barbhendee

I was just playing around today, and I noticed that SISTER OF THE DEAD has been published in Germany and TRAITOR TO THE BLOOD will be out in November.

Although our German publisher has taken a very different path on the covers than anyone else, I really like the moody, gothic--almost romantic--approach they've chosen.

I can't seem to save down the images, but here is an Amazon link for SISTER OF THE DEAD. I think this one works well for the story:

http://www.amazon.de/DHAMPIR-03-Dunkelland-Barb-Hendee/dp/3802581989/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_2

However . . . I think their choice for TRAITOR TO THE BLOOD may leave some readers puzzled and possibly grumpy:

http://www.amazon.de/DHAMPIR-04-Blutsverrat-Barb-Hendee/dp/3802582438/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1

This is a medieval political intrigue novel that focuses around Leesil. There is little-to-no romance in this book. There are brutal warlords, starving peasants, six-foot-tall Elven assassins, savage shape-shifting cats, and a lot of angst and fight sequences. This cover is going suggest the reader is buying a copy of Karen Chance's TOUCH THE DARK.

Okay, J.C. and I just came in from the garden, and I have some veggies to wash.

So far we have been eating lettuce, radishes, zucchini, and sugar snap peas--oh, and a few of the onions.

We are impatiently awaiting the bell peppers, tomatoes, potatoes, green beans, and carrots.

The carrots seem to be taking a bit longer this year than last.

We're still getting strawberries, and the blueberries are now starting to come in.

I've been trying to talk J.C. into letting me set up a few clothes lines, but so far, he seems a bit dubious.

This afternoon, J.C. and I both have appointments with our eye doctor for new glasses. He mainly needs glasses to see his computer screen (smiles). I need to wear glasses all the time.

It's been quite a while a while since I've had new glasses. I really like my old pair (they are funky rectangles with a gold line at the top and no frame at the bottom).

But since it takes about a week and a half to make me new glasses, and I don't have a spare pair at home, I'll need to pick out new frames--and a change might be fun.

For any of you who wear daily glasses, you know this is a laborious decision as these things will be on your face all the time. I'm either going to go total collegiate (with those black plastic frames the college girls all seem to wear) or a pair of completely frameless drill mounts.

J.C. prefers me in the frameless ones, but he really doesn't care. I think he would still like me if I shaved my head and painted my skull blue.

Maybe we should find out?

Today is July 7th . . . a big day in the publishing world.

First, a small announcement: For those of you waiting for electronic versions of early Noble Dead books, both DHAMPIR and THIEF OF LIVES are available on Kindle as of today. As merely the writer, of course I'm not privy to any further information, but this would suggest they will be available for other electronic readers like the Sony very soon.

Now . . . two big announcements!

First, our friend E.E. Knight's new Vampire Earth hardcover, WINTER DUTY, hits the shelves today:




This is a most engaging and starkly original series. I often have fans (who know we're friends with Eric) write to ask us, "I've finished the most recent Vampire Earth novel, and now I'm sad it's over. Can you suggest any other series like his books?"

I cannot. The Vampire Earth books are in a class by themselves--and they are addictive.

Two . . . and this is sooooooo exciting. The fabulous Ms. Lisa Matchev's first novel, EYES LIKE STARS, hits the stands today.




I cannot shout and wave my arms enough to draw positive attention to this novel. I've read it, and it's just wonderful. Seriously. Run out and buy a copy today. You'll thank me.

Over the past through weeks, through some events happening around us, I’ve been exposed—for the first time in many years—to evangelical Christians. We have several close friends who are just the cheerful, sort of “normal” Christians, but the hardcore type can make me cautious.

Since I don’t practice any one religion and I am so open and tolerant of many forms and practices of religion (and I believe religion and spirituality are a deeply personal choice), I think it may surprise some of my friends to learn that I grew up attending an evangelical Christian church. Our pastor was young and fiery. Our church was very “homey” and looked rather like a large cabin.

Our pastor believed that evolution was a lie and that “scientists” had planted all the dinosaur bones for their own professional agendas.

He believed that although we are all born in sin, that women were the cause of most sin for men, and therefore, women were especially subject to being evil—and pretty women were the worst.

However . . . had a great capacity for fun and enjoying life, and he took a special interest in the “youth group” of about twelve of us, and he spent a great deal of time with us. He was a master of finding the coolest places to go camping, and he’d often take us off for three or four days.

