Words to Paper

Time

2012-01-19T10:08:00.003-06:00

2011.

Not a good year for a lot of people. I know it won't make the record books as one of my favorites, but I learned a lot.

The hard way.

Of course.

If I'm going to do something, that's usually the way I go about it.

Traditionally speaking.

Hard way or not, it was enough to make me rethink things. A lot of things.

One of them is Annie.

If you know me, have been here before, have seen me on Twitter, AW, or where ever, you'll have heard most likely of Annie Duvall - my erotic pen name.

She's dead.

I killed her.

*Foomp*

Stories of hers that I like will be reworked - they'll keep their sensuality, just lose some of their more graphic details.

Bye Annie.

Another change is writing time. Dear Dog, how I've missed it. So it's been added back into my little planner on my phone. In purple. Can't argue with purple.

Another thing I'm changing is the availability of my short stories. Right now, I have nothing out there for published stuff.

I've been weighing my options and doing some thinking and I think I have an idea of what I'm going to do about it. Keep an eye on the COMING SOON! tab for info/links/what have you.

It's a new year. Time for a new way of thinking, a new way of doing things.

Time to get out of my own way.

Dear Blog - that sounds terrible - Dear Words to Paper --

2012-01-03T22:13:00.000-06:00

Dear WTP,

I haven't forgotten you or thought of deleting you.

Often.

I got on RL's roller coaster back in May and have needed both hands to hang on in order to keep from falling off - this ride had had a lot of hidden dips and sharp curves where you'd least expect them. Or at least where I wasn't expecting them.

But like all roller coasters, it had to coast back down. That's where I am now, in the long glide back to the platform where the characters wait with their stories.

I can't say I'll be here more, after all, I only have so much to say without my characters, but I *hope* this glide is where the craziness ends and isn't just a smooth place before the next drop over an edge unseen.

Lessons Learned from Reading

2011-10-12T13:42:00.002-05:00

The day job - it pays a few bills but it ties of most of my day. Well, usually it does. Over the last few weeks, work has been slow coming in. Not sure why. Lots of guesses from the office of the company I'm contracted with. Instead of transcribing reports in a mad dash, lately I've been spending a fair amount of my day repeatedly clicking the button to retrieve work. Not a big deal - working from home, I can theoretically work whenever work is available - but it's frustrating to be tied to a desk to click the same button over and over again without making much, if any, progress on the old invoice.

To keep me from losing my mind - and from jamming up the system with too many retrieve requests clicked all at once in a fit of frustrated madness - I've been working on Spirit and rereading some of my old favorite authors in between harassing the system for work. Which brings me to the meat of this post.

Things I've learned from reading big name authors... I'm not going to name names and if anyone reading this recognizes these things, please don't mention them here. **

Never-ending pages of description - the critters are right - it's boring. Especially when it's "told" instead of "shown." I just skimmed two pages - two full pages - of told description in a novel by a best selling author.  Most of it seemed to focus on the MC's motivation/thoughts/anxieties that I have to confess morphed from written words to the garbled buzz of adult-speak in Charlie Brown cartoons. I'm all for being in the MC's head, but as a reader, I really don't want the MC to rationalize every move and I don't need to understand how they came to every single decision they make.

Lesson Learned - Keep the internal chatter to a minimum. And if the MC insists on explaining their motives, at least be entertaining and avoid the paragraphs of blah, blah, blahness.

Keeping it Real - The story has to be realistic and the characters have to, well, stay in character for me to want to read it again or recommend it to a friend. Example - one of my mother-in-law's favorite big name authors tells a tale I absolutely, completely, thoroughly enjoyed. Right up until the last chapter, when two of the MCs do things so completely out of character, I had to turn back a few pages and make sure I hadn't missed some major event that changed the way they think and act. I finished the book, but when my mother-in-law asked if I would like another book by this same author, I told her no thanks. This author has done something similar in all three of his books that I've read.

Location and things in the environment have to be real too - for example, a long time favorite of mine has four adults sharing a bottle of wine in one of his stories. Everyone gets a full glass. When the glasses are empty, one of the adults pours everyone a second glass from the same bottle. Again, when the glasses are empty, one of the MC's asks if there's any wine left in that bottle, then passes it around again, finally emptying the bottle after pouring twelve glasses from it. Granted, it could have been a really big bottle, but most bottles of wine I've encountered pour around four.

Lesson Learned - Keep it real - both character behavior and the qualities of props and environment - in the writing of the story and keep an objective eye out for breaks in reality when editing. More than one critter would be a big help.

Repeated Themes and Characters - I didn't realize this was even an issue. Several books by one particular Top-of-the-List author seems to have minor variations of the same few themes. Some of them even seem to have the same exact character - i.e. a 10 yro girl with a malformed arm, a leg in a metal brace, orphaned (or the remaining parent is grossly negligent), with aspirations to be a writer, and possesses a spunky, offbeat personality that endears her to the heroes of the story while only making her more of target for the villains. And she talks to herself frequently, in the same exact voice from one book to the other. This was irritating to read, especially since I inadvertently read one right after the other. I kept getting the few differences mixed up - "wait, didn't she have a brother? No, that was the other book..."

There are others stories with this same problem by this same author - the mysterious victims/ultimately the saviors of mankind creatures are aliens with certain specific physical attributes - the same appearance, the same way of moving, the same darn creatures in fact from one book to another - and the humans they encounter also have the same exact reactions from one book to the other.

I could go on - especially about the recurring theme of dogs appearing as a borderline Dues ex machina. Don't get me wrong - I'm a dog person through and through and quite often enjoy my dogs' company as much as I enjoy spending time with my very closest friends. But they can't save the day in every single book. Or, if they simply must, give me some clue about it before I read the book that this is another story of "Dog Saves the Day" so I'm less likely to want to pitch the book across the room.

Yeah - recent back to back reads of "Dog Saves the Day..."

Lesson Learned - Watch the redundant characters/plots/themes. Not every variation of every MC/theme/etc HAS to be published.    After all, I don't want to be responsible for the FedEx guy accidentally getting a face full of paperback because he happened to be walking by when the book went sailing through the window.

There's another one, or two, but I can't recall them right now. The whole "Dog Saves the Day" has my head spinning.

See, Spirit wanted a dog to befriend my MC's family at the climax of the story, and nope, I just can't put him in there. It's too close to "Dog Saves the Day."

Damnit.

**With a huge amount of luck, maybe one day someone can point out all the places I've wrecked a story, or throw my books across the room in frustration fits at a theme I've repeated or a character who keeps showing up without the benefit of a series, or tell a gift giver, "sure, I loved that book by Laurie Dalzell, it holds up the end of the wobbly coffee table just right." ;)

"Just Looking"

2011-09-21T16:24:00.001-05:00

We're dog people in my house. Hubs grew up with several of the four-footed furries around and since we've been together, we've always had at least one of them, each of them adopted as a puppy.

Shadow, our eldest fur-baby, will be fourteen years old this December. A Cocker Spaniel/Border Collie, Shadow wouldn't even stay in the same room I was in for months after we first brought our Ms. Girl home.   She has always made it clear this was her house, we were merely her people. Probably simply because she herself lacks thumbs and thus the ability to open cheese wrappers.

Jake was our second fur-baby. A Golden Retriever/Yellow Lab, Jake was my Valentine's Day present to Hubs in 1999. He quickly became Shadow's favorite toy and everyone's favorite cuddler. He and Ms. Girl were inseperable - over half of her pictures, from newborn through elementary school, have a blonde dog grinning at the camera in them.

Cleo, our third fur-baby, adopted us just a few months before Li'l Dude was born. She parked herself on our front porch and gazed through the screen door, eye-to-eye with the then toddler Ms. Girl, and refused to go on her way. Unable to find anyone to take her in and completely unable to send her to the shelter, we took the brown puppy with the big feet in to the vet for a clean bill of health, then brought her home.   With her black-lined eyes and general body build and coloring, she appears to be of German Shepherd descent, but her fluffy coat and black tongue also point to a bit of Chow as well.

July 11, 2008, we lost Jake to hemangiosarcoma.   Everyone has missed him - furry people and us tailless ones as well. The blonde furball who couldn't say no to a tennis ball left an enormous hole in our little world. We heard a lot of recommendations to get a replacement puppy right away but we didn't. We couldn't. We weren't ready.

Then, a couple weeks ago, my hubs mentioned something about maybe bringing home a puppy around the beginning of the year.

A couple days later, my Li'l Dude asked if we could look online at Petfinder to see what puppies were needing homes.

So, it seemed we might be ready for a new fur-baby.

That afternoon, I watched our 9 yro Cleo try to play with Shadow - poor Shadow is mostly blind and mostly deaf and behaves like she doesn't always remember where she is or what's going on. Cleo bounced around in front of Shadow, who stood there with a look of "If I stand very still and very quiet, whatever this bouncy thing is in front of me will just go away." Cleo did - go away. Made me sad. Made me think that, yeah, maybe a puppy...

As it turned out, last weekend Labapalooza was going on not far from us. All kinds of rescued dogs ready and waiting to be adopted, with games and food and stuff to buy, and dogs and puppies and... yeah, we were so there.

With the intention of "just looking" or "maybe we'll be able decide on one breed over another or maybe just get some information on someone who might be ready to be adopted in a few months" we piled into my hub's Mustang, joined the masses clogging the highway Saturday morning, and headed for Labapalooza. "Just looking."

Yeah, right.

"Just looking" got to its feet and headed for the window when we saw the most sweet little black Lab puppy quietly sitting in a kennel with another puppy about the same size.

"Just looking" opened the window and put its foot on the sill when Vicki, a rescue volunteer, offered to let "Bear" out of his kennel so we could hold him.

"Just looking" flew right out the window and never looked back when "Bear" snuggled up under my hub's chin and whimpered and wriggled and gave puppy kisses all over my hub's neck.

"We're sold" I said to Vicki when "Bear" gave the same treatment to Li'l Dude, who burst into giggles and fell over.

Paper work filled out, adoption fees paid, promises made to let Vicki know how "Bear" was doing, and we were off, back into the car. During the ride back home, "Bear" dozed off in my lap, leaving us to oooo and ahhh over his cute puppiness and to wonder at his story...

