Eileen Bell

I was going to hide out this summer.  Get my back yard done (really, this time) and write another novel.  No fooling around about the novel — I’m tired of novellas for the moment, and want to dive into something longer and meatier.  It was going to be a great summer.  Or so I thought.

So far, not so good.  We did get the back yard sort of done — and then the gas boys came in and tore it up for us.  (Universe, cut me some slack, OK?)  My dog died, which was a kick to the head. (And no, they don’t all die in their sleep. Sometimes they die begging for help.) And that novel I was going to write?  It has been put aside until I get my back — back.

I have a screwed up back.  Had an operation to fix a messed up disc years ago — but I still have problems.  If I’m not careful (read if I don’t exercise enough) it will “pop out” which sounds fairly benign, but isn’t.  It’s a horrible feeling — along with the pain is the certainty that this time the top half of my body really will completely disconnect from the bottom half and slide off, held in place only by skin.  Blech.

So, went to my favorite chiropractor, and was met with his patented “look.”  His “I’m not angry, just massively disappointed” look.  “It’s been a while,” he muttered, writing furiously.

“Yeah.  Sorry.  Been kind of busy,” I replied, trying to stay calm.  Sometimes his ministrations hurt.  Actually, they always hurt.

He set to, and the cracking coming from my spine was ferocious.  Snapping and popping from the usual spot (lower back) and then he worked up.  And he frowned.

“Wood.”

“What?” I gasped, trying not to react.  Reacting for me would be leaping up and smacking him a good one for hurting me.  Isn’t that what a normal person would do?  Smack someone who is trying to hurt you?

“Your shoulders are like wood.  Two by fours, to be exact.  And your neck!”  Snap, pop, CRACK.  “Just terrible.”

After the pain stopped, he told me to make another appointment in a few days.  “However, if you need to, come in earlier.”

“Earlier?” He’s never said this to me before.  Holy crap, it really must be bad.

“Yes.”  Then he shook his head and shot me another “I’m disappointed” look.  “Too many hours on the computer.  That’s what’s doing this.”

Ah.  Computer.  As in writing.  Oh, wait.  It was my turn to frown.  This wasn’t funny.

My shoulders no longer feel like ground glass under the blades, and my head finally feels clear.  I’ve started exercising again (as my screaming muscles can attest) but I haven’t gone back to writing in any big way.  It only takes a couple of hours, and I start to knot up again.  So — no big sessions, which I LOVE.  And no novel.  Not so far.

Hope springs eternal — and I still have one more month.  I just have to keep exercising (shut up muscles!) and stretching between writing sessions. And remember to break up the long sessions. (Darn it.  I LOVE those long sessions.) And I need to keep going back to my chiropractor until I am completely healed.

Wish me luck.

To get another big chunk of our patio built this weekend.  Why we decided to do it on the the weekend, I have no idea, but we did.  And that was our biggest problem.

We actually started this project at the beginning of May.  We got some good weather, and ripped into it, getting the walkway to the patio built.  (We decided not to put it next to the house, but a bit away, next to some sasktoon bushes, which will afford us some privacy.)  Then, the silliness started.  Lots of trips all over the place, and then, when all that calmed down, the weather.

The weather has not been cooperating at all.  2 weeks ago we got snow(!) and then rain. And rain, and more rain.  But this weekend it broke.  Husband’s work hit a short lull, and I was finished my (hopefully) last rewrite.  Weekend free.  Let’s get to work!

Saturday we hurt ourselves digging and leveling and hauling a yard of gravel.  (For anyone who does not know what a yard is — go look it up.  I’m still too exhausted to fully explain how much gravel that was.)  And more leveling.  We need sand — and the rock like substance  that will make the actual patio. (all right, patio blocks.  That’s what we’re using.  But rock like sounds prettier in my head.)

Husband has worked hard and long on the design of the thing, and has been looking for just the right blocks.  And he hadn’t found them before the weekend.  Understand now,  I’m just going along.  I want a flat, fairly protected space to sit and read, preferably with a coffee, early in the morning.  (There is a LOT of work that goes before I get to do that, I’m finding out.)  But the way the weeks worked, we couldn’t find what he was looking for, so we were out on Sunday, to order it.  If we needed to we were willing to haul it home ourselves, in this teeny little trailer we have.  I was hoping we wouldn’t have to.

