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…

Following on the tails of last week’s semi-rant about how easy it is for anyone to get the wrong idea about the quality of self-published books, I got a new assignment from TWTBC.

My eyes bugged. My jaw dropped open.

The book is only 150 pages or so, barely long enough to call a novel.

The only commas are there so you can accuse the author of comma splices, rending most sentences unreadable on the first try.

The paragraphing is bad — there’s dialogue and then, instead of a new paragraph, there’s narration. Right after the dialogue. Except, the narration and action (usually someone shrugging or sighing) is attributed to the next speaker.

So it goes like this.

“Whaddya think?” Trevor sighed.

“You know thinking’s bad for your health, dumbass. Quit bothering me.” Mitchell giggled.

“What makes you think you’re always right?” Trevor shrugged.

It SHOULD read:

“Whaddya think?”

Trevor sighed. “You know thinking’s bad for your health, dumbass. Quit bothering me.”

Mitchell giggled. “What makes you think you’re always right?”

Trevor shrugged.

Did you notice that the characters aren’t particularly nice to each other? There are also a couple of adverbs that describe how EVERYTHING happens. Thoughtfully. Carelessly. Okay, those aren’t the real ones, but imagine if they were, and used in the wrong spots, too. Actions completed thoughtfully, during a fight scene? (Not to mention, in the above example, Mitchell giggling. First of all, it’s out of character. Second of all, it’s not appropriate for the scene.)

And yes, there is MORE. On the one hand, I feel terrible for the author. S/he’s got his/her name associated with this hot mess of a book. On that same hand, I wish I could edit it for him/her. But on that other hand… I’m glad I didn’t. A hot mess this bad would have cost way more than the book review eventually did. And while I know I’m a really good editor, I also know that one can only do so much with what you’re given. For all I know, the author DID hire an editor, and then refused to listen to what s/he had to say. In a year since I returned to editing, I’ve had that happen. (The client didn’t pay the full bill in the end, either. Go figure.)

This is one I can’t wait to be done with. And sadly, when people want a poster child for what’s wrong with self-publishing, it’s this book they’ll turn to. It’s so much easier to be negative in today’s world, after all, and overlook the good stuff… and let me say it again: there is PLENTY of good stuff out there.

I think I’m going to start featuring it. Once I finish this hot mess.

(If you’re new here and don’t know who Trevor and Mitchell are, well… shame on you! But use this link to learn everything you need to. Welcome to the Trevolution.

**Thanks to my own impromptu editor, Robin at Around the Island, for catching a rare Susan typo!

Okay, so that’s a heck of an incendiary headline up there. I did that on purpose; I want you guys to be reading what I have to say.

You know I work for The World’s Toughest Book Critics. I am a paid reviewer for them, and they assign me to read indie books, or self-published books, or whatever term you want to use for books NOT put out by an organized business such as Harper Collins, Penguin, and the like. Not even books from places like Coffee House Press or The Mysterious Press. You know: us people who are riding the wave of the Kindle, the Nook, and the iPad.

The books submitted to The World’s Toughest Book Critics that find their way to me are submitted along with money from the author to the reviewing source.

We can argue the value of a paid review until the cows come home. But I’d like to point something out: the big publishers have the finances to help fund these book review sources via advertising. We indies usually don’t have a couple hundred — or more — to throw into an ad that may or may not sell books. (Better to give that kind of money to a good editor or…)

The review sites need to find a way to replace the lost revenue, after all. And so, the paid review was born. It’s a win-win for everyone involved, or so the thinking goes. The site or publication (or, in today’s world, both) doesn’t take a hit in their revenue stream. The author hopefully gets to brag about their really good review from The World’s Toughest Book Critics, or the World’s Oldest Review Publication, or The Librarian’s Favorite Review Source.

Notice what I said there, about the author? HOPEFULLY.

That’s because of the 20 or so books I’ve read for TWTBC, I’ve been lukewarm, at best, about three of them. The most recent book WOULD have been fantastic if it had been copy edited by someone with a clue and an eye for more than their bank account. (Yeah, I’m talking to you, lady, who thinks it’s fine to add an apostrophe s to a plural in one line, but not when the same word, still a plural, appears on the next.)

Now, take a step back and pretend you’re a famous author of the best-selling variety, and some journalist has called you up and asked for a quote about the self-publishing phenomenon overtaking the world. And you go to those review sites and look a few over before answering and … all you see is negativity. Why on earth would you NOT say you think all that’s coming out is garbage? Those reviews you just read… they didn’t exactly give you the warm fuzzies.

I’m not advocating that us reviewers change our policies and stop telling the truth. Not at all.

You guys know where I’m going… I’m issuing a challenge to us writers. Improve our craft. Expand our storytelling. Find the right editors to work with. Don’t be in such a rush to get something on the market that you become one of those authors who gets an e-mail from a book blogger, saying, “I’d have loved to have read this like I said I was going to, but the typos are so bad, I can’t.” — and then the author says, “I know, but I wanted to get this on the market and start making money.”

Up your game, folks, and there won’t be a reason for anyone to put us down anymore.

That says it all, doesn’t it? My editor self — yes, sometimes, I DO feel like I’m more than one person: writer, book reviewer, editor, publicist, small business owner, mother, friend, daughter — has taken over. I began this week with one major, book-length project, one novella, and two short stories to complete. Now. Today. Yesterday would be better.

My clients understand that I’d like to get away for the weekend. Or that my kids need me. But that hasn’t stopped them from piling on the work.