Some time around the middle of summer, a completely jet black Lab puppy, about three weeks old, was found in a paper bag in a Dumpster. Alive. Taken in and tended to by WAGS, "Bear" was bottle fed until he was able to eat solid food.

I have no idea how he was seen inside a paper bag, in a Dumpster - a tiny black puppy tossed out with the garbage - but I sure am glad someone else "just looked" when they did and started "Bear," now named Max, on his way to us.

Test Drive, A Week Later

2011-07-31T23:04:00.000-05:00

30k.

That elusive number on the word counter.

Hit it.

:)

Test Drive, Day Two

2011-07-26T22:36:00.000-05:00

So, my last writing time plans fell through, but I haven't given up the idea. Yeah, I'm stubborn about some things.

Pay no attention to the man laughing behind me, my hubs often collapses into fits of laughter when I mention the few things I'm stubborn about.

So, the writing time.

With school starting in a mere couple of weeks, hubs and I decided our week night TV viewing - marathons of our favorite shows streamed in via Netflix and Hulu - had to be cut down. Or, why not shut down altogether after the kids go to bed? We both have projects that need our attention and our shows will still be there on the weekend, right?

I say that, and now watch, Medium will suddenly vanish from my Netflix que.

Anyway, the New and Improved Evening Writing Time is now on day two of its official test drive.

I've found the end of Spirit's never-ending chapter four - okay, so I broke the chapter and called the broken end chapter five. Word count is down by four words compared to when I started, leaving it at 29,299 tonight. I don't think this story wants to break the anticipated half-way point of 30k. I've gotten close, and then find a whole slew of garbage and - bang! - back again it goes.

When it does hit 30k, I'll probably jump up and dance.

For the sake of anyone around me, let's hope this evening writing time thing works out and the only one to see will be my hubs and my dogs - all of whom have seen me dance and have lived to learn to hide their eyes - and their toes and tails - should I start to thrash around.

;)

Hang On, Nevermind, Scratch That

2011-07-13T18:49:00.002-05:00

All right, so, about a week ago, I said something about finding an hour or so of writing time, just waiting for the words, at the end of the day.

Oh, dear dog...

Hang on while I laugh myself out of this chair.

13 - A Wedding Story

2011-06-13T14:00:00.501-05:00

At this time, thirteen years ago today, June 13, I married my Sweetie.

Well, actually, at this time, thirteen years ago, I was realizing that I was zipped into my dress and properly petticoated so the skirt stood out just so, but I'd forgotten to put on my stockings and my shoes were still in their box. Oh, and I hadn't put on my makeup. Did I mention it was raining and my wedding was semi-outdoors?

To start at the beginning of this story - one that I've said for years I'd have to write down - we actually have to go back to Labor Day weekend, 1996.

My Sweetie, who was already living here, in Tulsa, flew to Vermont, and ring in hand, asked me to marry him.

Of course I said yes, which made a little girl playing nearby, I think she was collecting acorns, laugh.

After my Sweetie flew back to Tulsa, I went to work.

My dress was easy. I had a picture of what I wanted in my head. All I had to do was find it. My mother and I went to Needleman's Bridal Shop in St. Albans, added our shoes to the collection at the head of the stairs that led down, where wedding dresses were waiting to be tried on. While the saleswoman talked to my mother about how she was sure we wanted an ivory dress, that white never looked right on redheads, I saw my dress go by on a short, little blonde. It was beautiful. And it looked just like I wanted it to once I tried it on, too. In white.

Dress - check.

Next was the place. And I knew exactly where.

St. Anne's Shrine of Isle La Motte, Vermont. On the shores of Lake Champlain, this place has always been one of my favorites. And it worked out really well that it's a church. The Shrine's priest, Fr. Boucher, agreed to perform the ceremony and yes, the date we requested, the date that my Sweetie had chosen at my request, was indeed available.

Place - check.

Except for the reception. While the Shrine did indeed have a suitable building, where we ended up having our rehearsal lunch, no alcohol could be served on the premises. The hunt for a reception place was on. I dragged my mother all over Northeastern Vermont, touring restaurants and bed & breakfasts until we finally found the place. The North Hero House. They'd just opened after an extensive remodling and would be happy to accommodate us.

Second place - check.

The wedding party was chosen and dresses and suits were picked out. Talented friends were called on for decorating the church, the baking of the cake, music - both for the ceremony and for the reception, even someone to make my veil, garter, and pillow for the rings by hand. All was in order.

Secure in this knowledge, I packed up my stuff and, almost a year to the day before the wedding, I moved to Oklahoma. Dresses and suits were measured for and ordered. I grumbled and nagged at my Sweetie, an aircraft mechanic, to scrub his nails nightly so they'd be nice and clean. All was going according to my master plan. On schedule, about a week before the wedding, my Sweetie and I, with bags bulging for the trip to Vermont and for our week-long honeymoon in Florida, flew back.

But...

Fr. Boucher was called away for a personal emergency and wouldn't be able to be there for our wedding, but they were looking for a replacement. Not to worry.

To rent a limo was going to cost a fortune because of the distance involved. Quick on his feet, my Sweetie came up with an excellent solution. We'd rent a car. One of the local car rentals even had one of his favorites - a Mustang. A nice, shiny red convertible one. Not to worry.

The Shrine called. They couldn't find a replacement priest - everyone local was busy at that day and time. We couldn't change either date or time - with people coming in from out of state, including us, it was way, way too late to change. They were checking the parishes in Upstate New York. Not to worry.

Rehearsal Day arrived - and it was cold. Well, 60's - cold to me anyway. : P A priest had at last been found - he was retired, but would be happy to help us out and would be coming in from New York later, but in time for the wedding. Not to worry.

The clouds overhead were sure to blow over by the next afternoon. Not to worry.

My Sweetie and his friends - all in from out of state - were in the care of my maid of honor's boyfriend, someone I'd known since high school, and were sent off for my Sweetie's last night as a single guy. My friend's boyfriend promised me with a smile that they'd not go to Montreal. Not to worry.

So, my two friends and I went to a few places in honor of my last night as a single girl - and lo and behold, who's that over there? Why, it's our group of guys we'd just sent off! To the not-quite-concealed grins of the waitstaff, we sent pitchers of water with slices of citrus fruits floating amidst the ice cubes to the guys, who promptly had it sent back. At the time, we thought we were a riot.

In the wee hours of the next morning I fell into my bed. Only for the alarm to go off a few hours later. My maid of honor, a hair stylist, came over to the house to do my hair. The flowers arrived and were just right. My dress and all its accoutrements were safely packed in the back of my parent's van. Everyone coming in from out of state was in Vermont.   In my parent's driveway, my Sweetie gave the Mustang a wash and a shine. My hair done, a pretty bit of twists and curls, decorated with bits of baby's breath, my maid of honor left to get ready herself and would meet us at the Shrine with her boyfriend while my bridesmaid and I headed off to the Shrine. Not to worry.

But I couldn't help but notice the clouds hadn't blown over, but were in fact thicker. And rather heavy looking...

Halfway to the Shrine, it started to rain.   Not to worry, the Shrine had canvas curtains that could be unrolled to make walls to keep the guests in the pews dry. But no one mentioned that they were spotted wtih mold. But my guests would surely understand this wasn't part of my plan.   Not to worry.

My girls and I were tucked into a small building where one of the caretakers of the Shrine lived and we started to get dressed - enter the bit from the start of this post - and then, after a careful balancing act and help from my girls, I was stocking'd and shoe'd, and made up a bit.

Then came the next bit.

Getting to the entrance of the church.

See, it was still raining - a steady light rain - and the building my girls and I were in was well away from the entrance to the church.  We'd be soaked by the time we'd made it to the entrance of the church. So, we packed into my parent's van, my girls and I, and my father drove us around to the entrance.

Where my maid of honor slipped in the wet and fell out of the van, getting grease from the door on the skirt of her ice pink dress. But she was okay. And, as the skirt was long and moved a bit when she walked and was behind her anyway, you couldn't really see the streak of not-quite black against the very pale pink.

The music started - Pachelbel's Canon D with violin and guitar played by friends under a gazebo between the chapel itself and the pews - and down the aisle went our party... My flower girl/junior bridesmaid and the ring bearer - both small people I used to babysit before I'd moved to Florida - looking very cute in their miniature wedding clothes... My cousin and my maid of honor's boyfriend - my cousin, whose birthday it was, was simply beautiful - the burgundy of her dress looked so nice with her shiny red hair, a vivid contrast to the dark coloring of my friend's boyfriend, who looked very nice in his suit and black vest. Black vest? Black! It was supposed to be burgundy! To match my cousin's dress! The best man was supposed to have black! A quick glance showed my Sweetie's friend, usher to my bridesmaid, looking terrific in his burgundy vest and black suit, already starting down the aisle with my friend. And waiting to walk with my maid of honor was the best man. In a burgundy vest. Crap. There was no way to fix it - their sizes were too different to simply trade vests, too different to even pretend they fit for pictures.

I stifled my useless fretting, slapped a smile on my face, and marched down the aisle on my father's arm, where my Sweetie waited at the first pew, out of the rain. Which was now a slightly heavier version of a light soaking rain. Prepared to get drenched, I stepped out from the shelter of the high roof over the pews toward the chapel where the rest of our party waited. But no cold drops fell on me.

From out of nowhere it seemed to me, my Sweetie's best man appeared at my side with a golf umbrella, stripped red and blue, and held it over my head for me as I crossed the open space between pews and chapel. At this point, he became "our best man."

The mass began and everything was fine. I told myself "Not to worry."

But I could feel that handmade garter starting to slip.

The rain had tapered down to a mere trickle when my Sweetie's mother and mine crossed from their seats to the chapel to light the unity candle. That wouldn't light. It seemed forever, but finally, the wicks caught and with smiles victorious, our mothers went back to their seats. I felt like we owed them a round of applause.

One reading followed another with only a small timing hiccup, which was met with good humor and chuckles from the pews. Not to worry.

But that garter...

My not so little ring bearer was attacked by his allergies.

Outside, the rain picked back up a little, then quieted down while the mass went on.

And on.

And at last the priest said, "And now that Laurie and her Sweetie have said their vows--" and the altar boy interrupted him with a whisper we couldn't hear "-- oh, my goodness! No, they haven't said their vows yet! It's been so long since I've done a wedding!"

But vows were said, rings were passed. Not to worry.

But that garter slipped some more...

