Two New Guest Appearances, Plus Health Update

Folks, I’m starting to feel a little better. My voice is almost all the way back. And I have a teensy bit more energy than yesterday…I kind of think I might actually be able to write something soon, and I have managed to evaluate something for a friend of mine (read a synopsis and commented), which is all good.

Anyway, there are two guest appearances I need to tell you about today.

First, N.N. Light and her POTL blog featured CHANGING FACES last week, and because of me being sick, I almost missed it. This is a chapter excerpt (from chapter 3, I think) plus longer blurb; I think you will enjoy it.

Second, over at the Mom’s Blogger’s Club, there’s a chapter reveal for the first chapter of CHANGING FACES.

So, the book promotion goes on, and I’m still alive to do it…progress?

Stay well, folks.

—

Tomorrow, perhaps, I’ll be able to blog about something else — maybe Brewers Spring Training or something. (I want to stay away from politics as much as I can until I’m all the way better, because I really don’t need to raise my blood pressure right now.)

 

Flu, Day 4, Plus Latest Guest Blog

Folks, I remain mired in the flu.

Granted, it’s a little bit better than it was yesterday. But my voice remains awful (a friend called last night and was absolutely appalled at how much of a croak it sounds like right now), I’m still coughing more than not, am incredibly congested, and can actually point to each one of my ribs because each individual one hurts like fire.

Mind, it’s not as bad as it could be. So far, I don’t seem to have bronchitis or pneumonia, and as I’ve had both before, I think I’d know. And I am getting a little better; this is the second day in a row I’ve been able to get online and put up some form of a blog — though that’s probably more because of sheer cussedness on my part than anything else.

(Hey, at least I admit it.)

Because I have a new book out, CHANGING FACES, which I’ve talked about a great deal already, I hope I don’t have to give you all the links and all the blurbs and all that today.  (Scroll down and hit the back arrow if you want that, just this once. OK?)

Instead, I’d rather just give you this link, to a guest blog I did at Straight from the Author’s Mouth, and give you a bit of that to whet your interest:

This is for pet lovers. If you don’t own a pet, skip this question, but do your pets actually get their food on time or do they have to wait until you type just one more word?

BC: That’s a tough one! (Laughs.) My dogs mostly do get their food on time, but it’s because about an hour before they’re usually fed, they come and put their heads on my lap, and give me the big, huge, puppy-dog eyes. I usually am working away, and I tell them, “It’s too early!” But they keep coming back, and keep nagging me, so they do tend to get fed on time.

This is for plant lovers. If you don’t own a plant, skip this question, but if you do, are they actually still alive?

BC: I’ve been nurturing one plant now for several years; it was planted in remembrance of my deceased Cocker spaniel, Blackie. I try to water it every couple of days, and tell it that Blackie would be pleased…I’m sure that plant is quite bemused with me, too! (Yes, I’m weird.)

In writing your book, how did you deal with the phone ringing, your family needing dinner or your boss calling you saying you’re late?

BC: I got annoyed when anything took me out of the creative process, to be honest. It takes me a while to be fully immersed in the worlds I create, and anything that gets in the way of that feels like a full-on assault of the creative process. But after my initial annoyance, I usually apologize, because it’s not the fault of whoever interrupted that I’ve picked this career (or it picked me, rather).

Anyway, please go take a look at the latest guest blog, as there’s a lot more good stuff to read about there. Note that I can’t comment or do much other than let you know about it because Firefox and Google still aren’t playing well together, and no matter what I do to get rid of cookies out of the cache (isn’t that a lovely word, cache?), I just can’t share anything from that page.

So if you can, please do. And also, do let people know that my book is out…maybe some will see it as utter nonsense, but I hope most won’t. Love is love, and who cares about the outer packaging, anyway? (I sure as Hell don’t.)

Thoughts about Transgender Bathroom Rights, and Newest Guest Blog

Folks, some days I just get so frustrated, I want to scream.

Why? Well, today’s news is that the Trump Administration apparently wants to rescind the Obama Administration directive regarding transgender students and bathrooms. The Obama directive more or less said that transgender students should be able to use the bathroom that suits their own, internalized gender; the Trump directive, which appears to be imminent, would rescind this directive and make trans students use the bathroom their outward gender would dictate instead.

This is incredibly annoying in many ways.

First, a young person who already identifies as being in the wrong body for their psyche is not looking to “convert” anyone. They just want to use a bathroom that makes sense to them.

Second, a young person who feels like he or she is in the wrong body already needs all the help he or she can get to figure out himself/herself. Being able to use the restroom that he or she identifies with is an easy thing to do to help, and preventing that person from using that same restroom just helps isolate that person even further.

So how does rescinding the Obama directive help anything?

The only point the people on the right who are in favor of rescinding Obama’s directive (which, fortunately, are not that many) have seemed to say is, “Well, this way, boys can’t use female restrooms by pretending to be girls!”

My answer? If these overly-concerned people really believe young men, already an angst-filled subset of the population, are going to suddenly identify as female to use female bathrooms, that is just silly.

(A young man who does that deserves what he gets, in other words.)

Anyway, I’m a straight woman. I’ve never dated a woman, never kissed one either, and never plan to do so — I am attracted to men. But that does not mean I don’t understand how stupid this is.