He genuinely liked spending time with us, and a few of us had never experienced that from an adult. On those trips, we had a lot of Bible studies and we sang a lot of hymns by the campfire. But we also played a lot of volleyball and we went swimming and we laughed a lot. He was in good physical shape, and I still remember one trip where he climbed out on a branch over a river to tie off a thick rope, so we could swing off and drop into the water.

He’d make us oatmeal for breakfast, and we’d eat it out of Styrofoam cups, and nobody cared. I loved him. I was too young to separate certain concepts in my mind, and I believed everything he said.

When I was fifteen, I wanted to go to a dance at our high school, and I asked him if it would be all right, and he said, “No. If you go, you will cause young men to lust, and they will go to hell, and it will be your fault.”

I certainly didn’t want to be the cause anyone going to hell. I didn’t go to the dance.

When I was sixteen, he decided that Washington State was too liberal for him to raise his own family, and he wanted to go back to Michigan. I was stunned. I was devastated. For better or for worse, he was the voice in my head.

Years later, in college, I began studying comparative religion, and I sometimes thought back on some of the damage he did—which was substantial regarding my self image. But I also wonder what my teenage years would have been like without him.

It is a strange dilemma.

In the wisdom of my "40s," I've discovered an essential secret regarding men and food.

J.C. and I are the type who tend to make just a few good friends and keep them. But as the years have passed from our "20s," a number (a pretty large percentage) of our married friends have divorced, and in all cases, the woman took off and moved to different pastures, leaving the man to keep all their old mutual friends and pieces of their old life.

So . . . I tend to feed a lot of men throughout the year at various times.

I used to have long mental lists of who liked what (and who didn't like what), and I've finally realized after all this time, that allergies aside, most of them don't care what I put on the table as long they never had to think about it.

I've come to the conclusion that men simply don't like planning meals or going to the grocery store or having to think about what's for breakfast.

Seriously, you can put a bagel, a hard boiled egg, and a few sliced berries in front of a man for breakfast, and as long as he never had to give it a single thought, he'll be happy.

The same is true for dinner. It doesn't matter if you serve spaghetti or French dip sandwiches. As long as the food just appears on the table, they're happy.

I wish I had come to this realization about ten years ago.

I just borrowed a link from my friend Lili St Crow's journal because I think this is important and I don't know how many of you read Lili's blog.

Alice Hoffman recently lashed out at a reviewer--on Twitter--in a pretty shockingly unprofessional manner. Here's the story

http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/jacketcopy/2009/06/did-alice-hoffman-strike-back-or-strike-out.html

What's really surprising is that Ms. Hoffman seems shocked by the attention and backlash all of this has mustered. I could have told her this myself.

Did she learn nothing from Anne Rice's public "lash out" a few years back?

J.C. and I have had our books praised to rafters and we've had them eviscerated. We would never, ever respond to a negative review. All writers must fight this temptation.

I've had my buttons pushed a few times (I didn't even know I had those buttons), but I always tell myself to suck it up and move on.

A reviewer can give away our entire plot . . .

A reviewer can tell us to try getting a degree in plumbing instead of foisting more punishment upon the world with our books . . .

A reviewer can call one of our books "Tylenol PM in a dust jacket."

We suck it up and keep quiet. Anything else is unprofessional and it's bad form.

See, I am feeling more chatty today. This morning, my friend E.E. Knight eeknight had a post about a small issue he's dealing with regarding payment of his SFWA membership.

[By the way . . . Eric (E.E.) has a new Vampire Earth novel coming out next Tuesday: WINTER DUTY].

So, anyway, this really got me thinking about SFWA. During that whole big Google fiasco a few weeks ago, our agent asked me in passing if J.C. and I were members, and he seemed surprised when I told him that it had never even crossed our minds.

J.C. and I never join anything. I'm really not sure why.

But I *know* there must be a very good reason why writers join SFWA. I simply do not know what it is.

J.C. and I don't care at all about awards.

Those of you who know us personally know that we only care about being able to write fiction for a living (I do not want to go back to working in the private sector), and that means caring deeply about sales figures.

But I really do think there must be a very important reason why people join SFWA.

Can anyone tell me? I'm worried that maybe we should have joined a long time ago.

Sorry I've been so quiet all week.

J.C. and I have some extended family stuff going on here, and we also ran into a few plot glitches with OF TRUTH AND BEASTS that we're trying to work out.

