Book Signing News! The Upstate Renaissance Faire In Greer, SC

Author Event, 742 in Rock Hill, 8/6/2022

So, I'm taking this crazy show on the road again, but not that far up the road this time. I will have my own booth (provided I can get that sucker set up and it isn't too windy that day) at the Upstate Renaissance Faire in Greer, SC this coming Saturday (Sept 10th). 

Y'all... I'm nervous. The good thing is that if I need something I have loads of people nearby that can come help - instead of at least two hours away like at the Carolina Ren Fest or the Atlanta Steampunk Expo. My trusty Sherpa, Anne, will be at the same faire but is working with the Hounds of East Fairhaven, and while hubs has the day off we don't want to leave the dogs alone that long.

You know what will make it better, though? If you come out to see me! You don't even have to buy a book (though that would be amazing, I really don't want to have to take all this stuff back home with me). Just come say hi and hang out in what I hope is a properly decorated booth run by a mostly properly decorated author.

Question...can I actually sign books while wearing my usual rennie garb? Only one way to find out...for more info, check out the link above or go to my website.

Notes from Exile: I think it's October

Me and my best girl, Bryn.
(Carolina Renn Fest)

It felt like October around here for a while last week, but now we are firmly back in August/September. October means faire season, under normal circumstances. It means leaving the house at O'Dark-Thirty to drive two hours and then work all day outdoors with one of my hounds at my side. I may be an accidental Rennie, but a Rennie I am all the same, and I miss it.

Even though my participation there has been tremendously scaled back, my mind has been drifting to a created village in Huntersville, NC, and all the performers and 'fairemly' that I see there every year. I have wished I could have a steaming mug of chai in my hand, trying to keep the excited wolfhound at my side walking calmly so I can drink it rather than wear it. I've missed the shouts of Good Morning from the vendor stalls, seeing my breath (and Bryn's) in the air, and the quiet beauty of the faire before the gates are opened and the tens of thousands of patrons stream through.

I have always loved that part of faire - the part where it's just us there, the way it would be if the grounds were a real, functioning village. The writer (and well-buried actor, if I'm honest) in me loves walking along, imagining that I'm my character: an Irish lass sent with an Irish Wolfhound as a gift for Her Majesty. I love the sway of my hoopskirt as I walk. I love the street performers and vendors already in character, addressing me as 'My Lady' and asking to pet the magnificent beastie at the end of my leash. 

She loves it too - though, in recent years, Bryn has been less apt to stay on a bed in the building we lovingly refer to as the Dog Barn, preferring instead to pull me out to the front to see the people. Ciaragh is the exact opposite - she is unnerved by large crowds and would happily stay glued to a dog bed all day if only the raised beds weren't the proper size for a greyhound and she finds herself slipping off of them onto the floor. 

But neither of the big faires where I work with my dogs happened this year, and the smallish local faire made the decision to close permanently. I keep forgetting how long it has been since one of my girls has surveyed her people from the joust platform in the Southern Kingdom (the Georgia Renaissance Festival) or taken that leisurely walk pre-cannon in the lanes of the Northern Kingdom (the Carolina Renaissance Festival). I forget until one of them noses her way into the guest room-turned-pandemic supply storage and happens upon my straw hat or a stray glove. They press their nose against it, wringing out the last smells of FAIRE, and then look up at me and wag. 

We're holding onto those last smells, the images like the ones above, and the lifelong friendships formed in the early morning fog, over mugs of chai and corset lacing, until we can do all of it again in person. Huzzah, well met, and on to the rest of October!

On stalls, false starts, and the writing process...

This is my writing process, lately...

So, Nanowrimo is coming up next month. A writing conference down in Georgia is coming up next month. Two appearances at the Carolina Renaissance Festival are coming up next month, one with the Hounds of East Fairhaven and one as a SciFi/Fantasy author signing copies of Ignite and Wanderer.

That's a lot right there, enough to give anyone pause and to force normal people to take a break. But y'all know I am not normal people, not even close. I'm trying not to freak out about the book signing - literally, that is a daily struggle between OMG SO MANY PEOPLE TO SEE MY BOOKS  and OMG SO MANY PEOPLE THAT MAY WANT TO TALK TO ME. That stressed me out just typing it!

