say, I am planning on heading out of the hotel and up to a local beer joint that makes great fries. Maybe, if I find a friend who feels as I do, I’ll stay and eat in the hotel restaurant. But really, Bocktown’s not far, and I haven’t been there in years, either.

Two and three years ago (there are three links there), things were very different for me. The exact opposite of how I’m feeling now.

But the industry has hung a sharp left since then. My life has gone even more sharply in other directions (hello, editing business!). And maybe it’s time to find — or create — a group where I’m not the round peg in the square hole, filling pretty well but not quite.

I don’t know. This weekend will tell.

You might have seen mention of it on Facebook, although the mention was made in the comments on one of my groups.

But if not, here’s how last week ended. Life as a kitty foster mom sometimes takes unexpected twists and turns.

After five months, I had to say goodbye to the world’s coolest cat, Geronimo. Stop in at the Animal Friends blog and read about the farewell.

And get ready for more… there are three kittens in the foster room!

So I had a fabulous idea. Let’s celebrate Record Store Day.

Lots of my author friends were willing to chip in and have fun with me.

But… man, I need a promotions person over here. Not only have I been slammed with editing work, I’ve gotten Demo Tapes 4 up and running (go get a copy!), but I’m getting ready to do a big website overhaul and… I get word that my iconic S avatar is too old, and the original files too lost.

So now I’ve got to redo all that. Which means something’s gotta go, and that something is… Record Store Promo Day fun.

If you know anyone who’d like to be the West of Mars promotions person, send them my way. I may need more than one, and as we get up and running, this WILL be a paid position. Possibly even full-time, but I’m not ready to think of that yet.

Edits. Fonts. New Novels. And have I mentioned I’m a single parent these days, too?

Next year, folks. Once I get a promotions person, we’ll have us some GRAND fun.

Seriously. There is such a thing as Record Store Day.

It seems fitting to me that I, as an author and champion of Rock Fiction, set up some sort of fun promotion.

Here’s what I’m thinking…

I invite everyone who likes to post fiction on their blog, if they write Rock Fiction or not, to write some flash fiction celebrating Record Store Day or music in general. I’ll set up a linkie so you can share your link and draw in new friends. We’ll make it like a blog carnival of old.

And if you’ve written a work of Rock Fiction, why not consider giving a copy or two of your books away? Again, I’ll set up a linkie for that, too and we’ll have ourselves a Hop!

More details will follow as we get closer, complete with the promised linkies and other ways to share the fun (I can hear my IT guy swearing at me now). Let me know if you’re interested in any way — and other ideas for the day are welcome, too.

I’m talking about a few words that really crank my editor’s red pen. Join me at the #amwriting blog to see what those words are, and how many of them you like to use!

Anyone catch that lyric there in the headline?

Come join me over at Louise Harby’s blog, where I’m talking about life as a freelance editor.

No foster kitties this time, I’m afraid. They’ll be back.

So last week, I started writing something for the Three Word Wednesday prompt. It truly is one of my favorite prompt sites; the words challenge me and at the same time, they fit my fictional style. It’s a good match, me and Three Word Wednesday.

Last Thursday, as I usually do (and mentioned already), I started writing something. And then I ran out of time because I’d done a whole host of other things before making time for my writing (bad Susan!).

I’ve worked off and on on the piece since then, and I think I’ve reached its conclusion. It’s short, under six hundred words — and as I got to the end of the page, I realized that it’s not something I can use on the blog. I definitely can’t use it as a short story, either in an anthology or a literary magazine, and definitely not as a standalone.

It’s a bridge piece, one of those things you blurp out as you figure out the story that needs to be told. One of those pieces that’ll never see the light of day but becomes a scene so vital to the whole that it’s not wasted words at all.

Sometimes, as writers, we don’t give ourselves permission to write these sorts of exploratory scenes. We’re so focused on publication and getting books and submissions out that we lose sight of the twists and turns in the road. It’s not always a straight path between here and there, folks.

As with everything else, take some time to deviate off the shortest point. Let yourself meander down an unknown road. I bet your fiction will be better for it.

Mine certainly will be.

Personal friends of my Facebook page might have seen the status last night: at library. Or something to that effect.

You guys know that Thursday nights are my writing time. So… where’s the writing?

Well, it’s stored in Dropbox, half-finished. I spent most of my time working on other stuff — bouncing ideas around with a couple of clients, writing a guest blog post. Productive stuff that I’m proud of.

Yet producing new fiction remains a struggle.

So… get ready for Demo Tapes 4 next month. Spread the word, pick up copies of the backlist, book me now for guest blog spots and interviews. Heck, I’m always available for promo, about anything you’d like to talk about. My fiction? Editing? Reviewing? Even my gig as a foster cat mom?

