Welcome to the website of Mindy Klasky, author of fifteen novels (including Fright Court, the As You Wish Series, the Glasswrights Series, Harlequin Special Editions, the Jane Madison Series, and Season of Sacrifice.)

Look around, read some blog posts, and click on other pages for more information about Mindy, her writing career and her editorial services.  If you would like to receive Mindy’s free quarterly electronic newsletter, sign up in the lower left corner of this page.

Thanks for coming by — and don’t hesitate to join in the conversation below!

Joel Achenbach is a reporter for the Washington Post.  He joined the paper years ago, after a successful career at the Miami Herald.  (A lot of the Post’s great feature writers and editors came from Miami; they seemed to migrate north en masse.)  Joel was (I’m pretty sure) the first Washington Post writer to have a blog, and he continues to blog regularly about topics of interest to him — creative non-fiction, science for the non-scientist reader, history as a local and national phenomenon, the writing life, and lots of other things.

Yesterday, Joel wrote about the Imposter Syndrome — that feeling that we’re not good enough for our job, that we’ll be found out at any moment, and tossed away because of our fraud.  When I practiced law, I was nearly driven mad by Imposter Syndrome.  As a librarian, though, I never suffered from the problem — librarians are *supposed* to say, “I don’t know the answer, but I know how to find it.”  As an author, well…  There are good days and bad days.

Joel’s prescription for overcoming Imposter Syndrome is right on target.  See what he has to say, and let me know if you agree (especially if you’ve suffered from Imposter Syndrome in your own life):

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/achenblog/wp/2013/06/17/the-truth-about-the-smarter-kids/

We wrapped up another good weekend here in Klaskyville, starting with a Thursday night family dinner to celebrate a cousin’s graduation from elementary school (OK – I enjoyed the family get-together, but “graduation from elementary school” feel odd to type, to this non-parent…)  On Friday, we saw THE REAL THING at Studio Theatre — a play that is as much about language as it is about the nature of love; the first act was better than the second, which is a consequence of hte writing, not the performance…  On Sunday, we saw THE WINTER’S TALE at the Shakespeare Theatre — I have a new candidate for least favorite play evah in that venue, at least the least favorite that wasn’t a farce.  The director seemed to do everything she could to make the boring parts boring and the funny parts absurd (and still dull.)  *Not* a production I’d ever view again.

But most of my weekend, and the primary topic of this blog post, was spent in Baltimore, teaching a class on the Business Of Writing, at Baltimore Science Fiction Society.  The students were great — many of them highly motivated, most of them with some publishing under their belts (short fiction, primarily, although a couple of people had self-published novels.)  I did my best to instruct, to encourage, and not to be ***too*** down about the state of modern publishing.

I love teaching.  I love sharing the information I’ve gleaned over the years.  I love being asked questions, and figuring out answers, and making new connections (both socially and intellectually) that I’ve never made before.

And I find the entire process ***EXHAUSTING***.

At heart, you see, I’m an introvert.  When I need to recharge, I need to unplug, enjoy some quiet time around the house, curl up in a chair and read, *maybe* discuss things one-one-one with a single friend or family member.

Being ***ON*** for five-plus hours is like opening up the sluices and watching the energy drain away.  I can do it — I’ve got pretty substantial batteries to store my social power.  But the experience always leaves me more fatigued — body- and brain-weary — in ways that I don’t expect.

On Saturday, for example, I drove home (making a pit-stop to buy tickets for AFIDocs documentary film festival — another event I’m excited about, but I was annoyed at needing to go to the far end of suburban DC from my home, to buy the tickets…)  I parked the car and came inside, settling in the living room at about 5:30.  After an hour spent not-watching T.V., I got up to make a sandwich for dinner.

And then I posted toothpicks beneath my eyelids, so that I could stay awake to watch the movie ENIGMA.  I was so tired, that I fell into micro-sleep moments, while I was knitting.  (A simple pattern, consisting of only knitting, with increases each row, or decreases each row, depending on the half of the diamond I was making…)  I stumbled up to bed at 8:30, and I slept until 7:30 the next morning.

Yes, I slept 11 hours.

All because I’d been *on* for a classroom full of eager, receptive students.

Saturday was an extreme reaction for me — usually, I’m not *quite* that drained from pretending to be an extrovert.  I wish that I could change things — be a bit more extroverted, conduct things like Saturday’s class without needing to recharge quite so dramatically.

But I truly believe that such behavior is ingrained.  I can learn to *present* as an extrovert, but I can’t change my basic settings.

