Dude! And then it was like really scary!

I'm still plugging away at How It Feels To Be Attacked By A Shark. I've given up reading it as a source for good sensory information on life changing situations. Instead, its become an excercise in studying why we doze off when people tell what could be a heart-pounding story that makes us hang on every word.

These are true stories of horrible events, getting shot, gettting stuck in a drainage pipe with rain water pouring down on you, choking to death (yes, he did technically die, I finally got through that one), getting trapped in an avalanche, etc. There was also what could have been the inspirational story of how a woman grew to five hundred pounds and then lost the weight, but it just wasn't. As I considered tossing the book against the wall, I couldn't help but wonder how much more compelling these events could be if they were told by a writer instead of the average person who lived through them.

Often the voice got in the way, both in word choice and clearly conveying the situation. Yes, people really do talk like they do in these retellings, but when I can't tell who or what they are talking about, or in what order events transpired, the voice is like totally in the way, man. And the telling... If you were ever unsure of what 'telling' is and why you keep getting told not to do it, pick this book up for a thorough example.

The situations themselves should have been full of emotion and sensory input. I expected that they would. (After all, that's what were told, as writers, to put into our scenes.) But I've come to realize that the average story is just a list of events of what happens to a person. Without the emotion or sensory information to pull is in, we smile and nod, and if we are fortunate to be on the phone, fold our laundry, clean off our kitchen counters and try not to doze off while listening. There's no heart pounding, no "OMG, how will they make it through this?" and no warm glow at seeing someone beat the odds at the end.

After having these examples of what doesn't work put in front of my face, I'm going to be doubly diligent. And for those I critique, be warned, I'm going to be watching you too.

Plot Bunny Attack

So I'm running errands yesterday, minding my own business as I drive along when I'm blindsided by a story idea. I wish I'd had my camera because it would make a great visual prompt. Well, and I wish I wasn't driving so I could have snapped a quick picture as I went by without crashing or pulling into a driveway, getting out and looking suspicious to other passersby.

Along a flat stretch of sidewalk lined with tall pines and elderly oaks lies a child's bike on its side. The nearby houses and yards are devoid of obvious signs of the bike's owner. The sidewalk is far enough off the road and its not near a driveway so I'm not concerned that its been hit by a car. But where is the child and what happened to make him or her leave their bike in the middle of the sidewalk? Hmmmmmmmm

The return from the great green north

I'd intended to do a couple blog posts while on vacation, but it seems that the ISP in Michigan's Upper Penninsula doesn't play nice with Windows Vista. Now that laundry/mail and all that other fun stuff upon coming home after a week away is taken care of, I'm back to posting.

Since no one did my work for me during my time away, I'm rather overwhelmed. As such, I leave you today with a quick look at where I was during my blog silence. Next post, I'll get to the pile of books on writing that arrived while I was gone.


Day one: Stayed on shore of Lake Michigan.
Weather: Cold, windy, drizzly. Weather at home: Hot and sunny.

Day Two: Cruised through Soo Locks.
Weather: Cold, windy, drizzly. Weather at home: Hot and sunny.

Day Three: Walked around the Upper Taquamenon Falls.
Weather: Cold, windy, random moments of sunshine. Weather at home: Hot and sunny.

Day Four: Went to see bears and fed them apples.
Weather: Overcast and pouring rain. Weather at home: Hot and sunny.

Day Five: Took a hike and cruise along Pictured Rocks Lakeshore
Weather: Cold and windy. Weather at home: Hot and sunny.


Day Six: Went to Kitchitikipi Spring. We could see all the way to the bottom in the crystal clear water.
Weather: Cold and it rained so hard on the way home that the entire highway full of traffic came to a stop because no one could see. Weather at home: Hot and sunny.

Yet, we managed to have a good time. And now I'm going to go wring out my beach towels to water the lawn.

Bottoms up!

Well folks, I'll be on vacation next week. I'm SO looking forward to it. Going to do a lot of enjoying nature, shell and rock hunting on beaches and hopefully basking in good weather with my family.

When I get back, it will be time to buckle down and write. Sahmara has been quite put out with all the time I've spent looking up hotels and area attractions instead of working on her story.

For your own relaxation, I leave you with the E-book article drinking game. If you need fodder, it seems my post from last week should get you relatively sloshed. Just make sure you read the great comments at the end while you can still understand them and maybe purchase some e-books from the posters to enjoy while your lying on the couch with a hangover (or wicked sugar crash for those of you who are alcohol free) tomorrow.

Writing is a lonely thing

And as such, I thought I'd share this lovely poem that I nabbed from Stella on facebook.

Always remember to love being you and enjoy yourself. Being alone and doing things alone is just fine.

Sit back and relax and enjoy: How to be alone

Warming up the creative juices

Not in writing so much as getting ready for NaNo. I've been busy working on the posters I'd started last December while I was coming off my NaNo high. I use these posters, stickers and t-shirts as raffle prizes to help gather donations from our regional participants for the Office of Letters and Light (OLL) who puts on this entertaining event every year.


This past weekend, my project was a Plot Bunny poster.

My favorites ended up being the doctor and the sword carrying bunny. Next on the poster agenda, Guilt Monkey Auditions.

Shark attack!

Excuse me, I know you're being attacked by a shark, but could you please tell us how it feels? This novel covers it all, struck by lightning, drug addicted, suicidal, choking to death on a cheeseburger...

My first thought when picking up this book: Is this a book by those who have submitted to Query Shark?

Why I'm reading this: I was out NaNoWriMo shopping yesterday, buying raffle prizes with those little bits of credit left on random gift cards in my purse. One of them happened to be for Barnes and Noble. After my last post of hitting the bargain table, I had to go. A deal was calling my name, I could feel it!

This little gem of a book leapt into my hands. My original thought was that it would make a great guide to adding sensory details to writing for situations that the writer had not personally been in. My second thought was to read it myself first. Then I remembered to breathe, all that thinking was making me lightheaded.

Is it good? It's amusing. Each situation is told by the person who survived it. The entries are short, a few pages at most, so it makes for quick reading, or the perfect book to bring to the dog park--where I also do a good deal of my reading--because I can frequently break away from the story to keep an eye on my dog.

Almost better than the description of how it feels in each situation, is the voice of each individual person. In some cases it's driving me nuts, such as the entry where everyone, including the kids, is referred to as a 'guy'. There are these guys and this little guy and I'm a big guy. I can't help but assign a Brooklyn accent to this... guy. So its not only giving me some sensory input, but its an interesting study in voice. With the entries as short as they are, it makes the different phrasings and word choices easy to spot and compare.

And now you'll have to excuse me, I'm dying to know what it feels like to choke to death on a cheeseburger. But wait, that would mean the guy died. How does he tell us how it feels? Guess I'll have to read to find out, huh?

The ebook debate hits home

Sad news, one of our two local indie bookstores is going out of business as of this week. And so the debate heard everywhere these days has come home to me.

We have three bookstores in town:

A small, corner store that's been around longer than me, has a horrible little website, doesn't have much selection but has aquired lots of regulars over the years. They seem to be doing fine. This place supplied my weekly book fix throughout childhood. I spent a lot of my allowance here.

Barnes & Nobel moved in a few years ago. They have a Starbucks, a writers group, children's reading time, and of course, a huge selection. They are always busy. I hold my NaNoWriMo meetings here. I love their bargain book section - I'm much more likely to try a new author if I find their novel on sale. If I really like it, I will come back and buy more books at full price.

The sadly closing bookstore that's only been open for seven years. They have an awesome children's area with live animals (No, not dead ones... I mean as opposed to stuffed animals... and no, I don't mean taxidermy. Sheesh.) and toys and books. They have a good selection for a small store. They had summer reading programs for kids. They get authors in for book signings. I met Jacqueline Carey here. But... I never bought a book here, the other two stores are more convienently located for me.

The owner cited the growing market for ebooks as one of the main reasons for declining sales. Is it truly that or is it the economy? I like a book in my hands. I don't have an ereader (yet). When I have the time to sit down and crack open a new book, it's places where I probably wouldn't bring an ereader anyway: the beach and the tub. I love to read. But I'm not buying near as many books as I used to, because I don't have the cash to spend like I used to. Not to mention, the subconscious urging everywhere to 'go green'.