We didn’t need to.  Husband lost it, and we ended up just going home.  Why did he lose it?  All the weekend warriors were out, making their purchases.  Line ups were long and plentiful. Everywhere.  And he still couldn’t find what he wanted.  Started talking about buying a sports car.  “An erection on wheels” I think he called it.  And getting the hell out of town every weekend, so we wouldn’t have to deal with everyone else on the road.  (Yes, I know there is a huge logic problem in that sentence, but there was no way in the world I was pointing it out to him.  Hey, it was his breakdown.  He could say anything he wanted!)

We actually have a rule for weekend city driving.  Don’t do it after 11 AM, because then the idiots are out.  We knew that. But we did it anyhow.  Like all the rest of the idiots. So we went home, husband almost delirious, and me knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my backyard is going to look like Beirut for at least a month more.

Sigh.

At least we didn’t by the erection on wheels.

Ryan McFadden did a nice write up on the win, so I won’t go into it here.  It was exciting, overwhelming, unbelievable — and we didn’t know enough NOT to crash the dead dog party, so obviously we still have lots more to learn.  My aunt endeared herself to all the “boys and girls” on the 15th floor — I will never forget this huge guy — Wookie like in my memory — walking up to me and giving me a high five.  “Your aunt is AWESOME!”  Yes, she is.

And then we came home.  My husband had been receiving increasingly panicky phone calls the whole time we were in Winnipeg — the last one was on Sunday, and the words “Do I need to get on a plane?” struck fear into my heart.  Winnipeg is a LONG way from Edmonton when you are Eileen, who hates driving, and who has to get the truck back home.  Luckily everyone calmed down long enough for us to hit the road — together — and head back.

We did it in one day.  Good drive, actually, and my husband even let me take the Alpha seat for a couple of hours.  The last Tims we hit was at Lloydminster — a town that straddles the Alberta Saskatchewan border, where we had spent many, many weekends watching our daughter play softball.  (And now the joke.  “There is NOTHING soft about that game!”)

We had both the awards in the back seat, and they tinkled — sometimes gently, sometimes not — depending on the condition of the road.  We made a lot of increasingly goofy jokes about “the twins” as the miles rattled under our wheels, until finally, we pulled into Edmonton, and then our driveway.  I can’t begin to tell you how glad I was to see that little round house and the raggedy overgrown grass.

Our daughter, who had been good enough to look after the animals,  burst out of the house, thrilled to see us — and thrilled about the wins.  (Competitor, after all.  Knows how nice it is to bring home hardware.) We talked for a bit, convinced her to stay one more night (so we didn’t have to drive another kilometer that day) and went to bed, exhausted.

We were all up early the next morning.  Husband had to fix all the damage wrought over the weekend (remember those phone calls?  Everyone who made them remembered!) and daughter had to be taken to work.  Then, I finally had the house to myself.  Nice.

I saw that Ryan had posted about the first day, and thought it was a pretty good idea.  So I did more or less the same thing.  A maudlin little piece about Dad — but it read well enough that I left it.  Then I milled about, not really ready to step back into my life, but not really ready to do much else.  (I didn’t even unpack.  Still haven’t, truth be told.)

The next day I went back to my blog, to add another day. And there were comments for the first post.  Cool.  I like it when people actually read this thing…

And one caught my eye.

Hi Eileen!

Congratulations on the award. I’ve been receiving congrats on your behalf – and thought I should pass them on!

Could you give me a call?

~Eileen Bell
630 CHED Radio

Yes!  The famous Eileen Bell from radio.  Talking to me!

This Eileen Bell has been on radio forever in this town, it seems.  And I have always had to endure the joke “So, are you the one on radio?”

“No,” I always reply.  “I am the other one.”

So I called her.  I could only imagine the look on the receptionist’s face when I asked for Eileen Bell, and she asked me who was calling.  “Eileen Bell,” I said.  The pause was long before she chimed “One moment please.”

