Writing

TMI, Autocorrect; TMI!

/ Diane Henders / 52 Comments

This spring has been a bit… hectic.  I haven’t really had that many things on the go; it’s just that I haven’t had the time / energy / physical ability to do All The Things.  (Which is intensely annoying and stressful to a compulsive DIY-er like me.)  But it is what it is; and I’m trying my best to deal. Mostly I do okay, but…

On one of “those days”, I was running late. So I fired up a text to friends who were expecting me around 1:15:  “I’ll be there by 1:30 – I’m running a bit late.”

(Yes, I realize that texting complete sentences with correct spelling and punctuation makes me a Ridiculously Uptight Old Person.  So be it.)

Anyhow, I have a deep mistrust of technology and a near-pathological hatred of typos; so I re-read the message as my finger approached the Send button. And there it was:  “I’ll be there around 1:30 – I’m rubbing a boy.”

TMI, autocorrect; TMI! (For the record, “rubbing a boy” is not a phrase I’ve ever intentionally typed on my phone, so it was totally making that shit up.) Needless to say, I corrected the autocorrect before I sent the message. 

In this case, the consequences of sending the unaltered message wouldn’t have amounted to anything worse than lots of laughter and unmerciful ribbing, but it was a good reminder to check before I send.  (Unlike the time I emailed an interior design client reminding them of our upcoming inspection of their pubic areas.  Fortunately they saw the humour of the omitted ‘L’ in ‘public’.)

And in other news… I don’t find much humour in the media these days, but here’s a story from our local newspaper that made me laugh:  https://www.pqbnews.com/news/squawk-of-the-town-euro-seagull-screeching-contest-migrates-to-victoria-7987317.  What could be more fun than watching 60 people dressed as seagulls, squawking madly?

And here’s another joyful thing:  Despite my enforced neglect of the garden for the past couple of years, the miracle of spring blooms still happens!

What’s funny or beautiful in your world today?

Book 18 update: I’m on Chapter 25, and Aydan’s new partner just exhibited five completely different personas in under 90 minutes. That’s doing nothing for Aydan’s trust issues!

Still Alive

/ Diane Henders / 22 Comments

I’m ba-a-a-ck!

Many thanks to everyone who checked in via comments and email to see if I’m still alive. I am. In fact, I finally feel as though I’m (dare I whisper the words?) *making progress*. It hasn’t been smooth, though.

I’ve always figured household appliances and electronics are not only sentient, but also conspiring to torment humans. So I wasn’t overly surprised when, not long after my laptop caught fire, my desktop computer ground to an error-ridden halt.

Since there was no actual threat to our lives this time, the desktop’s demise merely made me shrug. I spewed a few quiet profanities; but my heart wasn’t really in it. I only had to reload the operating system. I had a bare-metal system backup. No problem.

I fired up the restore program with confidence, and the computer cooperatively ran through the process. Then it popped up a message: “I restored everything just like you asked. Well, everything except the stuff I chewed into a garbled mess just for shits and giggles. Suck on that, meatbag! Hahahaha!!!” (Okay, I might be paraphrasing that message.)

The resulting blue screen offered a few options; but it was only taunting me. Every option pretended to do something just long enough to raise my hopes and waste my time, then it crashed back to the original BSOD. (That’s a geek acronym that stands for ‘Blue Screen of Death’; but if you were thinking it was an abbreviation for BASTARD SOD, well, close enough.)

Fortunately I had more backups. (Yes, I’m completely anal-retentive.)

So I got the desktop computer running again without losing data; but I lost a lot of time. And then it was my corporate yearend, and the black hole of bookkeeping and taxes sucked me down. I clawed my way free only a few weeks ago with my brain wrung out and twitching… just in time for all the last-minute Christmas baking and shopping and New Year’s socializing.

But I sneaked in a few precious hours between crises, so I did get some work done on the (hopefully not cursed) Book 18.

And here we are in a brand-new year. I’m not going to make any foolishly optimistic predictions, but I’m hoping for lots more productive writing time!

Happy New Year!