And what’s the big deal, if I have to sleep for one long night, after I’m out and about?

::Shrug::

I *do* wonder what it would be like to be an extrovert.  To be rejuvenated by experiences like Saturday.  To feel wan and listless when I was forced to spend time alone.

Perhaps I’ll write a character who is truly extroverted…  In the next book

So, I finally got around to pulling my London photographs off my camera yesterday.  Alas, I’m not a brilliant photographer, but I’m pleased with a few of them (and I’m looking forward to building a scrapbook with many, but that will be far in the future, if I follow my usual foot-dragging ways ).  In any case, here are a few quick snaps that summarize our trip:

We stayed just a few blocks from Parliament, which allowed us to walk through a lovely park near our hotel.  This neo-Gothic memorial, the Buxton Memorial Fountain, commemorates the abolition of slavery in England.

Alas, not all our days were brilliantly sunny.  On this stroll through the gardens of Westminster Abbey, we wore raincoats to ward off the mist.  I didn’t care, of course, because I was in a cloister.  And I love cloisters — always have, always will.  Story ideas seem to lurk in the corners of cloisters…

The one day when it *poured*, we stayed inside the British Museum — along with tens of thousands of our closest friends (a small subest of that horde pictured here…)

Those human hordes are not to be confused with the animal ones that we encountered…  (These wire-sculpture baboons are at the Tower of London, representing the royal zoo that used to be on the grounds.)

You never know when you’ll run into a friend…  Here’s author Christine Trent (and me, on the left) at the Tower of London.  I was standing in Sir Walter Raleigh’s study when I heard my name called — and there was Christine (on holiday, and researching the next of her incredible historical romances!)  Small world!

I’ll likely post more pics as I get them organized, but that’s all the torture for today

Five years ago today, I walked away from my last office job, as the National Library Manager of a law firm that doesn’t exist any more.  (It merged and change names, and the library’s function was changed dramatically.)

When I worked at the firm, I managed 26 library staff members, spread between 7 offices, and we supported attorneys in 14 offices.  I spent about ten days a month on the road, with at least one trip each month to Chicago (where I worked in an office on the upper floors of the then-Sears Tower, and where I regularly stayed in the lap of luxury at the Peninsula Hotel).

Over time, alas, it had become apparent that the job wasn’t right for me — too much travel, too many [insert vast variety of office politics that would bore all of you to tears].  I started talking to my husband about what I wanted in a new job.  After a couple of weeks, tossing around various options, I thought about writing full time.  My husband was 100% supportive of that decision.

I planned on working until the fall, to build up some bank accounts and to complete some projects.  But layoffs loomed on the horizon, and it rapidly became clear that I could save one or more of my staff’s positions, if I left earlier than I’d planned.  I gave notice, telling myself that I would return to the library world the following year, if I didn’t have a contract for new books in hand by 12/31/2008.

I landed the new contract on 12/29/2008.

The writing landscape has changed tremendously in just the past five years.  I consider myself a “hybrid” author now — I have books coming out through traditional publishing streams (DARKBEAST REBELLION will be in stores on September 24!), and I have re-issued my backlist, and I am about to self-publish my first novel that has never gone through the New York process (SINGLE WITCH’S SURVIVAL GUIDE — available August 13!)

I have projects lined up for the next three years (and, likely, beyond.)  I have *ideas* lined up for eternity.

People often ask me if I miss my life in libraries and/or in law firms.  My answer is always the same:  I don’t miss the work environment at all; but I often miss the people.  My staff, along with fellow librarians at other firms, made me love my life as a librarian.

But I can’t be more thrilled with the way the past five years have gone.  Excelsior!

So, it’s all official now, so I can share my most recent career-related good news:  I am a member of Book View Cafe!

I first learned about BVC around five years ago, when I was asked to consider being a member, but I had to decline because of the craziness of my traditional publishing deadlines.  Now that I’m officially living the hybrid-author dream, I’m thrilled to finally join up with this creative group of people.

And what is Book View Cafe, you ask?  From our website:

“Book View Cafe is a cooperative publisher.  Our members are authors across all genres, from science fiction to romance to historical to mainstream. We function as editors, copyeditors, ebook formatters, cover artists, website maintainers and more. We offer both reprints and new titles, currently in ebook form, but we’re looking at expanding to print. At BVC, 95% of the cover price goes to the author. That’s more than at any other online bookseller (Amazon, B&N, iTunes).  Our most recent anthology is Beyond Grimm. Our latest releases can be found on our home page.  Our blog is updated daily with posts from member authors. Subject matter is up to the authors. There are no rules, guidelines, or speed limits.”