Bring it, I say. While I’d still prefer, on some level, that my book royalties equal or exceed the sort of money I’m making via the editing work, I continue to love what I do. While I’d still prefer, on some level, more time to write, the hours I spend on other people’s manuscripts is every bit as energizing as working on a good story of my own.

And I have to admit that in most cases, the manuscripts my clients deliver to me are better than the books I get from the World’s Toughest Book Critics. Those books, I have to weigh in on. I can’t tell you how many times I wish I could reach out to an author and say, “Next time, hire me to edit your next book. It’ll be SO much better.” Of course, I can’t, and not just because the World’s Toughest Book Critics also offer an editing service to authors. I can’t because I’m supposed to be anonymous in all this.

However, it seems that my thoughts have become quite valuable.

I’ll take it.

So… I’m back at it. There are words to work with, stories and novellas and novels to shape. Writing is a craft, people. Remember that.

And remember all these long hours that authors (and their editors) put in. Say thanks by buying books, not grabbing only the freebie offers or using (gasp) piracy sites. Ask your local library to pick up books you like. And take a few minutes and jot down some words. Reviews are the best way to say thanks to an author, although buying a copy for eight of your closest friends comes in a close second.

Believe me. From any side of the writing world — writing, editing, reviewing — a TON of work goes into the creation of a book. Don’t just read. Show your support.

There’s been a lot of huff and puff over the revelation that Amazon doesn’t pay out the full 70% royalty they promise on Kindle books. There’s been other talk, as well, about royalties. I know I’d prefer if you all bought my e-books via Smashwords because my royalties are higher.

I mean, I get it. We’ve got bills to pay. I’m not the only one in this boat; a well-known author friend has long talked about how her book sales fuel her mortgage payments. Now that I’m responsible for the mortgage around here — along with everything else — that has taken on a new resonance.

You can probably imagine my shock on Monday, when the Boy Band announced the reason we don’t use Spotify in the house is because a song has to be played on Spotify over 4.51 MILLION times for a major label artist to earn the equivalent of a month’s worth of minimum wage payments — that’s a bit under $1200 a month. (For the record, that’s not the reason I don’t use Spotify. I don’t use it because… well, no reason, actually. I just haven’t signed up.)

The Boy Band had other royalty numbers for one other music source — and iTunes. Since we became an iTunes family in 2009, I’ve wondered what the royalty rate is for a major label artist for a 99c download. It’s a fair comparison, no? I sometimes sell certain books for 99c, and my short stories are ALWAYS 99c.

So… the Boy Band, instead of showing off his math skills, Googled something or other and found this article. It’s not quite a year old, but the terms probably haven’t changed too much. The headline says it all: A Major Label Artist Makes 8 Cents On a 99-Cent iTunes Download…

It’s based on figures from Chuck D, who can’t be confused with an artist I listen to, but I doubt the numbers are much different for my beloved artists in the rock and roll world.

Eight cents.

Somehow, 35c on a 99c book seems better than it did before — and I was firmly in the camp that 35c was pretty darn good. (To be clear, that’s the percentage I get from Amazon’s Kindle platform. I get higher royalties from Smashwords and their affiliates, who I use rather than dealing directly with the various retailers, such as B&N. And yes, I’d get even more from those other retailers, but I’m willingly and knowingly giving up that higher royalty — and faster sales reporting — in exchange for the convenience of not stressing that I won’t get a payout from this retailer or that one or the other one. It’s cut down my stress level quite a bit, especially when I look at those mortgage coupons and my royalty statements and … ouch!)

I’m still not a fan of this new culture of the free book that Amazon’s been championing. Because when I look at it… even 8c is better than 0.

Like I said, I’ve got a mortgage to pay.

Back on July 18 came a headline in my music feeds: there’s a new clothing line. It’s called TatCo and it’s got the power of the guitarist from Saving Abel behind it.

Say what you will about Saving Abel, but Addicted never fails to crack me up. They’re a fun band. Not destined to be my favorite, but you guys know me. I have discriminating tastes.

Word of this new clothing line came with a list of stars who are helping launch it: Members of Buckcherry (okay) and Shinedown. Shinedown!

So. Rock-inspired clothes… yeah. You guys know where I like to spend my book royalties. Before I can, though, I need to go take a look.

Guess what? I’ve been trying ever since I read about TatCo to get in and take a look at the site and … no go.

I am very sad.

Let me know if you manage to connect, and if this is stuff you can see me wearing. Until then, hope springs eternal here at West of Mars… So eternal, we won’t talk about what a publicity gaffe this is…

I have always loved to bake. Hobby? Maybe. Definitely something I’m proud of.

Over the past year, I’ve ramped up the baking again, having taken a too-long hiatus while the kids were little.

And… maybe I’m a bit overeager ’cause I found a recipe for peanut butter and honey cookies on Pinterest, picked up cheap honey instead of the expensive, local stuff I prefer to use, and … wondered if the recipe should have flour in it.

After making it, I’m convinced that yes, that recipe wasn’t complete. After all, peanut butter, honey, baking soda, and an egg… what’s there to bind it together? What’s there to absorb some of the moisture?

Well… nothing.

It was too wet to put into a cookie sheet, so it went into an 8×8 baking pan. One of my All-Clads, in fact. I baked and baked and it rose and rose, and when the edges started to smell burned, I threw in the towel.

It’s soup.

Yeah, I hear you guys. “Stick to writing, Susan!”

I shall.

And when you see a character who makes a flourless peanut butter and honey cookie, you’ll know EXACTLY what inspired it.

In fact, I know just the character!