Book 18 update: I’m at the mid-point of the book, woohoo! Aydan has been demoted twice (in one day) and assigned to a new partner-in-charge who’s completely squirrelly; and she has less than 24 hours to find and save two innocent people from dismemberment and death… all while avoiding an assassin. Plus, Kane is hiding something and refuses to talk about it. Pretty much par for the course for Aydan, but suddenly my own life looks remarkably simple and trouble-free! 😉

Verbal Diarrhea

/ Diane Henders / 29 Comments

The other day I witnessed what was either one of the more inconsiderate behaviours I’ve seen in a while; or possibly a diabolically brilliant business strategy. I’m still not sure which it was, but either way I had to struggle to hold in my inappropriate laughter. (Because if I had let out the full-on-snorting belly-laugh the situation deserved, it would have made me just as rude as the original perpetrators. Life is complicated. But funny!)

Anyway:

Hubby and I had decided to try one of the local Chinese restaurants, and they offered a buffet. Buffets are my kryptonite, because they’re so expensive I feel as though I should eat enough to get my money’s worth. (Which is probably why they’re so expensive, but chicken/egg; whatever.) Anyhow, I resigned myself to the inevitable pain of an overfull belly, and threw myself at the food.

As I returned to our table with my first dish (a cup of yummy hot-and-sour soup), I tuned into the conversation at the table next to us. I’m not normally an eavesdropper; but even though I didn’t want to listen, I had to. And so did everybody else in our part of the restaurant. This couple didn’t seem to grasp the concept of volume control.

And what was the focus of their animated discussion, you ask? Well, what else: Their dog’s diarrhea. Thank you ever-so-much for that detailed description of mucus, blood, and shit.

I’ve been blessed with an ultra-high squeamishness threshold, so my appetite was unaffected. In fact, I had to clamp my lips together to prevent myself from snickering. (Which was a noble sacrifice: Hot-and-sour soup is hostile to sinuses.)

After stifling my initial snort of hilarity, I did my best to ignore the clueless pair. I figured that, like the unfortunate dog’s affliction, this too would pass.

But I was so wrong.

For the whole hour we were in the restaurant, their too-loud conversation never varied. It was funny initially, but then it just got weird. And as the weirdness registered with me, I started wondering why two people would discuss doggy diarrhea for an hour, ever; but especially while eating in public.

That’s when the giggles returned with a vengeance, because the only reason I could imagine was that they’d been hired by the restaurant owners to make buffet patrons lose their appetites. (I told you it was diabolical.)

I guess we’ll never know, but I’m tempted to go back on another Saturday night to see whether the poop-obsessed pair are there again.

But I’d better not. If they were performing again, I’d probably abandon what little maturity I possess and try to out-gross them. I’m pretty sure I could. At a long-ago party, I once recited a limerick so vile that grown men fled, leaving the beer keg behind. (I probably shouldn’t be proud of that.)

Anybody else overheard any *ahem* interesting conversations lately?

Book 18 update: So, you know how my laptop caught fire and I speculated that Book 18 was jinxed? Long story short: Yep, it’s jinxed. I’m still trying to get a new laptop set up.

Short story long:

After wasting an annoying amount of time shopping and deliberating, I bought a new laptop. I had it nearly set up and customized when I noticed heat building up in the case, right below where I rest my left hand when typing. A lot of heat. Too much heat to comfortably rest my hand there for more than a few minutes. Uh-oh. But I cautiously persisted… until the display started to vibrate and flash. DONE! Returned.

More shopping / deciding / ordering / unpacking / setting up the next candidate…

At which point Microsoft informed me that my MS Office had been activated too many times. Of course it had: The first laptop burned without giving me a chance to deactivate the software; and I was so annoyed with the overheating laptop that I didn’t think of deactivating the MS Office license before I wiped the machine and sent it back.

So now I have to decide whether to wrangle with Microsoft over license activations for ancient MS Office 2010 (a fool’s errand at best), risk file corruption by using a newer version of Office on my laptop while keeping the antique version on my PC, or spend an obscene amount of money for two licenses of the latest MS Office.

Or I could switch to LibreOffice, which is free but causes file corruption when saved repeatedly between MS Word and LO. (Sadly, I know this from personal experience.) So then I’d have to load LO on my PC, too; but I’d still need MS Office because I need Outlook to sync its calendar and contacts with my iPhone…

Argh!