Sounds like fun, huh?

To celebrate, I’ve put the first volume of the Jane Madison Series, Girl’s Guide to Witchcraft, on sale in the BVC bookstore — $0.99, for a limited time!  Check out Girl’s Guide today, and then look around at all the other amazing BVC publications!

Mindy, pleased at this new career slant

This weekend, I didn’t go to the Washington Romance Writers all-day Saturday meeting (which was held two blocks from my home.)  And I didn’t go to the Ross King lecture on Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper, down at the National Gallery.  And I didn’t take in the Durer exhibit, which closed yesterday.  And I didn’t see any of the handful of movies-in-theater that I have on my “that looks interesting list”.  And I didn’t catch up with friends or relatives by way of email.

But I *did* write 10,000 words on SINGLE WITCH’S SURVIVAL GUIDE, including the most important two words in the book:  “The End”.  And I did edit the first 40,000 words of that book, discovering that the first two chapters were actually *great* (after having a rough birthing process), and the next five have been made great.

And I watched the movie A Late Quartet on DVD, resulting in literally hours of discussion about friends, family, art, and aging.

And I attended a Nationals game (the wrong one for the weekend, alas, as they lost when they shouldn’t have).

And I outlined the heroines in my next series of books (more on that soon).

And I read part of a friend’s manuscript and offered some editorial notes that I was told are helpful.

And I’m ready to face the rest of this week — a few days of hard labor, finishing the revisions on SINGLE WITCH (which will then head out to beta readers on its expedited schedule for publication on August 13!)

So, really?  Not a bad weekend, when you consider all of it!

How about you?  Good?  Bad?  Ugly?

You know how you look forward to a big vacation for months?  How you plan what you’re going to do, and you anticipate how much fun you’re going to have?  How you work through each layer of detail — how you’re going to get to the amazing vacation place, and where you’re going to stay, which meals you’ll eat where?

And as vacation time gets closer and closer, the days grow too short, and you wonder if you can ever, possibly, get every single thing done that needs to get done, and then you’re packing, and heading to the airport, and you realize that you meant to get those three things done, and wait, you forgot to pack that, and oops, you didn’t call the credit card company to tell them you’d be traveling overseas, and eek, it’s all spinning out of control?

But then, you arrive in London.  And a driver picks you up at the airport (yep — a *driver* — just like you’re an important person, even though it’s really because the other transportation costs are high, and the hour is very late, and a driver actually makes the most sense, fiscally and sanity-ly).  And the driver deposits you at a beautiful modern hotel, just a few minutes’ walk away from Parliament, and Westminster Abbey, and the hustle and bustle of the city.

And a wonderful week begins.

I won’t bore you with the details.  Suffice to say that much museum-ing was done — the British Museum, and the V&A, the Natural History Museum and the Science Museum, the National Gallery and the National Portrait Gallery and the Tate Modern.  Historical sites were visited — the Tower of London and the Churchill War Rooms and the Monument to the Great Fire.  Churches were explored — Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s.  We took an evening Jack-the-Ripper tour of Whitechapel, beginning by stepping through the Roman Wall at the edge of the City of London, ending outside an East End tavern where several of Jack’s victims regularly drank.

We had some superb meals — at Fish! (an upscale fish restaurant in Borough Market), and Wild Honey (a bistro-type place with locally sourced food), and Dalaunay (ditto, with a high-end cafe feel), and A. Wong (a tiny Chinese restaurant with unique dishes that were familiar enough to be yummy and creative enough to be memorable), and Rock and Sole Plaice (traditional fish and chips).  We also ate gigantic breakfasts every morning at our hotel, fortifying us for long days of walking, Tube-ing, double-decker-bus-ing, etc.  I discovered a new dessert — Eton mess (crunchy meringue, whipped ;cream, and fresh strawberries).

We saw Peter and Alice, a lovely, introspective play by John Logan, with stellar performances by Judi Densch and Ben Whishaw.  (The show was all the more striking because it was completely sold out for its entire run, and we just happened to venture into the box office a few minutes after a pair of tickets had been turned in for the evening performance on our actual anniversary.)

We had three days of glorious sunshine, a few days of overcast, one day of drizzle, and one of out and out rain (which we spent, almost entirely, inside the British Museum).

We had dinner with family friends on one night, and we ran into an author friend — totally unexpectedly — at the Tower of London.

At the end of our week, we knew that we had barely scratched the surface of London sightseeing.  We could have stayed for another week, a month, a year.