If you're not at all familiar with a Catholic mass, there comes a time when one shakes hands with those nearby while murmuring "peace be with you." Well, it seemed appropriate to bestow this gesture to our entire wedding party, which - you can kind of sort of see in the umbrella pic - half were seated opposite my Sweetie, maid of honor, best man, and I on the other side of the chapel. So, we crossed the chapel and shook hands.

If you look verrah, verrah closely at my left foot, just peeping out from under my skirt there, you will see something of very pale blue, of ruffles instead of a shiny white satin shoe.

That'd be that garter.

The darn thing slipped off and I knew I'd lost it and was doing my best not to laugh, because by now I'd come to a certain point of realization - something that I still stick by - laugh or cry. And laughing is way more fun.

Two steps after the picture above was snapped, that garter flew, and I do mean FAA-LLEW! - across the chapel, from one side clear across to the other, where those of us who'd traipsed across the chapel were now wandering back to.
I was laughing so hard, trying so hard to get it at least partway under control, I can only rely on pictures and video - video that bumps and tilts at odd angles at times (our videographer was a friend of my Sweetie's who'd gone out with the guys the night before and was a wee bit hung over. Actually, he was rather green.) - for the details of the rest of the wedding.

At some point we were announced as a couple and turned loose on the world. Pictures were taken. All the fuss I'd made over the condition of my Sweetie's fingernails revisited me - in all the Not to Worry'ing that I'd been doing before the wedding, I'd completely forgotten to have my nails done and they were an uneven mess. The photographer had a solution. "Just hold your fingers so," like this, he said. "Not to worry."

The rather damp train of my dress was pinned up on secret little hooks hidden under the lace in back. My Sweetie and I hopped in the Mustang and roared off to the reception, top down in true "Just Married" style.

Except not quite.

My dress didn't exactly fit in the front seat so well. I ended up peering through a pile of satin and lace and fluffy layers of whatever the petticoat was made of, unable to get the seat belt to go around it at all, and with the road as wet as it was, my Sweetie crept down the road that followed the lake down to the North Hero House for the reception. Top up.

The dining room was beautiful - all sparkly and decorated with the white, pink, and burgundy of my wedding colors. Our guests were smiling and snacking on hor dourves and chatting amongst themselves. Granted, they'd seated themselves in little groups of people they already knew, instead of the mingled groups that'd we'd intended, but that was okay. That was small potatoes compared to a flying garter halfway through a Catholic wedding mass.

While I'm chatting and mingling, the family friend who'd sung during the cermony and had made the wedding cake tapped me on the elbow and whispered in my ear. "I need to talk to you." So we scurried away to a quieter corner.

"It's about the cake. I brought the wrong pillars and these don't match the bases the layers are on. You'll have to be very careful when you cut it and not bump it or the table it's on too much or it'll fall down."

I could see it happening. The whole thing toppling and my Sweetie instinctively trying to catch it and ending up covered in white, pink, and burgundy frosting.

But I smiled and promised we'd be careful.

And laughed to myself as I went back to my mingling until we were called to sit down for toasts by the groomsmen and for dinner.

Dinner went well - no catastrophies and we'd planned a buffet style with enough meat options for our diet restricted and picky-eater guests. My cousin bridesmaid was pleasantly surprised by her birthday cake, which we had brought out by the head waiter, complete with lit birthday candles.

While we having cake, the buffet in the attached greenhouse was packed up and the floor cleared for dancing.

That's when we found out how wet I'd have gotten had it not been for our best man with the umbrella.

The skirt and train of my dress, which were rained on while we made that trip from the pews to the chapel, were dragged around behind me during the wedding, and were shaken out several times by the photographer during pictures, had been shortened three inches by a clever seamstress the year before. However, the weight of the damp/wet satin, lace, and beads had stretcched those stitches just enough that now, when we danced our new couple dance, one that we'd even taken lessons for - I have no dancing talent or skills whatsoever - I kept getting my heels caught in the trailing edge of the skirt. The beads, caught between my high heels and the terra cotta tile floor, became deadly things, out for my neck. We laughed our way through the dance.

My wedding party, my Sweetie and I were the last to leave our wedding reception in the wee hours of Sunday, the 14th.

Maybe another time I'll tell you about our honeymoon - about getting stuck for six hours in the Miami Airport, about the car trunk that wouldn't open - with our luggage trapped inside, and about the cowboy boots... Maybe...

Anyway, after we were back home with our puppy, Shadow, several packages arrived from Vermont, mostly gifts. But one was from an address I didn't recognize immediately. It was from St. Albans. The letter inside explained. The people at Needleman's Bridal Shop had found something in the pocket of the coat my Sweetie had worn and thought we'd like it back.

That darn garter.

Happy Anniversary, to my Sweetie.

Something I Avoid

2011-06-09T12:21:00.003-05:00

Politics.

I avoid it when I can.

Don't get me wrong - I vote.

But I don't "belong" to a particular party and there isn't a single politician I've heard about or read about or heard speak who's ever made me want to whistle and applaud wildly for the simple reason that politics is a slimy business and the people in it, well, they have their own motivation for slicking themselves down in the stuff.

When it comes to a candidate who wants my vote, I tend to give it to the guy/girl who exhibits the most common sense on a consistent basis with the fewest instances of contradiction - of either themselves or of the facts. An articulate, well educated individual who will likely do a fair job representing my country and is the least likely to make me wish he/she'd stayed home that morning instead of putting his/her foot in their mouth for all the world to hear. And other things, but as far as this post goes, that's all you need to know about my political leanings. ;)

Which brings me to the meat of this and how I ran off on this tangent with this subject that I usually avoid like potholes and traffic jams.

Paul Revere.

I have always loved New England history. Always, always, always. Maybe because that's where I grew up, not far from where the adventures of Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys took place. Maybe because, like the map of Lake Champlain that hung in my 7th grade social studies classroom, the history caught my imagination. Whatever the reason, Longfellow's The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere always makes my breath quicken and my heart pound in my chest while goose bumps run riot over my arms.

Listen my children and you shall hear

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;

Hardly a man is now alive

Who remembers that famous day and year.

Ah, chills!

(Granted, the poem is a storified version of the historical facts)

So, naturally, when I came across this headline on my CNN homepage this morning, I had to click it.

Palin and the Truth About Paul Revere

Now, I already have my opinion of Palin but this... this dropped my jaw...

"He who warned the British that they weren't going to be taking away our arms by ringing those bells and making sure as he's riding his horse through town to send those warning shots and bells that we were going to be secure and we were going to be free."

Holy cow.

What?

I can't even get that to make sense, with or without thinking about the history. As a sentence, for it is one great, big, run-on sentence, it doesn't convey much of a coherent thought.

I just don't get it.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm no genius and am by far not the sharpest crayon in the box. But then, I'm not running around the country confusing bits of history and trying to make them fit my political scheme, whatever the heck that may actually be.

Not Writing and What Happened

2011-05-21T20:47:00.004-05:00

I've read a bunch of posts, articles, blurbs, whatever, about what different writers have learned about writing - things they've learned about themselves, about life in general. Rather profound stuff in general most of the time, stuff that made me look for what writing has taught me.

And I came up with empty hands.

So, what did that mean?

I thought about it a bit here and there, but never really came up with an answer. And I was okay with that. Who said I had to necessarily learn anything from my writing anyway? I was having fun just stringing my words together and, even if my characters didn't have anything to teach me, they entertained me. : P

And then I hit the rolling sidewalk that's been under my feet lately and have had no time to write.

And then I opened my inbox at the beginning of May and found a rejection.

And another one five days later.

And another one the next day.

Oh, they were nice enough - the stuff of 'good but not what we're looking for' - stuff I'd normally take heart of some kind in. But in the dark, when the house was quiet and the clock was slowly working its way toward morning, my doubts found me. They gathered like a malignant tide and pulled me under. Their many voices mingled, whispering a chorus in my ear, waking me up.

"You're wasting your time."

"You have too much to juggle to finish anything worth publishing."

"What good is a computer full of stories if no one wants to read them except the friends you foist them on?"

"Look how much you've been able to accomplish at the so-called day job lately, even around the crazy schedules. How much could you have accomplished if you hadn't been playing with words all this time?"

"Just who do you think you are anyway?"

My head was not a happy place.

Usually, a writing marathon quiets the babble. Sometimes, time spent in my usual threads on AW picks my spirits back up. But lately, there's been no time. Any posting I've done anywhere lately has been done through my phone. (In fact, to post this, I first had to unearth my laptop from under my 8 year old's dinosaur diorama, its accompanying Triceratops report, papers regarding school re-enrollment, a Dr. Seuss book waiting for loose pages to be taped back in, and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1 on DVD.)

Cut off from my words, there seemed to be no way out. My head had become a warren of one-way streets, each leading to darker and drearier parts.

But eventually, my characters had enough.

One night last week, they followed the trail of destruction left by the onslaught of my doubts, but instead of waking me up, they filled my head with a dream...

It seemed everyone was there. One of the twins from a dusty big WIP, sat brooding under a willow tree on the lazy bend of a river with the vampire from my butterfly story. Her identical sister sat on the opposite shore, fishing with Spirit's mother and her daughters and Gerald, a character from one of my unpublished short stories. The lovers from another short story I subbed a query out for last week drifted by in an old unpainted rowboat, one laughing at something the other said.

So, it would seem that despite the negativity floating around in my head, all the "you don't have what it takes to be published" carp, I have writing to do.

I'd better get going.

Why Do I Write Dark Fiction?

2011-04-29T14:13:00.000-05:00

I covered the "How of it" but not the "Why of it" until author R.A. Evans asked me to write a guest post for his blog.

Want to see what I said?

Want to know if I ramble on other people's blogs the way I do here?

Pop on over to R. A. Evan's blog, R. A. Evans Writes, and find out.

Come on, click the linky...

You know you want to.

No, go on! Really.

I'll wait for you.

:)

Of Benadryl and Backspace

2011-04-23T10:54:00.001-05:00

My last post, I congratulated myself on a job well done. The taming of wilds of the "big backyard" had seen progress and I had done it. Me.

As it turns out, the "big backyard" is as wild and unruly as ever.

You see, I hadn't had the last word.

The "big backyard" had sneaky trick up its sleeve. One I could have seen if I were paying attention, looking for such sneaky underhanded methods of attack.

