Holly Chism's Blog

I really am–I’m just also struggling to find the rhythm for it.

It’s funny, though, how teens take about as much care and engagement as toddlers. It’s more fun on my end because wow, do they ask some doozies of philosophical questions, but…still.

I get up around 6:30, get dressed, and Pixie and I are out the door by about 7:30, and we sit in the parking lot to avoid her having to sit in the gym until the bell rings at 7:40 to go to her locker. Can’t hang a left to come straight home out of the school lot until nearly 8:00, so sometimes I wait, sometimes I take the long way1. And sometimes, I pass the idiot waiting to make a left still waiting to make a left out of the lot. Home by 7:50, wake Imp, and get him started on school stuff2. That goes for a couple hours, and then I let him quit to go think about what he’d been working on. He’s out of the house by noon, to head for his vo-tech program.

I have between noon and 2:40, when I have to go pick Pixie up from school. Sometimes, I can work; sometimes, I’m too fried from wrangling Imp.

But I am writing. I’ve got about two or three chapters of Chop Shop ready to polish, started another…

…and the side character in the chapter decided she needed her own chapter, and was really unhappy to hear that it wouldn’t fit. And then, she decided that it needed more than just a chapter. She needs her own novella.

So, I’m writing a novella for a side character in the Modern Gods universe.

I am writing, and I’m even writing most days. Not every day, but most.

I hang a right out of the school parking lot, a right at the light, then use the Baptists’ parking lot to turn around to get to a left at the light. Because I live on the same road as the school, and I need that left to get home. Ends up adding a full mile to the morning commute, but cuts a LOT of time. ︎I had to adapt my plans, but he’s doing well. ︎

A Sunny Day on Ganymede drops live on Saturday, and preorder’s live now. It’ll be available as Kindle (and as a KU borrow), and as paperback.

A Sunny Day on Ganymede is ready for preorder on Amazon. I’m doing some fine-tuning with the manuscript (adding front matter, figuring out back matter, revising according to my beta reader’s requests), but it’ll drop live in both paper and hard copy on August 22. It’s a collection of five longish short stories that tackled me out of the actual novel projects I was working on, demanding to be written immediately before letting go in time for the next one to hit me.

This one, like The Passing of the Age, centers around young protagonists. Unlike The Passing of the Age, the young protagonists aren’t totally responsible for their own safety and well-being: they still have parents, and, while they’re instrumental in solving the problems their parents are facing (mostly), they aren’t always fully aware of everything going on, and frequently aren’t aware of more than peripheral issues that hit them, personally. But the problems the adults are facing are pretty easy for adult readers to piece together, even as they’re likely to bypass a younger reader’s attention. It’s a collection that can be read and enjoyed by any age, children or adults.

Frankly, most of the stories were really fun to write. The third one, however…that one was frustrating. I could not get the character to tell me what was happening. As it turned out…he didn’t know. He’s eight. He didn’t understand more than the immediate need for action, and that…that was mostly because his mom was trying to shield him from larger issues.

It didn’t make it any less frustrating to write, figuring that out. Nor did it come out any quicker. I had to back up and try again several times before I got that story written, because it would utterly stall. I had to figure out what was going on after the words hit the page, and was able to revise for better pacing and clarity once I finally got it fully written.

So. I had a collection of short stories almost ready. I had it ready to the point of asking for cover art, and getting the last story chucked into the collection after I’d revised it. Skimmed around in Atticus, looking at the order of stories, and playing with it a bit. Moved a couple stories around to change the order, and…

…Atticus ate one of the stories. It just so happened that it ate the one I’d extensively revised in Atticus. I’d added around 500 words of descriptive text (as my son asked for), and another 1500 words adding on a different ending.

6500 words of story just…gone.

I still had the original draft in Word, but…there was a lot missing. And I had to recreate it.

I’m almost done with it, but I’m going to be printing everything, and playing with story order in hard copy before I finalize the draft. I’m going to go ahead and put it up on Amazon, but I’m going to put it up to go live far enough out to give myself a chance to finalize everything and make sure it’s all what I want it to be.

(And also, give my teen daughter a chance to read the stories. If she wants.)

I’ll be working through the Amazon stuff tonight. I’ll post a pre-order link when Amazon’s software finishes chewing through the info.

Especially when the kid’s ADHD AF, and the school isn’t a good fit. Really isn’t a good fit. I think they may’ve been looking for an excuse for a while before he handed it to them. So, I’m assembling a good homeschool curriculum to finish him out, alongside the tech school he’ll be working toward certification as a machinist.

So, I started getting signals in mid-third quarter that the fecal matter was headed for the rotary impeller, and stories stopped cooperating, so I focused on trying to haul kid through getting his grades up. It didn’t work, because of the mismatch between the way some teachers manage points-earning and the way Imp’s particular flavor of ADHD works. (He blew through credit recovery for a full year of classes in two weeks, and only took that long because grading the multiple choice pre-unit-tests wasn’t automated.) Then, right before finals, one of his so-called “friends” reported a joke he made during a presentation to the office as a threat because she was mad at him. Fecal matter, meet rotary impeller.