But, alas, the real world beckons.  There are books to finish writing, groceries to be bought, bills to pay.  Life in all its myriad details.

But, wow. We had a wonderful, wonderful time.  What a way to celebrate ten happy years of marriage!

Wanna know how to make an author happy?  Send her Advance Reader Copies of her latest book!  I was *thrilled* to open my mailbox and discover some ARCs for DARKBEAST REBELLION.  It’s not going to be in stores until September 24, but a few lucky people can read it earlier than that…

Here’s how:  Send me an email.  Tell me that you want to read the ARC of DARKBEAST REBELLION.  Agree to write an *honest* review of the book wherever you typically post reviews — your personal website, Goodreads, Amazon, B&N…  And agree to send the ARC to the next reader on the list (I’ll tell you who that person is after you finish your reading.)

Alas, this offer is only open to people in the United States.  But send me an email:  morgan@morgankeyes.com and get your name on the ARC list today!

This just in:  Amazon is going to start selling fanfic, with royalties to be paid to both the author and the world-creator.  Color me… bemused?  Uncertain?  Confused?

Like many authors, I have an uneasy relationship with fanfic.  Although my first serious-to-me writing effort was a sequel to The Lord of the Rings (drafted when I was thirteen years old), I’ve never been serious about fanfic, and I’ve never participated in any of the many online communities dedicated to the craft.  As far as I know (and that’s the way I’d like to keep it), no one has created fics in my worlds.

As a lawyer, I’m not as rabidly anti-fanfic as most.  I understand the difference between copyright and trademark law, and the defense of estoppel (which applies to the latter, but not the former.)  While trademark owners can lose their marks if they don’t enforce against infringement, the same standard does not apply in copyright law.

Mostly, I just don’t understand the allure of fanfic.  I invest a tremendous amount of time, effort, energy, blood, sweat, tears, angst, etc. into creating my fictitious worlds.  I don’t understand the craving the pour all of that into someone else’s world.  It feels … like a cheat?  Like a waste?  Like…  A bunch of things that sound really negative, but I don’t actually mean them that way.  What I mean is, I don’t have the resources to do my writing and fanfic writing, and I don’t understand the investment some people make.

So.  I suspect that Amazon’s program is going to open the door for a lot of public discussion about fanfic.  It’ll add a lot of pressure to authors who have publicly demanded their work not be ficced.  It’ll raise some questions about plagiarism and continuity and, and, and…

Maybe I’ll go pop some popcorn.

I know I had a weekend around here, but it seems to have slipped away, while I was blinking…

We spent all day Saturday down at the Smithsonian, attending a seminar on “Neighborhood Walks Through London.”  We’re going to London later this year, so the presentation was particularly welcome.  The charming presenter did a great job of highlighting major and minor sites in her home town, relaying history, bits about art and architecture, and generally making me wish that my trip could last for about three months.

Yesterday, I continued the salute to Britain by indulging in afternoon tea with the incomparable Christi Barth.  We had a lovely time at the Park Hyatt (although both of us stuck with rather traditional teas, rather than the $150/cup “there are only three bricks of this tea left in the world” or the nearly as expensive “this tea is harvested only on the third night after the full moon”).  The Park Hyatt provides a buffet of savories and sweets, which allows customers to avoid their least favorites (egg salad, for me…) and to indulge in extras of their favorites (cheddar-scallion-bacon scones and goat-cheese-artichoke crostini for me).  The savories were actually somewhat better than the sweets, which is not my usual experience at tea.

I ended up taking the Metro downtown both weekend days — rare, given the system’s spotty weekend coverage.  Somewhat frustratingly, there was a scheduled break in the line between my station and downtown — they used shuttle buses to bridge the gap.  I walked the difference both directions on Saturday, but I availed myself of the shuttles on Sunday.  The buses are an annoyance, but they run *very* frequently, and the Metro staff are extremely friendly and helpful (and there are *thousands* of staff to guide people, or so it seems.)

Back home for the evening, we power-watched Masterpiece Theatre’s MR SELFRIDGE (although we still have the last double-episode to view) — a not-entirely-successful soapy biopic about that Chicago man who opened the Selfridge department store in London in the early 20th century.  I’m not at all enamored of Jeremy Pivens’ acting choices, and I’m suspicious of a lot of the social rules depicted, but I *am* intrigued by the transition of retail that the show presents.

In between all that, I almost finished reading Lea Nolan’s CONJURE (a fun high-middle-grade, low-YA book, with pirates, curses, and Gullah magic).

And that’s the weekend that was.  How about you?