But while my editing clients keep me so gloriously busy, though, know it’s going to cut into my Thursday night fiction time.

The past few weeks have been devoid of fiction or Roadie Poet here at the blog because I’ve missed my usual Thursday night writing time.

Last night, I sat down to write something for Three Word Wednesday, and … hated the words. Brutal, grope, and transfer.

Those are some dark, dark words. Too dark for me to go near right now — me, who usually doesn’t shy away from the dark stuff (you’ve met Trevor, right? Seen the undercurrent there?).

So… I’ll work on some long-form stuff instead. New characters… unless you guys WANT a third Trevor novel?

Demo Tapes 4 will appear in April, right on time. If my awesome cover artist, the lovely Lakota Phillips, comes through… she’s the awesome artist and Trevor devotee who did the cover for Demo Tapes 3.

This is one of my two favorite weeks of the year. Okay, maybe there are three– I have to count the week (or part thereof) that I spend at Boy Scout camp in there, as well. Trees, no Internet, cool breezes, wall tents, that awesome shower, only books to read for review… patrol cooking by the Scouts, and me the only female in sight.

Yeah, okay… those last two make you wonder. At least, they continue to give ME pause.

Those other two weeks of the year are my favorites because they are taken up by Smashwords sales. This year’s Read an EBook week is no exception; all my books are free, except King Trevor. As the new kid on the block, I’ve only (only!) discounted that one to 50%.

Which means you can have ALL of my books — all three Demo Tapes anthologies, both novels, AND the standalone short story, Mannequin — for $1.50.

How’s THAT for a deal??

But other freebies and great deals abound, as well, so don’t be shy. Take a chance on a new author or three. Show an established author your appreciation by picking up that book you don’t have yet (like King Trevor) for a discount. We only get royalties on the books you pay for, so it’s a big help to splurge that whole buck fifty.

Trevor’s worth it… are you game to play in his sandbox some more? He’ll move over and make room, especially if you’re a woman…

(and as always, don’t forget to leave a few words of review. Your blog, GoodReads, directly at Smashwords… you’d be surprised how a few words of constructive criticism are appreciated. And I promise that I do NOT retaliate if you hate the books. Just be professional in what you say and how you handle it!)

Deena at E-Book Builders asked me to write her a short guest post about the importance of editing.

Check it out. Add your comments as to why I’m important in your life at the end, if you like.

I’m blogging about my continuing adventures with Geronimo, the foster kitty, over at the Animal Friends blog. Come on by and see what he’s up to.

It’s fun stuff, of course.

Proving once again that West of Mars is about more than just a simple author’s site, I’m introducing a new blogger here at the Meet and Greet. You guys are going to LOVE him, I know.

But, then, I’m biased. Our new blogging voice belongs to my one and only son, The Boy Band, as I’ve called him around here since I began blogging. He’s renamed himself, though, and while I’ll still call him The Boy Band, when he’s in blogger mode, he’s got a new persona: Teen Boy.

That’s because when he’s in the spotlight, his feature will be called Teen Boy Reads.

It was a simple thing, really: the kid reads more than I do. He devours books. And when I saw a call, be it on Twitter, Facebook, or a blog, for people who were curious to know what teen boys are reading, I asked if he wanted to blog. He could be a voice for teen boys.

Starting next week, and hopefully running every Tuesday, the Teen Boy will drop in to tell us all about what he’s reading. We’ll be working up a book review policy and all that fun stuff, but for now, he’s said he prefers not to be solicited to write reviews. He wants to read what he wants to read, when he wants to read it.

He’s a teen boy. I don’t blame him.

If you’ve got a book that you think will appeal to him, please keep that in mind. You’re better off to contact me, Susan, for a Featured New Book spotlight and get your exposure at West of Mars that way.

If you know me, you know that I’m a huge hockey fan. I even used to be a player and a youth hockey coach.

You probably don’t know, unless you are another of my stalkers, that I love the blog written by the awesome Carmi Levy. He wrote a post about the end of the NHL lockout. But… he called us fans sheep. Said we’d return.

I tried to leave a comment over at his blog, but Blogger blogs that won’t let me sign in with my name and url often eat my comment after they refuse to let me sign in. And yes, like many of you, I have problems with WordPress blogs, too. And then we bloggers wonder why people don’t comment as much anymore!

But we’re talking about Carmi and his accusation that I’m a sheep.

I’m not a sheep. Sorry, love. Please don’t call me names; that’s a form of abuse and I’d rather not have to end our relationship over that.

