Diana Pharaoh Francis | Diana P. Francis | Diana Francis

Archive for December, 2016



Saturday, December 31st, 2016
Over the shoulder and straight ahead

It’s that time when we all look at the last year and make goals for next year.

Looking back, last year was rough in a lot of ways. The world lost a lot of talented people, I lost friends, the family went through some tough times, and the world seemed to turn a lot darker. I also had a lot of joy in my life. I wrote things I am proud of. I made some new friends and I did some things that were on the bucket list. So it was a year with good and bad like most years. The difficult thing is I have real worries about what will happen next year and over the course of the next four. I worry for many things and all I can think of it we’d root ourselves deeply and hold on tight and try to look out for one another. Stepping into this next year feels like walking into a minefield. 

My goals for next year are a little unformed. One thing I want to do is get regular exercise, for my mental and physical health. I also want to go do some cool hikes to places I want to see. I didn’t do much of that last year and I wish I had. I want to get bills under control and some debt paid down. That means I need to get more writing out there.

For writing goals, here are things I want to accomplish.

  1. Finish DCM4 by end of January
  2. Finish Beck book by end of January
  3. Finish 2nd Job book by end of February.
  4. write the anthology story I owe
  5. write a Crosspointe book.
  6. Release the Job book

Those are the things I know I want and need to do. After that, I’d like to do a 3rd Job book and write the southern spider story. I really want to do that last one. I also want to do a better job keeping track of what I do in the writing and how I’m progressing. The first three items have about 70-100K left to be written. The Crosspointe book may turn out to be more than one and so I’m not sure. Minimally it will come in at 120K.

 

Tuesday, December 27th, 2016
In which I pass along words of–

I’ve been asked to put together a promotional blog post for my publisher. I can’t think of what to write because of brain fry. Husband and son decide that this is what I should write:

Don’t be a Twit, Read my shit.

I don’t think this is as helpful as they seem to think. What about you?

Saturday, December 24th, 2016
Merry Christmas!

For those of you who celebrate, Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah for my Jewish friends and readers. For everybody else–actually, for all of us–I wish you a day of peace and joy with laughter and no room for anger and depression.

Today we went to see the  Cirque Dreams Holidaze show. It was stunning and so fun. It was so wonderful to be there with my family and just get to enjoy. It was so fun and the performers–so very very good.

Tomorrow we have an unconventional meal planned, with fun and laughter and hopefully a dog walk, because the boys would love it.

From my family to yours, have a lovely day!

Wednesday, December 21st, 2016
Snippet

A taste of my sneak project: (no context for you!)

“Are you saying Damon doesn’t get you hot and bothered?”

I flushed. “Unfortunately, no. He does. And now that I have a little better idea what’s going on, I have even less reason to trust him.”

“How so?”

“Because for all I know, he’s thinking about how sexy my DNA is and how he’d like to contract the hell out of me.”

Save

Save

Wednesday, December 14th, 2016
Ugly Christmas Ornaments

Actually, I prefer to call them hideous. I look for them. I buy one each year. This I only started a couple years ago. This one is this year’s choice. I found it at Michael’s in the bargain bin. Made me wonder how many they’d ordered and why? Are there other crazy people out there deliberately wanting ugly hideous ornaments? Okay, yes. I have a friend who would definitely pick this one out. Hmmm. Make that two. Megan and Christy, you know who you are. 

This is a horrible picture. The light’s bad. But it’s a flamingo in hot pink high heels with a gold sequin tube top with a pile of blond hair with pearls around her head. Isn’t it awesome?

Save

Save

Tuesday, December 13th, 2016
My holiday newsletter is out

Here’s a link to my newsletter with a short story for you to read.

Saturday, December 3rd, 2016
Bad bad things

I’ve got sidetracked onto working on something I shouldn’t be because of *fun*.  Don’t know if it will ever see the light of day, but if you want a taste . . . here you are! Oh, but first, A HOLIDAY SPECIAL!!! If you’ve not read The Incubus Job, you can get it for just $2.99 at BVC in your preferred e-format. Check it out.

“Tell me about your mother.”

“She’s dead.”

The detective gave me a studiously bland look. “I’m aware. Do you think this is funny?”

I pretended to consider. “Funny–no. Ironic? yes.”

“Do you care to explain yourself?”

“Because I get to plan her funeral.” I already was. It would have to be the tackiest, white trashiest, low-rent trailer park sort of affair for kicking off the dearly departed. I’d definitely serve beer. Oh, and champagne. With Funions and pork rinds and pigs in blankets and deep-fried twinkies. And confetti. Maybe fireworks. Oh! Should I go with a viewing? Dress her in a K-Mart special with blue eye shadow and crimson lipstick? Regret slid through me. No. She’d need to be cremated. I needed her cremated, just to be sure she couldn’t come back as a zombie or vampire. Maybe I’d be allowed to light the match on the fire.

“Miss Wyatt?” The detective said, tapping my knee and interrupting my happy daydream.

I focused on her. She could have used some under-eye concealer. Maybe a little lipstick. And some rouge. The woman looked like death. “What?”

“I asked how you would categorize your relationship with your mother?”

“She pretty much hated everything about me and I tried my damnedest to earn her malice.”

Her brows rose at my candor. “So you didn’t get along with her?”

Was she deaf? Or just stupid. “Didn’t I just say that?”

“Did you?”

The detective needed her ass kicked. “Yes.”

“ . . . relationship contentious . . .” she muttered as she wrote in her notebook.

Such a mild word. Like my mother hadn’t been the wicked witch of the west. Like she hadn’t spent every minute of every day criticizing and castigating and moaning over my flaws and failures, which is all I was to her. I don’t even know why she’d had me. Or kept me.

“Did she have any other family? Do you have siblings?”

“Don’t know and no.” Because if there was one thing that was true about my mother is that she kept her life a secret from me.
“What about friends? Or enemies? Anyone you can think of who might want to hurt her?”

“Grab a phonebook and start with the A’s,” I suggested.