So, compared to that, my latest guest blog, about my route to publication, seems very small. But as I’m the writer of a book about two troubled souls who both end up transgender (and stay very much in love with each other), CHANGING FACES, I figured I’d let you know what I think.

And even though it is a very small thing in context, do, please, take a look at my newest guest blog. I think you’ll enjoy it.

Who knows? Maybe it’ll remind you that trans people are just like anyone else.

Because they are.

New Guest Shot up at Dear Reader, Love Author

Folks, I have a guest blog up today at Dear Reader, Love Author…a place I’d never stopped by before, but one I enjoyed once I knew about it.

The premise of this particular place is that you write a letter to your readers — or prospective readers — talking about why you hope they’ll love your writing (in this case, in support of CHANGING FACES).

As Firefox (my browser) isn’t playing well with Google this week, I can’t like the post or comment, though it is letting me share it by Google Plus for some reason. (How odd, hey?) But I can at least let you know about it here, and hope you will find it this way (and via Twitter and Facebook, where I’ll also post).

First, here’s the cover photo, again, for CHANGING FACES:

 

So, here’s a little from the Dear Reader, Love Author post:

Changing Faces is the story of two clarinetists, Allen Bridgeway and his fiancée, Elaine Foster. They love each other very much, but because of trauma in Elaine’s past and the fact that, unbeknownst to Allen, she is both gender-fluid and transgender, she is having a hard time fully committing to him. When she finally tells Allen who and what she is, he’s floored, and doesn’t know what to do…he prays that they find a way to stay together, and some higher beings not bound to our linear time take pity on him and Elaine.

But the way they do it isn’t what Allen expects.

You see, on a very bad wintry night, Allen and Elaine are involved in a car accident. The beings take Allen’s soul and bind it into Elaine’s body, then take Elaine’s soul and put it into Allen’s. Because Allen’s old body is heavily damaged, one of the beings talks with her while she’s comatose in the Place of Dreams and Nightmares—a place humans go every night when they sleep, though most of us don’t remember much about it upon wakening. And Allen wakes up in the hospital, in Elaine’s body, unable to tell anyone he’s Allen, not Elaine.

So, instead of one LGBT person, we now have two LGBT people. Both still in love with each other, in a horrible situation, not knowing if the other will forgive them (Allen worries about Elaine even being in his body, while Elaine worries that no one understands Allen now, and blames herself for putting them in this terrible position).

So, how are Allen and Elaine going to get out of this mess? Will they find a way to make peace with this highly unusual situation? And will they learn how to see each other’s souls rather than their bodies?

Since it’s a romance, I think you can bet heavily that I found a way to do it…but no, I’m not going to tell you how. (Where’s the mystery in that if I did?)

CHANGING FACES is still only ninety-nine cents as an e-book in the US, and ninety-nine pence as an e-book in the UK. I sincerely hope you will give my newest novel a try, as there’s truly nothing else on the market like it at all.

New Guest Post at Book Cover Junkie for CHANGING FACES…

Folks, I’m happy to let you all know that I have a new guest post at Book Cover Junkie today. It’s about the excellent cover artist Tamian Wood created for my new novel CHANGING FACES, and all that went into that…I hope you will enjoy it.

Here’s just a little bit from that guest post:

As you see, there are two faces on this cover for my new novel Changing Faces. One is my hero, Allen Bridgeway, a thirty-year-old heterosexual male in love with my heroine, Elaine Foster, a twenty-eight-year-old bisexual and transgender female. Elaine is beautiful, while Allen’s an average-looking guy to start off the book. However, as things go on, Allen quickly gets put into Elaine’s body, while Elaine gets put into Allen’s (and in a coma). The reason the cover looks this way is because of the gift of artist Tamian Wood…she captured Elaine, who is Hispanic, beautifully, and gave Allen a depth and richness that I appreciated without compromising his seemingly average looks.

In addition, because this book is set in Nebraska and features two clarinetists, there are subtle touches of musical notes in the lettering, and a long road for the two lovers to walk…

And if you haven’t yet seen the blurb for CHANGING FACES yet, here’s the longer version (not available at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.com), as that may give you more of an inkling:

Allen and Elaine are graduate students in Nebraska, have been together for seven years, and are engaged. They love each other very much, and have many things in common. Both play the clarinet, are teaching assistants, are well-respected and seem to have their lives firmly on track. In fact, their life should be idyllic, but Elaine’s past includes rape, neglect, and abuse from those who should’ve loved her—but didn’t, because from childhood, Elaine identified as transgender.

When Elaine tells Allen right before Christmas, he doesn’t know what to do. He loves Elaine, loves her soul, has heard about transgender people before, but didn’t think Elaine was one of them—she looks and acts like anyone else. Now, she wants to become a man and is going to leave.

He prays for divine intervention, and says he’ll do anything, just please don’t separate him from Elaine. And in the form of a car accident, he gets his wish.

Now, he’s in Elaine’s body. And she’s in his. But both were injured, and Allen’s old body (with Elaine inside) is in a coma.

Allen can’t tell anyone who he is. But one thing’s certain: if Elaine can wake up, he wants to be with her. He doesn’t care what body he’s in, or that he, too, is now transgender.

True love matters so much to the universe, once you have found your soulmate, the universe will do anything to keep you together—even change your faces.