There are a select few authors whose releases will make me scrape up the money to go buy a hardcover because I can't wait for paperback. Otherwise, horrible to admit, I know, I am inclined to shop at my local used book store. Reusing. See, I'm being green. And the books are more affordable for beach and tub reading where they are likely to get wet and sandy.

Ebooks are pretty darn afforable too, and like the bargain book section and B & N, I am more inclined to try new authors. I've read a few on my laptop and that works fine for me. Not to mention, this is also a green option so I feel I'm doing a good thing.

When I bring up ebooks to those who have not had any contact with them, all they know is what the newspaper tells them: ebooks are closing bookstores. Is that the case? I don't think so. People who have the money, like the feel of a book on their hand or to display on their shelves and/or aren't comfortable shopping online will be at the bookstore. There is still a need for them, and hell, I need an inspirational place to hold my NaNo meetings. The part of me who looks at the checkbook balance, has the desire to eat books for breakfast and seeks to quiet that little green voice in her head, likes ebooks.

How about you?

A new old project

Nekar perches on the edge of my desk. He squints at the monitor and then glares at me. "Just what do you think you're working on?"

Whoa boy. I knew I'd get busted. I just didn't think it would be so soon. "A new old project."

"What the does that mean? It doesn't look like anything Trust related."

"It's not."

He gets up and comes closer, peering at the words floating before him. "Who the hell is Sahmara?"

"A character you don't know from a novel I wrote years ago that I've wanted to get back to revising. I needed a Trust break."

"Look." He stands in front of my monitor, making a right nuisance of himself by blocking the paragraph I'm working on. "We've all noticed the lack of incoming characters around here lately. Marin is still missing. The discarded adverbs are all sorted. Ms. Wildstar and Xander are off making moon eyes at each other. Zsmed made a move on Delilah and hasn't come running back to my corner yet. Everyone else is sitting around, reading their cut scenes and growing restless."
"Hey, I let you all keep your names for now."

Nekar glances at his nametag. "Thanks for that. However, I'm here to warn you that something is going to go down if you don't give us someone new to play with."

I run through the distant memory of the novel I'm working on. "I can't think of anyone from this novel that I need to cut. I wrote this one after the bloated nightmare of a novel that spawned all of you."

Nekar's shoulders droop.

"Are you pouting? You are!" That's hilarious, but I've already rubbed it in enough so I don't say that outloud. "What is this really about?"

He points down to the mountains of crumpled paper and the two couples blathering to each other like no one else exisits.

"What, you want me to cut a woman from this novel for you? Is that it?"

He turns to me, looking mortified. "No! You think I want to hang out in character purgatory forever? Gamnock got to go back into Trust. For goodness sake, if you won't give me anyone to fight, write me into this new novel! Get me out of here! I can't stand another day of listening to those moronic lovebirds!"

I rub my chin. "Interesting idea. I can't promise anything, but I'll keep your plea in mind."

"You do that." He climbs over the edge of my desk. "It might be a plea for now, but if you take too long, you might find it's become a threat."

No thanks, but thanks

Rejection. It's not a fun thing. Yet, it comes with the territory and we have to accept that it's not personal. It's not you. It's not me. It just is.

In light of a nice rejection I received two days ago, I'd like to thank the thoughtful, patient and utterly considerate editors out there who take a moment to add a helpful comment to the standard variations of "This isn't right for us, but thanks for considering our publication and we wish you the best of luck in placing your story" form letter.

This editor took the time to note a few typos that managed to get past me. While mortified I actually missed those typos even after reading the darned thing out loud to myself, at least now I can go onward in my search for a story home knowing that they are fixed. And so I thank you, dear editor, for taking your time to help the typo-challenged of us out here in submissionland.

Angela Ackerman, over at the Bookshelf Muse, did a wonderful post on rejection today. In light of saving me the time I'd planned use waxing on about the subject, I recommend checking it out.

When evil characters go bad

I'm happy to announce that Beatrice is dead. Overjoyed, in fact. I think I'm supposed to be feeling tragedy at the fact her life went so wrong, perhaps nodding at the injustice of her sheltered childhood and how it made her into such a horrible person. But no, I'm just smiling because she's finally dead and I can put the book down.

There came a time yesterday as I sat outside, enjoying the elusive perfect weather of mid-summer, with my dog happily at my feet and three young hawks chasing each other through the woods, when I nearly tossed the book into the unlit firepit. I read the few distasteful pages that killed any remote sense of redemption for wayward MC and closed the cover in disgust. Did I want to bother reading more about this horrible fictional person with no redeeming characteristics whatsoever? At that point, not really.

But the day was so lovely and peaceful and if I put the book down, I'd have no excuse to keep myself outside rather that endure the racket of my children reaquainting themselves with the X-box and television after my son's long electronic deprived week at camp. Toys were again scattered over my orderly floor, friends were visiting and my husband was busy drilling and grinding something in our workshop. No, it was far better to subject myself to quiet (other than the screeching of the hawks) and attempt to learn something from dispicable Beatrice.

Which means I didn't toss the book into the firepit. Instead I took a deep breath, opened the book, found my page and continued to read.

Beyond friday's post, here is what I learned.

- A MC has to have SOME redeeming quality or I want to see her fail. Please don't make me wait 600 pages to see her fail in two paragraphs of lackluster, I'm-ready-to-die action.

-When every other character in the novel can't stand your character, it isn't a good thing. It doesn't make her more evil or misunderstood. It just means they all see the logic and reason the MC missing.

- A MC who's motivation is the steadfast center of their life at the beginning of the novel shouldn't spend the rest of the novel contradicting their motivation in every bold way possible just to create conflict. It makes no sense and makes me want smack them upside the head and ask, "What the hell are you doing?" Deliberate self sabotage is not compelling

- If there is a direct conflict between the MC and another character, for goodness sake, act on it. The terror factor I praised in my previous post sputtered out shortly afterward. The words, "he's coming" only have so much effect when repeated for the next three hundred pages without anything actually happening.

- Do not point out the direct problem with the novel in dialogue. "It's like you wish things to happen and the gods just make it so." Yes, exactly. No one stands in the MC's way. Stuff just happens. Stupid stuff. Stuff that makes you look at the words again and just exclaim, "Why does no one at all question this? Why on earth would the MC even think of this course of action when there are twenty other far more logical options that never cross her mind?"

- Ruining other characters for the sake of it (because she's evil!!!), characters that would have helped the MC if only she had actually spoken to them in a logical manner, is just wasteful and makes me want to chuck the book into the firepit.

- Writing in first person with random moments of omniscent pov is disconcerting.

- A MC who knows they are evil but keeps being evil anyway, just cause, makes me want them to die horribly. Yes, this somewhat repeats my first point. Which is another point. Don't repeat everything in case I didn't catch the anvil the first time around. I got it. Thanks.

- Just because I enjoy some books by an author, doesn't mean I'll love them all.

How much evil can you tolerate?

I'm halfway into Philippa Gregory's Wideacre at this point. While I'm enjoying some aspects of the book, I keep getting distracted by asking myself the question above.

The main character, Beatrice, starts off as a young girl in awe of her father and his social position as a Squire. He owns land. She loves the land. That's all good.

There's no hint that Beatrice is actually the antagonist until a short while later when she falls for the gamekeeper's, half-gypsy son, figures out that she's a girl--in the sense that she won't inherit the land she loves, it will go to her older brother who doesn't care about it like she does--and plots with her young lover to kill her father so she can control her brother, who turns out to be in love with her.

As if plotting to kill the father she's adored since early childhood just to keep her hold on land--because her brother will need her to help run it, he's an idiot when it comes to management--isn't bad enough, she has a moment of clarity, attempts to stop her lover from following through, but doesn't get there in time and then tries to kill him to keep everything secret. Beatrice is officially evil. And horribly vain.

I don't mind that the story is told in the antagonist's pov in so much as I have a hard time caring what happens to her. It's more like watching a car accident in slow motion. I'm rooting for her to get caught. She's grasping at straws to stay home and not marry--which she should know by fifteen, is her duty, as much as that sucks. And she's totally avoiding any forward planning past what hole in the damn she needs to plug next. One of these days, she's going to run out of fingers.

