When I began Cole’s story, I had no intention of making Neko a star of the book. Actually, I have no idea why Neko became popular in her own right. She’s a cat. She’s pretty catlike all throughout the book. She doesn’t do much but be a cat.

She’s still very much a cat in Dirty Secret.

In real life, she’s a diva. When we pulled her out of the shelter here in San Diego, her name was Davida. That wasn’t going to fly.

For some reason, I eventually settled on Neko. She wasn’t the first choice of cats in the shelter, not for me anyway. We are a no-kill county so I had no fear of walking away from the cats or trust me, the house would be called in for hoarding. Not that we aren’t close to it already.

No, I had wanted a tuxedo kitten but my sister was all… no no no, this one. I said okay, sure. Then we brought her home.

We had a houseful of people and were heading to Disneyland that week but for some reason, we were getting a new cat. She was placid and slept with me every night that week. Then at 3 am after a long day romping around So Cal and with a house full of people.. many of whom were sleeping on whatever flat surface they could find, Neko woke me up coughing.

Badly.

I got dressed in some sweats and a tshirt, found my slippers (flip flops for those of you who did not grow up in Hawai‘i) and woke up my sister to tell her we were heading to the Emergency room.

Hours later, we discover several things. She was about six months old, had already been pregnant and probably lost the kittens and had a severe respiratory infection. Now mind you, this cat’s been in our house for maybe three days at this point and already she’s on the brink of death. To be fair, she came to us on the brink of death so I can’t be blamed for abusing my cat but still, BRINK OF DEATH.

Years later, she still has issues with allergies and in the spring time, tends to develop a small cough. Her lungs have been scarred and because most of her nutrition went to a litter of kittens when she was too young to carry them, she’s a very small cat.

But oh what a diva.

Her fur is very soft, thick and medium length. She’s the only cat I’ve ever seen with this type of fur. It really is like chinchilla fur. And she’s always been a brawler. Since the day she shook off the infection, she alternates between mothering her crocheted rats to beating the hell out of the other cats. It’s like living with Rizzo from Grease. Most of the time she’s aloof with strangers but will deign to sit with me while I write. And she still hasn’t forgiven me for bringing her nemesis, Yoshiko, into the household.

Sort of has, but not fully.

I didn’t bring Yoshi in. She arrived on the rooftop with a tubal pregnancy and a case of the filth. Seven hundred dollars later, I had a new cat.

Yoshiko has claimed me as hers. That’s just the way it is and she really doesn’t cuddle up with anyone else. She’ll ask for belly rubs, like a troll who lives under the bridge but that’s pretty much her interaction with other people. She’s disgruntled and beats the hell out of the dogs for no reason other than they breathe.

She and Neko have reached a détente of sorts. But only of sorts.

Tam, the boy cat, wisely stays out of it. The dogs are just collateral damage. The two girls will pounce one another and do minor battles and argue over who has possession of the cat window near the living room. There is a sash window right at the top of the sideboard that gets full sunlight. It is the Belize of catdom. There is no sharing. It is a single cat spot and woe to those who encroach.

I was told never have two female cats who weren’t of the same litter. I still stand by that credo after having these two. Or it could be that I have two very opinionated female cats who believe the world owes them everything. But, stuff happens and so I live in the Neutral Zone with daily skirmishes that are more like the ritualistic marching battle between Pakistan and India every day.

Neko however has decided to lay claim to the couch so I sit here, trying to write this third book with a small furry head butting me in the ribs. Wish me luck. It’s a hard life being owned by a diva.

And I am strangely fascinated by this on many levels. I’ll put it under a cut in case it freaks some of you out. Continue reading “I admit… I’m odd.” →

So Dirty Secret is coming out Sept 28th. Honestly, I’m more concerned about its reception than Dirty Kiss. You see, DK had no expectations. I had no expectations. Now, there’s someplace to go. Up or… tragically, down.

Anyone who says they don’t worry about how their book is doing is a liar. Okay, I would be a liar. I don’t stress the one star reviews. They’re kind of a matter of pride that someone hated what you wrote so much that they had to go hunt it down and plaster a single gold star on it. Remember when getting a gold star meant something good? Now, we need five of them to make us sing and dance. Okay, five stars back then would have made me sing and dance too and then see if everyone got one.