In order to keep from packing my bags and running away, I thought I'd focus on Nanowrimo. Every November I have again been swept away in word counts and nefarious noveling. I am an absolute pantser and have no plans to change...though I do sort of know what my project will be this fall. Or at least I thought I did. I thought that I would continue to ride the wave of the anonymous first-page critique from Broadleaf and start over with my Baskervilles. I thought I would get at least a rough first draft knocked out in November. I thought wrong.

I was moving at a nice clip doing research until I got stalled out by a pretty vicious head cold. I started again, but this time the fire is gone. Cold. Non-existant. I am thinking that I might just put my poor, neglected Baskervilles away for another Nano season and haul them out next year for Camp Nano. Again. Poor Lucy and Annie.

This has been my writing process this year, and I am normally good at reminding myself that 2018 and 2019 have nearly ruined me as a person, both emotionally and physically, and I'm still coming out from under that - me, not me-the-author or me-in-my-day-job. ME. But those of us that are servants of the storytelling are some of the worst for forcing ourselves forward when all we really needed was a few steps backward to see the right path.

Ugh. I'm hoping to get myself together by the end of this week, but no promises.  What do you do when you are stalled out and can't make yourself move forward?

My Little Irish Wanderer...and the Aftermath

Well, so it has been a hot minute since I last updated this - or wrote anything if I'm honest, but work and life have not given me a second to breathe, let alone open the laptop.

That little face there is my Ciaragh (Our Cailín Ádh), and she has had a marvelous adventure this week that nearly ended me. She and I were working at the Georgia Renaissance Festival this past Saturday and I completely forgot that there was a cannon shot from the bow of the pirate ship until it went off with us standing right there. She started to vibrate and I tightened up a bit on her leash to make sure she didn't bolt. My wonderful niece was there with my sister and she tried to comfort Ciaragh, but as soon as she moved away and I slacked up the slightest bit on the leash, C saw her chance and bolted. Now, for the initial escape, I was still holding onto the leash, so I spun around and was dragged behind her (through the gravel) until she could dash through the exit. Sadly I did not make the graceful turn through the S-bend of an exit that she did and instead bounced off the large wooden fence that marks the boundary between onstage and offstage.

Two of my group's volunteers and a GARF cast member pursued her as a third volunteer and my sister and niece stayed with me. At first, all I could do was make a primal growly sound because gravel+skin=OW but I was (and am) all right. It took a minute to walk up to my car, but that was where I fully expected folks to be waiting with C.

They were not.

She managed to evade capture for three more full days, and I drove back to the site every one of those days to keep looking for her. Finally, on Tuesday night around midnight, I got a phone call from someone in the area - Ciaragh was on his front porch and could I come get her, please?

Once I got my heart started again, I made some calls and arranged for some folks to go get her and keep her overnight until I could get back on Wednesday. I still don't know how I did not get a speeding ticket on my way to Atlanta that morning, and yesterday (Thursday) we got her into the vet for a checkup - she is fit as a fiddle. An Irish fiddle.

Aftermath: I have helped out with many lost greyhounds in my two decades of having pets in my life as an adult. I have always just gone where I am needed and done what needs to be done, but I have not until now been on this side of the equation. Sure, my greyhounds occasionally got out, but I never had to spend a night without them back home safely - I sent thoughts and prayers to those that did, joined the search, rejoiced in the eventual recovery, but never really got it, until now.

I have ideas percolating (as does hubs) about non-profits that not only look for lost pets but care for the owners of those pets. I had so much love and support that it was overwhelming, especially since I was convinced that Ciaragh's loss was my fault, but when it came to trying to pay for gas to keep searching, tracking teams to bring in, other pet recovery specialists who need money for materials and time - it is an expensive prospect to find your pet if they go missing, and mine was only gone for three days! So, I will let that idea keep rolling around. There has to be something that can be created that will harness the talents of EVERYONE that wanted to help rather than narrowing down the field of helpers to only those affordable options. What if we had not had a breed club behind us to help? I already have some ideas that were born from the search for Ciaragh.

So, enough of me. My girl is back, and she has effectively helped me write the last chapter of her Clobberpaws book, and I'm going to go snuggle her on the couch before I get back to writing. Make sure your pets are chipped and tagged, y'all...and loved.

