Rachael

Once I was at a HarperCollins party at the Central Park Boathouse in New York. I felt like a naive, squawking goose because I was surrounded by successful authors who didn't seem to think this was a big deal. 

To me it was a VERY big deal. I told one of the editors that–that I couldn't believe where I was–and she was glad to hear it. She didn't think my funny overeager faces were silly. She got excited, too, when I told her how I felt. 

I think it's important to remember these kinds of things. In anything, when you achieve a goal, let yourself bask. Bask in the glow of pride and the knowledge that you freaking DID it. Remember when your mom would point out something that you just did that was pretty cool, and she'd say, "Aren't you proud of yourself?" (I hope your mother did that. If not, I'll say it to you. You should be so proud of yourself, friend, for doing that awesome thing, even if was just a small step. Good on you.) 

Yesterday I had one of those days. I worked a 72 hour shift (that wasn't part of it though it wasn't bad), got home and napped till 1pm (that was part of it. Nothing like sleeping till 1pm, even if you didn't go to bed till 9am. It always feels decadent). Then I got up and went to Mills and wrote a couple of thousand words for NaNoWriMo (I'm still ahead! Loving that!). 

Then, get this: I spoke to a writing class at Mills on being a working writer. 

That has been a dream of mine. That's been a dream for a long, long time. I've taught a lot of places, literally all over the country, and most recently, down under. But when I was at Mills as a grad student, years and years ago, I would walk across the quad, lost in imagining myself in the future, wearing stylish boots, my published books in one hand, a coffee in another, going to talk to students about writing. 

Yesterday afternoon my boots were Dansko and not that stylish, but I was wearing a sweater I'd bound off that very morning, the books in my bag were mine, and I was clutching that coffee like it was the only way I'd keep breathing. 

The students were amazing, and asked awesome questions. They want to be writers like I used to want to be (and now am! Pinch me again!). I want each and every one of them to end up playing the starring role in their own dream. I want that for YOU, too. Keep taking those steps, okay? Those little actions, that tiny risk you take today gets you that much closer. 

Me, after class, a little verklempt. 

Afterward, as night fell, I put the top down on the bridge on the drive to San Francisco and tried to soak up and enjoy every minute of it. The air smelled of the rain that had fallen earlier that day, and I realized that both of the towns I love best (Oakland and Venice) smell best when cool and damp. The smell of dirt and diesel and salt water. Magic of the very best kind. 

I love the new Bay Bridge.

Then Lala and I had date night. We had dinner on the sidewalk at the Grove, and then went to see Jill Lepore talk about her Wonder Woman book. It was a freaking perfect day. 

And it didn't hurt that for all that I was wearing a new sweater. This sweater was supposed to have sleeves, yes, but as I was knitting it, I realized how thick it was. I would for sure never wear it, EVER. I wondered how it would look as a vest. 

 Pattern: DROPS Chocolate Passion, in Quince and Co Osprey. Ravelry details here. 

It's an interesting construction, and will look/fit better after a bit of a block, but you know me. I'm impatient. 

And I just realized this: Finishing this means I can start a new sweater with the handspun I've been spinning from the New Zealand wool! Eeep! Today, my reward for doing my NaNoWriMo words will be picking a pattern and swatching. 

I feel so deeply happy and grateful to be exactly where I am. Right now. I wish for you the same. 

* I keep forgetting to draw winners! The winner of Chris Baty's book is Jeanne B. and the winner of Larissa Brown's Shieldmaiden Knits is Linda McD — you've both been emailed. 

 

I've written about Larissa Brown before. If you like great novels that completely sweep you to another place and manage to keep you there until you turn the last page even if it makes you late for work, you need to read the jaw-dropping Viking romance Beautiful Wreck (see my review). 

Not only is she a stunning writer, she's a seriously talented knitwear designer, and she has a new collection, also Viking based. 

Shieldmaiden Knits 

(Ravelry link)

 

From the book: 

Shieldmaiden Knits features designs in Malabrigo Yarn, inpsired by the epic Viking style.

Vikings were poets and artists. Their woodwork, carvings, bracelets and intricate needle cases and combs all suggest a great passion for design. Their words and sagas suggest a love of dramatic gestures.

The pieces in this collection take the gorgeous colors and textures of Malabrigo yarns, and use simple shapes and easy lace to bring about dramatic results. These are not historically accurate designs, but instead are modern pieces inspired by my research into Viking Age life.

I adore this piece, Gull Warmers:

and these delicate gauntlets just GET me: 

I'm giving away a copy of the book to one lucky commenter — let's play my favorite game and leave a comment about the best book you've recently read. I'll draw a winner on November 11. 

Nanowrimo writers: don't forget to leave a comment in the previous post about Chris Baty's book, No Plot No Problem – will be drawing that winner tomorrow! 