Her mother is happy to avoid the truth of what her daughter really is. Her brother is happy to have someone to sleep with who shares his tastes. Her new sister-in-law is happy to be out of her abusive childhood home and is grateful that she has Beatrice to run interference with her 'rough' new husband. Oh and did I mention that sixteen year old Beatrice has managed to get pregnant with her brother?

The whole not even realizing that getting married is bound to happen for a girl, to get shipped off and not inherit, seems kind of like avoiding the obvious for the sake of making the story work. She's also not ever once taken the fact she could get pregant into account with all her jumping to bed, at fifteen, with a commoner who lives in a shack down by the river, which would ruin her reputation to no end and what on earth would mama and papa say? Or what about when she sleeps with her brother? Nope, never once crosses her mind until the revelation that she knew she was pregnant for two months but was hiding it from herself--and us.

Now, onto the story thread that I'm most enjoying: the 'he's not dead yet' young lover. See, Beatrice is evil, but like most evil folks, doesn't check to make sure the person they tried to kill, is actually dead. Evil fail! Now she's terrified he's going to show up, maimed as he is, and tell the truth about who she plotted with him to kill her father. This aspect of the story, the terror of being found out, is done really well, full of heart-pounding, she's-going-to-be-found-out moments. The sad thing is, so far, only one other character is bright enough to suspect she's even hiding anything.

What I've learned so far:
1. Check to make sure your victim is dead! Not doing so only causes convienent plot points.
2. Being an evil character is fine, but being oblivious about common conventions in their own setting/world is not.
3. No amount of excellent description of characters and settting will hide the fact that the other characters are all going far too easy on the MC, easily explaining everything away that should be an anvil.

Guilt Monkey update

Hold your bananas! The rat story is finally started! Not enough that I'm bragging about any wordcount or content, but it does officially contain words.

I've begun reading a new book. Exciting announcement, I know. I needed something to read while soaking in those lovely oatmeal anti-itch baths. My current selection is Phillipa Gregory's Wideacre. More on that another day when I get further into it. So far it's good, but moving a bit slow which is not unexpected for 647 pages of historical fiction. I've enjoyed several of her other novels, so I'm willing to give it a chance to truly draw me in.

Mumurs of NaNoWriMo 2010 have begun to surface. As the muncipal liasion for my region again this year, that means its time to gear up, plan events, solicit donations, and brainstorm goody bag items.

Then there's the Young Writers program end of NaNo that I host in an elementary school and assist with at the middle school level. Thankfuly, I found a wonderful school librarian who was willing to take on most of the adult duties last year. I'm debating whether to pull in more schools, knowing I'll not be able to be personally involved unless I finish my clone factory in time. Oh delegation, you are the bane of my controlling exisitance.

Today's question
For the upcoming NaNo season, should I:

A) Not follow in the true spirit of the event, already having proven I can whip out a 50k draft in 30 days 4 times and instead make a 50k effort at rewriting one of my current novels in 30 days. Actually sitting down and diving into those projects hasn't happened yet, though I love all of those novels and think they all have promise. This would be far more of a challenge for me.

B) Set a good example and do it the right way: Do a little brainstorming in October and then write 50k from scratch in 30 days.

C) Run with a prompt you guys come up with because that would be something different for me to try. Each year I attempt to at least challenge myself to write something different or explore a different way of writing. Such as: new genre I've not played with before, a main female pov that does not technically kick ass, multiple povs, humor, etc.

Tap, Tap, I'm done

Since I had a little too much... ahem... fun this weekend and the poison ivy is still driving me nuts, I gave up trying to concentrate on writing. Instead, I finished reading Tap, Tap .

While the quick, clear characterization remained utterly inspiring, the various character voices were well done, and the witty character comments kept coming, a clumsily inserted major plot point halfway through brought on a revelation anvil in an otherwise materfully crafted dark tale. After I recovered from the anvil, (I swear that was the reason for the cold washcloth on my forehead) the solution to the mystery was clear. By the point the main vampire kidnaps the protagonist's wife, I called the ending. Reading the last quarter of the book was just to confirm I was right. I was.

Would I recommend it: Yes. The story is dark, distrubing and definitely adult in nature, but it's an entertaining variation on the typical vampire tale.

Empty wine bottles: too many
Rat story words: 0
Rotten bananas: 5

Vampires of a different sort

Why I'm reading this:

My mother in law handed it to me a few months ago and said, "I know you like vampire books." She shrugs. "I was out of things to read." She's a shut-in reading addict more of the Nicholas Sparks and Danielle Steele variety. Vamp novels are totally not her thing, so I took her "this was really weird" with a grain of salt. I was heading to the beach with the kids and grabbed it off my To Be Read pile without ever even glancing at the inside flap.

Turns out she was right. But in a good way. Tap Tap not your typical sparkly, angsty or lusty vampire novel, to be sure. Gritty, twisted and full of surprises, I've been enjoying every minute of it.

Maybe I'm twisted all on my own, but I've laughed outloud several times at the witty and masterful characterizations of the vampire's unfortunate victims. I am in awe of Martin's ability to pack so much characterization into a paragraph or two, painting such a clear picture that I know exactly who the unfortunate soul is and when they die a page or two later, I find myself caring.

I can't see the end yet, which is a big plus for me. When I finish, I'll deliver the final verdict, but so far I'm impressed!

Rat story progress tally:
Rotten bananas thrown: 2
Progress: 0

Another writing distraction conquered!

First of all, thanks to all who stopped by last week to vote on the direction of my newest writing project. The rats have won! I spent some time doing my rat research last night and am ready to dive in when tonight's writing window comes around.

Onward into my victory!

Prior to rat research time, I was busy cleaning up the remnants of my far too long and drawn out redecorating project. After much swearing and cursing of the original builders, I am happy to announce that the laminate floor is in! The tools are put away, the sawdust has been vacuumed, and the chaos of renovation has been put back to rights.

Behold the the before and after.

The green room becomes...

The red room!
(Yes, we still need new carpet. That wasn't in the budget just yet.)

The other half of the room.

Ah, that feels good. If only it would stay all neat and clean.

Okay, guilt monkeys, I have all my major distractions out of the way. I declare that two weeks from now, I'll have the first draft of this rat story done. Here are your bananas. Thank you.

Why is everything blurry?

I had planned this victorious monday morning post. As usual, my plan went out the window as I pried open my eyes. Well, one of them anyway.

As of last wednesday night, my flowerbed project is complete! My last task was to clean out the overgrown play area--mostly filled with invasive pricker vines which have kept my kids at bay and kept their toys all over the yard since last fall.

The mission was successful. Mulch mountain is no more. The weeds are removed. The toys have their old home back. All was well... until...

I woke up the next morning with blisters all over my arms and cheek and realized we'd been hosts to poison ivy. In the thirteen years we've lived here, we've never had a problem with it. Now, apparently, we do. Or at least, I do.

Vegetation obliteration spray has been applied. Anti-itch cream as been heartily slathered. Thankfully I was wearing gloves so my hands are only slightly affected or it typing would be a miserable task. The bad news is, I'd just cleaned out the wayward raspberry bushes the night before and my arms were covered in scratches that happily absorbed the aggitating oil and I was hot as hell while pulling the weeds and apparently wiped my face on the back of my glove several times, so my eyelid, cheek, jaw and neck are also affected.

As if that wasn't enough fun...

I spent my weekend intent on making the the best of the situation by finishing up the living room project--at least that could be accomplished in the luxury of air conditioning. The last slip cover has been sewn. After a month and half of walking around it, my sewing stuff has been put away. Hooray!

With all of sunday ahead of me and a severe need for distraction from the ever increasing urge to itch my skin down to the bone, I give my husband the wifely equivelant of the boo-boo lip and got him on board with finally putting in the laminate flooring. After much swearing, sweating, prying up of staples and ancient tack strips, and breathing in of carpet padding funk, the new flooring was laid.

This morning I woke up with a half swollen shut eye and a puffy side of the face. Thanks allergies and poision ivy!

Today, I'm planning to enjoy a cold washcloth on my face as much a possible. Tonight we can conquer the trim and then put things back to rights. Tomorrow I can get to writing about the rats.

Lets hope that this time, things go according to plan.

Oh rats!

I've started a new story. The one I was percolating in the last post. This is a dysotopian-type story, set after a major earth-shattering catastrophy. Being new as this story is, I'm still feeling my way around it, seeing where it will go, before settling down and pounding it out.