Oh, also: one of our two cats was also very, very sick. She nearly died in January, then again in mid-April…we lost her two weeks ago. But I’d been nursing her along, trying to figure out what was wrong and get her feeling better. And that, I think, ate what Imp left of my writing brain.

So, next month, Pixie goes back to the school she’s been attending for twelve years…and Imp doesn’t. I’m not sure, yet, what that’s going to do to my writing besides slow it down enormously. I’m honestly not sure teaching doesn’t draw from the same well, and assessments of what he’s reading are going to be verbal and multiple choice tests that I’ll likely have to create from scratch. For American History, Am Lit, Economics (using Sowell’s Basic Economics for that), and government (pulled from primary sources). He’s going to have to pick his math class, and I’m going to need to order a course for him, because I don’t know what he’ll need most as a machinist. I’m pretty sure I can run him through basic chemistry, but it’s been a couple of decades.

I can do this. I can do this for two more years (then one more with Pixie’s education).

But the writing is going to have to take a back seat to the full time job of being mom.

(That said…I do have a set of short stories almost ready. So I’m not quitting. I don’t get to quit. This isn’t a hobby, nor a job. I’m driven to write. If Amazon’s self-publishing pathway didn’t exist, there’d be a bookcase holding my brain dribblings in notebooks. I’m not quitting–I can’t–but…yeah.)

I’ve been having some nasty, building symptoms of a brand new retread of an old health issue. Managed to add those up and recognize it last weekend, and got to the doctor for it yesterday. Treatment has commenced.

(Ulcers. Ulcers suck. Doc thinks it might be NSAIDs tipping the scales on stress, so we’re starting with just PPI and H2 acid blockers.)

So, I’m not eating well, because eating makes my stomach hurt, and not eating makes my stomach hurt, so I’m eating a little, but not what I should be. Which makes me tired and shaky. Not eating well also means I’m more prone to my blood sodium taking a nose-dive, which makes me feel worse,* but I’m working that angle, too.

I am very, very glad I went ahead and got the new task chair** for my desk. It’s easier to get my mind in work mode at my desk than it is in my recliner. Or my bed.

Even with that, I’m working. Because my characters won’t STFU and let me suffer in peace.

Right now, it’s the Greek and Norse pantheons being noisy assholes.

So, last week, I had a logjam of chapters. Three. Different POV characters for all of them. I figured, fine–I’ve got other things I can work on, I’ll just pull up another project and keep going. I mean, Chop Shop is one of…three? I think three projects I’ve got going.

I forgot what assholes the pantheons could be. I couldn’t get any traction in anything, and I still had that logjam of story/chapters that I couldn’t clear. I’d try to write on one, and the others would get louder so that I couldn’t. So I’d switch to one of the louder ones, and…yeah.

Yesterday or the day before, Hera stepped up on something so she could be tall enough to get everybody’s attention, and yelled at them all to sit down, shut up, and take turns, and by the way, she was going first.

That means I’m writing Hera’s story first. Because she’s got the talking stick, and isn’t afraid to beat on the others…or the author. And even though she’s confused and kind of babbling and not making sense? She still has the stick.

Once I’m done with Chop Shop, I’ll be bouncing between working on another short story collection (I think sci-fi themed), and Second Life Chevy. It may be a while, though.

*Did you know that low blood sodium will kill you faster than high blood pressure? You’ve got a little electric sparker in your heart to cause the muscle fibers to contract. It needs sodium to function. If your blood sodium drops too low…you end up disoriented, nauseated, and feel like there’s something going very wrong. You can start to gray out at that point. Little bit lower, and you start having chest pain, palpitations, and major confusion. Much lower than that, you can just…slip into unconsciousness. Too low, and your heart will just stop because the electrical sparker stops working.

But high blood pressure will kill you, too–just slower. Be mindful.

**My new task chair has a foot rest and reclines. Which means I can keep working at my desk when I start feeling awful.

So. I said in my last post (two weeks ago) that I had a short story finished to send off to an anthology.

I sent it. I should hear one way or another mid month next month. I’m good with letting them buy it; I’m also good with rejection because it might not quite fit the anthology. If they do, I’ll probably go ahead and re-write it. And let it blow up to whatever word count it wants to reach, rather than limiting it to under 8K words.

I also said that I was almost finished with a side-story in the Liquid Diet Chronicles. That I was almost ready to release it.

It’s set to go live next Wednesday.

The Last History-Keeper: a Liquid Diet Chronicles Tale

Imagine what it would be like to remember all of history.

Justinian doesn’t have to imagine. He’s the last of a nearly-lost line of vampires, the last keeper of history, hunted by tyrant and monster alike, alive only because of the grace of God, and the luck of having an early pope hide him from those hunting him. He’s been in the catacombs of Vatican City ever since, hidden and safe.