Anyway, here are all the links to the various places where CHANGING FACES is on sale, courtesy of Chris the Story-Telling Ape (he put it into this format, and it makes sense, so I’m going to keep crediting him — thank you again, Chris!):

Barnes & Noble

Amazon:

USA  –   UK  –  CA  –  AUS  –  IN

And if you want to try before you buy? That’s all right with me, too. Go read the sample chapters right now:

http://www.twilighttimesbooks.com/ChangingFaces_ch1.html

My novel, “Changing Faces,” Coming Soon in E-Book…

Folks, it gives me great pleasure to let you know that my novel, CHANGING FACES, will be available soon in e-book. The estimated time of arrival is March 15, 2017. It’s not yet available for pre-order, and the advance reader copy (ARC) is not out as of yet. But we’re getting there.

Cover by Tamian Wood

So, if it’s not ready for pre-order, and the ARC isn’t out, you might be wondering why I’m telling you about it. The answer to that is very simple; there’s a four-chapter excerpt up now at Twilight Times Books that may whet your interest, and my hope is that you’ll share it far and wide.

Note that there still may be a few niggling issues here and there due to file conversion. If any errors remain, I hope they do not impact your enjoyment of the four chapters. (The ARC looks great. No problems there. And yes, I will keep you posted as to when the ARC is available.)

Anyway, I do hope you’ll go look at the excerpt, but to get you started, here’s the entire first two chapters, cut and pasted:

CHANGING FACES

by Barb Caffrey

Chapter 1

It was the middle of July in Nebraska. Sweat started dripping down my back even before I’d stepped foot outside my apartment. My hair was already sticking to my neck, and I didn’t know how I was going to play my clarinet. And I had to do that, because my best friend Jolene Harris was marrying her long-time partner Paula Adelson today.

You see, this was a very special wedding. Paula and Jolene had waited for years to get married, and until recently, they couldn’t. But the Supreme Court of the United States made up their mind a short time ago that same-sex couples are like anyone else—if they want to marry, legally, they should be able to do so. Of course I agreed with this. Anyone who ever saw Jolene with Paula and their son, Adam, for longer than two minutes would agree, if they had any sense at all.

Fortunately for me, my boyfriend, Allen, completely understood. He was coming with me—and playing his clarinet, too. (He was going to play Ave Maria at Jolene’s request.) Allen, unlike me, identified as straight, but he’s no bluenose—he’s even walked with me in Lincoln’s Gay Pride parade.

Yes, I knew I needed to tell him…everything. And soon.

But not today, as that might spoil Jolene and Paula’s wedding.

The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. We’d even seen a rare double rainbow last night, after a brief but intense thundershower. Most people probably would’ve thought that today was absolutely perfect for a wedding, if they didn’t mind having to stand outside in 90-plus degree weather.

Allen and I made it to the car, we stored away our clarinets and music stands, and started driving. Considerate as always, he turned the air conditioning on and let me bask in it a few minutes before he spoke.

“I wish it were our wedding,” he said wistfully.

Oh, no, not that again, I couldn’t help but think. I loved Allen—truly, I did—and I wanted no one but him. But…

“I’d rather get married in the winter than the summer,” I told him, trying to keep it light. “It’s way too warm right now for my liking.”

“Are you sure you’re from Florida?” he half-joked back.

“Hey, it’s humid there, but it rarely hits the triple digits.” At his cocked eyebrow, I added, “That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”

He laughed, as I’d intended, and the subject was defused. For now.

Somehow, I had to tell him what I really was. But I didn’t have the words just yet.

* * *

Allen:

I snuck a peek at Elaine as we set up our music stands. She looked gorgeous, as usual, though by her standards she was a bit dressed-down for such festivities in a burnt orange blouse, dark slacks and low heels, with an orange flower in her hair for the sake of whimsy. Chestnut brown hair cut short for the summer, bright brown eyes with flecks of gold only I could see, when she was particularly happy, high cheekbones…a beautiful woman, inside and out.

Who cared that she, like me, had been known to look at women from time to time before we met? Not I. (And no, I’ve never had that whole threesome fetish thing going on, thank you. I’ve always refused to share.)

Because it was hot, I’d worn dark slacks, a long-sleeved white dress shirt, and a tie with musical notes on it. (Jolene had told Elaine it was to be a less formal wedding, so what I wore would be more than good enough.) My glasses were starting to slide down my nose—occupational hazard, on a day as hot as this—but I knew the music well. Even if my glasses fell off, I’d be able to play and no one but Elaine should notice.

The caterers were still fussing with the food, and neither Jolene nor Paula was anywhere to be seen. It was an hour and a half until the ceremony, so this wasn’t entirely a surprise. Elaine and I liked to be early, to get ourselves acclimated, whenever we played a gig—not that we’d played a ton of weddings, but we’d certainly played at enough other places that this should not be much of a stretch.

We started with the Telemann Canonic Sonatas, easy enough pieces to play as they hadn’t been designed for the clarinet’s three-octave range. They were fun, though, and suited the day well…after a while, I noticed Adam, Jolene’s son and a burgeoning clarinetist, watching us avidly. His two-toned blond head bobbed to the music, and he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. But he wasn’t dressed for a wedding; instead, he wore a t-shirt and ratty old jeans with shoes that looked two sizes two big.

When we took a break, I nodded toward him and asked Elaine, “He seems happy, don’t you think?” Of course, I wanted to say, What on Earth is he wearing? But I was far too polite.

“He’s probably glad I didn’t assign him to play these pieces,” she said with an arched eyebrow.