As of last night, Marcus, the MC, is busy searching for food and fending off fellow raiders and rats. The prompt I'm working with allows for either sci-fi or fantasy. So, my question for you today is: Should I have fun and include the pov of the rats or keep this more serious and about the humans struggling for survival?

Cast your vote in the comments box.

Garden Tour

While Trust is bubbling around in the subconscious thought percolator, I'm busy brainstorming a new project, possibly a short story or novella. I'm also percolating the long awaited ending to Swan Queen. So many things to think about, I tell you.

This morning I went over feedback on a sci-fi short and got that submitted. That makes three shorts out in submissionland at the moment. I like to juggle a few things out there at once so when a rejection comes in, I'm not too bummed. After all, there are still other possible positive outcomes in the works.

Since I'm doing all this percolating, and ironicaly, this post was not on the list, how about I share some of my garden projects I've been bathering about for the past two months.

Previously. this was a solid mass of siberian iris.

And this was a mess of four foot tall orange daylilies that endeavored to choke out everything else.

These edging bricks were all covered in grass and dirt.
I've done a lot of archeological dig gardening so far this summer.

Added a lot of new stuff here, and after four years of neglect, treated this sun beaten patch of sandy garden to some much needed mulch.

Before I attacked this, only to top row of bricks was showing and the japanese iris had taken over. Amazing what a few years of letting things go will do--and not in a good way.

The new pond I put in. Previously this was a little 30 gallon pre-formed pond. Now its three foot deep and four foot by six foot wide. I wanted it bigger, but the waterfall section is sitting right on top the remains of a tree stump and I wasn't energetic enough to rent a stump grinder.

Lots of weeding done here. If I let this go, it would be a oak and pine tree forest.

The other side of the photo above. It's a very wide garden section.

A new section I put in a couple years ago that only needed some mild clean up.
Hands down, the easiest bed I had to tackle.

The roadside garden. This one was also recently redone so it wasn't horribly overgrown, just weedy.

Finally! One I can show you that has nicely filled in since last fall's makeover.
I hope they all look this nice next summer.

The other section of roadside garden. Did a lot of rearranging of perennials here because the bushes have all grown so much since I first put them in.

The iris patch in front of my very neglected garden. Blame my fractured ankle that came at the wrong time of year. (Is there a ever good time of year for that?) Did some major dividing and giving away of plants from this section.

Two years ago our new neighbors put in this fence which offered me the excuse to finally tackle one of the last untamed sections of our yard. Goodbye pricker vines and sassafrass trees! Moved a bunch of divided stuff into here and did a lot of weeding. Those sassafrass trees are like adverbs, they keep popping up everywhere!

Four more non-spectacular gardens are going undocumented for now. They need to fill in a lot before they are at all worthy of a photo.

I hope you enjoyed the tour. :)

Therapy puppet theatre

Let's just say I'm very glad I didn't jump the gun and post any bursts of good news a couple weeks ago. For those who weren't privy to this as it played out, (a big thank you to those who were. Your support is very much appreciated) I present my last couple weeks through therapy puppet theatre!

Player One sits down and opens up her board game, Lifopoly (the board game I seem to have mashed together in my previous post). She sets up all the game pieces with care, making sure to follow all the instructions and sits back to see if anyone wants to play the game with her.

Player Two happens by. "Say, is that Lifopoly? I love this! Can I play?"

Player one says, "I'd love to play with you! Have a seat."

"Thank you!" Player two sits down. "I really like what you have here, why don't you go directly to Go and collect $200?"

"Really? That's awesome! Thanks!" Player one picks up her thimble game piece and starts to move toward the Go space.

Player Two's brows furrow. "Oh. Hmm. I couldn't help but notice that you're using a thimble. Would you be opposed to using the iron game piece instead?"

"Sure. No problem."

"Oh. And how about instead of car game pieces, you call them hover ships?"

"I can work with that."

"Would you mind changing all the people pegs from pink and blue to yellow and purple?"

"Uhhh. I guess not."

"Great. Let's play."

Player one wipes her brow and moves her iron closer to Go.

Player two rubs her chin. "I just thought of something else. How about we skip the number three when we roll or spin."

"Umm. Okay." Player one gets out a sharpie and turns the number three on the spinner into a snowman and makes an X on the three side of the dice. "Can I move to Go now?"

"Do you have a full house?"

Player one blinks and looks from Lifopoly to Player two. "Uhh, what?"

"A full house. Do you have one? Maybe royal flush?"

"This is Lifopoly, not poker."

"Looks a lot like poker."

Player one surveys the game again and then notices the cards in Player two's hands. She cocks an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose they are both games."

"Lifopoly also reminds me of Cribbage."

"I don't even like Cribbage."

"Nevertheless, it reminds me of Cribbage. And Go Fish."

"Huh? Really?" Player one picks up the hover craft with it's family of purple and yellow pegs inside and examines it. "Well, they are all games so I suppose you could call them connected."

"I don't like card games. Unless you change Lifopoly into croquet, I don't want to play."

Player one picks up the iron game piece and pictures whacking it around the lawn with a mallet. "I guess I'll see what I can do."

Player two gets up, jarring the game board and sending all the game pieces flying. "You know where to find me if you want to play croquet."

"Yeah. Thanks." Player one watches Player two leave. She lovingly picks up her game pieces and packs them away in the box, one by one. She takes one last look at the Go space and then folds the game board up. "Well now, that was interesting," she says to the empty chair. "Guess I'll put this game away for a little bit while I decide whether croquet is my thing or not."

She picks up the box and gets ready to leave. The corner of the box rattles and lifts up ever so slightly. Player one notices a high-pitched hum and waves her hand in the air, thinking to shoo away a mosquito. A tiny, bright red hover craft wizzes in front of her face. It's purple and yellow occupants have grins on their little bulbous heads. She briefly wonders how they are driving since they have pegs for bodies, but shrugs the thought off in light of everything else on her mind.

"We're free!" They cry. The hover craft does one more lap around player one's head and speeds off.

The therapist snaps his fingers. "Hello, cazy writer lady, time to put the puppets away now."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

Remaining nameless

I sit here this morning, surveying my plethora of discarded characters, not wondering, as you might think, where one of them might be or what they are up to. No, I'm wondering which ones I can lure up to my desk to rip our their names.

Why this sudden need for names? Well, due to certain events, I find myself in the position where I must rename several main characters in order for my novel to proceed down the path of possible success.

Why does this suddenly sound like a board game? In its current state, my novel does not pass go or collect $200. It doesn't even get that piddly job where you get $12,000 every payday. (Where can I get that job in real life?) And please don’t let me land on that ‘you just bought a skunk farm’ space!

While I am rather attached to the current names of my characters, I also like the idea of passing go. The names that belong to these that are milling around on my floor amongst the crumbled papers and adverb crates aren't doing anything productive at the moment and I like them too. As a plus, these guys all came from the same novel so I don’t feel quite so much like I’m grabbing names from thin air.

You might imagine I’m sitting here, perusing my character stock with steepled fingers and pursed lips. You’d be right.

They’re going to notice me and get suspicious soon. If I don’t post on Friday, you’ll know this didn’t go well.

“Hey you.”

“I have a name, you know.”

Not for long…

Guilt monkeys

I'm writing again. Whew, that feels good!

I finished a short story today. Well, I wrote half of it last night and this morning. I wrote the other half three weeks ago when I noticed an intersting prompt and thought, "Heck, I have three weeks to get something together for that. No problem." Ha.

It shouldn't have been a problem. I'm annoyed with myself for taking that much time off. I have excuses, one of them possibly very exciting, but that will wait for another post when things are confirmed. But we all have excuses, don't we? The trick is to not accept them and keep writing.

I must better learn to be my own 'nagging grandmother' as Vayen would say. Let me tell you, if I had to actually vocalize to someone the excuses I make for not writing, they would likely sound far more lame that I try to rationalize.

It's time to break out the guilt monkeys until I can get myself back in line.

Normally, I save the guilt monkeys for November during NaNoWriMo. I also have a pack of rabid, cybernetic attack weasels, but they're off saving the world during the off season. So I'm using the monkeys.

Depending on who you ask and how much sugar or liquor they've recently injested, you might be told that guilt monkeys are actual monkeys or they are your support network. I'm inclined to tell you both--because I have posters I'm printing for my NaNo region to prove it. However, for the purpose of this post, let's call them your support network.