But now…now he’s needed. Vampire, priest, visionary, historian, he’s been sent forth into the world, to walk it once again.

His ordained path leads him to…Manhattan, Kansas. To a brand new nest, filled with orphans and outcasts. And the journey takes him into the path of those who need his help: a six year old girl with an unmanageable memory, and a brand new line with gifts that terrify.

Happy New Year, y’all.

I did it. I made it through 2025. I put out work in January, March, May, July, then November, and the last one for last year dropped live yesterday. Six in a year.

I’m not sure when, or if, I can do that again. That was really, really hard, and I don’t have enough written and finished right now to be certain of pulling that off a third year in a row.

I do have something I’m almost ready to put up right now–a novella in the Liquid Diet Chronicles, following a character that makes an appearance at the very tail end of Street Snacks. I’m polishing it up, and then I’ll work out a description and beg cover art. Then I hope to be able to put it up this month.

Other than that? I’ve got two ongoing novel-length projects (each of which will get a brief description below), and a possible third. And I never know when I’ll get ambushed by a short story that won’t stay short, like both The Law of Magical Contagion and The Passing of the Age. I have maybe one more Liquid Diet story semi-plotted, but Meg’s tired, and doesn’t want to talk to me right now.

So. The first project I’ve got on my plate is yet another entry in the Modern Gods world–tentatively tiled Chop Shop. Right now, all I know is that Prometheus gets kidnapped, and Bacchus gets married in a very weird set of circumstances. Ares is talking to me, and so is Zeus, Hera, Demeter, Odin, Freya, and…well, a bunch of the others, but I have no idea how many chapters there will be, or how many interweaving plot lines there will be. The characters are talking, but the morons are talking over each other, and lobbing insults at each other to the point where all I can do is write what comes as it comes.

The second project is (yet another) coming of age tale, this time in a sorta sci-fi direction, rather than lost-civilization-fantasy. I’m alternating writing that one when the gods are being too loud to untangle. It’s coming along, but some bits of it are weird. And that’s saying something, coming from me.

I’m polishing up a short story that I’m going to submit to an anthology publisher (Raconteur Press, if anyone’s curious), but if that takes off out of control, it’ll end up its own novella, at least. If they reject it, I’ll probably expand it into a novella or novel. I think there’s enough for a novel.

As for other shorts…I’ve got a couple written. I think they’d be good as an alien interaction type collection, if I get more bounce in and demand to be written.

All of those projects are, yes, being actively worked on; however, writing is still only my part time job. My full time job is still Mom of two (high school has its own challenges, even if it requires different engagement than total day in, day out hands-on parenting of infants, toddlers, small children, or large children). My oldest is in his sophomore year, and having some major growing pains. My youngest is a freshman, and she’s got completely different issues, but no less complex. I’m trying to keep one from burning out overachieving while trying to explain to the other why under-achieving isn’t necessarily the path to success, even by alternate definitions of the word.

Now. Take that, and toss three elderly pets into the mess. Dog’s starting out the year with an ear infection (a really bad one), and not eating. One cat’s overweight, and the other’s underweight, and it’s hard to try to put weight on the skinny cat while keeping it off the chonk.

I can’t not write, though. That way lies severe depression.

We’ll see what I manage. My life is an ongoing version of “(Wo)Man plans, and God laughs.”

Street Snacks, the fifth in the Liquid Diet Chronicles, is up for pre-order.

Don’t leave your empties lying in the streets, guys, jeez…

Meg Turner had a quiet six months (after the end of the monster incursion). That was because her borders were closed, but her six months of peace were up when her borders came down. While, yes, bringing her borders down allowed for a lot of postponed good things, it also allowed for an ill-considered challenge for her territory and a couple of murderers to waltz across her borders.

Oh, and an abandoned fledgling that had awakened to the night, buried in a dumpster. One that the Justices would have seen culled with most of the fledglings in the Kansas City nest. Thank goodness she’d sent Radu to rescue the ones that could recover from being brought over by cannibalistic monsters, and nobody official had paid attention to how many they’d rescued.

Between hiding an extra fledgling from the new Justice, Richmond recovering from a nasty case of PTSD, a vampire hiding his feeding on the homeless as animal attacks, and another feeding on her young vampires, Meg has her hands full.

And she’d really like to close her borders again, to avoid having to deal with all of this nonsense, please and thank you.

Sleigh Bells and Wedding Bells is the second (of three planned) in Building a Life, following Fixing Up Love.

Amaryllis and Chris have been in love since…forever. Even if Amaryllis didn’t realize it until Chris fell off a ladder. A year later, they’re working and planning toward a wedding. Eventually. When they get enough money built up, and can take the time to do it.

Unfortunately, Amaryllis forgot Thanksgiving. Her mother decided that since she forgot it, she could make it. And that would have been fine, if the turkey hadn’t suddenly been the worst thing ever.

Now, she’s got three weeks to plan her own wedding, and only four hundred dollars to pay for it. But she’ll manage. It’ll work.

It just has to.