I stifled a laugh. “He’s still a beginner, so he doesn’t need to worry about that yet.”

“Ah, but does he know that?”

After we put our clarinets down, Adam came over and handed us each an ice-cold bottle of water. “You two sound great!”

“Thanks, kiddo.” I resisted the urge to ruffle his hair, taking a sip of water instead. “Are you wearing that to your mothers’ wedding?”

Adam shrugged. “They’re worried about what they’re wearing. I didn’t think they’d care what I wore.”

“Try again,” I said kindly. “I’m sure they’ll have someone taking pictures, as they’ve waited a long time to get married.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is. They’ve been together since I was a baby. Do they really need a piece of paper after all that?”

Before I could say anything, Elaine jumped in. “Yes, having the relationship matters more than the piece of paper. But they want that piece of paper. They’ve dreamed about having that piece of paper. And you, Adam, are going to go in the house and find yourself something to wear that shows you made an effort, or I’ll give you five extra scales next week.”

“And if you don’t find something better than that,” I added, “I’ll have to come in and help you.”

Adam shuddered dramatically. “Okay, okay already.” He went into the house.

The minister had arrived, a cheerful, fortyish woman. The food had all been brought out. The guests were starting to assemble, so Elaine and I played some more duets. The music flowed out of me, and I became so caught up in that that I didn’t care how hot it was. It was just me, Elaine, and the music.

Life was good.

By the time I looked up again, it was fifteen minutes until the ceremony. Jolene, tall and resplendent in a bright blue satiny long dress, was chatting with the minister, but Paula was nowhere to be seen. Then Jolene came over to us, murmuring, “Paula’s nervous. Says she can’t find anything to wear. And we went over this yesterday—I can’t believe this is happening.” She bit her lip, adding, “Maybe she wants to back out.”

“I’m sure it’s not that,” I put in, trying to settle her down. “She loves you to distraction.” My words were absolutely true. I’d never seen a more devoted couple.

Elaine sighed. “Let me guess. She won’t let you see her, because of that old superstition about brides—even though I’m sure you don’t care—”

“Got it in one,” Jolene said, nodding.

“And I can’t go to her,” I put in.

Both women looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “Of course you can’t,” Elaine snapped. Then, her eyes silently apologized…she must’ve realized I’d been joking. “I’ll go.”

“Would you?” The look Jolene gave her would’ve melted an iceberg—that is, if it hadn’t already melted due to the heat.

Elaine touched my hand, and was gone.

I turned back to my clarinet, and started playing the Miklos Rosza Sonatina, ideal for today as it required no accompaniment. Before I immersed myself fully in the music, I prayed that Elaine’s errand would not take too much time.

I didn’t get nearly enough time with Elaine as it was.

* * *

Elaine:

I went down the hall to Paula and Jolene’s bedroom, and knocked.

Paula let me in without saying a word. She wore a bra and a half-slip, but nothing else. The last time I’d been here, the bedroom had been painfully neat but a bit cluttered; now, though, it was as if a tornado had hit the place. Black pants were draped over the wooden headboard along with a shiny silver bolero; a red dress was covered by a bright yellow swath of something in the middle of the carpet—had I ever seen either Jolene or Paula wear yellow? I didn’t think so—while I saw green, brown, white, and checkered blazers, pants and skirts all over the place.

And a lonely light blue dress sat in the middle of the bed, crumpled as if Paula had thrown it.

Before I could say anything, Paula beat me to it. “Feeling femme today, Elaine?”

I blushed. “You two are marrying. It doesn’t matter what I feel like.”

“Then why the flower in your hair?”

Paula was the only person who’d guessed that I wasn’t simply bisexual, though I was certain Jolene knew something was off, too. Paula knew what I was in its entirety—I’m a gender-fluid person, and some days I feel female, others male. But I’ve never felt fully comfortable giving in to my impulses, not the way I was raised.

I realized I was woolgathering. “Who cares why? I’m here to help you. Jolene’s a mess. I think she’s afraid you’re going to call off the wedding.”

“No, never,” Paula said with a faraway smile. “But I have to have something to wear. And the blue dress that I was going to wear must’ve shrunk at the cleaners.”

“Are you sure this isn’t just bridal jitters?”

“Jitter me this,” Paula snarled, and put on the blue dress. Despite Paula’s tiny frame, the dress didn’t fit over her slender hips, much less meet in the middle of her back. “Could anyone wear this?”

“Maybe a dwarf could, but certainly not you.” I shook my head, and sighed. “You didn’t want to try it on yesterday, why again?”

“It’s a tradition in my family that we don’t wear our wedding dresses between the time we try them on and actually are about to get married. My parents are out there, and I figured they’d know—” She looked like she was about ready to cry.

“I understand that you want to be as traditional as possible,” I said gently. “But isn’t it more important that you wear something that you might actually feel good in on a day like today?”

“Point.” Paula smiled ruefully. “I certainly can’t wear this. And everything else, except for one outfit, I’ve already worn…and that isn’t very festive.”

“Show me the outfit,” I told her.

Paula pulled a charcoal grey sleeveless top with a bit of shininess to it out from under the pile of clothes on the floor, and grabbed a grey pair of pants. “I’d intended to wear this to dance with Jolene later. But it’s not good enough to wear now!”

“Put it on, and let’s see.”

