Happy holidays, everyone!
Winter break is officially here and the blog hibernating until January. I hope all of you have a wonderful, happy holiday season and a joyous New Year!
All my love,
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Clark is the son of a barefoot Florida cowboy and a beauty queen from the Land of Cotton who ventured North to raise their children in the long shadow of New York City. When he was a teenager, his family moved from a blue collar, melting pot to a segregated and conservative enclave of Southern California, an event which forever altered his world view.
Some of his favorite books are the classics of science fiction, all of which have an element of fantasy if they involve time travel or traveling faster than the speed of light (or through a worm hole) to another solar system. As a child he had hopes of enlisting in Star Fleet Academy, but any physicist worth his neutrons will tell us that kind of space travel will never be possible. Clark is hanging on to the dream anyway.
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The flags were flying at half-mast today in the cold wind. Anchorage is a young town by most American standards, but it remembers Pearl Harbor all too well. There’s still remnants of the world war and the cold war laying around. Bunkers, and batteries, and old forts built into cliffs at sea.
Anchorage is also a diverse town. The schools here are the most diverse in the nation, boasting students fluent in over 99 different languages. So I suppose it wasn’t surprising that I was driving to meet a Japanese woman for lunch. Our kids are in preschool together, and we hadn’t planned on Pearl Harbor Anniversary lunch, this is the first Wednesday of the month and on the first Wednesday of the month we have brunch.
The cold wind brought a touch of snow as I pulled up to a little cafe that boasts organic, fair-trade coffee (a favorite of my friends) and reindeer sausage (a local favorite).
We weren’t there to discuss politics, but life. She asked about Thanksgiving and told me she’d never learned to make a turkey. They had sushi for Thanksgiving (I love sushi and told her to invite me next year). We talked about the kids, and how we get them to do chores, and how we’re teaching them to cook. Her boys make an excellent fried chicken, she tells me. I’ve never made fried chicken so we agree to exchange recipes: her Japanese fried chicken for my American turkey.
Seventy-five years ago this kind of exchange probably didn’t happen. I’d like to think that there was at least one sensible pair of friends who watched the news in grave horror together that day, but continued to be friends despite the war and their cultures. I hope they talked about home towns and New Years traditions like I did with my friend today.
Because I believe in a different America than the one shown in TV shows or described by political extremists who are scared of everyone who isn’t white enough.
I grew up in towns thriving on diversity and mixed heritages. I grew up playing with kids who had dark eyes and brown skin. We spoke the same language: Spanish. We loved the same food: anything Mexican. We shopped in the same town: Tijuana.
I moved to Chicago and found people of darker colors. And the pale blonde down the street with washed out blue eyes, she was Canadian. I fell somewhere in between, with sun-browned skin that stayed a shade browner than the white people’s in the winter, and fair hair than turned ever darker the longer I stayed away from the salty Pacific. The people in the Midwest ate strange foods – hamburgers, meatloaf, and peanut-butter-pickle sandwhiches- but there was a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant that made a decent horchata so it worked out. Here, English was the main language, but I heard Greek and Indian as well. My best friends were a Polish boy with too many constants in his last name, and a boy bused in from downtown Chicago. What did we have in common? Not much except a love of Calvin and Hobbes comics and Michael Crichton books (in 3rd grade… yes… we were THOSE kids).
All my life I’ve been surrounded by color. From pale white, nearly albino friends in my English class, to a friend so black they seemed to absorb light. They were unique individuals. Fascinating, fun, supportive, wonderful people. Our backgrounds didn’t matter.
The older I’ve gotten, the more people I’ve met, the more people I’ve met from outside America… and they’re all fantastic.
My Japanese friend and I spent 15 minutes debating the etymology of RURAL. Why? Because she was an English teacher before her husband’s job moved them to the states. She loves English literature and is happy to talk about books for hours. That’s what makes the USA so great… people from everywhere come together and share and become friends. We’re better because we’re different colors, come from different places, have different stories. That makes us special. That makes us strong.
Americas is great because it’s diverse. And a diverse America is the America I love.
I hope the next few years don’t destroy the America I love.
Emergencies happen. Unexpected bills. An unplanned trip to the dentist’s office. Car problems. We’ve all been there.
Rather than sitting here fretting over emergencies though, I’m turning this into an opportunity. This week only, I’m opening up two new novel slots on my editing schedule, and offering discounts on developmental edits for the first three chapters of your novel, and submission packet critiques. With #SFFPit coming up, I want to make sure your opening pages are polished and beautiful.
The catch? If you want these special prices you need to book before December 12th, and the books needs to be emailed to me by December 15th.
Submission Packet Critique (synopsis, query, and first 5 pages) $25
First Chapter (up to 20 pages) $50.00
First Three Chapters (up to 50 pages) $100.00
Entire Manuscript Critique $1.00 a page minimum of 200 pages.
Emergency Fee to Jump the Queue $50
* all page counts are double-spaced, Times New Roman, size 12 font, formatted for Microsoft Word *
To reserve a space please contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org
These are for CONTENT EDITS only. I will address plot, pacing, and character development. It is recommended that you schedule a Line Edit with a reputable line editor to go over your final manuscript for typos and grammar errors.
Following the events of Elixir, Mabily “Mab” Jones’ life has returned to normal. Or as normal as life can be for a changeling, who also happens to be a private detective working her first independent case, and dating a half-fey.
But then a summons to return to the fairy world arrives in the form of a knife on her pillow. And in the process of investigating her case, Mab discovers the fairies are stealing joy-producing chemicals directly from the minds of humans in order to manufacture their magic Elixir, the dwindling source of their powers. Worst of all, Mab’s boyfriend Obadiah vows to abstain from Elixir, believing the benefits are not worth the cost in human suffering—even though he knows fairies can’t long survive without their magic.
Mab soon realizes she has no choice but to answer the summons and return to the Vale. But the deeper she is drawn into the machinations of the realm, the more she becomes ensnared by promises she made in the past. And in trying to do the right thing, Mab will face her most devastating betrayal yet, one that threatens everything and everyone she holds most dear.
Ruth Vincent spent a nomadic childhood moving across the USA, culminating in a hop across the pond to attend Oxford. But wherever she wanders, she remains ensconced within the fairy ring of her imagination. Ruth recently traded the gritty urban fantasy of NYC for the pastoral suburbs of Long Island, where she resides with her roguishly clever husband and a cockatoo who thinks she’s a dog. Find out more at www.ruthvincent.com