Back to the faire...sort of...

This is me and my girl - well, okay mostly my girl Bryn, with what appears to be a Mommy growing out of her head. This photo was taken by a patron (at one of the renaissance faires where I work as director of the Hounds of East Fairhaven) in November of 2013, when she was just 5 months old and had been mine for about 24-36 hours.

We bring period appropriate hounds (mostly Western European, 1500-mid 1600s, but we also include some Asiatic and Eastern European breeds as well) out to meet patrons and we talk about their place in history. We also wear period-appropriate garb (or as appropriate as possible when the threat of a Clobberpaw on one's skirt is a real possibility) and tell the patrons about how these hounds (sight mostly but a few scent hounds as well) lived and worked with people in this time period.

I used to work much more than I do now. We started with a small group (four members) and we were attached to the Lord Mayor's Court at the Carolina Renaissance Festival near Charlotte, NC. We grew in numbers and ended up with our own tent the next year, then our numbers dwindled down to almost nothing and we have gone up and down ever since. We also added more appearances to our schedule - we now appear in the spring with the Royal Court at the Georgia Renaissance Festival and in September at the Enchanted Chalice Renaissance Festival in Greenville, SC.

I can remember the early days of CRF when I had three greyhounds (out of my five) that did faire with me, often sleeping in my Honda in the parking lot with me so that I didn't have to drive the 2.5 hours (one way) on Saturday nights to just have to get up and drive back on Sunday mornings. Thankfully I moved about 45 minutes up the highway since that time, so it only takes me just under 2 hours to get there now, and I only work on Saturdays because I simply cannot physically do my job on Mondays after being at faire and in the car all day Sunday.

CRF opened this past weekend for it's 25th year, and it was the first opening weekend that I haven't worked since the two years that I was forced into behind the scenes work due to living abroad. After the year that 2018 has been for me so far, I decided that it was in the best interest of my health, both physical and mental, if I took some time off from faire this fall. Bryn doesn't like the setup there anyway - she is afraid of the booth that we have after some bad playtime-gone-wrong experiences with some of our other dogs, and as a result I have to stand out in front of the booth with her for the whole day. Both of us are ready for the car after closing cannon! We will see how Ciaragh does up there - she was a star at GARF this spring until she got tired, but she's almost two and growing up more every day, so hopefully she will be able to manage being in close communion with other dogs better than her big sister does.

All that said, y'all go to the faire! The Hounds of East Fairhaven will be in their normal booth at CRF across from the DaVinci flying machine. We have greyhounds, Irish wolfhounds, borzoi, Ibizan hounds, and Afghan hounds in any combination on any given weekend, and we have fantastic human cast members that can tell you anything you want to know about their canine companions. The faire runs from 29 September to 18 November, Saturdays and Sundays. My girls and I will be there on the 21st of October and 10th of November, and I will be there with an Ibizan friend on the 6th of October and dogless to interpret on Deaf Awareness Day, 27 October. Hope to see you there!

Huzzah!

Lights at the Ends of Various Tunnels

Me and my girl at GARF,
photo courtesy of the Southern Travel Guide

Yeah, the last post was pretty grim, and if I'm honest, the work situation (that I still can't talk about) hasn't gotten any better, but there have been bright spots and that's what we are going to focus on in THIS post.

One of them is featured in the photo: The Georgia Renaissance Festival. Now, this is not a new thing, not by a longshot, but apparently, the fourteenth year is the charm, hoopskirt issue notwithstanding. I have made friends at GARF in the past, cast members and vendors and directors and the like, but this year just feels different. I feel at home in "Newcastle" in a way I have yet to feel at home in "Fairhaven" after fifteen years in what we refer to as the Northern Kingdom.

What has changed? Me? Having Bryn? I don't know. But this past weekend, I was able to play, really play, with both the cast and with my partner in crime, Lucy to my Ethel, and the only other member of HOEF that does more than one or two weekends at GARF, Anne. Perhaps it is the beautiful friendship that has formed between her Bo and my Bryn. Perhaps it is Anne's extrovert that brings my introvert along, often kicking and screaming, to get to know the cast.