I'm sure I'll be chatty again soon (smiles).

Okay, gang . . . I just emailed the first draft of MEMORIES OF ENVY to my poor, long suffering editor at Roc.

This is the third book in the Vampire Memories series.

My brain is tired now.

I think I have a few Reese's Peanut Butter Cups somewhere in the fridge. Let's find out.

I'm having a brain lock, and I can't seem to find the answer.

When writing "Ladies' room," is the L capitalized?

Would it be "ladies' room"

Or "Ladies' room"?

This morning, as I often do, I was reading the news on MSNBC, and I got caught up in an article about a 43-year-old woman who had $62,000 in credit card debt. Yikes.

She is renting an apartment and driving an older car . . . as she can not afford a payment on a newer car because most of her salary goes to make the minimum payments on the credit cards. This did not happen to her overnight, but over a number of years. She says she has nothing to show for this mountain of debt.

To make matters worse, several of the cards with large balances have over a 20% interest rate.

I think it is easy to shake our heads and say, "Foolish person."

But there is a part of me that can truly understand how someone could easily fall into serious credit card debt. Back in the late 1990s, J.C. and I were on our way. Banks were throwing credit cards at us, and in the beginning, we were not too savvy about interest rates.

At one point, we had three credit cards. We started out owing "just a little." Then we bought a new couch. Then there was an emergency family trip where we had to buy expensive plane tickets, a few large vet bills for one of our cats, and some pricy car repairs we could not pay out of pocket. We ate some meals out and charged them. We took one trip for fun. We charged a few Christmases . . . .

Blah, blah, blah . . .

We were just making the monthly "minimum payments," and then one day, I sat down and added up what we owed and how much of our money was going to interest. I talked to J.C., and we did a 180, and thankfully, we got on top of this before it was too late.

Now, we never run a balance on our Visa. We do use our card for things like plane tickets, hotels, and online purchases. I think a credit card is necessary, but we always pay the balances.

But I truly can understand how easy it was for the woman above to fall into "interest" slavery, and I feel bad for her.

Every time J.C. and I try to make a purchase at a place like Target or Cost Plus World Market, we always have to do the same dance where the check-out person starts pushing the store's credit card.

"You'll save ten percent on today's purchase. It's foolish not to take advantage."

As nice as I am, I've stopped being pleasant to these folks if they ignore my first polite, "No, thank you." If they keep pushing, I look them in the eye and ask, "What's the interest rate?"

So far, not a single clerk has had a clue. I do believe they probably do not know. So I tell them. “The average interest rate on an ‘in-store’ credit card is 22%.”

Just say no.

Oh, I forget to tell you the best part of yesterday.

At the Asian grocery store, J.C. found a bottle of Chinese Rose wine he wanted to try.

While I was paying for the wine, the check-out girl wanted to see my ID. When I showed it to her, she got uncomfortable because she didn't believe the birthdate listed on my license.

A few years ago, this would have really annoyed me. But yesterday, I was thrilled.

Bahahahahahahahah!

Hi Gang,

Thank you to everyone who chimed in yesterday via email or the journal here to wish me a happy birthday.

Made me feel loved!

I had a really good birthday. We went out for breakfast, and then came home for a while to just putter around. In the afternoon, J.C. drove us up to Tigard, and we went shopping at B&N and Cost Plus World Market.

Going to a B&N is a real treat these days (smiles).

I bought several hard cover novels and then checked out the situation with our own books.

The hard cover of IN SHADE AND SHADOW has completely sold out for B&N stores in the Portland area. I had a clerk look it up on the computer, and there is one copy left at the Jantzen Beach store. DHAMPIR is in its 16th printing, so I bought a copy for posterity. The mm paperback for REBEL FAY has gone into a second printing--which kind of surprised me since the first printing was pretty big.

So, good news all around.

Oh, also, when we talked into the store, Devon Monk's newest novel MAGIC IN THE BLOOD was almost the first thing I saw. There were multiple copies face out in the center aisle rack--just below James Patterson and just above Nora Roberts. Awesome! You could not walk into the store without seeing Devon's book.

Then we spent a long time at this HUGE Asian grocery store. It was awesome. J.C. bought a new tea pot.

Then we met some of our good friends here for dinner at a nice Chinese restaurant called Wu's Open Kitchen. There were six of us, and we killed off two bottles of red wine—but we were there for a couple of hours, so nobody was dancing on the table.