In typical hardcore California fashion, I call myself spiritual, not religious. I'm pretty agnostic, but I know there's something good and interesting after this life, because I've felt close enough to dead people that there just isn't any other explanation (to me). If that's just my brain tricking me, that's fine, too. I'll take it. 

But I do want to tell you about the haunted guitar gig bag. Look! Already, this is slightly exaggerated! Here's how I got it: 

I popped into a very old but newly-renovated music shop in Oakland one morning after having breakfast with friends. I wasn't shopping–just looking–but I'd seen that they had a good selection of ukuleles as I'd walked past, and what's a girl supposed to do? 

The owner of the shop was cordial, giving me a friendly hello and then going back to his laptop. I noticed he was completely intent on the screen, his eyes huge. Finally, I asked the price of a baritone uke, and he kind of jolted himself back. 

"Oh! A hundred." 

"Ah," I said. It was a beautiful instrument, and I waited for him to try to sell me on it, although I already was. 

Instead, he paused. Then hesitantly, he said, "You wanna see something?" 

No! No. When a man you don't know asks if you want to see something on his computer screen, a safe answer is usually Back off, ass-hat. But he honestly didn't strike me as creepy–he seemed more like a guy I'd hang out with, a guy who would fit in with my friends. So I said, "Maybe?"

On his computer were four screens, three normal, one infared night vision. There were all of the interior of the store, two in front, two in back: security cameras. This wasn't odd: it's a music store full of instruments in a high-crime area.

He pointed. "That's me." On the screen, a small image of him walked around, multiplied and synced by four, seen from four different vantages. He was obviously looking for something. The store was lit, but not well, and he used a flashlight to help him peer into boxes.

"Look," he said. "This is a couple of nights ago. I felt really weird that night. So I played this back the next day. I can't stop looking at it." 

We watched the mini-him scoot around the store, tidying something, then digging his keys out of his pocket. He went to the front door to unlock it. 

Something small and bright zipped in front of the two front cameras. It was gone as fast as it had come.

On the screens, the owner pulled the door open, went outside, and turned around.  Through the glass, we watched him lock up the store. "I was leaving to get the PA equipment I'd rented to a place down the street," he said to me. "It was just after midnight." 

As he walked out of view, all four screens shook a little. All four went dark. Then they FLARED to life. They showed the shop, the front and the back of it, but now it was as if a bright light had been switched on and the light was catching dust motes fly around. 

Only these (I swear this to you) weren't dust motes. First of all, motes don't glow like that. Second, motes don't work independently of each other. Most of them were fast, zipping by in clumps, zigzagging in groups, darting like flocks of tiny, bright birds. Some, though, swooped lazily in spirals. Some (this freaked me out) flew toward the cameras and did pirouettes, almost as if showing off, before looping slowly off screen. The cameras kept their slow time, the seconds in the time stamp on each changing normally at the top. 

I was gobsmacked. Slack jawed, literally. "I…I…" 

"Right?" he said. "Now watch this." 

On the film from the front cameras, someone is seen on the sidewalk. It's the guy. "I forgot the paperwork I needed them to sign for the amps. I came back to try to find it." 

As soon as he's seen outside, the bright lights pause. As he inserts his key and opens the door, all of them zoom out of sight. Holding a flashlight, he enters and searches for a piece of paper on the counter. A single bright mote flies across the camera and then is gone again. Another dances in the corner, almost invisible. A few fly behind his back.

Then he leaves again. As soon as he's not visible on the sidewalk, the orbs (because I swear, that's what they were) filled all the screens, dancing and zipping again. 

"I've never seen anything like that," I said, kind of truly freaked out. 

"I have," he said. "I've seen it before out of the corner of my eye, but that night was crazy, and I didn't even notice them. I just felt them. I never get scared here, but I didn't have the car that night. I always walk home, never had a problem, but that night, even though I hadn't seen these tapes, I called my wife at one in the morning, woke her up, and had her wake up our baby so they could come get me." His eyes went big again to make his point. "I made my sleeping wife wake up our sleeping baby to drive the few blocks here because I was scared." 

Then I noticed the date stamp on the tapes we were still ogling. Just after midnight on on All Soul's. I literally didn't even bother to point it out to him. I figured he was probably well aware of the date. 

"Why don't you get some ghostbusters in here?" I asked. 

"I did." 

"And?" 

"They saw the lights, and they said they were concentrated in the back room, where an old man used to live, where he died."

"And?" I said, almost hopping up and down.

"He wasn't a good man," he said. "According to them, he was a really, really bad man."

"You have to be on TV or something! You have to show people this!" 

He looked crestfallen. "But then I'd own the haunted music shop." 

"Yeah? And?" [Aside – I just checked on Yelp, THE MUSIC STORE MOVED. Still stellar Yelp ratings, but no longer in the same place. I'm SO going back to ask him if that's why he moved.]

"I don't want to be that guy. I just want to sell guitars." 