After shrugging off her slip, Paula got into the outfit. The top fit well, but wasn’t too snug; considering it was at least ninety-five degrees in the shade, I didn’t see a problem with it. And the grey pair of pants looked comfortable and easy to move around in.

“To my mind,” I said, “this is the right outfit. Wear your best black shoes, and maybe add a black or white scarf? Or do you have a statement necklace, something that will visually draw the eye?”

“Who knew you knew this much about fashion?” Paula teased, as she got out her shoes and a white, fringy scarf. Once the scarf was draped, she added a chunky pearl-and-onyx brooch that went perfectly with the outfit, almost as if it had been designed for the thing.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I advised her. “It might ruin my reputation.”

As we laughed, I took her arm, and escorted her outside to her waiting father.

“Dad, this is Elaine,” Paula told him.

“I saw you playing the clarinet before, didn’t I?” But before I could answer, he added, “Thanks for your help.” He took my place at Paula’s side, and walked her down the flower-strewn path toward Jolene and the minister.

Allen started to play Ave Maria. Before he got four measures in, I saw people dabbing at their eyes.

Of course, Jolene and Paula both looked beautiful, Jolene tall and buxom in blue, Paula petite and dainty in grey and white. So that might’ve been it…but I still think Allen’s playing had a great deal to do with it, too.

I went to Allen, unnoticed in the crowd, and squeezed his shoulder. He put his clarinet down, and grabbed my hand; as I had been about to hold his hand, I had no problem with that at all.

We could barely see Paula’s blonde head back here, due to the crowd, but it didn’t matter. We were ready to play again long before Paula and Jolene shared their first kiss as a married couple, and before the audience had finished applauding, we were playing recessional music—Mendelssohn, I thought—that Allen had arranged for two clarinets.

After a while, everyone had gone toward the refreshment table but us. But before we could go get something, Jolene came up to us and insisted that we get our pictures taken. I hate having my picture taken, as my outer self doesn’t always match my inner self…and even on a day like today, where I felt more feminine than not, I still hated having the flower in my hair memorialized for all time.

Still, Allen’s kiss on the cheek was nice, and my smile at him was genuine. He was truly a good man, the best person I’ve ever known…someday soon, I’d have to tell him the truth about me.

And if he still wanted to marry me then, I’d let him.

* * *

Allen:

Later on, after we’d stored our clarinets away and the food had been cleared out, I took Elaine back out to the yard again. Toward the back, there was a patch of green grass near the fence that I didn’t think anyone had stood on today; an untrammeled bit of grass, if you will. The sky was breathtaking, all bronzy red and pinkish orange, fading into the deep twilight blue I’d only ever seen in a Nebraska summer sky. It was a sky Maxfield Parrish might’ve painted, had he the chance.

“Such beauty,” Elaine breathed.

“What better omen for a wedding,” I added.

For once, Elaine didn’t give me a reproving look. Instead, she looked soft, touchable, feminine in a way I rarely saw…I knew I couldn’t waste this moment.

As Jolene and Paula were saying goodbye to their guests, we were quite alone. Our temporary solitude suited me well.

I went down to one knee on the grass, and said, “Elaine Foster, will you marry me?”

Elaine bit her lip, which wasn’t the response I wanted.

So before she spoke, I tried again. “Look, Elaine. We are meant for one another. I love you to distraction. I want you to become everything you have always wanted—a great writer, a great educator. You’re already a great person, and the only woman I want to be with. Will you please put me out of my misery and say yes?”

At that, Elaine laughed, pulled me up, and kissed me. When I broke away again, I looked down at her shining eyes and said, “So, is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” she murmured. “But…”

Before she could say anything more, Adam came barreling out into the yard. “My mothers told me to come and find you.”

As we went inside, I thought, This is the happiest day of my life.

* * *

Elaine:

I loved Allen. So I said yes, when he asked me this time—hoping I’d be able to explain just who and what I really was, after. And it made Allen so happy, for a time, I basked in his reflected happiness, and felt transformed.

If only we could’ve stayed in that moment forever.

Chapter 2

Amorphous Mass/Massimino

The Big Man had told me to call him Michael, because humans had names. He was calling me Massimino for that reason, though I wasn’t truly accustomed to it, because we didn’t want to stand out among the humans. We were proud to be at Jolene and Paula’s wedding, though for a different reason than most. While everyone else had been watching Jolene and Paula take their vows, Michael and I had snuck peeks at Allen and Elaine.

We’d been in human form, of course. Michael told Jolene that Paula had invited us; he told Paula that Jolene had. We were both dressed appropriately, in dark slacks and white shirts; Michael had worn a rainbow tie, while I’d worn my shirt open at the collar so I didn’t feel stifled. He’d called us “the Lights,” as we were both, ultimately, made of light…I’d worn the body of a human teen, androgynous, of course, as Masses have no gender as humans knew it. And Michael delighted in “getting back to his roots,” as he’d called it; he’d worn the adult male body he’d chosen, graying brown hair, bronze skin, and a tall, erect frame, with pride.

Michael had kissed the brides, even, while I’d hung back and listened to the music with Adam, Jolene and Paula’s son. I didn’t have to say much, which was just as well; I didn’t know what to say in order not to stand out, and it was essential that I blended in just now.

No one had guessed that Michael was actually a being of rainbow light, or that I was an Amorphous Mass. Which was as it should be; the humans didn’t need to know about us, or what we did.