Whatever it is, I am profoundly sad on days that I have to miss attending GARF, even though it means a 5 am start every Saturday and a late afternoon arrival back home, dirty and sweaty and hot every Sunday between the middle of April and the first weekend in June. I long to be in the lanes, even though that means pulling turkey tendons out of Bryn's mouth and replacing steak sandwiches that she snatches in the blink of an eye. I dream of the joust, and of watching with pride as Bryn thumps her tail when her favorite princess rides by, upside down in her saddle, even though I'm fighting the reflection of the sun off the light colored sand which is swirling about in my eyes and nose.

I'm hoping that this feeling of Rennie family will continue into the fall when I am again with my HOEF family in the dog barn on the eastern side of Fairhaven, and that we can project the kind of skilled performance that we are learning at GARF into our wonderfully laid back home at the Enchanted Chalice in Greenville, SC. Vikings ahoy!

I did say tunnels in the title, didn't I? While GARF is the light at the end of one tunnel, the fact that I only have four days left until my summer break is certainly another. But that tunnel is not quite as bright because I will have several months of empty coffee meetings to look forward to without Daisy. While it hasn't been easy without her, it has been easier because I've had work to distract me. Without my daily commute to Clemson, I am going to have to face what our reality looks like now; no queen on the end of my bed, huffing because I've rearranged my legs and accidentally knocked her about. No beautiful blonde/red fawn fur glimmering in the green grass of the back yard as she sunbathes. No teeth chattering in my ear.

But you see that muppet in the picture with me? She is a light of her own, and she and Willow are there to distract me when they can and snuggle with me when they can't. Their light comes to find me in my tunnel and shines into the darkness to remind me to keep moving forward.

Finally, there is light at the end of the Superginormous Manuscript tunnel...book one in the three book series that it has become is almost ready to go to Amazon, and that is both exciting and horrifying. I took the first Camp Nanowrimo to edit the second book, and am not working on editing/fleshing out the third in between expense reports and mad garb sewing/laundering. So all in all, my life has far more light than dark. I just need to be able to remember that and hang on to it...and keep moving.

What I've been up to...

You'll see me for a second when she talks about the heavy costumes we wear...I'm on the left in the orange.

It's more exciting than all that, honest!

Snores of a Clown, a photo by Nancy Dunne on Flickr.

Well, the 2011 CRF season has almost come to an end. We have two more weekends to go, and I have a day and a half left to work.

Speaking of, if you're in the area before about 1pm on Sunday, 13 November or any time on Saturday, 19 November come see me and Clown in the doghouse!  And while you're at it, you can follow us on Twitter, like our page on FB using the box on the right hand side (make sure you're following the official HOEF page for the most up to date info), and join our FB group.

Right, shameless promotion done. This season has been so much better than I think any of us could have imagined back at the beginning of October. Just before the season started (and I do mean JUST BEFORE, like A WEEK BEFORE) we had a major change up of leadership and basically how we operate as a group. Rather than one director as has been the way in the past, we now have an advisory board made up of one member from each adoption group that is represented. So much more democratic as well as taking the burden off just one person.

Sadly, in the change up we did lose some members but we have gained about seven new members in the process. Almost every day we've been at CRF this season the dog house has been full to overflowing with dogs! We've had such a good time. The atmosphere is relaxed and fun again like it was in the early days when we had nothing but a tiny wet tent and a few hay bales on which to sit. It's been a good thing overall, and will ensure the continued success of the group and the growth of membership. Win-Win!

As you can see, my new boy Clown has taken to life at the festival like he's always been there...I think he might be channeling a bit of Hunky there as well.

So Huzzah and Well Met! Two more weekends and then we're planning for GARF in the spring!

Chai Tea Latte but no Scotch Eggs this time

Yesterday morning I was in Huntersville, NC for the Carolina Renaissance Festival. I realized at cast call that I'd forgotten my wallet in the car, so I sent my hounds on down with the group and ran back to the car. Later, temp pass and money in hand, I headed down to our tent with the plan to grab a chai tea latte on the way.

Instead, I just walked and remembered.

I passed the DaVinci flying machines and remembered how we used to stop there in the afternoons the first season we did with CRF because it was cooler there. We didn't have a tent of our own, so we did a lot of walking. I remembered the first time Hunky and Profee saw the flying machines, and how they would just stop and stare. Now they pass it without a second glance.