How it works: I tell as many people as possible that I'm going to write something. Something with a goal works best for optimal results. Such as: A short story today, a rough draft of a novel this month, finish a round of revisions on chapters one through ten this week, etc. At least one of my drafted guilt monkeys will follow through and ask how that progress is coming along. I then either have to say, "Awesome! It's done / I'm half done / I'm working on it" or "I didn't get to it because.... (insert sure to sound lame excuse here). I hate sounding lame.

Some people are great at setting goals for themselves and reaching them. Some of us need accountablity... and guilt monkeys.

Where can you find your own guilt monkeys?
-Facebook updates
-Blog posts
-The jungle
-Your friends
-Your critique group
-The produce section of your grocery store
-Your family (but I've found they accept the lame excues a little too easily because they want you to feed them)

And now I must go polish and submit this thing before I get pelted with banana peels.

Another monday

They have a way of coming around every seven days, don't they? Unlike many people, I like mondays. They are the return to order around my house. A day when I can pick things up and they might stay put away for several hours because everyone else has gone about their monday routines. For a brief moment, I might get a glimpse of my house as I see it in my head, that tidy, newly redecorated place that breathes calm into my often hectic life.

Every weekend has been busy and rainy, driving me to even further appreciate my mondays--the day when mother nature likes to spite all the work away from home people by offering sunshine and perfect temperatures. Working at home does have certain benefits. Assuming the work I need to do that day isn't the sort that requires me to remain inside, only to gaze longingly out the windows like everyone else.

This monday also marks my summer return to the groove (or at least in much closer proximity to the groove than I've been in a long while). I have decreed it so.

My latest book addiction session was just what I needed to catch my breath and take a step back.

For the past few months, work, projects around the house, and child obligations have severely hampered my writing time. But now...

The kids, home for summer break, have fallen into their own mostly self sufficient routines and have found friend's houses to hang out at on occassion. My flowerbeds (if I could get a few consectutive days without rain, it would be most appreciatated) are almost done and are to a point I can finish whenever I get to it. The house is mostly put back together after the big redecoration project--only one slipcover and eventually putting in the laminate flooring that is taking up space in my garage remain to be completed. My annual (one month late thanks to my fractured ankle fiasco) garage sale is done as if this past weekend, and all the stuff that didn't sell is put away or crammed into the back of my car waiting to be dropped off at Goodwill. My job board is as clean as its been in months after busting my behind lately to push jobs through.

Join me in a deep inhale exhale. Ah, that's better.

I'm free

It's over. I closed the book this morning, having reached the last page after getting up an hour early with the intent to finish this thing! I am immensely thankful that Jacqueline Carey doesn't pump out books every few months or my own productivity would be seriously hampered.

As it stands, Naamah's Curse is to blame for:
• My sunburned back--I was too busy reading and forgot to roll over when I was supposed to.
• Several hours of missed sleep
• My garage sale being delayed a day--I was too busy reading to get out to price and set things up yesterday.
• A bird almost hitting my daughter--I was attempting to be interactive while reading and so sat on a quite secluded bench on my desk which I infrequently use so I could 'watch' my daughter pick seeds from my prolific lilies to sell in the garage sale. A cardinal flew over the bush behind me and, finding me invading the bird feeder space, freaked out and flew off at top speed, missing my daughters face by a mere inch. At least she thought it was cool.
• A sore back. I discovered reading while laying on my stomach isn't as comfortable as I remember it being. I think I'm too used to sitting at a computer these days. Unfortuately, use of the late night reading light demands I use that postition for optimal extension of the 'turn that freakin light off already' factor.

Beyond my list of grievences, I feel it was good to have my children witness me in full reading frenzy with an actual book. I read on my computer all the time, but I could just as well be surfing the web for all they know. They both remarked several times how much I must really like the book to be reading it so much. Darn right. Now go read one of your own!

There are very few books that allow me to lose myself in them without that infernal internal editing voice piping up every few paragraphs and my hand twitching to make notes. Perhaps spending so much of the last two years critiquing others hasn't been entirely a good thing. I'm happy to say, this was a most enjoyable read. As if you hadn't figured that out already.

I laughed. I cried. I cried several times to be honest. There is a lot of emotion packed into this story and all her others. The characters may change, and with the second trilogy, that was a little jarring, but with this, the third, knowing she will take good care of me as a reader, I'm much more accepting. I was not let down.

Unlike many authors of long series, she hasn't fallen into predictable or come to rely on a formula. As much as I might enjoy a two or three books by an author, if the one reads too much like the other, I'm done with it. Enjoyable as they might be, I'd rather read something new. With these, the adventure continues, swirling about the world in new places with new challenges. The only predicable thing I've come to find is that when a character says they are happy, they won't be by the next page. The good thing is I never know why until it happens.

My one regret with this novel is that I won't get it signed. When Naamah's Kiss was released, I had the pleasure of meeting Jacqueline Carey at a book signing (I got lucky with a book tour stop only five minutes away!). She was very kind... and patient with whom I discovered were several other fellow aspriring authors who also lingered in the seats lined up in front of her table. Between signings she answered all our questions, telling us of her practice novels, getting her first novel published and the best wisdom of all, "you'll never know if your novel will get published unless you start sending it out."

Having been stuck in an endless cycle of revision--as it seemed so was the rest of the endless question lobbing group--this was exactly what I needed to be smacked upside the head with.

Yes ma'am. I'm sending it out!

My addiction

I admit it. Give me a good book, a really good book, and I'm useless for anything else.

I was wise, knowing my addiction, I waited to even open the cover of my newly arrived book until there came a day when I'd mostly caught up with work. Why? I've lost enough workdays to know that I will shirk responsibilty once a good book gets into my hands. Oh, I might get a few things done, after all, I don't want to get yelled at by angry customers, but I will read as much as possible while doing those jobs, including the three minutes it takes for the equipment to do its thing, while waiting for the computer to boot up, while programs to load, or because I derserve it for working for ten minutes straight.

After working an extra two hours last night, I found myself caught up enough to crack open the cover. This special occasion happened during the fifteen minutes I'd left early to pick up my daughter from her first night at bible school. I was alone in the car with my book. Ah, good stuff. Read. read. read!

We got home, I checked email. I sent the kids to bed on time--a rarity for summer break--and dove into my book for three hours. It would have been much longer, but the "turn that freakin reading light off already" vibe coming from the other side of the bed finally got to me.

I woke up early. On time, really, for the rest of the year, but early for summer since I don't have to get the kids up. Let's just say it was far earlier than I have since school let out. First thing I reached for? No, not the book. Amazing, I know. I had to watch ten minutes of morning news to see what was going on in the real world... and to see the weather report to further put my plan in motion. A nice day. Excellent.

Reading for two and a half hours officially started my day. I worked for half an hour. Then there were errands to run. I've put of getting my oil changed for a month. Oh hey! That's fifteen minutes I could be reading in the car! My oil is changed. The rest of the errands were run in record time.

Back home, with the storm clouds of last night clearning for the promised beautiful day, I laid out my plan. First up, the dog park. The poor dog has been shut up in the house, as much as I have lately. Besides, I can read at the dog park and the kids can play. Everyone wins.

Next, lunch. Then we're off to the beach. I don't care if the water is cold. As long as I can read, that's all that matters.

What I'm so madly reading:

The truth about Vayen

In friday's post, Vayen had a great time lying to you. Well, to me actually. I wouldn't let him anywhere near the keyboard. He'd only get into trouble and he does that enough without encouragement.

Without further rambling on my part... the truth is revealed:

1. I am an awesome pilot. I can fly anything. This one time... well, I don't want to brag.
LIE -Vayen never trained as a pilot. He's got plenty of other things to deal with without having to fly anything.

2. I'm a neat freak. Messy rooms drive me insane. I don't know how anyone can live like that.
LIE - As if. He drives Delyn nuts with his "relaxed" housecleaning habits.

3. Bring on the front lines, I'm a hands on kind of leader who loves to be in the middle of everything in person.
LIE - That's Delyn. Vayen prefers to leave the front line fighting to those who are trained for it.