When the sky darkened, we’d made a great show of leaving along with everyone else, but we hadn’t. Instead, we became invisible and went back into the yard to watch Allen Bridgeway’s marriage proposal to Elaine Foster. I still wasn’t in my preferred, amorphous form, because that was too hard to control right now. But it was easier for me to be incorporeal than it had been to hold the body of a teen for six straight hours.

After everyone had left, including Paula and Jolene, we drifted outside a few miles to what the humans called a “rest area.” It was a deserted place just off the main roads, something called an “Interstate,” and was a place we could safely talk without bothering anyone.

We materialized in a deserted cornfield just behind the rest area, again in the human forms we’d taken for the wedding earlier, and walked the rest of the way there. This time, we were both in comfortable clothes—blue jeans, short-sleeved t-shirts, and tennis shoes. Michael had added a rainbow bandanna to his outfit, perhaps as a nod to what he really was—or perhaps because he’d just witnessed one of Nebraska’s first-ever same-sex weddings. He looked quite comfortable in his skin, whereas I felt miserable. The dryness stung my eyes, and multiple small insects tried to bite me. But as I wasn’t truly human, I didn’t smell right to them, and they flew away again.

As we ambled along, Michael asked me, “What do you think about what you saw?”

“Paula and Jolene? Or Allen and Elaine?”

Michael snorted. “Allen and Elaine, of course. We’re here for them.”

“They’re in love,” I said, stating the obvious. “They’ll marry in time. Right?”

“Wrong.” Michael’s lips twisted, and his eyes darkened. In them, I could see hints of the rainbow light he held inside him—but the light stood still. It did not dance, as per usual. “If they were able to marry, if Elaine were healthy enough inside to marry, we’d not be here, Mass.”

“Shouldn’t I have a regular name, too?” I asked irreverently.

“I know your designation, so knock it off,” Michael said, unrepentant, before he ruffled my hair. That felt strange.

“Hey!” I couldn’t help it; I chuckled. “Hands off the merchandise.”

“That language update I gave you definitely is coming in handy, I see,” Michael commented.

I wished I could fully show my displeasure, as my normal amorphous form would’ve done. As it was, I only shrugged, shook my head, and frowned, which wasn’t nearly enough.

“What sense did you get of them, as a couple?” Michael asked, persisting.

“Allen didn’t take his eyes off her. And Elaine didn’t take her eyes off him. They look perfect together, and seem deeply in love…I don’t see what the problem is. Unless she truly doesn’t love Allen?”

“She does, or we’d not be here.” Michael frowned, the light behind his eyes darkening to a midnight blue. “But she’s been heavily traumatized in her past. Didn’t you run their life histories?”

“Of course I did. But I thought Allen would get her past all that. She’s been with him for what, seven years?”

“Almost,” Michael corrected. “And yes, Allen loves her very much. He’s stable, knows who he is, and has come to terms with it. But Elaine is more like you. She’s not truly settled in herself, much less with just one gender.”

“So?”

“The humans mostly don’t understand people who have, as they say, gender fluidity in their makeup. They understand someone who wants to be a male who wasn’t born in a male body, for the most part. And they also usually understand someone who wants to be a female who wasn’t born in a female body. It’s not easy for them to become outwardly what they feel inside, but for the most part it’s something civilized people understand. Yet someone who’s more like you isn’t understood…it’s a real problem.”

“And you’re telling me this, why?”

“Elaine needs you,” Michael admitted. “She isn’t healing from her trauma, and won’t let anyone in—not even Allen.”

“I take it I can’t talk with her like this?” I indicated my borrowed human form.

“No, though it’s an idea.” Michael brightened. “There is one place where Allen came to terms with Elaine, but—”

“I sense there’s a problem, even there?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Michael paused, twisted his lips again, and shook his head. “It’s because of what Allen said there that I decided to intervene here and now.”

“But they haven’t asked for help…have they?”

“Not yet. But they will.”

As there was no one around to notice except a couple of cows and a whole lot of chirping cicadas, we wasted no time fading back into the fabric of the universe.

(Want more free chapters? Go to the excerpt and read chapters 3 and 4 of CHANGING FACES right now!)

Writing During Stressful Times

Folks, I’m glad I can post something a little happier today.

During all this upheaval, I’ve continued to work on CHANGING FACES, and occasionally, other stories as I’ve had them. (CF is obviously the priority, though.) Sometimes, it’s slow-going. Other times, it flows out like water, and makes so much sense, I look at it and go, “Did I really write that?”

I think we all feel that way, as creative people. Whether you’re a writer, or a musician, or a cake-baker, or any other creative pursuit, there are times when creation is difficult. And there are times when it seemingly comes as easy as breathing.

Right now, I’m dealing with a lot of stress. Yet I must write, and I must finish CF as fast as I can, but also as well as I can. A hasty effort after all this time and energy put in would waste what I’ve done already.

I know what I need to do, you see. These stressful times may slow me up, but damn it, they’re not going to stop me.

So, last night I worked on chapters 46 and 47. And I’m proud of that, as it’s not easy to believe in something better right now…but I did it, and I’m glad.

As for how others get through stressful times in their lives but still write, I don’t know. In the past, I’ve written prose notes (what I think is going on with the story, without dialogue) if I have nothing else, just to make progress; I’ve also looked at the work-in-progress and meditated on what I’ve already done, to remind me that I don’t have to give in to the fear that the stress will keep me from completing my work in a timely fashion.