I leaned forward and propped my chin on my hands. "What does your wife think?" 

"She doesn't believe it." 

"But–she's seen the tapes?" 

"She says it's dust or something." 

"But they move. Together. And apart. They act like they have brains, or will, or something. And there are so many." 

He shrugged. "It makes her feel better. I've seen them at home, though." 

"Are you serious?" 

He nodded. "I'll see them zip by, just out of sight, just like they do here. I think they follow me home, but my wife doesn't want to hear about it." 

I started to doubt the wisdom of my planned purchase, and I suddenly understood his reticence to be known for being haunted. "If I buy that uke, will I take some home?" 

He straightened. "Nah. No way." 

"What about the bag?" The uke was so big it was resting in an old Martin gig bag. The bag was ripped and soft and looked more like a sleeping bag than the protection it was supposed to be.

"Oh, you can have that. That's been around here forever." 

I didn't mention I didn't want it, I just paid and took both home. 

Then, when I got home, I couldn't bring the bag inside. The ukulele, sure. I kind of blew on it and said, "Don't come in here, 'kay? This is a nice place. Stay outside." Then I felt dumb and hoped the neighbors didn't see me talking to the uke. But the bag . . . just felt wrong. It didn't feel right. I did finally bring it in out of my car, telling myself I was being stupid, but a few days later, I put it in the trash. I hated having it in my office. 

Silly, I know. A haunted gig bag. But it felt real. 

And isn't that the part that matters? 

OH MY GOD I FOUND SOME OF THE FOOTAGE – he put it on YouTube!!! Augh. Cue delicious chills.

In this one you can't see him entering or exiting the door, but you can see at .20 whatever it is is active, and when he's in the shot with his flashlight, whatever it is is much less active.

 

This is from a different, color camera, same thing, different vantage. Skip to about 1.20 to see it start.  

 I KNOW. Thank goodness I couldn't find the flaring footage — that was actually scary. I can't believe I just found this though.  

Now, I won't bore you with the tale of the ghost I've felt on the edge of my bed (and the cheeky way it tugs on the sheets!) (not at home, don't worry), but I'll ask you today, on Halloween: what's YOUR favorite ghost story? 

(Oh, and don't forget to read yesterday's post and leave a comment to have a chance to win No Plot No Problem!) 

NANOWRIMO COMETH. At some point, I should probably plot out at least the first scene, since I'm going to launch into it on Saturday, but… 

Hey, wait! 

What does Chris Baty, founder of NaNoWriMo always say?

Indiebound | Amazon | iBooks| Kobo | B&N *

Know what? Chris is right. No plot is actually no problem, espeically in the magical month of November. I find out what I'm writing as I write it. I can have as detailed a plan as I like, and I'll veer from it just because the grass I imagined over there, on the other side of the fence, feels cooler to my imaginary toes. 

His book is awesome, friends (REVISED and EXPANDED), and because he's just as awesome, he's giving away TWO signed copies and a fire-breathing princess postcard, to boot. 

Just leave me a comment below to enter (tell me what you're going to write about! Or what you're NOT going to write about — ooh, that's even more interesting, the negative space around your words…) and I'll draw two winners on Nov. 5th. 

In the meantime, I'll just sit here and wonder why I take on creative challenges like sketching something every day just as November lands in my lap. Please enjoy the book llama Chris sent me, as he does. 

*Affiliate links

 

I've done National Novel Writing Month for the last seven years. This will be my eighth. There were some years I kind of half-assed it, I have to admit. There were years I was smack-dab in the middle of revisions that were due in December, and I had to be a NaNo Rebel. I didn't love those years. Those felt fake. 

Isn't that silly? It's an online challenge, just a lark. 

But it's a challenge I really do take seriously. I absolutely believe in the magic of writing so fast you barely think while you're doing it. When you look back at your writing (after November! not during!), you find some terrible writing, sure. But you also find not just gold, but entire gold mines, lines of written ore you never would have uncovered if you hadn't been so willing to ride the train right off the rails (no, you're a mixed metaphor). 

This year, I'm doing it for-real-for-reals. As I mentioned in my last post, I have a new book to write! I sold my ninth, to Penguin! And I can't wait to write 1,667 words every day. 

And for you, here's a little How-To video, in case you're thinking about it, wondering if you can or should try. (Hint: TRY IT. What's the worst that can happen? You get more words written in November than you did in October? Fabulous! Good for you!) 

From today's Publisher's Marketplace: 

SOLD: Rachael Herron's TAKING CARE, in which two women, who discover they had been married to the same man at different times, find their way towards friendship and family along a bumpy path despite their differences, again to Danielle Perez at NAL, by Susanna Einstein at Einstein Thompson Agency (NA).

This will be my 2016 release, so it's early to get excited about it, but I AM SO EXCITED. I love this story idea, and I can't wait to start writing it.