4. I have a thing for Caltessian and Verian women. If I could find an agressive Caltessian woman in a short-statured, devout Verian with telepathy, I'd be at Geva's gates.
LIE - This one couldn't even be typed with a straight face. Vayen prefers his own kind, Balorian women, but managed to bond to a human woman instead. Nothing ever goes his way. Poor guy. (Yeah, I'm snickering.)

5. Some might say I have substance abuse issues. I would say I like to have a drink now and then. Okay, fine, maybe a few, but my experience with drugs was not entirely my fault.
TRUE.

6. I harbor no grudges with my Caltessian co-worker. After all, neither of us was physically involved in the war that took my family from me. I'm sure he lost someone he knew too.
LIE - Compassion for his co-worker is not Vayen's strong point. Then again, the lack of feeling is mutal.

7. Profanity is intolerable.
LIE - Again, not even typed with a straight face.

Thank you for playing, Vayen. Now back into the book with you!

Lies, I tell you, all lies!

Scott Free seems to be my blog muse lately. That alone is odd. Or was it crazy? No, he wasn't crazy, that was one of his lies. I'll get it straight, I swear.

Yes, I've been tagged with the bald-faced liar award... again.

Since I've already shared my lies and bequeathed the award upon others, I'm going to pass the honor to one of my favorite characters, Vayen. For a man from a novel called, Trust, how can you not... well... trust him?

This will probably be more fun for those of you who know Vayen, but everyone is welcome to play.

1. I am an awesome pilot. I can fly anything. This one time... well, I don't want to brag.

2. I'm a neat freak. Messy rooms drive me insane. I don't know how anyone can live like that.

3. Bring on the front lines, I'm a hands on kind of leader who loves to be in the middle of everything in person.

4. I have a thing for Caltessian and Verian women. If I could find an agressive Caltessian woman in a short-statured, devout Verian with telepathy, I'd be at Geva's gates.

5. Some might say I have substance abuse issues. I would say I like to have a drink now and then. Okay, fine, maybe a few, but my experience with drugs was not entirely my fault.

6. I harbor no grudges with my Caltessian co-worker. After all, neither of us was physically involved in the war that took my family from me. I'm sure he lost someone he knew too.

7. Profanity is intolerable.

Learn the truth about Vayen on Monday. He's quite happy to be let out of the book for a little while. I don't usually let my working characters out to chat. It tends to inflate their egos. Let's just hope he stays in line and doesn't catch sight of any discarded characters that he might hold a grudge with. That could get messy.

I'm back

I'm still alive, though, no more sane than I was when I left with my car full of Girl Scouts. After all, I did volunteer for this gig, so obviously there is a general lack of sanity to begin with. Much whining, pitching of fits and swallowed pool water was involved. And fun. Though, mostly had by the girls and not us sleep deprived zombie drivers with one eye locked on the road and on on the GPS.

Things learned on this trip:

Boy scouts are prepared. Girl Scouts will forget essential things like a swimsuit, lunch money, a can opener and that one car who doesn't have directions that we're supposed to be making sure is following right behind us. Where did they go? Ooops! Thank goodness for cell phones.

I can not sleep with blinking lights right above me. I don't know what the heck these ceiling sensor lights were for but at 2:30 AM, white blinky lights in an otherwise pitch black room and snoring girls did not aid my efforts to rest.

No matter how many children are on the trip, my own will always be the one that truly drives me nuts. At least I can pull that one aside and give her an uncensored chewing out without threat of any other parental backlash.

I am cursed to be the one that must always follow the gorilla men into the hot tub. Sorry folks, I have a very low tolerance for extreme amounts of back/shoulder hair.

There are a lot more tattooed people out there than you realize when you see everyone fully clothed. (Yes, I'm one of them)

Customers will still need everything right now even if I'm not in the office. Messages and emails will pile up. No one will do my work for me while I'm gone.

Twenty-four hours away from computer access is hard.

Water slides are still fun.

Witnessing my timid daughter figure out that water slides are "awesome" is, well.... awesome.

And so summer begins

Sorry folks, no witty monday morning post this week. I'm spending a couple days with my Girl Scouts at a water park. This would probably be a fun mini vacation if it weren't for attempting to keep a bunch of seven to ten year old girls under somewhat control. Oh, and the three hour car ride. Time to load up the car's DVD player and stock up on patience.

We'll see how sane I am by wednesday's post.

Goodbye Freedom

Today is that fateful day of each school year that I weep a little in the morning and then resolve to have the best four hours possible before my freedom is taken from me.

Being self-employed, I'm used to a certain amount of freedom. Granted, when work demands, I'm on task and do what's got to be done, however long it takes, but when I have the leeway, I can schedule my day to allow for morning writing time, lunch critique time and maybe get a few paragraphs in here and there between jobs. Not to mention, writing after the kids go to bed--assuming the husband is busy with his own projects, which he often is.

But now the kids will be home. *wails*

"No school! Yay! We get to stay up later!" - Yay. Less writing time for me. Though, I'm getting better at blocking out the annoying kids shows and their canned laugh tracks so I can concentrate a little.

"Why are you eating at your computer, mommy? You should have lunch with us." - Because time sitting at table, staring out the window while shoveling food in my face is wasted time. Must multitask! (Yes, I DO try to eat with them when they are home.)

"Why are you eating leftovers? We don't want leftovers. We didn't like it the first time. We want mac and cheese! Make us lunch!" - Leftovers are quick and easy. Fend for yourselves children!

"Why are you always working on a computer? Why can't you take us to the beach?" - Well, at least at the beach, I can get some reading done since laptops and sand don't mix.

"Can we have friends over?" - Oh how I miss my silent days with only the occasional whining of the dog when he sees a squirrel. Heck no, I don't need additional kids around. Take all your friends outside, or better yet, go to their house.

"We're bored." So go write something. That's what I'd rather be doing!

Yes, I love my children. Honestly, I do. They are good, smart and get along fairly well for brother and sister, but... I love my quiet time too. You know, that whole absence makes the heart grow fonder thing. So.... when are they implementing that year round school plan?

Countdown til school resumes: 87 days

The truth behind Trust pt 3

The all-powerful Delyn had to go. She needed to knocked down, kicked a few times and maybe smacked upside the head once or twice for good measure.

However, doing so, made the story, as it was, fall in on itself. And honestly, I was rather sick of writing her in all her various incarnations. She just wasn't doing it for me anymore. I needed a fresh voice to breathe a more constructive direction into the story that I wanted to mold this chaos into. And thus, Vayen spoke unto the masses.

We took some time to get to know one another--both turning around to smack Delyn away from the front seat, because she still wanted to drive. It took several drafts to find a workable balance between them.

It wasn't her story that I wanted to tell. I'd done that. Several times. I wanted to tell his. His story clicked, angels sang, all that good stuff that happens when you know you've made the right move. In the process, Delyn lost a lot of her over the top backstory--which made her a much more sympathetic character.

For me, it was exciting to flesh out another side of events I'd only made scant mention of previously--such as how Vayen came to be working for Delyn and their earlier connection. He got jealous when she looked elsewhere, which tamed her sleazy side. He gave her a reason to tone down the cold, hard face she was so fond of. He made her work within the realm of the story I wanted to tell. (And that, Scott, is why I switched from one MC to the other.)

Not that the switch solved everything.

I realized that the story would be much stronger if it were in first person. So I rewrote it. Then I realized that hard sci-fi wasn't what the best angle for the story. It was too dry. I wanted the characters to really shine instead of the tech. So I rewrote it. Then I realized that flawed characters using sci-fi tech, killing people for whatever really important reason wasn't as engaging as it could be. The story needed other layers. So I rewrote it.

Within that flurry of rewriting, Trust was born. Hallelujah.

Thanks to Scott Free for being my post muse.

The truth behind Trust pt 2

That which eventually became Trust would have died a quiet death in a cheap ream of typed, white-out-encrusted paper if, years later, a co-worker hadn't mention wanting some practice drawing comic book characters. He knew I toyed around with writing and asked if I wouldn't mind whipping up a bio for him to work from. Oh heck, why not.


And Delyn was born.
(I particularly like her legs. I want her legs. Let's just pretend they're mine. Ok?)

Though the majority of what I wrote for him no longer applies--and so I won't post it here to aggravate those of you who have read Trust--here is a taste of what he had to work with.