And then I spoke to Eileen Bell.  Very cool.  Even cooler — she wants to interview me in July.  On being a writer — and being Eileen Bell.

I said yes.  Good grief, how could I not?  Here’s my five minutes of fame — and I get to share it with the other Eileen Bell.

Ha!

Hi ho.  Things got a little crazy here, so instead of blathering on about my adventures in Winnipeg, today I will post some wonderful pictures.  Enjoy!!

The Aurora Winners

Close up of the winners

The Apocalyptic Four with their Aurora

And here we are with our publisher, Brian Hades, at the Auroras!

The top two were sent to me by Chadwick Ginther, from McNally Robinson.  Thanks, Chadwick.

The second last one was taken by one of Billie’s workmates, and sent to me by Billie.  Thank you!

The last one was taken by my friend Barb Galler Smith at the Auroras.  Thanks, Barb.

I will post more as I get them, and I will continue to tell the story of Winnipeg, a bit at a time.  But tomorrow, Billie and I are off to Mountain View County, where we will be doing a presentation at the Word in the West Literacy Festival.  We expect to have a bunch of fun, are looking forward to it!

See?  The fun never stops!  I just forget to post about it, sometimes!

“So, do you want to come to Winnipeg?”

I was talking to my husband.  I didn’t often (ever) ask him if he wants to come with me to the conventions.  He is really not that kind of guy.  However, this one was different.  This time, I was up for an award.

“Sure, I could go,” he replied. “If you want me to.”

“Of course I do.  Do you want to fly or drive?”

He thought for a moment.  “Let’s drive,” he said.

Good enough.  Decision made.  I sent a frantic email to Billie Milholland (we had been talking about flying down together) to let her know that my plans had changed, and then really thought about what we were doing.

We were driving.  To Winnipeg.

It’s a long way from Edmonton to Winnipeg.  However, we decided we could turn it into a mini holiday.  You know, like regular people do.  Take a long weekend and go on a holiday.  Not do what we usually do,  which is hang around, waiting for the inevitable phone call that lets my husband know of some water related disaster in some small town somewhere in Alberta.  For once he would not be heading to that small town, usually late at night, trying to fix the disaster, so that the town would have water in the morning.  We would actually be going out of town.  For fun.  Ooh.  This was starting to sound good.

We were both up early on the morning of May 20th.  All we had to do was pack up the Element and head out before 10 AM.  Nice leisurely drive down the road, stop in Yorkton, maybe meet Barb Galler-Smith, Diane Walton and Ann Marston for supper.   Have a good sleep, and head to Winnipeg the next morning.  Nice.

Then the phone rang.  A few minutes later my husband ran out the door, yelling “Pack the truck!  I’ll be back when I can!”  A disaster had befallen one of those small towns, somewhere in Alberta.  I hadn’t even thought to ask “Where are you going?”  I just closed the door and brewed myself another pot of coffee.  Suddenly I had tons of time.

I packed my suitcases.  (Yeah, I’m one of those late packers.)  Then I watched the season finale of “Supernatural.”  I ate.  Played with the dog.  Wondered if I could still get a plane ticket.  Wondered if my husband was ever going to come home again.  Wondered why the heck I ever thought driving to Winnipeg was a good idea.

He came back at 2 PM.  “Did you fix it?” I asked.  I didn’t even ask what “it” was.  At that point, I didn’t give a rat’s ass.

“No.  But I think it will hold together for the weekend.”

“So we’re still going?”

“Yes.  Is the truck packed?”

Oops.  Luckily it only took a few minutes to throw the luggage in the truck, and by 3 we were on the road, the jury rigged town water system behind us.  We got to Yorkton, too late to meet Barb, Diane, and Ann, but we made it all the same.  And the next day, we booted it for Winnipeg.

Winnipeg, and Key Con.  And the Auroras.

We’ve been home from Winnipeg for a couple of days now, and my head is still swirling.  I don’t know if it has anything to do with the cold I thought I was catching (when I got out of the car at our second last Tim’s stop before home, I honestly felt like I was walking on rubber, and not concrete!) but it definitely has to do with the whirlwind that was Key Con, and the Auroras.