Jinxed… And Incredibly Lucky

/ Diane Henders / 43 Comments

So, remember how I speculated that Book 18 might be cursed?

Well, here’s what happened this morning:

Yep, that is one seriously fried laptop.

I was in the shower, but fortunately Hubby was just down the hall when he heard a loud hissing noise. It took about 20 seconds for him to think “What the…?” and run to living room. By then, my laptop was belching out enough toxic smoke to fill the entire house.

Luckily it didn’t actually catch fire, and Hubby (my hero) grabbed the smoking corpse and chucked it outside. We’ve been airing out the house ever since.

Another stroke of good fortune (which I prefer to call ‘good planning’) is that I back up my files daily, so I didn’t lose anything except peace of mind and a whole bunch of adrenaline.

But since my back is still too cranky for me to work steadily at my desktop computer, this means another delay while I get a new laptop and set it up so I can work in other positions besides seated at my desk.

Poor Book 18. I promise, I haven’t given up!

But overall I’m incredibly grateful. It’s a whole lot easier to replace a fried laptop than a fried house. So, ’scuse me while I take a few deep breaths (outside, where it isn’t stinky) and give thanks for my staggeringly good luck!

STILL Not Smarter Than A Cervid

/ Diane Henders / 14 Comments

Remember how I heaved a sigh of relief when the deer finally left our yard?  And remember how I speculated that Mother Nature must have finally decided I’d been punished enough?

Ha.

I’ve always suspected Ma Nature has a sadistic streak, so it was with a sense of inevitability that I discovered more damage in my garden last month.  Only this time it was serious. 

Every morning I trudged miserably out to catalogue the newly-denuded stumps of cherished fruit trees, veggies, rose bushes, and other ornamentals… despite the 8-foot-tall fence around our yard.  Every afternoon I added more fortifications, until the yard was crisscrossed with complex mazes of fencing and netting. The deer got more and more brazen, strolling around and chowing down on the garden even in broad daylight.

Hubby and I sharpened into a precision tactical team.  With a single cry of “Deer!”, we both rushed for the door:  I (carrying my Gel Blaster) to open the gate; and Hubby stealthily circling around from the rear.  Then I fell back and together we stalked the deer, easing it toward the gate and then opening fire with shouts and soft-gels to drive it through.

We kicked that deer out of the yard several times a day, and every evening.  Each time the deer would trot across the road before slowing… and then circling right back.  And it kept getting back in, throwing itself at the fence until the wire ripped from its posts and it could scramble over.  The garden was decimated, and I felt besieged.  What the hell was wrong with this damn deer? We’ve lived here seven years and no deer has ever attacked the fence before.

At last, all was revealed when Hubby glimpsed the deer in the woods:  It wasn’t an ‘it’; it was a ‘she’.  And she had a fawn.  No wonder we couldn’t keep her out.

Without much hope, I purchased a deer call to simulate doe grunts.  The salesman at Cabela’s openly laughed at me, and in my heart of hearts I knew he was right:  There was no way I was going to be able to lure the baby outside the fence.

But the very next morning, Mother Nature (and Mother Deer) finally relented.  I looked out the window and there was Mom in the yard… with two fawns gamboling after her.  Absolutely adorable!  And, more importantly, positioned so that we could herd them out the gate.

After all our practice, it was ridiculously easy.  Mom knew the drill by then.  In fact, I’m pretty sure she was counting on us to open the gate so she and her babies could leave the nursery.  The operation was accomplished in only a few minutes, and they trotted calmly away into the forest.  As Mom flicked her tail nonchalantly in our direction, I read the thought-bubble above her head:  “Stupid humans.”

And I hardly even minded, because the fawns were SO cute.  (And SO GONE!!!)

But I haven’t relaxed.  In just a few short weeks, the fawns will be old enough to jump almost as high as the mother.  I really hope they’ve forgotten about our yummy garden buffet…

Book 18 update: I’m beginning to wonder if this book is cursed. Every time I start to make progress, something else goes haywire. But despite demonic deer, a forced transfer to a completely new publishing distributor, some necessary updates to book covers and promos, “fire-smarting” our house and yard for the current wildfire season, AND another round of medical appointments for my cranky back… I’ve managed to complete Book 18’s plotting! Stay tuned for writing progress, hopefully soon. 🙂

AI’d

/ Diane Henders / 38 Comments

There’s been a lot in the news lately about Artificial Intelligence and how AI is disrupting the writing and publishing industry. 