---
I noticed you were staring at my blade here. You should be more careful, I felt you all the way across the room. Lucky I’m in a good mood isn’t it? What’s that? Buy me drink? Well I suppose that could be interesting. You mind if we go back over to my table? I prefer my dark corner, if you know what I mean. I see by your smile that you do.

So what do you need... or is it want? What ever do I mean? Are you serious or not because I do have better things to do than sit around and talk to shady characters in the middle of the night. 100 credits for me? It’s a good start to a friendship. So who are you? A writer? You want to do something on me? Well I can’t say I’m not flattered but why me? You’ve heard of me?

Another 100? Must be then. So what do you want to know?

Where to start... at the beginning? No, that’s what everyone does. First of all, I’m not like everyone else, not like anyone else actually. I do things my way. I pick my own partners. I follow no ones rules but my own and they tend to change frequently.
---

As sweet and awkward as teen Ms. Wildstar was, Delyn was anything but. She was dark, cold, snarky, and apparently, sleazy too. She could do no wrong--invincible, all-powerful and able to find an out to every situation. I didn't want to see her knocked from her pedestal of kick-ass awesomeness. Let me tell you, when she was applied to the story, it made for a really annoying read (once I stepped back and really read it).

Which is why...
to be continued

The truth behind Trust pt 1

Blame Scott Free for this one (and those to follow, this is going to take a few posts).

When did Trust go from being Delyn's story to Vayen's story? Well, that's kind of in the last third of the evolution process.

Yes, Trust evolved. Every other novel I've written comes out of an idea and flows onto the page--through various degrees of agonizing birth, but never the same way (thankfully) that Trust did.

It's a story that's grown with me, through the teen years, dating, marriage, divorce, dating, marriage, and two children. It's always been with me, and it wasn't until I forced myself to put it down and write other things that I was finally able to detach myself from the immense world of characters who were as real to me as anyone else I talked to on a regular basis and finally write the story it was meant to be. I could finally see it for a novel and not a hobby that I slunk off to when I wanted to be alone.

It grew up. I was ready to cut the apron strings and kick it out of the house.

Might as well bare it all, while I'm at it, I suppose.

The story that began around 1983 as "The adventures of Dan & Dana", was about two kids who crashed their space ship after things went wrong at the children's rocket festival. They end up on another planet ruled by the evil Prince Barstone. It was, well, awkward. Really, really awkward. The most memorable lines were:

"Remember that Dana?"

"Yeah, I remember, I remember all those days in the cramped ship, and the frightened faces as we left the atmosphere, and I remember when we lost contacct on the cb, and I remember when we ran out of fuel and crashed here just last night!"

There are so many things wrong there that I'm just shaking my head and hanging my head in shame. CB's in space? Really? Oh my. The part that makes this the most memorable is that I had spelled remember wrong. Yes, every time in that long repeating sentence.

Once on the planet, they meet up with two boys named Matt and Jason. Together, they proceed to defeat the prince and his nefarious plans and escape the planet to go on a new adventure. At this point, the story consisted of 6 legal sheets of yellow paper with handwriting much neater than what mine is now. The pages were tucked away until a few years later when current events brought them to mind again.

In 1986 the Challenger space shuttle exploded. This was a traumatic event for most kids in school as we were all avidly watching the launch during class. Oh hey, I had a story somewhere about kids in space and a space ship festival! Now, in high school, Dana became Alexandria (cue Ms. Wildstar). Mostly because I'd found a new favorite name.

I figured if I was going to dive into this writer thing, I'd better have the right tools. So I saved up my money and bought a typewriter (and a lot of white out). It was really noisy and my parents banished me to the farthest room in the basement with it.

By the time I was in tenth grade, I had a hundred fifty page story and made my creative writing teacher read it. I'm pretty sure she skimmed it or she clawed her eyes out and then got replacements over the weekend.

It was full of teen angst, giggling girls oogling the mysterious cute and troubled new boy on the bus, and no way, they got stuck in space after their space shuttle replica misfired during the shuttle tribute! Guess what? They end up on a planet (cue the Barthromians) and have an adventure. I know, you didn't see that coming.

After some encouraging and not so encouraging comments from my creative writing teacher, I tucked the story away and got involved in real life teen angst, along with plunking away on my typewriter with a couple sequels in which Matt and Jason also got to hook up with space chicks (cue Delilah).

Over the next few years I went on a sci-fi reading binge and grew up a little.

To be continued...

Novel in a Blender 4

It's been awhile since I've pondered my overflowing bookshelf.

Before I jump into today's influential selection, I must share the news that I've just pre-ordered Jacqueline Carey's latest book, Naamah's Curse. Though my life has been insanely busy the past few weeks, I am anxiously awaiting its delivery and will put everything on hold while I shove my nose between the pages and refuse to come out until I reach the last word. There are a lot of books in my to-be-read pile but this one will leap to the top without a second thought. Unless, of course, George R.R. Martin's long awaited A Dance With Dragons happens to magically appear on bookshelves before then. I'm not holding my breath. Good thing, or I'd have been dead several years ago.

Deep cleansing breath. There, that's better. I'll have to wait for HBO to air the "Game of Thrones". That will appease me. Hopefully. My expectations are set pretty high.


Back to my bookshelf and back to when Trust was something else and told through a female pov. I was reading books like Emily Devenport's Shade. The tale a girl on the streets doing what she has to in order to survive. Good gritty stuff. It was about this point where I started to get the idea that Ms. Wildstar needed to go and Ms. MC needed a rough and tough outer shell that then slowly evolved into the emotionally damaged, angry and paranoid woman that is Delyn.

There are two other books, Scorpianne and Larissa, but while a fun read, they weren't as good as the first one. The word formulaic comes to mind. But if you're looking for female sci-fi main characters, they might be worth a quick read through.

Painting and musing

Due to a dark and wet day, I've had to shift to plan B for my long holiday weekend tasks. That means I'm back to painting walls.

As I'm painting away, my mind wanders--which it likes to do when I'm in the midst of mindless tasks. It wanders to Anne Mini's blog posts of this past week regarding the perils of the Frankenstein manuscript. You know, that masterpiece you've revised twenty times in various stages over weeks/months/years.

I have one of those. I've been over it countless times since the final major overhaul. I've read from beginning to end. Critique partners have been over it from beginning to end. I've read it outloud. I've done a find/replace hunt on all my character's names that have changed spellings to make sure they are consistant. I've double checked all my spacings, my punctuation, use of italics, and formatting. Everything should be perfect, right?

I've painted my wall. I wiped it down, filled the holes, mixed the paint, put down my dropcloth, cut in all the edges with perfectly straight lines, and applied the rest with a roller ever so carefully. It should be perfect right?

Yet, why is it that when company comes over, I notice the spots I missed? That line I cut in at the ceiling wavers all over the place! How did I manage to paint over a long hair and embed it in my wall (and by the way, pulling the hair out only makes the mess far more obvious.) And I swear I used the same roller and the same paint, but the color from the beginning of the wall to the other side is uneven!

The heart of the analogy is:
A. Don't invite company over.
B. Don't paint your novel.
C. Pay attention to what you're painting instead of mulling over blog posts and your wall might turn out better.
D. Your novel will never be perfectly perfect, but make sure the color is even and the lines are straight before inviting company to look at it.

(For the record, I'm finally happy with my novel and fairly secure that I've got all my bases covered with this particular frankenstein. Not to say I don't have niggling doubts. Which is where this musing analogy stems from.)

Fortunes and Flogging

Sometimes you open a fortune cookie and roll your eyes or get a good laugh. Sometimes they aren't even 'fortunes' but general sayings. This one was so appropriate I had to wonder if someone slipped it to me on purpose, so I thought I'd share.

I apologize, my cell phone camera apparently wasn't up to the job. For those who can't read blurrese, it says: The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words when one will do.

In other news...

Upon visiting one of my favorite procrastination sites this morning, I see that Ray at Flogging the Quill is running low on first page submissions to flog. If you'd like an editor's opinion and faithful readers to comment, follow the instructions at the end of any flogging post. I've run a mine through a couple times and received some very helpful comments.

In light of the upcoming long Memorial Day weekend, and all I need to get done before it, I'll keep this post short today. I plan to spend my weekend hopefully finishing up my flowerbed renovation project. Anyone else have productive plans?

Tag redux

The tag strikes back from a new opponent, Stella Telleria .This time I am charged with sharing the seven most fascinating characters I've come up with.