As you might remember, Women of the Apocalypse was up for a couple of Aurora Awards.  With everything else that was going on in my life, I was hanging on to this bit of good news like it was a life raft.  I needed a light at the end of the tunnel.  I really did.  And I knew two other women who needed it, even more than I did.  That’s why I invited my aunt and my mother to come to Winnipeg, for the awards.

You see, I was at my uncle’s funeral the day I found out my novella had been shortlisted for the Auroras.  In fact, I was standing outside the get together after the funeral, using my sister’s cell phone (luddite that I am, I don’t even own one of those), desperate to hear Clint Budd’s voice say “Your story made it.”

I’m sure people at the funeral thought I was a jerk. But I didn’t care.  I needed the good news.

After the funeral, my sisters and I flew home.  My mother hadn’t gone to the funeral of one of her oldest friends.  She couldn’t.  My father was in the hospital, and he was dying.  Cancer was crushing the life out of him, just the way it had my uncle.

I went to the hospital and told them both my good news.  They were so pleased that, right there, in the hospital room, we began planning our trip to Winnipeg.  Dad pretended to be hurt that we weren’t planning on taking him too, but only for a minute.  You just can’t play those games very long when you’re dying.

We thought we had a few more months.  I thought I was going to be able to come back from Winnipeg, and tell Dad all about our adventures.  But I couldn’t.  He died three weeks later.

My aunt came to his funeral — and that’s when we firmed up the plans for all of us to go to Winnipeg, to the Auroras.  That bit of light at the end of a god awful long tunnel.

I’ll tell you tomorrow about the convention itself — how the sci fi and fantasy boys LOVED my aunt, how great our panels went, how much fun Ryan had (ha!) and how it felt to stand on the podium not once but twice at the Aurora awards.

This one was for my mom and my aunt.  I’m so glad they had a good time.  And I’m so glad I could give them a little bit of light.

Ad Astra was a blast!  Had a chance to be on a couple of panels – Collaboration, and Time Management – and enjoyed them. (possibly more than the audience!)  I won’t go into any details, because, hey, they’re done!  Suffice to say, you shoulda been there!  You would have enjoyed them both.

Signed up for the small torture known as the Autograph Session while I was there.  At least Ryan and I got to sit while we watched  Rob Sawyer and Kelley Armstrong handle their various line ups.  Some day, some day, that will be us!

While we were there, Ryan had a chance to speak to the Bakka Phoenix people — and they have since agreed to carry the Women of the Apocalypse!  How cool is that?  So now, all you folks in Toronto can’t complain.  You can get our book!

Since I got back, I’ve been working feverishly on my next project.  Gutting and ripping the first draft at this point, but I’m starting to like what I have down.  (Starting being the key word, here.) Ryan has it right now… and though he, generally, is kind, I’m expecting some “butt kicking” because this story has to be taken up a notch.  Trying to write the thing around the chaos that was my life for the past few months didn’t work quite as well as I’d hoped, so I still have lots of work to do.  Luckily, I’m getting my spirit back, so I can do it.

Tomorrow (Saturday, April 17) we will be at the Stanley Milner Library in downtown Edmonton, flogging our books and congratulating the winners of the Alberta Readers Choice Awards.  It runs from 10 AM to 4 PM, and it should be fun.  Hey, I get to hang around with Barb Galler-Smith (Druids) for a while, and I haven’t done that in a long time.  It should be good.

I’m glad I’m back at work.  I missed it.

All I knew about novellas when I first got back into the writing game was — I could write a fairly decent one in 3 days.  (Funny.  That’s the amount of time I had every time I wrote in the 3 Day Novel Contest.)

So, I’d write a novella in 3 days, then work hard the rest of the YEAR to make it something else.  Because novellas, generally speaking, do not sell. (That’s what everybody kept telling me, anyhow.)  They are an odd size — too short to be published on their own (due in no small part to the fact that a publisher can’t make a profit on them), but too big (unless you are an established author) to ram into a anthology, or into a magazine.