Lovely day.

Today is my birthday!

I always love birthdays. Tonight, we're meeting friends at a yummy Chinese restaurant to celebrate--so we can sit at a round table and spin the Lazy Susan!

J.C. says I have a penchant for making sympathetic facial expressions--and sometimes he wishes I would stop it, and that if I could, it might make life a little easier.

Sometimes, I think he's right.

Too often, my normal facial expressions possess other people into talking to me about all kinds of things of which they normally would not speak.

This is wonderful when my family or friends start talking. I'm so glad to listen.

But this happens in other situations . . . well, a lot.

It happens in line at the grocery store, at the optometrist's office, occasionally at the doctor's office, etc. Someone will start talking about his or her life and problems in a semi-inappropriate situation, and then ten or fifteen minutes later, they look at me in shock as they realize what they've been saying. I do not know why this happens, but when it does, I honestly feel it would be wrong to stop them. Clearly, these people need to talk.

There is one place, however, where I wish I COULD put a sharp stop to this inevitable event . . . and that is when I am in the chair of a hair stylist.

In a hair salon, I have noticed that the other clients are always the ones doing the talking and the stylist is doing the listening--except for me. Three minutes after I sit down in the chair of a hair stylist, she is pouring out her current life situation. I do not mind listening at all, but the results to my hair have been tragic on more than more occasion.

This happened last Thursday . . . and I have been somewhat "butched." The problem is that when a stylist looks up in surprise at everything she's been saying for the last fifteen minutes, she also looks at my hair in surprise.

Never a good thing.

But then she wants to make sure I come back. I do understand that these women spend all day listening to other people--and they need to talk as well--but I wish I could find one who could talk and focus on my hair at the same time.

Around here, J.C. sort of handles the outdoor "hardware," and I handle all the plants and flowers. Usually, this is pretty equitable.

Last year, I suggested that we try using some rain barrels.

This sounded like an "easy" and fun idea at the time. The reality of setting up a usable rain barrel turned out to be a tad more complicated for J.C. than I realized.

I'm sure most of you men out there can relate to the wife making a "fun" suggestion of this nature.

But J.C. set to work. He ordered two barrels that already had the bottom spouts drilled in. He bought little sheaths that go onto the gutters to guide the rain into tubes . . . and then he started sawing into our gutters. He bought tubes and fixtures. He set up proper "over flow" lines. He bought bricks and prepped spaces . . . and I started regretting that I'd ever suggested this grand idea in the first place.

But he got them all set up. Here in Oregon, they really have been awesome. Today, we emptied out some old water and carried them to the curb and washed out any old sediment, and then he set them back up for us.




Here's a different angle:




And just for fun, here's a shot of the far right side of the garden:




But I just love those rain barrels. They are pretty handy.

I'm currently reading an astonishingly good novel called GARDEN SPELLS by Sarah Addison Allen.

I know this received a lot of "hoopla" when it first came out, and I somehow just never read it, but my daughter sent me a copy . . . and wow!

This is the most engrossing novel I've read since THE THIRTEENTH TALE. This one is well worth the hoopla. I'm just sitting down to write for the day . . . and I want to go read more of GARDEN SPELLS instead (smiles).

Okay, so the chipmunks have officially been classified as "rather naughty."

I don't mind them eating the strawberries. They live here too. But I wish they would just pick a few and eat the whole things and leave the rest of the berries.

I was watching one of them today--without being seen myself--and the little guy was taking a bite of one berry, leaving it hanging, and then taking a bite of the next one. Mmmmmm?

I walked out, and he darted off, but I know he'll be back. I wish I could explain myself to him.

"Just pick a few and take them."

Ah well. Such is the nature of chipmunks.

Well . . . much of the garden is still growing. It will be at least a month until we have sugar snap peas or green beans--and longer for potatoes or ripe tomatoes or bell peppers.

But the onions are looking close and so are the carrots.

Last night, we had a salad made from our own greens and lettuce and radishes. This morning we'll eat the first good wave of strawberries (that the chipmunks haven't already ravaged). So . . . things are coming along.

Today is our local farmer's market, but my list will be smaller as some our own stuff is "coming in."

In other news, I have a hair appointment at a "fancy" salon called Ciao Bella. I am excited and nervous at the same time.