Oh, so many to choose from.

1. Leoric of Swan Queen - The timid son of an ambitious duke who goes from being known as the Mouse to the Hawk in the mind of the princess on the run. Why he's fascinating: Leoric was meant to be a throw away character, an experiment with writing someone dimwitted for a purpose within the story, however, he grew on me, became a major character, bringing about one of the most emotional scenes I've ever written.

2. Samarah of Samarah’s Sunset – Alone and far from home, Samarah prays to the goddess for help, only to learn that even the gods charge for their services… and they don’t take coin. Why she's fascinating: I set out with the intent to write something quite different from Trust: a female MC in a fantasy world. Samarah’s situation opened the door to adding an element of romance into the mix with both men and women.

3. Joshua of A Broken Race – A simple-minded man born into a life of hard labor who brings about the healing of what is left of humanity when he stops being a cog and becomes his own wheel. Why he's fascinating: After good things happened with Leoric, I thought I’d see where the simple-minded character would lead me in a dystopian setting. Playing with both sides of the sweet, well-intentioned, yet unwittingly violent young man proved to be an interesting challenge.

4. Watcher of To Exist – A robotic being learns religion from humanity and prays the knowledge will save its priceless research. Why it's fascinating: Writing an it that felt no emotion and had no expression wasn’t easy!

5. Dragon of Not Another Bard’s Tale – All he wanted was his jewel back but the knight who made the deal to find it was taking his sweet time and the townsfolk looked awfully tasty. Why he's fascinating: Dragon is the only central character in the story to not have a pov scene, yet he is the glue that holds the entire story together. Plus, writing a ticked off, hungry dragon was just fun.

6. Kenric of Swan Queen – Is he an evil duke as many say, or a proactive man moving to secure the countries borders and expand his people’s wealth with new resources and land? Why he’s fascinating: Kenric has been a good lesson in writing the bad guy who thinks he’s a good guy in his own mind, and sometimes it’s just liberating to be in the bad guy’s head for a while. Is that scary to admit? Probably a little.

7. Yanis of Samarah’s Sunset - Captain Yanis serves as gruff protector to Samarah, the lone woman in a band of starving, desperate men until he meets his end during a skirmish as they make their way home through enemy infested borders. Why he’s fascinating: Yanis was an angry man, bad-tempered and stern, yet his death turned out to be quite touching and a major turning point for Samarah.

What, no Trust characters? Many of you know them by heart by now so I thought I’d pull out some that are lesser known. Of course, Vayen, Delyn and the gang are fascinating in their own right.

Now, since I’ve already tagged others on my first time around, I’ll call my duty done and sign off. Thank you, Stella, for giving me a reason to revisit some of my attention-starved WIPs.

If only I had more time

There came a time in my life when personal and work interests took me away from writing. Though I had enjoyed the outlet writing gave me, I just never found the time to get back into again.

When the planets aligned eight years ago, allowing me to quit my job in printing and become self employed, I'd envisioned all this 'extra time' I'd have to write. After all, my son would be moving into kindergarten soon and business was sporadic. Slow days wouldn't mean me sitting at my desk twiddling my thumbs or chatting with co-workers, I could be writing without worry of the boss catching me work on personal projects on company time.

I started to write again for at least an hour or two and during the day, and as my love of writing reignited, a couple hours at night once my son went to bed. It felt wonderful.

Ten months later, I had my daughter. Let me tell you, having a baby at home directly impacts writing time and mental capacity for constructive thought.

I thought naptime would be my writing escape, but I was tired too, and friends called, housework needed to be done, and of course, work.

When I finally got her to the preschool stage, I was overjoyed to have my quiet writing time back. Work was slow enough, I could write again and make time for both kids and parental/social obligations.

I started looking around online and found some writing groups to get involved with. My actual writing took a back seat to learning how to write better.

When full time school hit, I thought I was golden. I would have all day--on slow days--to write!

But the bills still want to get paid and new equipment must be purchased to keep up with changing demands? Crud. My slow days were spent with promoting the business and developing new products. Then there are critique partners to work with, learning about this whole publishing business, and figuring out how to make my writing suck less.

Now business is good and steady. Which is great. Except that mythical devoted writing time I'd envisioned? Yeah, that just never seems to happen. Something will always come up. Something I can't blow off because it’s not a matter of break time, or being off the clock. There’s overtime, rush jobs, and customers calling during my morning writing hours and no boss I can give puppy-dog eyes too and beg to get out of it. No sir. It’s all me.

That time you hope for, that you can devote solely to writing, will never happen unless you make it happen. Write when you can, be it five minutes here and there or a block of hours you set aside each day. Every word you manage get down is one step closer to putting that idea into words, or finishing and polishing your current WIP.

If you have the fortitude to shut your door, turn off your phone and internet and just sit and write, go you. I allow myself to do this one month a year—November for NaNoWriMo. I know I can pump out an entire rough draft of novel in a month. I’ve done it four times. But if I did that all the time? I’d quickly find myself single, wearing the same clothes all week and living off ramen noodles while my children played in the street.

So it’s all about balance. We all sacrifice things for what we love, right? I won’t cut my kids out or my husband, work still needs to get done and the yard needs my attention, but I will turn off the tv, let the answering machine get the phone during writing time and do my best to stay off the internet unless what I’m doing is writing related. I will try to manage my time to get the most out of a day as I possibly can.

That doesn’t mean that everything coming out of my fingers during writing time is uber awesome, but hey, getting words written is half the battle. The other half… I’ll get to that when I have more time.

Bunny fodder

I hear feminine sobbing and sniffing coming from somewhere in the midst of the crumpled pages that litter my floor. Ms. Wildstar, the most likely suspect, is over at the edge of the room trading beautiful and handsome adjectives with Xander.

Delilah is languidly combing out her lusciously long, curly, ebony hair far too close to the adverb storage crates for my liking. And she's not sobbing. She's casting coy looks at Nekar and Zsmed.

Unless the rabid dust bunnies did a real number on Marin's manly bits, I'm thinking it's not him crawling back into our midst. Everyone else seems to be accounted for.

Hmm. I give up all pretense of writing and dig around in the paper until I uncover the culprit. "Trala?"

She looks up at me with tear-filled blue eyes. "You remembered my name!"

"Yes, well, I do that. I wrote you, for goodness sake. You're right here." I point to one of my character sheets where her name and information are neatly typed. Of course, there's also a big, thick sharpie line through it all.

Her sobs elevate to full-fledged wailing.

"Oh, shut up you whiny woman. It's not like you're the only one cut around here." I point to all the others who are shaking their heads and rolling their eyes at her.

She takes a deep shuddering breath and holds up a scrap of paper—recently cut from the sequel I gather by its position near the top of the pile. "She says I'm sappy and boring."

"Ms. MC never liked you. I thought that was pretty clear from the original scene you played an active part in."

"She was just jealous." Trala balls up the paper and tosses it aside. "Mr. MC bought me a pretty blue dress. It matches my eyes." She batts them at me as if I hadn't noticed them yet.

"Very true. But she was already jealous of the other women Mr. MC spent time with. You were an anvil."

"Are you saying I'm heavy?"

I'm saying you're not real bright, you dimwit. Yet another reason you got cut. "Noooo, I'm saying I’d made the point twice and in this case, the third time was not the charm. It was the anvil hitting the reader over the head."

"What about the other girls, did they get to stay? Are they lighter than me?"

I smack my forehead. "There were a few that floated away, the rest were heavy anvils like you. You're not alone, dear." I pat her little head. Huh, sounds rather like a ripe watermelon.

There are times when a character can be less than intelligent and it works within the story. Trala was not one of them. She was just aggravatingly dim and that made her all wrong as a love interest for Mr. MC. Not only that, but when I decided to add more of a romance twist to the novel, those 'other women' had to go unless they served a major purpose. This one, nope, not one of the lucky two.

Hmm. On second thought, the 'lucky two' both ended up dead, so I suppose they weren't so lucky after all. Hey, I might be on to something here...

"Hey Trala, I hear there are some cute bunnies behind the desk. Maybe you should go look for them and see if they are hungry."

"I love bunnies!" Her face bursts into a grin that reeks of unicorns, sparkly rainbows and i-s dotted with little hearts. She dashes off into the shadows.

Population control at its finest.