And sometimes, I go back and read other things I’ve written, just to remind myself I have a long baseline. I’ve created before and will create again, and just because I have an off night or a series of off nights, that does not at all mean I’m done and can’t do anything else, ever. (That is melodrama, and I need to stop that, cold.)

If anyone else has any tips for writing while under great stress, though, I’d love to hear ’em!

Housing End-Game

Folks, I really didn’t want to write this blog. But things have gone sour, again…and my blogging is likely to be interrupted for a few days or weeks, so I figured I’d explain why.

As I said months ago, my housing situation went critical. I can’t fully explain this because it’s not my story to tell; all I can tell you is that I knew, at that time, I’d not have much longer where I was.

That was back in April, and I’m still in the same place. It was like being in limbo, and it certainly slowed up my creative efforts. But I have been warm, and safe, and with my dogs.

Now, the housing situation is about to be radically different. I will be put out of my home of the last five years within the next seven to ten days, as something called a “writ of assistance” has been requested. Once that’s executed, I will be put out of this situation, and am not sure what will happen afterward.

For a time, I know I will go to my father’s house. But long-term, that is likely to drive him and I both nuts. I won’t be able to bring the dogs, and that worries me greatly, because I don’t know what will happen to them — and they’re good dogs. They don’t deserve this uncertainty.

And that doesn’t resolve the rest of the situation, that I can’t explain, that I wish I could explain (except it’s not my story to tell, yada yada yada).

Over the past six months, I’ve had various friends ask me why I haven’t left already when things have been so up in the air. It has to do with caring about my family, and wanting to make sure they are safe and happy and well. I’ve also been worried about the dogs. One of my friends told me a long time ago she could take me, but not the dogs; another can take one dog, if need be, but she has cats. A third friend lives in Canada and I’d not be able to bring any of the dogs there, if I could somehow miraculously get to him…this is a big, fat, freakin’, unruly mess. (Insert string of profanity here, if you feel the need. I know I certainly do. I’m just too polite to subject you to it.)

And, if I’m honest, a lot of why I haven’t left has to do with CHANGING FACES. I’m so close to finishing up that novel — the revised and final version, after editing — and I just didn’t want to have to uproot my entire life as moves tend to do if I could somehow hang on until the novel was finished.

I am about three chapters, perhaps less, from the end. But I don’t know if I can finish up what I need under all this stress. I’m having a number of unusual stress reactions already, and I have to be careful, or I’ll land in the hospital and I’ll be even slower to finish things up…dammit all.

Anyway, all I know is that it is likely I will be put out in the next seven to ten days. I can’t get a hard date as to when I will definitely be put out. I have already moved some stuff to my father’s across town, and will be moving more in the upcoming days as I’m able, but I remain worried.

If for some reason you feel the need to help me, I do have a Paypal account. Type Barb and Caffrey together (as all one word, lowercase) AT Yahoo DOT com (take out the at and dot, of course), if you want to help at all with the frustrations and vexations of this move. Because in some ways, this couldn’t happen at a worse time…honestly.

A “Changing Faces” Update…or Persistence is Key, Part 2

Folks, back in 2011 I wrote a blog called “Persistence is Key.” While I’d reword a number of things differently now, I feel much the same way…which is why I’m writing another blog about why persistence is key. (Calling it “Part 2” hopefully links it in your mind that this is a recurring theme. And themes work well for writers. Right?)

Edited to add: Yes, there’s a CHANGING FACES update here. Bear with me. Now, back to your regular blog, already in progress…

Now, why do I feel that the quality of persistence is so important? Simple. Without a rock-solid belief in yourself and your abilities, and the willingness to continue to work hard at whatever they are, nothing of any substance is likely to get done.

Consider, please, that writers often take up to a year to finish writing a book. (OK, OK. Some write faster than this. Some, like my friend Chris Nuttall, write so enormously fast, they put out at least six books a year. But I digress.) We first think about it, which to some involves outlining and/or writing prose notes explaining just what you intend to do. (This would predate a formal synopsis, mind. It’s your formative thoughts about what you think you’re about to do. Clear as mud, no?) Then, after thinking about it for a while, we sit down to write…and after a time, the first draft is done.

Now, do we writers rest on our laurels after the first draft? No, we don’t. We can’t, because the first draft of a story may not be anything close to the final version.

I’m running into that right now with my transgender fantasy romance novel, CHANGING FACES. (See, I told you I’d get to it.) I’ve had one of the characters, Allen, down cold for years. But the other one, Elaine, is continually surprising me with her insight, her biting wit, and the enormity of her challenges. (That she’s a gender-fluid person who prefers the pronoun “she” all the time is only one of those challenges.) And then there are the nonhuman characters to worry about, too (as I did tell you it’s a fantasy romance, right?) — they’re like angels, except they’re a completely different conception than any angel I’ve ever read about before.

Now, I’ve been working on CHANGING FACES, off and on, for at least the last fifteen years. It’s gone through multiple revisions. The way I “see” my characters has evolved over time. And the way I describe them, and show their story as best I can, has also evolved as I’ve gained skill as a writer.

That is what persistence is all about. (Well, that and sheer cussedness. But that’s another blog subject entirely.)