Turning the corner at the flying machines brought me to the site of our first tent, now a shop. That tent was in front of a storm drain that was perpetually clogged, and literally a river ran through our tent. The ceiling sagged, and it was so small that we could only have two people in the tent at a time. Sometimes I can still smell the mud and mildew on my navy velveteen gown, since it was new that season, our second with CRF.

I remembered taking Lizzard that season, and how she ran off from the tent one day when I'd dropped her leash and headed for the food...blind eyes wide and nose in full tilt sniff.



I then strolled through the food area, void of its throng of patrons but still filled with the smells of bread bowls, turkey legs, and other tempting food. How many hounds had I yanked up from the ground as they tried to snatch a turkey tendon that a patron had dropped? How many times had I laughed at one of the food vendors who always called out to us to feed those skinny dogs?

I saw people pulling tarps off the front of their stores and readying their shops for the day. The rocking horse was being tested. The pickle barrel was being unlocked.

Continuing on, I came to the crossroads where the Woods Walk starts. Nothing but merchants and blessed blessed shade...mixed with dirt that permeates your soul when you spend much time there. Our third season was spent at one end of this row, right next to the joust.

My "McDonald Gown" made its debut at CRF this year, and I quickly learned that while the leine sleeves looked cool that big they just weren't functional for holding a leash or going to the privy.

For the most part, it was just me, Joanne, and Candy for that season and we had the best time! I don't think I've laughed that hard or cried that hard when a season ended before or since. That was the season of the greyhound faeries, and boy were they CROSS faeries!



I admit to lingering a bit at that tent site, lamenting the fact that our wonderful home now has a building on it that houses wax hands. But seasons change and from there we moved up to the front of the festival. I am reminded of that season every time I head in for cast call, because our tent was right next to the gate where we enter in the mornings. The sky chairs on one side and cinnamon almonds right in front of us...that season was heaven on the senses. Well, not the sense of hearing because we were RIGHT in front of the cannon...

That was the first season we were joined by Pinky, the italian greyhound, and truly lived up to our "Hounds" name by also being joined by an irish wolfhound called Morgan. That tent was about the same size, and we loved being so close to the royals and the front of the festival. I thought of that as I headed to my car.

Last year they put us as far from the front gate as we'd ever been, up by the belly dancers at the Dutch Door stage. We started the season thinking it would be horrible but ended the season with new friends and some new vocabulary...yalayahabeebee!



All those memories rushed over me as I walked down to the tent yesterday morning. Chai tea latte, pumpkin milkshakes, stick weaving, Hunky pulling my skirt off at the joust, cinnamon almonds, the best beef jerky ever, chowder in bread bowls, "hang onta sumthin" when unlacing a corset, bees trapped in bodices, Merry Elizabeth and her trained rocks, "Here kitty kitty kitty..." It was almost too much, but as I was about to drown in nostalgia I turned the corner and saw what has become the next generation of the Hounds of East Fairhaven. I am the only original member left, and even I'm only there two times a year. I saw them and was jealous...but then was proud. My HoEF is in very good hands, and paws...and soon it will be time for the Georgia Renaissance Festival, won't it?

Huzzah!

"Tourt-cha....Tourt-cha....the whole day phrew...."

(title most unceremoniously stolen from the dear Executioner at GARF who serenaded us...)

"Nay, my dearest Tim Tam, thou shoud'st sniff Master Smiter's drum just there, carefully avoiding his kilt and knees..."


"My Dear Lord Above, the Lady Potato Head has't taken on the King's Weiner, and appears to be winning!!"


"Hmmm, be it truly lady-like, my dear Antoinette, to chomp down on a fried pickle with such abandon?"


The Ladies of East Fairhaven...some of us anyway. What is so funny?

Dude...Life is Good!

The Obligatory LB photo
Originally uploaded by NanLassiter.

Weekend 2 of the Georgia Renaissance Festival is now in the can, as they say, and we made it through with only a few problems. I had to take a photo with a Lost Boy, of course, and since Tom Smiter is the one I know the best he was the lucky victim...er...target...er...yeah, whatever. Huzzah! Click here to see a slideshow of our weekend at faire!