Yes, I used to be a season ticket holder to an NHL team. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that team is the Penguins. The whys behind my no longer being a season ticket holder don’t belong here on the blog. Suffice it to say that with the lockout over, I’m sad again. Sad I won’t get to see the friends I’d made after so many years of sitting in the same seats. I don’t get invited to their parties in the summer, or their tailgates before games. Sad I won’t get to count 27 steps down to find my seats, and sad I won’t be able to mock-complain about how far away I had to go to find popcorn — and sad I won’t be able to appreciate being close to the bathrooms, even though they’re not as close as they’d been at the old Arena, when I’d been able to dart in and out of the bathroom in the time of a TV timeout.

Going to NHL games was, for me, about more than hockey. Those reasons — and more — were what would have kept me going to games now that the lockout’s ended. Those aren’t reasons that find me labelled a sheep, surely! They are my own reasons, personal and unique to me.

As I said, there’s more. It’s the reason WHY I love hockey and why I started going to games in the first place. It’s not because of a sheep-like reason: I don’t love it because everyone else does, or because I’m told to. I love it because I love the passion, the grit. Because I love being part of a game that sees a goaltender take a skate to the throat, have the gash stitched up on the bench, and go back and pull out the win as the new stitches continue to ooze. Only in hockey, and the toughness that the game has taught me has carried me through the past few years.

I love the sounds of skates on ice, so reminiscent of tearing paper. I love the barks the players make as they talk. Pucks on sticks. The ping of a puck ricocheting off the pipes of the goal. Bodies slamming into boards. Glass swaying.

I love the smells of hockey: the Zamboni, a sheet of freshly cut ice. I love the way my nose involuntarily wrinkles when I catch a whiff of gear in need of an airing out. I love the way that it takes more than one shower to get the stink of my gloves out of my palms.

I love the way a hot summer night feels against freshly-showered skin when I’d step out of the ice arena after a game. I love the way my gear bag would cut into my shoulder, the way it would settle onto its side when I dumped it in my trunk as if it was as tired as I was.

I love how it feels to catapult myself over the boards and land on 1/4-inch of steel blade attached to the bottom of my feet. Yep, that’s all that’s in contact with the ice. One quarter inch. I love the wind in my face as I gain speed, I love the way my legs slide out from under each other as I bend sharply, executing crossovers that, if I lose an edge, will send me sliding into the boards, where I’ll land with a thunk and a bark of my own laughter. I love the view through the bars on my face cage.

So, yeah, if I’m given the chance to go see the best of the best, the professional players who make up the NHL, I’ll take it if I can afford it. Watching them reminds me of what I love about the sport.

If that makes me a sheep, well… so be it. Sheer my wool off come spring and turn me into socks, I suppose.

Just be sure to give those socks to a pro so he can wear them under his skates and let me be part of the game again.

As the holidays ramp up or come to a close, if you’re celebrating Hanukkah like me, it’s been a whirlwind around here.

The good news? The editing calendar only has 4 days left in February: three in the middle of the month, and one at the end. March and April dates are ready to be booked.

Take a step back and breathe with me. And get ready… things are going to ramp up even more in 2013. You may not see it until about a year from now, but hang tight. You’ll love what I’m working on.

So. That brings us to today’s worthwhile content, which turns out to be a redirect, over to Animal Friends. I’ve swapped foster kitties, so go check it out. I love the picture of Zenji; I took that one. The shot of Geronimo was taken by The Girl Band. Not bad work for a kid her age, huh?

I’m blogging over at Animal Friends again, this time telling a tale of one mischevious little boy.

There was no way I ever would have guessed this guy is the scamp he is. It took him a good three or four weeks of living with me before he started to show this side of himself.

I hope his forever family loves it as much as I do!

I’ve been having such a good time as a foster parent (of cats, people. Cats.) that I decided it needed to be blogged about. So I contacted the right person at the shelter I volunteer through and …

Go read my intro. You can meet Lucy and Milo, my shelter kitties!

More to come… Wait until you set eyes on Zenji. You won’t be the same.

For a long time there, bobbleheads were the way to go. I even have a James Hetfield bobblehead on the shelf above my desk. It’s the old style, the one that was recalled and smashed. One escaped — although not without some damage to the headstock of his guitar — and now lives with me.

I like Recalled James. He has no pupils, for one. Since he was created by Tony Squindo, he’s got that kid vibe going — no Scary Het here. And he makes me smile. I like to smile.

A month or so ago, I heard of a new collectible: an Iggy Pop bobblehead. Only a thousand have been made, which is probably a good thing. Iggy in person is something else. A little bit scary, yeah. And the cutting? Does he still do that? Ugh. I hope not, and not just because part of Iggy Pop’s innate coolness is that he’s too cool to do the trendy thing.

Back to the bobblehead… this guy gives me nightmares. He’s not going to be the mascot of Rocktober in these parts. Not this year.

And you smart-asses? No need to buy me one and put it aside for my birthday, okay? I’d hate to see what he’d do to my precious, friendly James…