Because that’s pretty much what it is… did everyone get one? Is this shit I’ve got on this paper any good?

No, it’s not the one stars that make my gut clench. It’s the 2.5 and 3 stars that make me fret. Why? Because something didn’t hit the reader.

I’ve read reviews where I’m told DK doesn’t reflect Asians and that we don’t actually speak that way (We do. Trust me. I’ll introduce you to my family). There was a dislike of the pair of cops having a conversation that actually happened in real life and the dislike of Jae because they didn’t see enough of how he thought (It’s a first person by Cole. I break a lot of rules but that’s a line I should cross).

It’s the nature of the business to like or dislike what you read. I know I do.  And I know that not every book is going to be well received by everyone but it’s the Meh reviews that kind of strike home.

Let’s face it, they voice a writer’s worst fears — mediocrity.

DK had a pretty good reception. Far better than I expected but I was overjoyed. Then it hit me that I’d have to do it again. Actually, more than once. A few more times in reality. That’s when I deployed the most infamous and beloved word a writer has.

Fuck.

My beta readers liked Dirty Secret. These are the same people who liked Dirty Kiss so I suspect them now. I love them. They are friends but now they are to be sniffed at like an open carton of milk that I don’t remember buying.

So where do I go from here? Dunno. Not looking for reassurances or platitudes. Really, shit’s going to go down as it goes down. That’s just the way of it. The book’s long gone and it’s out there. I’ve left it behind me months ago. Hell, I’m already working on the next book in the series.

But does distance give a writer some perspective… well, enough perspective to worry about expectations? Nope. Not a damned thing makes that release day any easier.

The point of this post? Actually I very rarely have points. I think I mean to say thank you. Because honestly, if you’re reading this, then I’m hoping you’re waiting for Dirty Secret. And truth? You’re the one I really don’t want to disappoint.

Actually I don’t really have any words of advice for anyone being a writer. Not like, real words. I have fake words. Most of everything writers do is fake. Let’s face it, we’re lying. We are lying to you and hoping you spend a part of your working wage to pay us for that lie. So it better be a good fricking lie. Or at least that’s my opinion.

I am asking you to pay me a gallon and a half of gas to read my lies. Well, that’s Southern California gas which is actually more expensive than my mother’s Hawai‘i gas but she wouldn’t buy my books so I’m not going to get any money there. The content isn’t for her. I’m good with that. I respect her line in the sand. I know she loves me but really, she doesn’t want to pay for my lies. Of course, she really doesn’t have to. I’d send them to her for free.

Advice for writers, just write. Really. Don’t let anyone tell you that you suck. You might suck. But that’s not really the point. The writing is the point.

However, if you want to suck less, I would suggest plotting a little bit. At least break it down to chapters. And oh, assign a time period to those chapters so you can see where your character’s day went. That is an almighty important thing. You’d be surprised at how many authors pile all of their events into one day. Their poor character would drop from exhaustion.

Learn how to pace. That’s also important. Really decide if it’s important for your audience to hear about how he chose the wine and its history because I can tell you, I’m gonna skip it. I don’t care. I want to hear about how he’s going to get over his fight with his sister and what to do with that body in the fridge. Just because you do a hell of a lot of research, doesn’t mean you should use it. Use knowledge sparingly. Emotion, use that the fucking hell and gone. Sprinkle that shit liberally. We eat that shit up.

If you’re going to lie for a living, add flavour. And depending on the genre, you can pile it on. Of course, you’re going to get detractors and people calling you out for things that you say to yourself; really? Trust me on that one. I had one person say they hated that some of my Asian characters say no or yes at the end of their talking because that’s just so typical in writing. Sad thing is, I do say no and yes at the end of things sometimes. It’s not a stereotype, we actually say it. More for a courtesy, I think. To allow the speaker to save face and disagree. But we do say it. Some of my friends also use the word la at the end of their sentences. It’s just how people speak.

Now mind you, I’m not going to write a full Scottish cant in a character. There’s only so much flavour you can add without falling into an rendition of Trainspotting but flavour is definitely good.

I do need to start Dirty Laundry, the next Cole and Jae book. It’s been plotted out but oh, I ran errands today so this is my sum total for the job at hand. I obviously need to learn to lie a bit more productively. ::::grins:::

Aren’t boys pretty? I’m just going to leave this here.