Poison ivy.

Two days after my attack with the lopping shears, the first blisters appeared. By the time a week had passed, my right arm to the elbow was sporting a sleeve of them, my left and both legs each had a generous sprinkling as well. Now, nearly two weeks later, I look like I went a few rounds with a ring full of angry cats with barbed wire for claws.

Thank heaven for Benadryl.

Writing-wise, I made huge progress with the novella I've been working on for Effie's contest but I don't believe I'll have it ready to be submitted by the May 7 deadline. There are easily another 4 or 5K words it'll need to wrap itself up, words I was hoping to write this past week. Words I already had in my head. Until my secondary character planted his heels and insisted he be a main character (MC). After a certain point, every word I wrote was from his perspective. I liked what he had to say, so I went with it. But now, he's quiet. He said his piece and is waiting patiently for me to direct the next bit. Which would normally be when my initial MC would pick up the thread and manipulate it into the weave and warp of the story. But she's not. She hasn't spoken to me all week except to say "No, I wouldn't say that. Take it out."

*backspace, backspace, backspace....*

A Sunday Spent

2011-04-11T08:55:00.000-05:00

When I was a kid, Sundays were "family days" - no friends over, no shopping. If we went anywhere besides Church, it was to visit my grandparents. And so Sunday's were spent.

This Sunday, I made up for a week's worth of neglect and spent it visiting.

Like most of these visits, it was physical. Very. By the time I said my farewells, I was exhausted.  Long tendrils of hair had been yanked from the braid I'd pulled it back in. I was dirty and exhausted. I'd been slapped in the face not once, but several times.

At first, I tried to fend off the whip-like smacks with my arms, but even that began to hurt after the first few. This morning I have scratches up and down my arms from these attempts at self preservation.   Nothing unusual, this. It's rather typical for these visits actually. But this time, I reacted differently.

This time, I fought back.

By the time it was over, I was able to add a couple of jabs to my ribs, a stab that went through the sole of my sneaker and into my heel, and several more dozen scratches, including a long one down the back of my shoulder blade.

But I'd inflicted my own injuries.

So many in fact, I had to drag the kids into my visit, just to pile the limbs for burning. Of course, we can't burn them now, we're under a burn ban. But eventually, the winds will die down and it'll rain and the ban will be lifted and boy, oh boy, will we have a fire then!

Next week, when I visit, it should be much less physical.   I can't say I'm looking forward to my visit next week, but I'm dreading it just a little less.

Oh, I'm sure the wind will have blown more dead branches from the bigger trees to be picked up and added to the burn pile. But the smaller stuff, particularly those nasty young Hawthorns with their one to two inch thorns - don't ever, ever step on a downed Hawthorn branch - and the lilacs and crab apples, won't be able to slap at me when I drive the mower close to them.

But my next visit to the big backyard isn't planned until next week.

Until then, I can sit here on my back patio and watch the birds have their breakfasts and hope this will be a good year for lilac blossoms.

The Conversion of a Book Smeller

2011-04-04T10:07:00.003-05:00

Ebooks. What's your take?

Are you one of those readers who loves the feel of the paper in your hands, the smell of a paper book when you hold it to your nose and close your eyes?

I am.

I love that smell - paper and glue and ink. It's the best aromatherapy around.

But over the past year or so, I've also become a reader of ebooks.

I blame Adam Slade.

A friend of mine I met through a writer's forum, his novella "A Reaper's Tale: The Undecided" was published through Lyrical Press and made available through Amazon for Kindle.

But...

There was no print version to be had.

My poor paper-addicted self was having fits. What to do? I knew his book would be great and even if it wasn't great, he's a friend a mine - I had to have a copy of his story. (The Undecided is a great read, btw. Absolutely loved it and didn't want it to end.)

But an ebook? Me? Really?

I didn't have a Kindle. Which only made things worse. Being a pinch penny, the thought of dropping over $100 for a device just to enable me to buy a book that I couldn't smell was nigh unthinkable.

And then my Sweetie found an app for my iPhone. A free Kindle download.

Free.

One of my truly favorite words.

I couldn't resist.

I downloaded the Kindle app and followed all the set-up steps. I don't remember now what they were, but there were rather self-explanatory. A little tab in the top right of my iPhone's screen proclaimed itself to be the link to the Kindle store. With a tap, I was there with hundreds, no thousands of books at my fingertips without even starting the car, let alone driving to the store. Finding Adam's story was easy. Buying it was just as easy. And there it was. Downloaded to my phone for my happy reading in just a couple of minutes.

"I won't like this format. I know I won't. There are no pages to feel. There's nothing to hear turning. There's no book smell."

And, no, there isn't.

But I found some things about ebooks/Kindle books that I do like. Very much.

I take my phone with me everywhere - I confess to being thoroughly dependent on the thing - which means I have books with me everywhere. Not just one book. Books, plural. This saves all kinds things - time spent finding a book to take, packing space when traveling, one less thing to forget in Sweetie's car... I could go on, but you get the idea.

It's lit. And not in a horrifically blinding way either. Reading in the dark is so much easier. No more precarious balancing of a flashlight against the pillow and my shoulder. No more searching for more double A batteries in the middle of the night.

The print size is adjustable, as is the color of the print and the page - something I'd never thought to do with a paper book, but I absolutely love.

It saves your place automatically. Anyone who's ever scrounged for a bookmark gets the significance of that one.

So, yes. I have indeed been converted.

But...

As much as I love it and as convenient as it is, my house will always have more paper books than shelves to hold them.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to see if Adam's latest release, "Strand," is up yet on Amazon.

Sooo...

2011-04-01T09:14:00.002-05:00

I had a sneaky suspicion this would happen.

I'd start a blog, post a bunch of silliness, maybe jabber on about what precious little I know about writing, and then run out of interesting things to say.

I blame the weather. Dark and gloomy stuff, no sunshine for most of the last week. All I've wanted to do is nap. I think I might be solar powered.

In my writing world, things are moving, although a bit slower than I'd like. Revisions are being made to my latest Annie short. This piece had rampant telling bits and was told in past tense until the very, very last scene. I've nixed most of the telling and as much of the backstory as I could. The backstory at the beginning is too relevant to pitch altogether and since the story isn't a novel or even a novella - it'll be happy to be finished between 5 and 6K - the backstory stays.

A poem that came out of nowhere a couple weeks ago has been through edits and edits and attempts to unrhyme it, but it's just not happening. This weekend I hope to have a chance to work on it - look at it with fresh eyes and see what I can get it to do, whether it rhymes or not. It's kind of like I've taken apart an alarm clock. I'll get it back together, of that I have no doubt. It just may not be an alarm clock by the time I'm through with it. : P

In the real world, spring is here. The back half of the property is purple with henbit, dotted yellow with dandelions. Something purplish-pinkish-reddish has bloomed in the woods, deep in the deadfall we were hoping to have cleaned up by now but haven't. The crab apples have blossomed and the flower beds are green with bitty leaves of new growth - roses and lilies, forsythia and lilacs. More than a dozen of my "wild" day lilies have escaped their bed and are fleeing into the grass - Sweetie and I have made plans to to expand the bed to give them more room. And to keep them from getting run over with the lawn mower. Kid activities have picked up - baseball and drama club have started, bicycles have been dusted off.

Yay! Spring is here!

And I've babbled my way through a writing progress report and given you a glimpse of spring in my corner.

Could have been worse. I could have told you about the dream I had last night where the guinea pigs were as big as cats and kept getting on the kitchen counter...

: P

You Have to Listen to Hear a Whisper

2011-03-18T11:41:00.002-05:00

Like a lot of writers, I've always been a storyteller.

When I was a kid, my little sister would say from across the dark room, "Laurie, I can't sleep. Tell me a story." And I'd spin some yarn about some brave girl who escapes some danger and goes on to live happily ever after. All through my growing up, I loved to tell stories, write stories, read stories.

Then I hit high school. Like a lot of parents, I suppose, mine were concerned with my ability to support myself and steered me toward a solid career path. VoTech classes led to nursing school. Before I really knew what had happened, I'd left my storytelling behind me and life picked up a speed I'd only really felt riding down the steepest hill in our neighborhood on my bike, the wind whipping tears from my eyes.

The storyteller went quiet.

Career, husband, kids - all these things came into my life and the hill got even steeper, the ride even faster.

The storyteller remained mute.

In the early half of the last decade, my world started to change. Little subtle things that at first I didn't even notice, but they were there, gathering and collecting like dust bunnies in the far corner under the bed until finally I couldn't ignore them. For a variety of reasons I'm not going to go into publicly, I cut my nursing career back from full time to part time hours, then left it altogether a few years ago.

It was like coming to the bottom of that hill on my bike.

I started to pay more attention to things I'd been going too fast to see before, listening to things I hadn't heard since I first worked up the courage to pedal as fast as I could and launch myself down that steep hill.

The storyteller was back.

My muse, if you will.

The voice that whispers in my ear.

In order to hear a whisper, you have to listen.

You can't hear it if the wind is roaring in your ears.

You have to slow down, stop sometimes even, to hear what it has to say.

I pedal slowly now, listening.

The Resurrection of a Dead Jellyfish

2011-03-13T13:31:00.000-05:00

Ever have one of those days when your brain just lies in your head, flaccid and unmoving, like a dead jellyfish?

Yeah, I had one of those days. Every single day last week.

Not quite writer's block, it wasn't limited to just my stories. This was more like my brain died and forgot to let me know about it.

Then, sitting in church last evening, there was a twitch.

Just a little twitch, but it started a chain reaction and before the priest finished with his final blessing, there were little twitches all over the place.

Well, on the right side of my brain at least. The left half I'm keeping shiny and new for medical science.

A Contest

2011-03-01T17:21:00.002-06:00

Every now and again, I mention a writer's forum I visit and generally hang out at - the {AbsoluteWrite Water Cooler (AW).}

I've met all kinds of people there, other writers mostly. All kinds of them - romance, historical romance, science fiction/fantasy, writers of cookbooks, erotica, and of course, the dark ones - the horror writers.

The horror writers, dubbed The Horror Hounds, or simply The Hounds, have several threads where we cheer each other on with weekly writing goals and accomplishments, commiserate when the words won't come and when the inbox seems to deliver nothing but rejections. We post dancing Snoopy's and congratulate each other when stories have been accepted for publication, post monthly prompts to help fuel the imagination, and generally goof off.