But I keep writing the things — because I LOVE that length.  I love working on one storyline, and seeing where it goes.  (All right, now you know.  I have NO idea how my stories will end.  Secret out.) I love the limits inherent in the size.  I love working from one character’s point of view. However, I didn’t love the idea that novellas are the children no one wants.

So I started asking people what they thought of the novella length.  I stopped talking to the people in the industry — because all they did was shake their heads and say “Nobody buys novellas.”

Instead, I turned to regular people. Busy, busy people who used to love reading — but just don’t have the time in their lives to dedicate to large books anymore.  These are the ones the publishers lost.  They read once, then stopped.  Had to be a reason why.

What they told me: they would like something that they could read on a flight somewhere.  Or something they could read while waiting for their children.  Everybody seems to wait for their children.  Or they’d like something to read while they are having lunch at work, or waiting for the dryer to finish, or waiting while the dog is clipped.  These are the minutes they can scrape from their schedules for reading. One or two hours a week, if they are lucky.  They don’t want to start the “big” books, because a person can get stuck in an endless loop of “what DID happen the last time I was able to read?”  They got tired of going over and over the same chapter, trying to catch up… so they stopped reading.

However, they seemed to like the idea of a short book.  Something with only one or two storylines, so that if it gets put aside, they don’t have to reread the whole thing to remember where the heck they left off…. something that fits into their amazingly busy lifestyles.  They weren’t looking for short stories, because they are too short. They were looking for — well — short books.

Luckily, there are publishers out there who are starting to look at novellas as a potential income stream.  (See Absolute XPress and ChiZine, for two.) There may be more, and they may have been publishing novellas forever — and I might just be finding them now. I must tell you though, I have been looking for potential markets for quite some time.  Remember, novella writer here!

Of course romance has always played in this field (see Harlequin) with their 50,000 word novels.  (A bit bigger than a novella, but no where near 100 – 150, 000 words — or more that you can find elsewhere.)  These too are written for busy people.  True, they are romances, and have other rules in place besides just the length — but they are being read.  In droves.  Is it something about the shorter length?  Or what?

Ryan McFadden (one of the writers from Women of the Apocalypse) came out here recently, and picked up a ChiZine novella (Chasing the Dragon, by Nicholas Kaufmann) for the flight back.  After Ryan got home, he emailed and said he saw a couple more people on the flight with novella length books.  (He also said he finished the book he’d bought.  On the flight.  And he liked it. A lot.)

So, how can we talk more publishers into taking a chance on publishing novellas, or even, like “Women of the Apocalypse?” novella anthologies?  And how do we talk former readers into taking a chance, and seeing that sometimes, smaller is exactly what they are looking for?

Any ideas?  I really want to know.  After all, novella writer here!

My father died on March 8th.  He had bone cancer, and he died.

Through it, I wrote.  I did have a couple of weeks where nothing would come.  Where what was happening to him so overwhelmed me that I couldn’t do anything but crawl back to my house after another day at the hospital watching the drugs and the “cures” make him sicker and sicker.  I’d eat something, then go to bed, so emotionally exhausted I could barely speak.  Then I’d go back the next day, and do it all over again.

Somewhere in there, though, I started to suck it up.  Maybe it was because Dad seemed to hear me when I talked about my story.  I had to give the man the end, now didn’t I?  It was one thing I could do.  So I did.

Dad almost always knew how to work through the crap life threw at him.  True, a couple of things pole axed him, and a few times I was afraid he wouldn’t be able to get up again. But he did. He always did. Right until the end.

So what did I have to bitch about?  Not a thing. I still had my strength, and my brain, and my hands.  With those, I could do anything.

So, as my father lay dying, I kept writing.  And I finished the thing.  He would have kicked me in the ass if I hadn’t.

Women of the Apocalypse reviewed in Vue Weekly!  How cool is that?

Review here.

And remember, last week to be able to nominate Women of the Apocalypse and our novellas for Auroras. (And I just found out that Herman Lau, who did our cover, has his name in under artist.  Don’t forget him, if you like his work.  Link here.