When AI-written “stories” first appeared a couple of years ago, authors scoffed.  AI-generated stories were bad.  Really bad.  Whew, nothing to worry about.

But…

We didn’t know that the creators of AI had scraped up a giant library of books (without paying for them) and fed them to the hungry AI machine.  And recently, I’ve seen excerpts from AI-written books that were… not awful.  Or at least, not substantially more awful than a lot of human-written books.  For one thing, AI usually uses correctly-spelled words in appropriate context, which is refreshing for a word-nerd like me.

What’s not-so-refreshing is the knowledge that AI is gunning for our jobs.  Maybe not so much for fiction writers (yet), but I’d be nervous if I was a non-fiction writer. 

Hell, I’m nervous anyway.  Even if AI-written fiction never quite matches the quality of human-created fiction (and I don’t see any reason why it won’t eventually… or next year), Amazon is already being flooded with millions of AI-generated books.  Some of them even steal an established author’s name and put it on the cover; so be wary if you discover that your favourite author has unexpectedly released a new book or ten.

From a reader’s standpoint, AI-generated books would be a boon.  AIs never have to take time off from writing for injuries or illness or family crises. And why wait a year or more for a human author to release their next book, when AI can pump them out faster than any human can read?  Maybe the books aren’t as “good”, but “good” is so subjective that it’s nearly irrelevant.  I’ve struggled through some human-produced fiction that’s so bland it might as well have been computer-generated.

When I was a kid, nobody had heard of AI except farmers… and they knew AI meant Artificial Insemination.  Today’s AI has a lot in common with the original meaning:  We’re all gonna get thoroughly screwed; it won’t be any fun; and we won’t even get a kiss first.

But being human means I’m capable of stubbornly ignoring unpleasant facts. Since it’s far too late to slap the lid back on this particular Pandora’s Box, I’m going to just keep writing and hoping for the best.  In fact, I’m going to get really subversive here and imagine a happy outcome! 

Courts have already ruled that AI-generated works can’t be copyrighted (at least so far — this is a very new area of copyright law). So maybe in some rose-tinted fictional future, the proceeds from sales of AI-generated works will be divvied up and distributed to human authors.  Seems only fair, since the AIs learned to write by reading our books in the first place.

Hey, I can dream, right?

P.S. I hear you asking, “How can I support a human author when I’ve already bought all their books?” Answer: Thank you for supporting human authors! If you want to help, introduce your favourite books to your friends, and post about your faves on social media. Every mention helps! (Some authors have donation buttons on their websites, too. I haven’t felt comfortable doing that yet, so I welcome your thoughts about it.)

Book 18 update: I’m on Chapter 20, sneaking up on the halfway point! Aydan is struggling to put out metaphorical fires that seem to pop up every time she turns around. But then, what else is new?

Ten Years Off…

/ Diane Henders / 32 Comments

You know the expression “That took ten years off my life”? I know the feeling well — I’ve had quite a few experiences that felt as though they’d shortened my life. That ‘ten years’ must be metaphorical, though; otherwise I’d be dead already.

Nearly drowning at a swimming lesson (there’s irony for you), getting cornered by a guy much larger than me, having my dirt bike’s brakes fail on a steep mountain trail: Thirty years gone right there.

Watching a steel lawn dart (which I had thrown) plummet toward my sister’s head: That must have taken at least twenty years off my life. If I had yelled a warning and she had stopped and turned, I probably would have scored a bullseye on her brain and this story would have had a tragic ending. Fortunately I was paralyzed by horror and she was walking away, so the only end that suffered was hers: I scored a bullseye on her butt. It’s funny in retrospect (as long as you’re not my sister), but at the time it was terrifying.