And one of our group, the lovely {Effie}, hosts contests.

This May, our main thread for goofing off will hit its two year anniversary. To commemorate this passage of time, Effie is hosting a novella contest. Check out her post on AW {here} for full details.

Prizes will be awarded by a panel of judges in May or June - depending how many participants there are - and each author will receive the notes on their stories, so everyone gets something, even if it's just free feedback.

Prizes? Well... to be announced - as Effie says, she's evil that way.

The theme is a great one - lots of potential. Come on over and check it out! Who knows? You may decide to stick around after the contest and {run with the Hounds}. We're always eager ~~for newbie-q~~ to see new faces!

When Your Characters Just Won't Cooperate

2011-02-24T11:56:00.000-06:00

Just a couple of weeks ago, maybe less than that, I made a list of the characters in Spirit, including some of the quirks/characteristics that make them, well, them.

Over the last few days, my MC has gotten to know one of them, someone I'd scribbled down on my list thinking she'd be a side character, an odd little person with a brood of kids who'd keep things humorous in between major scenes or something like that.

She didn't like that.

Enter "D" - my MC's neighbor.

She doesn't want a brood of kids. She wants just one.

*scratched off half a page of characters*

She doesn't want to be "comic relief." She may be blonde, but she wants people to know she's smart and knows stuff, important stuff.

*scribbled a bunch of new stuff*

She doesn't want her life/situation to be foisted upon her. She's where she is and who she is because this is where and who she wants to be.

*scribble, scribble*

She doesn't want to be a "side character" with a measly supporting role. She wants to be right in there with the action. Oh, and she doesn't want to be killed off at the end.

*scratch... scraaaatch... There went the rest of the page*

Ended up rewriting the character list - this time in pencil.

"Spirit" Progress Report

2011-02-12T10:49:00.001-06:00

This morning, I finished the edits of the beginning of Spirit and now instead of filling holes and bridging gaps, I'm now moving the story forward. Yay!

As things presently stand, my MC's family have put their feet in the water of their new town, so to speak. Little flickers of "something's not right here" have started to tickle my MC's feet, much like long strands of seaweed tickle your feet in deeper water at the beach. Of course, just like you reassure yourself that it's just seaweed and shake it off, my MC is telling herself it's nothing. Lack of sleep, a crazy old woman, and too much wine one night, that's all it is...

Of course, for now, we'll just smile and agree with her.

After all, we can't have her jumping out of the water just yet. ; )

Er, Hello Again...

2011-02-04T10:50:00.000-06:00

Aw, my poor neglected blog...

Sick kids and snow days have been turning my usual routine into a multi-ring circus of sorts - visits to the doctor, routine dosings of fever-fighters, flu-fighters, congestion-clearers, and the rationing of clear liquids, even a run to WalMart for more ginger ale and Jello the morning before the snow storm that dumped nearly two feet of snow on us in less than twelve hours - such a run is something I normally try to avoid. For some reason, the words "winter storm warning" sends people to WalMart in droves in near-panic mode.

I could go on for paragraphs about this phenomenon, but really, would you want to hear it?

So, moving on.

Writing-wise, progress is still being made on Spirit. I'm just over halfway through the reading/editing of what I've written over the last year. The voice and tone issues at the beginning have been fixed. Bits of excessive description have been cut. A couple of scenes have switched places and a new one has been added, bringing with it a couple more new characters, and the revelation that my MC has religion issues and her husband has a starving desire to be accepted by his new co-workers and to prove himself, which are things I hadn't known before. I'm not sure I like this revealation about my MC's husband...

I'm also resurrecting my Twitter account. For nearly most of its existence, I've only used it through my writer pages on FB and this blog - both of which are synced to automatically post to Twitter whatever I've posted on any of them. And I thought that was fine. But I realized recently that I'm missing out on all kinds of information by not visiting Twitter itself. So, I'm relearning the use of #hashtags and the @ key and the definite skill of expressing myself in 140 characters or less. As you can imagine, that's a bit of a challenge for me.

A peek at the clock tells me my writing time is up and it's time to tackle the "work" part of Write before You Work, so I'm off.

*waves*

Carp: Fish native to the freshwaters of Europe and Asia. An expression of frustration coined during a Skwirrel rant.

2011-01-21T15:52:00.001-06:00

There are some days that go just right. Your favorite jeans are at the top of the stack, your socks have no holes, and the wind does not suck your breath away when you let out the doggies into the backyard.

Then there are days like today.

Today was a day that would send the paranoid running for his conspiracy theory, the chocoholic for the Hershey's aisle, and the shopping addicted soul to the mall - all of them looking for something to keep them from ripping their hair out by the roots and screaming until their voices give out.

Holy carp, was today ugly.
Here's hoping that this sneak attack of Monday's on a Friday took all of its energy and the day after Sunday will be quite(r) than it usually is. Fingers crossed.

In the face of all this ugly, I went looking for the bright spots. Here's what I found...

- The Great Laundry beast has once again been subdued. For now.
- Tonight is pizza night.
- Ms. Girl has choreographed the final steps into the dance solo we've been working on and has just to polish it to be ready for the school talent show. T -10 days and counting...

Now... I'm off to the store for some chocolate.

The Downside of Write before You Work

2011-01-12T11:47:00.000-06:00

This morning, I couldn't wait for my writing time. The roads were clear of ice and/or snow and my mind was free to wander on the way home, plotting out the next bit.

Ready with a headful of words and pictures, a glass of orange juice impersonating sunshine next to my steaming tea mug, I sat down to write.

All of 200 words before I ran into a problem.

How old are my main character's kids? It'd been so long since I'd created them I couldn't remember.

Moving the story forward involves the kids and how they behave and react to certain things will depend on their ages.

Couldn't remember.

A quick scan through the early bits and I couldn't find the part when I mentioned their ages.

Damn.

Sipping my much cooler tea, I zipped back to read the beginning of the story - fixed a bit of tense oops here, shortened a sentence there... Oh, there's the bit about how old they are! Seven and nine... right... That'd be second and fourth grade or so... Perfect! Works just right with what I have in mind... Wait... It's been so long since I wrote this... I just have to see...

Interrupted by a text from my Sweetie. Glanced at the clock. 11:15.

I lost more than an hour in my story.

Absolutely flipping awesome. No, really this is great!

But now I'm behind with the job that provides a regular paycheck.

Damn.

Just Write before You Work...

2011-01-11T10:17:00.001-06:00

Similar to Seven Dwarfs and their whistling while they work without the mine, the whistling, or the seven little men... Okay, so it's actually nothing like it other than it makes the day job easier.
Write before you work is back in full swing and I am loving it!

Now that the routines are all back in place, my writing time is again at the start of my day. So far this week, I've averaged around 400 words each morning and Spirit is moving along nicely. This morning, I met a new character I'd suspected was there, but I thought was an old woman. Turns out it's a small child, one of several in fact, who live next door to my main character and her family.

This is what I love about not outlining - you never know who is going to pop out of the woodwork.

The How of it All - Hide & Seek

2011-01-04T10:31:00.003-06:00

Hide & Seek

This next bit pertains just to my short stories - my novel length works are still less than halfway to being ready for editing, never mind being ready for a game of Hide & Seek.

Like any game of Hide & Seek, you need players. I look for mine online mostly, through lists on my writer's forum and places like Duotrope. Ideal Hide & Seekers publish stories similar to what I've written, have other kids already there that will fit in well with my story. I wander through potential Players websites, checking out their forums and blogs if they have them, reading a story or two from their published lists if I can.

Payment is something else I also consider. If a publishing company offers no financial payment but has great exposure, where my short might likely be read by someone who could help move my writing career forward, I'll seriously consider submitting to them, otherwise, (and I'm being completely honest here) I look for at least a token payment.

Any place that seems like it might be a good fit goes on a list I keep bookmarked on my computer.

Every place has different submission guidelines and I go over these repeatedly - spacing, font style and size, paragraph style, whether to attach the file and in what format or to embed it in the email, whether a cover letter or synopsis is required or not... Sometimes it takes me longer to get the thing ready to be sent than it does to actually write and polish the story itself.

Then... Then, you take a deep breath. You double check everything one more time because you're just a smidgen obsessive compulsive.

And then you click

"Send."

One, two, three... seven, eight, nine, ten!

On November 16, I submitted a short, "You Never Do," to an ezine. Anticipated response time? Sixteen weeks.

Ready or not, here I come...

On December 20, I received an email... "You Never Do" had made the first cut and was moved to their short list. In an approximate four to five weeks I will hear from them again with their decision.

Are you hiding behind here? Just over there?

And so, I'm waiting... and checking my email... Frequently.

Did some one say Olly, Olly, Oxen Free?

The How of it All - The Cleaning Up

2011-01-03T10:38:00.000-06:00

The Cleaning Up

Once the story is written, then comes the cleaning up. My first step is a simple read through, read like any reader reads anything. Blatant mistakes are fixed. Then I put it away, sometimes for a day, sometimes for a few hours. There has to be a bit of time when I'm not thinking about the story. The pay the bills work takes care of this nicely. Second read through is more particular and I sometimes read bits aloud, to better feel the words and smooth the rough off their edges. I look for repeated words or phrases, description that slows the story down instead of moving it along, that kind of thing.

Some stories take very little work to be told - like the Sweet Old Lady stories. Less than two hours each and they were written, including the first read throughs. That doesn't always happen. Some stories like a little bit more work. Some like a lot more work. Some like so much work it at times feels a hell of a lot like torture. For these particular brutes, the second read often morphs into third and fourth, sometimes fifth and sixth reads before I'm through, with bits of "focus on something else" time in between.

Once I've done all I can and am able to read the thing from beginning to end without pausing to consider word placement, coma usage, etc, then I start looking for someone else's eyes. Through my writer forum, I've been lucky enough to find a few people who are willing to read my stuff and critique it. These people are invaluable.