So, while I continue to fight it out to finish this final version of CHANGING FACES for publication later this year via Twilight Times Books, I want you all to remember something Malcolm Gladwell said in his book OUTLIERS. (I reviewed it at Shiny Book Review years ago; here’s a link.)

It takes people an average of 10,000 hours to become skilled in his/her field. That means you have to keep working at your craft, or you’re just not going to be very good at it by definition. Very few, if any, of us come fully formed out of our mother’s womb and know exactly what we’re going to be…and even when we do know where our skills are strongest, it still takes at least 10,000 hours to be able to use them well.

It’s not easy to amass this many hours doing something in this day and age. Those of us who don’t have much in the way of money have to be extremely stubborn in order to persist, work on our craft, persist some more, work on our craft some more, etc., until we achieve some measure of success.

And that success may not always be worldly success. Gladwell talks about genius Chris Langan, who has not managed thus far in his life to break through to worldwide fame and fortune despite his scientific gifts. Then again, Langan doesn’t seem to care about that overmuch; he just wants to use his gifts productively. (He has come up with something called a Cognitive-Theoretic Model of the Universe, so all his thinking has come up with something different and original. Good for him!)

Are we supposed to give up if we don’t make a financial success of ourselves immediately after doing all this work? I say, “Hell, no!” to that.

Why?

We can’t control the market, you see. We can’t control how we’re received in that market, either. But we can control whether or not we’re still in there fighting, to give ourselves the chance to break through — and in the process, let our voices be heard. (And our books be read, too!)

That is why I say that persistence is key. Because gifts and talents are not enough without sheer, hard work to back them up.

So work on your craft. Keep trying. Refuse to give up. And learn as much as you can along the way.

That’s the way to become a true success in any field of endeavor.

Formatting, Writing, and Other Stuff

Folks, it’s Friday. And as such, I wanted to talk about a great many things…so, let’s get to it!

First off, I am going to get “A Dark and Stormy Night,” “On Westmount Station,” “Columba and the Cat” and “To Survive the Maelstrom” formatted for Barnes and Noble and Smashwords as well as Kindle. This means I will soon be taking all four stories out of the Kindle Unlimited program, so if you still want to read them for free but haven’t yet done so, this is your one and only warning.

When I have the new formats, I’ll be uploading them to Barnes and Noble and Smashwords (and, of course, be putting a cleaner and better-formatted copy on Amazon as well).

I’m excited about this, because it gives me the chance to tap into a wider audience…and besides, these four stories have not exactly burned the house down with regards to sales figures at Amazon alone. Those who’ve read them enjoy them, and many have told me so privately. But they’ve been but lightly reviewed, and mostly haven’t found their audience yet.

Next, I’m still working away at CHANGING FACES. The story continues to evolve. That’s a good thing, in one respect, because it means I’m writing a deeper and richer story; on the not-so-good side is the fact that the more the story continues to evolve, I haven’t any idea how much longer it’s going to take to finish it.

Finally — and this is not about writing, sorry — what in the world is going on in Flint, Michigan? Why did a Governor Rick Snyder-appointed emergency manager allow Flint’s water to become poisoned by lead? And why isn’t Gov. Snyder taking much in the way of responsibility for this?

The people of Flint deserve better from their Governor than this. And make no mistake about it — this problem was created solely by Gov. Rick Snyder (R-Michigan), because Snyder is the one who appointed the emergency manager. And the emergency manager, rather than anyone actually voted for by the citizens of Flint, is the one who made the atrocious decision to change where Flint gets its water from, and then not do anything about how corrosive that new water source was…much less test it for lead levels, or anything else.

This is a problem that should’ve been prevented.

It should never have happened, because the people who lived in Flint, including the Mayor of Flint and other elected leaders from that area, all knew that the river water (the new source) needed to be properly treated before sent to Flint. Because that water was not treated, it caused massive problems.

Until Rachel Maddow of MSNBC started talking about Flint’s plight nightly, Gov. Snyder didn’t do anything. He insisted there was no problem for over a year and  a half.

Finally, he allowed for the National Guard to go into Flint and give out water, along with water filters and other helpful items. But much damage has already been done, all because that emergency manager (appointed by Snyder, remember) insisted on saving a few nickels by using the river water instead of the water from Detroit (that was properly treated and much safer to use) and didn’t either know that the water had to be chemically treated before human use or just didn’t care.

Here’s just a few of the problems the people of Flint, Michigan are facing right now:

• All 8,000 children in Flint have been exposed to toxic levels of lead. And all of them now have the potential for many medical problems, including cognitive difficulties (and at worst, mental retardation).
• Because of the lead in the water, no one in Flint can sell his/her home. That lead, and other chemicals besides, have corroded the pipes.
• This has drastically hurt Flint’s image, and has pushed away businesses who might’ve wanted to relocate there.

Now, why haven’t the people of Michigan risen up as of yet and demanded satisfaction from their Governor over this debacle? I don’t know.

What I do know is that this problem should not be occurring in the United States of America. We are not a Third-World country.

But there is a solution for Michigan, folks, and it’s simple: Recall Governor Snyder.

Why? Because Michigan’s elected representatives have thus far failed to impeach or otherwise hold Governor Snyder accountable for this debacle. And when the duly elected officials refuse to do their job, it’s time for the people themselves to step in and do it for them.

The buck stops with him, and Gov. Snyder has failed in his responsibilities.

So it’s time for him to go. Period.