Okay, no; it’s still terrifying. I love my sister, and just thinking of ‘what might have happened’ makes my stomach clench. I don’t know whether the patron saint of idiot kids was on my side that day, or whether her guardian angel was working overtime; but, yikes! *shudder*

Having a bear sniffing around outside my tent in the middle of the night: Ten years. Seeing a funnel cloud bearing down on our house: Ten years. Getting a phone call saying, “Your husband has a head injury and the ambulance is taking him to the hospital now”: Ten years… no; actually about thirty. But I’m deducting a couple of decades after the fact, because fortunately Hubby was fine. (Except for six hours of amnesia where he didn’t know where he was and he asked the same three questions every five minutes. Those were lo-o-o-ong scary hours.)

A couple of weeks ago I took another ten years off my life, but this time the process was much more relaxing: Instead of abject terror, I used Photoshop.

Yep, it’s time for another cover update for the series — it’s hard to believe it’s been over ten years since Book 1 was published! And since I’ve never been thrilled with the image for Book 1, I decided to change it as part of the new look, too.

Posing for the covers seemed like a good idea at the time: The model is always available, and I never have to pay her. But unlike Aydan, who has only aged two years since 2010… well… let’s just say I’m not forty-eight anymore. Thank goodness for Photoshop’s ability to erase a decade! (Or thereabouts. No need to elaborate.)

Here’s the new look:

The updates should start appearing in retail channels in the next few weeks.

What’s new in your world this week?

Book 18 update: My time has been spent on cover updates lately, but I’m on Chapter 7 and looking forward to getting back into my writing routine!

’Zon-derwear

/ Diane Henders / 30 Comments

We live almost an hour away from the nearest city, so when we can’t find what we need in the local small-town stores, we order from Amazon. Their delivery service is usually fast, cheap, and trouble-free.

Until last week.

I was expecting a package containing a watch band, a walking foot for my sewing machine (Andrew, I’m blaming that purchase on you), and a pair of bypass pruners. The package was scheduled to be delivered on Friday, and it arrived right on time.

But when I opened it… no pruners. No watch band or sewing gadgets. Nope; instead I’d gotten a 4-pack of men’s underwear. Black.

My brain short-circuited. I double-checked the address label. Picked up the undie-pack and turned it over a couple of times; because maybe if I looked at it from a different angle, it might turn into the things I’d actually ordered. (It didn’t.)

Then I thought, “Could this be a gag gift from a fan?”

It’s not as far-fetched as you might think. I love hearing from my readers, and every now and then I get a letter containing a tongue-in-cheek reference to John Kane’s famously well-packed black underwear. (Hmm, given the subject matter, maybe ‘tongue-in-cheek’ isn’t the most appropriate expression here.) Anyhow, the point is that occasionally I discuss men’s underwear with random strangers; which theoretically could lead to *ahem* unusual gifts.

But I checked the order status, and it showed that the delivery was indeed ‘my’ parcel.

So I called ’Zon and they quickly resolved the issue, with a few giggles on both sides. My original items were re-shipped, and the agent assured me that I didn’t have to return the underwear.

You might be thinking, “Score for Hubby: Four free pairs of undies!” But no; the undie size (you know I wanted to say ‘package size’) is XS: Extra-small. Hubby is not.

So I guess I’ll donate the ’Zonderwear to the local homeless shelter. I can see it now: A middle-aged woman sidles in and hands over a single pack of extra-small men’s underwear. Sounds like the start of a joke… or a novel. Hmmm, there’s a thought…

Any surprises in your world this week?

Book 18 update: I’m on Chapter 3, and Aydan has just had some comfortable assumptions shattered.

And… the series book trailer is finished, woohoo! See below:

Revealing!

/ Diane Henders / 47 Comments

A while ago on Facebook, I was grumbling about stubborn characters who refuse to do what I want. I promised to explain who was giving me trouble and why, after Book 17 was released.

But meanwhile, here’s a teaser: I’ll reveal the culprit and the “conversation” we had; and I bet you’ll recognize the situation as soon as you get to it in the book!

The culprit: Former secret agent John Kane.

The conversation:

Me: Okay, let’s move this forward.

John: No.

Me: What?!? You can’t tell me ‘no’. I’m the author. I control your every move.

John: I don’t care who you are; I won’t do that.

Me: You sure as hell will!

John: *stubborn silence*

Several frustrating days later, after no writing progress…

Me (wheedling): Come on, John. I spent a week figuring out how to make this work, and it took three chapters to set it up. Just do it, okay? You know you want to.