A story you've written is like a teenager's room. You, like the inhabitant of the apparent disaster area at the end of the hall, know where everything is in your story. You know exactly what you're trying to say and you see it, plain as day. Editing your own work is akin to that teenager cleaning his room. Some stuff you overlook. Some stuff you leave in because you like it there. Having someone else's eyes on your story is like having a cleaning crew hit the teenager's room. He may like having spiderwebs in the corners, but they don't belong there. Down they go. He may not see the dirty socks wadded up under the bed, but the crew does. Out they go. Of course the teenager may clutter things up again just a few minutes after the cleaning crew has left, letting a few spiders back in to web up the corners because no matter what everyone considers to be right, he really does like them there.

And so it is with my critters - they point out the bits that don't belong, the bits that go on and on without really doing anything, the bits out of place, and offer their recommended changes. Many of them, most of them, I take them up on. Others I stubbornly decline. And that's fine. As a critter myself of other writers' work, I don't want anyone to submit to every little suggestion I've made. Sure, consider it, by all means. But if you really truly want cobwebs in the corners of your room, then you should have them there.

Just not if you actually live in my house. I'll squash the nasty little buggers that make the webs. : P

The How of it All - The How

2011-01-02T13:46:00.001-06:00

Thanks for reading and for your comments!

I'd planned to post yesterday, but ended up being completely and thoroughly lazily self-indulgent instead. : P

So, here's yesterday's bit today...

The How

I don't outline. I know a lot of people who do and they amaze me. If I have specific scenes in mind for a story, I'll often write them down. That's about as close to outlining as I get.

My characters are bossy things and I've lost count how many times I've started a story with a particular series of events in mind and my characters take things in an entirely new direction. Take my Annie Duvall story Telepathy for example. It started out as a young adult story and then got a little darker and was hovering on the border of being an adult level story when all of a sudden, one of the main characters grabbed the wheel and sent it off into the realm of dark erotica, which was something I never saw coming. And yes, I'm aware this makes me sound nuts.

As first drafts go, mine are rife with over-description, adverbs, and adjectives. I write things down just as I see them happening in my head. Things the character sees, hears, thinks - they all get written down. Most are lost in editing or are moved around to other parts of the story, but when the words are first going down to paper, they all go down, especially for my longer stories.

My stories (so far) seem to tell themselves, finding their way through beginning and middle until they wind their way to the end.

Picture if you will, a tour guide (or if you like, you can imagine my muse, a leathery winged she-creature), walking/flitting rather briskly, pointing things out left and right... "On your left, we have the beginning, where we first meet the Sweet Old Lady of Sweet Old Lady story #2 and get to know her a bit. Moving on - quickly now - we see the middle. Notice how the Sweet Old Lady shares more about herself, endearing herself to you, if you will. Aww... now isn't that a cozy a picture? She's having a cup of coffee with the night nurse! How very sweet, yes. Hurrying along to the end - keep up, keep up please! Here we see the Sweet Old Lady showing her true colors and my, oh my! Such bright colors you never expected from our coffee-sipping, Sweet Old Lady, did you now?"

Yeah, and that poor sap scurrying after the muse/tour guide? Scribbling as fast as she can? Yeah, that'd be me.

That's about it for the how of the how of it. The Cleaning Up phase is next...

The How of it All - The What & Happy New Years Eve!

2010-12-31T09:13:00.000-06:00

The What

Well, usually there's an idea that starts it all - a thought, a feeling, or a phrase I can't get out of my head. I find ideas all over the place - songs on the radio, dreams, conversations, prompts from my writing forum, driving around town, moving the lawn, you get the general idea... One of my stories in progress is the result of a rant. When I was finally through griping about the truly horrendous afternoon I'd had, a couple of people said, "You know, there's a story in there somewhere," and voila, so there is. Was. No... is. It's not done yet. ; )

Once I've recognized the idea as... an idea, I roll it around, building it up, layer after layer. For example, I recently finished a couple of Sweet Old Lady short stories. The first idea came from a movie - a character's shadow preceded her onto the screen and I had this idea, heard a heavily accented voice in my head, and thought, "Ahhh! Hmmm...." And then the character came fully onto the screen, opened her mouth, and was nothing like what I'd imagined.

So, I took what I'd imagined when I'd first seen that shadow and rolled it around, felt it grow from an idea into a story and put it down on paper. Well, the computer. ; )

And tomorrow we'll go on with what happens next with The How.

Happy New Years Eve guys!

On a thankful note - I'm thankful for 2010. Slogging through it, day after day, nothing very amazing seemed to be happening. Looking back though, comparing where we were a year ago today with where we are now... The things we've learned, the progress we've made - it's truly been an amazing year.

The How of it All - The When

2010-12-30T14:22:00.000-06:00

I wrote this all as one post, from The When to all the way to Hide & Seek because I really didn't think I had that much to actually say about how I write. And then I clicked "preview." Yeah, bit of a longish post. So, I'm breaking it down into bits less time consuming to read.

The When
The What
The How
The Cleaning Up
Hide & Seek

The When

The When is a big deal. Being a mom, a wife, and a self-employed transcriptionist is enough to keep a body busy full time, every day. Finding time to write around kid schedules, work schedules, house and yardwork schedules, and the needs of furries can sometimes be... hell, it's always a challenge. I've tried writing in the evenings after work, dinner, and homework are done. Didn't work. Too many distractions. Same on the weekends. I've tried writing at night, after everyone has been tucked in bed. I made lots of progress, but ended up with less than five hours of sleep before my next day started and I need at least seven to be nice. I've tried squeezing writing time in when I'm waiting for kids in various parking lots and waiting rooms around town and this doesn't always work out so well. Especially when the kid comes running back and says, eyes alight, "Didja see me?!?" Uhhh....

Yeah.

Enter the write before you work theory - an hour or two every morning before work, just for writing. I know I've mentioned it before here, but it's easily one of the best ideas my Sweetie and I have had about my writing. Once the creative beast has been appeased, going on about my day is easier, many times over.

So, thoughts, comments, funny faces, whatever, welcome.

More to come tomorrow - The What...

; )

How the Words Hit the Paper

2010-12-29T10:15:00.000-06:00

Not so long ago, a friend of mine started a bit of a blog series about the how of how he writes, not to be confused with how to write. Just how he writes. Which is so very different than how I write. ; )

I highly recommend you read his blog series. It's a good read, funny and insightful, and he shows how he does what he does with words.

My methodology is so much less organized. Even with the dedicated writing time - which did indeed resume yesterday and though it's moving slowly, Spirit is once again seeing progress. Yay!

My way of stringing words together is most easily described with something I heard Nick Cage say in the Sorcerer's Apprentice last night - "Clear your mind. Believe."

Yup. That's about it.

Ok, so not quite.

I'll get into that tomorrow.

But the drive behind all of it is that simple.

Clear your mind.

Believe.

The words will come.

And thanks, Adam, by the way. I lurve your blog. ; )

My Sweetie Noticed Something...

2010-12-27T23:03:00.001-06:00

In November I made the decision to put my writing first, that if a writer writes, then I needed to, well, write.

And it worked great - all kinds of words were added to Spirit and I stayed in the story, which made picking it back up the next day so much easier, with faster progress and tighter writing.

But then December came. With my afternoon/evening work schedule thrown off by changes in work and after school schedules and my Christmas budget blown in November on things that needed repairs or replacing immediately, I tossed my morning writing time out the window to make time for as much work as possible.

Which was when my Sweetie made an observation.

I sulk when I don't give myself time to write.

After the first few days of no morning writing, Sweetie noticed I was texting him or calling him several times while he was at work, telling him about stuff I'd seen online, conversations I'd had with various people, and odd bits of news I'd come across - when I was supposed to be working.

Of course, I'd noticed my mind was wandering away from work, especially when the dictations were especially difficult to understand or the doctor dictating was talking to themselves/people in the background. Sure, my productivity was up a smidge, but then, as my Sweetie pointed out today, it had picked up just as much when I was writing in the mornings.

"You sulk when you don't let yourself write," he said. "I think you should pick it back up, if not the full two hours, then at least an hour a day."

So, realizing my Sweetie is once again right, the morning writing time will resume tomorrow morning.

I am so relieved.

And so thankful he knows me so much better than I do. ; )

Happy Thanksgiving

2010-11-25T11:43:00.000-06:00

However you spend this American holiday - whether today is just another Thursday in your country, a work day for you here, or if today is a day of turkey with all the trimmings - my hope for you is that you are able to spend it with the people you love, that you are able to find at least one thing to be thankful for, appreciative of, grateful for.

As always, I'm thankful for my family, for the fun times we share, and for the way we pull together to get through the not-so-fun times.

May we all see more fun times this holiday season.

Day Two of the Priority Switcharoo and a Bit of Gratitude, too.

2010-11-17T10:54:00.001-06:00

I honestly didn't feel like writing this morning.

Without going into detail, suffice it to say my drive to school was a frustrating one and seemed to have chased my muse away. But I'm determined to make this work.

So after a walk with the dogs and cleaning up after the guinea pigs - who are doing very well by the way - and giving them their morning cantaloupe, parsley, and lettuce, I sat down in front of my laptop with a glass of orange juice. At the end of my allotted writing time, I had added not quite 900 words to Spirit and had even done a bit of research for the story as well.

Gratitude for the day...

For the music of Jack Johnson, The Fray, and Israel Kamakawiwo'ole - the right music really does turn my day around.
For orange juice - like sunshine in my glass.
For beautiful sunrises - this morning's is pictured from my backyard.

Change in Plans, Change in Priorities - Day One!

2010-11-16T10:36:00.000-06:00

Day One of the Change in Plans, Change in Priorities is off to a great start!

This morning I finished editing a short story and subbed it out *fingers crossed* and added 685 words to Spirit.

Cleo & Shadow have been walked, piggies fed and cage tidied a bit, and even the laundry room is humming.

The sun is out, the sky is blue, and while fall here may be significantly less bright than where I grew up, where the mountains wear fall like royal jewels, the showers of bronze and brown leaves is kinda sorta pretty out my window. But maybe it's the contrast against the blue.

What I'm thankful for today...

The yumminess of leftover homemade pizza for breakfast.
The happy faces of doggies wading through mounds of crunchy leaves, hunting some elusive scent.
The thrill of sitting down at my computer this morning with a fistful of ideas and having them hit the paper running.

An Attack of the Muse

2010-10-25T08:55:00.000-05:00

My muse got in the truck this morning when I left the kids at school.

All the way home, she fed me bits of how to finish the fix of a presently untitled short - conversation between the two MCs, how to work in the bit of back story that would give the story a richer, more deeply textured feel without reading like an info dump.