John: No.

Me (fighting dirty): Arnie would do it in a heartbeat. And he’d make it hot as hell.

John: Good for Arnie. But he’s not here. And I won’t do it.

Me: Yes. You. Will!

After another week of fruitless writing, re-writing, and discarding…

John: It doesn’t have to be this difficult, you know. Just let me do it my way. And I promise… (deep seductive rumble) … I’ll make it hotter than hell.

Me: Gah! Okay, fine! Do it your way… (under my breath) … jerk.

Later…

Me (fanning myself): Whew! Okay, John. You were right, and I was wrong…

And now for another reveal: The cover and jacket blurb are finally done(ish) for Book 17; and we have a release date, woohoo! But I have two options for the cover, and I can’t decide. Please help me by voting for your fave:

Back cover blurb: Secret agent Aydan Kelly is investigating an international arms cabal when drive-by shootings target her lovers, her Director, and Aydan herself.  Her trusted informant delivers the chilling news:  All their covers are blown.

The hitmen keep coming… and they seem to know exactly where Aydan and her team will be.  Someone in the Department is betraying them, and Aydan is forced into a deadly race against time.  Can she catch the traitor and stop the cabal before they slaughter the people she loves?

Live And Let Spy will be released October 28, 2022! If you’ve signed up for my mailing list, you’ll soon receive an email with pre-order links. Plus, I’ll post links on my Facebook author page and here on my webpage as soon as they’re available. Thanks for reading!

1666944060

  days

  hours  minutes  seconds

until

Book 17: Live And Let Spy goes live!

Tom Clancy’s Polter-Ghost

/ Diane Henders / 25 Comments

I’ve never believed in the occult before, but I may have to change my tune. Because I’m pretty sure I’m being haunted by Tom Clancy’s ghost.

Actually, not just haunted. Poltergeisted. (Poltergeised?)

It started simply enough: Hubby is a Tom Clancy fan. And Hubby’s favourite reading spot is on our bed.

About a month ago I was blissfully asleep when a sudden loud noise catapulted me to wild-eyed wakefulness. It sounded as though somebody had smashed in our bedroom door with an axe. This is not a sound one wants to hear at three o’clock in the morning.

Hubby roused, too; although not as dramatically as I did. “It’s just my book.” He retrieved Clancy’s gigantic tome from the floor. “It fell off the night table.”

He promptly went back to sleep. I took about ten minutes to gradually disengage my fingernails from the ceiling before dropping back into bed and lying awake for the next hour, waiting for my heart rate to stabilize.

Several nights later, it happened again. This time it wasn’t quite so traumatic because I was pretty sure what had happened; but nevertheless I had a serious conversation with Hubby about stabilizing the damn book before we went to sleep. A few days later he finished it, so I assumed that would be the end of its nocturnal antics.

Fast-forward to a few nights ago. I was blissfully asleep when… BANG! I bolted upright and switched on the lamp, my heart jackhammering my ribs.

No crazed axe-murderer. Hubby didn’t even wake up, despite my violent thrashing and subsequent flooding of the bedroom with light.

After staring around the silent bedroom for a few minutes, I eased myself back onto the pillow and switched off the light. Hubby slept on. Maybe I’d dreamed the loud noise? Was I losing what little sanity I still retained? Eventually, I managed to ease back into a fitful doze.

In the morning, Hubby woke bright-eyed and bushy-tailed while I dragged my carcass out of bed, groaning. When he asked why I was so tired, I explained about the loud noise.

“I can’t figure out what it was,” I complained. “Sometimes the heating ducts click and bang, but this seemed so much louder.”

Hubby picked up the giant Tom Clancy book from the floor. “I guess this must have fallen again.”

Nobody had touched that damn book for weeks. I know we didn’t have an earthquake, and it’s highly suspicious that the sound woke me, but not Hubby. There’s only one explanation: Tom Clancy has returned from beyond the grave to mess with me.

What did I ever do to him? More to the point, what can I do to make him move on? Should I start reading frothy romances until his shade flees screaming?

Any suggestions?

Book 17 update: I made it Chapter 20 this week! Aydan’s cover has been irreparably blown, and now she has to find out who spilled the beans and how many assassins are coming for her.