But today has a full day of work waiting for me.

I'm thankful tonight's a writing night.

Now, to get this stuff called work out of the way...

Busy Little Spirit Characters

2010-10-18T08:52:00.001-05:00

I woke up with my Spirit story tickling my mind this morning. Nothing irresistible - that is, nothing that MUST be written down RIGHT now - just the characters, wandering around in my head chatting to each other with words I can't hear.

Thankfully, tonight's a writing night - Ms. Girl has ballet.

Hopefully by then, my characters will clue me in to what all the buzz has been about.

An Ironic Superman in My Morning

2010-10-13T12:08:00.005-05:00

I must admit to a love of the ironic - of those wry little bits of stuff that isn't quite funny, but nevertheless makes part of you chuckle.

Like this morning...

Stuck again in traffic, I'm right next to an older, blazer-type SUV, its back quarter panel sporting a rather heavy coat of recently applied Bondo and a rear window decal of a large S within a diamond, written through it "*itch" - which I took to mean that the driver was not someone to meet on the bad side of any day of the week. All of a sudden the even older, full size pick-up truck behind the blazer lurched forward, coming sooo very close to hitting Super *itch's recently repaired rear end that I cringed.

At the next light, I turned on the radio - right in the middle of 3 Doors Down - "Kryptonite," just as he sings "If I go crazy, then would you still call me Superman?"

Gave me a chuckle.

And who doesn't appreciate a chuckle? :D

The Lure of Lettuce

2010-10-10T11:22:00.001-05:00

The last few days have been busy ones in my corner.

For months we eagerly anticipated hearing a few magic words from Texas Rustlers Guinea Pig Rescue - "the girls are ready."

The tale of Sandy and Pearl, the guinea pigs pictured, starts in Louisiana - Sandy on the right, Pearl on the left. They were found in the home of a person with hoarding syndrome.

As defined by the Mayo Clinic, hoarding is the excessive collection of items, along with the inability to discard them. Hoarding often creates such cramped living conditions that homes may be filled to capacity, with only narrow pathways winding through stacks of clutter. Some people also collect animals, keeping dozens or hundreds of pets in unsanitary conditions.

Sandy and Pearl were two of thirty-eight guinea pigs living in such a situation, covered in mites. They were rescued earlier this past summer by volunteers from both Louisiana and Texas and transported to the Rescue near Dallas.

A quote from the Rescue's home page about these piggies: Since arriving at the rescue, four of these mums have had a total of ten babies, one of which has no eyes, one has only one eye, and at least five may be blind, plus there are fifteen females on pregnancy watch.

Pearl was one of those on watch and has had two babies, both have already been adopted.

Once tended and deemed healthy, Sandy and Pearl went to stay with a foster mom who saw Pearl through her pregnancy and started the process of getting them used to people. Being talked to, petted, held by people were completely foreign to these piggies and there was a lot of work that needed to be done before they would be ready for a new family.

This past week, we heard those magic words - the girls are ready.

Yesterday morning, we drove the near five-hour trip down to the Rescue, in its new home in Louisville, Texas and met the girls. They are very skittish and shy, Pearl more so. We also saw several other piggies from the Louisiana rescue. Two are significantly more not used to people - they seemed absolutely terrified, even at the calm, tender, and competent hands of Julia, one of the founders of the Texas Rustlers.

After some time spent holding Pearl and Sandy and some final words from Julia, we drove back home.

In their new cage, which resides in our living room, not far from my desk, the girls ducked into their Pigloo, hiding. But the temptation of lettuce was too great and they eased their way across the cage, snagging a piece of the crunchy green stuff and pulling it back toward the shelter of the Pigloo.

How'd my doggies react to these new family members? Shadow sniffed, looked, and curled up by the couch. Cleo sniffed, sniffed, and watched. Maybe the girls smell similar to mice. (My Li'l Dude had mice for a couple years and Cleo was very attached to one of them - a black and white Li'l Dude named Remy. She cried and cried when Remy died - I kid you not.)

Just in case Cleo got a little too friendly overnight, we put up the baby gate, separating the living room from the rest of the house, and went to bed.

This morning - last night's lettuce is gone, some of the carrots are gone, some of their Timothy pellets have been eaten and there is bedding and Timothy hay everywhere.

Fresh veggies and fruit, fresh water, and some general clean up provided and once again, the girls are hiding in the Pigloo. But that lettuce... once again it lured them out of hiding. Not even Cleo standing near the cage was deterrent enough to keep them away from their lettuce.

Many, many thanks to all the people involved in process that brought these two piggies into our lives.

For more information about the Texas Rustlers Guinea Pig Rescue, including adoption information and ways you can help, click here. Thanks.

A Meme

2010-10-04T12:33:00.001-05:00

Thank you of the day goes to Kara who tagged me in her meme - I hafta confess an odd love of these things. :D

1. If you could have any superpower, what would you have? Why?

I would love to have magic - with a wand or without. Laundry tossing itself in and out of the washer/dryer, folding and tucking itself into drawers, popping the kids to and from school, ... Oh, the time I'd save with magic.

2. Who is your style icon?

Kara mentions writing and fashion styles in her meme and so I'll follow through with the same...

Pardon the length...

Icon, icon... Dictonary.com defines an icon as a person greatly admired.

Writing wise - Dean Koontz, for his situation was once upon a time, a long time ago, similar to mine - he wrote nights and weekends until his wife made him an offer he couldn’t refuse: “I’ll support you for five years,” she said, “and if you can’t make it as a writer in that time, you’ll never make it.” By the end of those five years, she'd quit her job to run the business end of her husband’s writing career.

Like so many writers, my writing is squeezed in around the edges of my everyday life. From where I am now, I can only hope for the day my Sweetie utters those magic words. Op! Magic again!

As for the actual weaving of words that wrap themselves around you and swallow you up, I have to say Stephen King. When my story telling voice gets lost, particularly when I haven't been writing for a couple weeks or when I'm drowning in edits, rereading some of my favorite King stories brings my voice back home. Don't take me wrong, I'm not saying my style is like King's - I really don't want my style to be like anyone else's - his voice seems to wake mine up though.

As for fashion... oh my... I can't say I have one. I kind of create my own style, though my Ms. Girl finds it lacking in accessories. My favorite is a close-fitting shirt under a man-style workshirt, cuffs turned a couple of times with my favorite straight leg jeans and my clogs. I haven't seen this look come down a runway and I haven't met anyone in my day-to-day wearing anything similar, but I love it.

3. What is your favorite quote?

Oh, wow... So many favorites - Dr. Seuss, Tolkien, an old Irish blessing, and music lyrics... It's hard to narrow it down to just one... Today, the words that resonate the loudest are from Rob Thomas's song "Little Wonders"

let it go,
let it roll right off your shoulder
don't you know
the hardest part is over

Reminds me to let go of the stress, the worry, the little things that annoy and realize that that is the hardest part - letting it go. Makes me feel lighter, less weighed down by what can go wrong in a day.

4. What is the best compliment you’ve ever received?

My favorite compliment is more of a kind of compliment - the ones that say they're glad I was there, that whatever I said or did helped make someone's day a little better.

Though I hafta confess, hearing that I'm "the best Mom ever" does go to my head a bit. ; )

5. What playlist/CD is in your CD player/iPod right now?

Right now my iPhone plays Jack Johnson, Colbie Caillat, Rob Thomas, Bob Marley, Plain White T's, Caravan of Thieves, Dave Matthews Band, Tom Petty, Blues Traveler, and Matt Nathanson.

6. Are you a night owl or a morning person?

Night owl by nature, Morning person by force of my family's schedules.

7. Do you prefer dogs or cats?

Dogs - can't imagine my home without a couple underfoot. Besides, I'm wretchedly allergic to cats.

8. What is the meaning behind your blog name?

It's all about getting the words out of my head and down to paper.

:)

Now it’s time to tag other people… Some blogs I'm new to reading and others I've enjoyed for a while now.

Adam Slade

Steven Sarber

KB Cutter

Regan Leigh

Ally Medvec

Stop Blowing Holes in my Ship!

2010-09-25T19:51:00.000-05:00

I keep a soundtrack playing in my head for my own entertainment and over the last couple of days it's taken to quoting Jack Sparrow - specifically his lines from his time in the brig on the Black Pearl - "Stop blowing holes in my ship!"

Somewhere in the last little while, the Universe has apparently decided this past week is payback time for all the occasions I've spit in or otherwise upset the Cosmic Bowl of Post Toasties. And boy, they weren't kidding when they said pay-back's a -itch.

Through the dark clouds of chaos, of stomach twisting anxiety, and resultant sleep deprivation, I've been searching for the bright spots and this is what I dare say out loud.

~ I am grateful for puppy morphine and puppy ibuprofen - the combination of which is keeping my Shadow comfortable.

~ I am extremely grateful that the double-loaded semi truck had room to fly by me through the median and didn't crash into me or anyone behind me as traffic on the highway came to a screeching, skidding, dead stop from 75 mph.

~ I am also extremely grateful for the things we don't think about until we need them - Saturday hours at the doctor's office, competent nurses, emergency rooms, modern medical gadgetry, medical insurance, and clean bills of health when all is said and done.

~ And for Jack Sparrow.

And now, people who read this blog, I am going down the hall with a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream, to enjoy the silliness of my kids and the rambling humor of my favorite pirate.

Cheers.

Words of Encouragement

2010-09-22T20:52:00.000-05:00

Bookmarked on my phone is a page entitled Famous Failures and while that may be the title of the page, this list is far from discouraging.

A few of my favorites...

~ Dr. Seuss's first book was rejected by twenty-seven publishers and Seuss considered burning the manuscript. The eventual publisher sold six million copies.

~ After being dropped by 20th Century Fox after six mediocre movies, Humphrey Bogart was fired from a job reading radio playlets for laxatives. He then earned a living playing chess for 50 cents a round.

~ Walt Disney's first cartoon production company went bankrupt.

~ In 1977, Cyndi Lauper was told she would never sing again. She won a Grammy in 1984.

~ Jay Leno failed an employment test at Woolworth's.

~ Rudyard Kipling submitted a story to a California newspaper in 1888. The editor replied, "I'm sorry Mr. Kipling, you just don't know how to use the English language." He later won the 1907 Nobel Prize for literature.

Some of my favorite words of encouragement - especially when it seems things are going every which way but the direction you'd like them to go.

Stuff that Soothes the Savage Inside

2010-09-16T09:26:00.000-05:00

For music and just the right song at just the right time.

For the illusion of flying that comes from driving as fast as you can with all the windows down, your hair whipping across your face.

Without these things, my raving savage may have escaped and wrecked havoc willy nilly in blind reaction to Thursday impersonating Monday.

Such a close call...

phew...

Things that Make You Go Mmm...

2010-09-15T11:23:00.000-05:00

A big, fat blueberry muffin, hot from the oven.

A steamy mug of ginger tea with lemon and honey.

Another big, fat blueberry muffin, a yellow pat of butter melting in its middle.

Mmm...

Some Things Others Have Taught Me

2010-09-14T08:12:00.004-05:00

We learn a lot as we muddle through - some learned the hard way, some from books, and some from the experiences of others.

Some of the things I've learned from the people that have come in and out of my life...

1. People grow and change - any relationship that is unable or unwilling to change will die, with more than a little heartache.

2. Looking back with regrets blinds you to what's great right now and keeps you from looking forward with hope.

3. Sometimes a kiss does make it all better.

4. Time only heals the wounds you don't keep picking at.

5. Sometimes it's good to stir the pot. It keeps things from sticking to the bottom.

Thank you, people in/out of my life - I wouldn' t have learned half as much as I have without your help.

Hope is Blue

2010-09-11T10:39:00.001-05:00

None of us old enough to remember 2001 will ever forget where we were, what we were doing nine years ago this morning. You don't need me to ask you those questions to remind you. You will likely never forget.

Considering what to say here today I kept coming back to two things.

Heros and the blue.

The heros - those who took the first steps forward - the first responders, the passengers on flight 93, the survivors and the families of those lost, the first time each of us stepped aboard an airplane after September 11, 2001, those who were sent far away to fight a war with too many faces, too many rationalizations, each of them with their own families, families who, too are heroes to me

And the blue.

September 9, 2001, I sat in my backyard at my daughter's second birthday party, under a sky so vividly blue I couldn't take my eyes off it for long. Such a beautiful blue.

The same blue I saw on TV two days later, brilliant glimpses of it between awful clouds of thick, black smoke.

I will never forget the blue.

The blue on the other side of the dark.

Blue. The color of hope.

Leaps of Faith

2010-09-10T19:51:00.002-05:00

I have put off writing here today simply because what started off as a busy day quickly turned into a chaotic mess by the middle of it and the tempation to be snarky was huge. So I avoided my blog and facebook and my usual virtual haunts.

Last minute birthday party rescheduling, work stress, time constraints - all of it left me in a less than fun mood and I'd promised a fun afternoon for my kids. Determined to not let RL squash the afternoon, we set off for the movies. A little grim perhaps, a bit more tense than I'd have liked, but off we went.

Sitting in the semidark theater with my kids, unable to avoid overhearing another mom threatening to ground her child for life if he didn't sit still, another wearily telling her rambunctious kids to please sit down, please sit down, pleeeaaase sit down, my usual sense of fun was still just out of reach.

And then the movie started.

A family faced with losing their farm, kids in poo, a stressed out mom... And then the arrival of a magical person who teaches them the importance of being kind to each other, of taking care of each other, of taking leaps of faith.

Leaps of faith...

Yeah.

I forgot.

In the addition of one stressful thing after another today, I simply forgot...

Anything is possible if only you believe.

Thank you, Nanny McPhee, for reminding me to believe.

Strange Men in Pinstripe Suits

2010-09-03T10:07:00.006-05:00

I would like to thank all the people whose hard work put me here today, receiving this award... Oh, oops, sorry. Mixed up the awards there... how embarrassing...

Eh, hem... My thanks today go to...

My good friend Steve - one of the many writers I've met since discovering the great thing that is the online writers' forum - has added me to his list of Strange People for the Strange Men in Pinstripe Suits Award.

Based on Cate Gardner's short story collection, 'Strange Men in Pinstripe Suits', this award is given only to the strangest folk and as a recipient of such, one is deemed very strange indeed.

Cate's short story collection is available for pre-order at a discount of $1.99 off the cover price. To help celebrate the release, Cate and Strange Publications are having a contest with two awesome prize packages to choose from.

Congratulations.

Now for some rule-type stuff:

1. Add the logo of the award to your blog post.

2. Add a link to the person who nominated you. (Play fair, don't have all the links go back to your own post *wink*)

3. Nominate 7 other blogs, tell us why you think they deserve the Strangeness Award.

4. Leave a message for those nominated on their blogs.

5. And if you leave an e-mail for catephoenix@gmail.com and tell her you've received the award for your strangeness, she'll enter you in the biggest, kick-ass Strange Men competition ever.

Details over at Strange Men in Pinstripe Suits (Click on the award logo on the home page.)

Now for a list of people strange like me...

Race Mercaldo - This awesome YA writer has a book in the process of being published and loves math, studying math in college even - I mean, how strange is that? Math... *shudders*

Lee Thompson - Writer of fantastically creepy tales, thus he is of the fantastically strange.

KB Cutter - "Eclectic, dark, humorous" writer - wonderfully strange.

K.Hinny - I know she's been nom'd before for this award, but to be honest, she was the first I thought of when I saw I had to chose seven... writer of the horror, mother of two, friend and cheerleader of many - another of the fantastically strange.

Haggis - Well, yesterday when I came up with my list, I didn't check every blog I read - I've only got so much time in a day - so I missed that he'd been nom'd by the wunnerful Effie. Ah, well, I'm listing the Great Undead Doggie anyway. : P An Undead Chihuahua's bound to get more than a few Strangeness nods I imagine.

Ben - My favorite Australian Marxist Horror writer and poet - another of the wonderfully strange.

Alex - Her blog stories always make me laugh, for example... Heads or Tales. Read it and you'll see she needs no explanation.

So, my thanks to Steve, Cate, Race, Lee, KB, Kara, Haggis, Ben, and Alex - I lurve reading your blogs.

Kilby progress

2010-08-23T09:16:00.005-05:00

I belong to a writer's forum that usually hosts a monthly prompt - I've mentioned it before in regards to the creation of Annie Duvall.

August's prompt spawned the idea for a story that's been slow to hit paper - my schedule's just been too full for all day writing sessions. I've been lucky to get three or four hours at a time and often, those few hours are all I've been able to get in over a week. Hey, life is a busy thing. You have to move to keep up with it. Kilby, the MC of this new story, is a pushy little thing though and has been whispering her story in my ear all week.

Finally, finally, I had time to write last night. 430 words in three hours. We've moved up from the beginning of the second scene to the end of the middle/beginning of the end of it. At 920 words so far and the story is still in it's set up phase, it may end up being a longer short or perhaps a novella. We'll have to see.

Just a quick update...

2010-07-13T17:39:00.002-05:00

Just a quick update...

Yesterday afternoon, my phone blinged at me.

Sam has been accepted for publication by Black Label Books!

I shopped around through Duotrope and worked my way through another list of places that accept dark erotic stories before deciding on Black Label for Sam. I have to say that, as they're my first choice for my "by Annie's," I am thrilled that they've agreed to make Sam real!

Yay!

Shiver

2010-07-08T10:18:00.002-05:00

I walk. Usually at that grinning insistence of my dogs. We tour the neighborhood - them sniffing out turtles and piles of dirt left by the digging rodents of the area, me with my ear buds in, listening to whatever music strikes my mood.

On such a walk not so long ago, one particular song got stuck in my head, going round and round, collecting words and images along the way. By bedtime, I had the beginning of a story.

By the wee hours of the morning, the rough draft was done. Reading it the next day, my own words gave me a shiver.

There was just one problem.

The story was littered with lyrics to a song I was without permission to use. I looked into such a process online and discovered I wasn't in a position to seek that permission. I decided to bury my story. The lyrics added so much to it that it didn't seem right to take them out.

But the song wouldn't let me.

So, I pulled the story back up and began revisions - removing the lyrics and only hinting at the music that haunted me as surely as it did my main character.

After my usual process of submission prep, my story was deemed ready.

Late last night, I clicked "send."

May it bring shivers as it goes.

No, really!

2010-06-21T18:07:00.006-05:00

I swear I haven't forgotten about this! I've just been busy. No, really!

Summer's in full swing at my house - Littlelings (who are too quickly outgrowing that moniker) have been out of school for a month and are now enjoying their swim lessons, my flower beds have all blossomed, the apricot trees in the front yard have shed their fruit (which is now in many several jars in my kitchen), and the lawn is doing its evil best to take over the world.

I have a couple new short stories I've been working on. Both are in the editing phase now - yanked out a whole bunch of adverbs last night. I recently sent another short out to an epublisher and am waiting for my phone to *bling* with their response.

Oh, wait! It *blinged*! Ah... Nope. Facebook updates.

Their site said they usually reply within three months.

It's gonna be a long three months...

My progress on my big stories has been slow lately. The characters in Telepathy have stopped talking to me in anything above a mutter, so it's been hard to get back into it. Spirit and another big story that's been put on hold off and on over the past year have both been vying for my attention when I'm busy with other things, yet when I pull them up I swear they shrug at me and say "What? We're just the characters. You're the writer. So, whatcha waiting for? Write something already!"

When did my characters get so moody?

A short story's tale

2010-05-23T13:40:00.004-05:00

Toward the end of last year, one of my writer forums posted a prompt - cross your genres.

So I did.

What resulted was a tale I didn't know was in me - a succubus's tale. I mean, I'm generally not a fan of erotica. When I come to a bit of it in whatever story I'm reading, I confess to skimming over it, looking for any bits that might pertain to the plot and move on. Not that there's anything wrong with erotica, one of my dearest friends is an avid reader of the genre. It's just not my thing to read.

Apparently, writing it is something else.

Several other erotic horror short stories have since found their way to paper and I created Annie Duvall - an individual who will keep my erotic horror separate from my regular horror. One of my "big wips" - Telepathy - which had wandered into erotic horror territory, has had its byline changed from "by Laurie Dalzell" to "by Annie Duvall."

The original prompt-driven short story, Delicious, has been in edits off and on for months, has been sent to various ezines and been turned down, has been shared with a multitude of critters and beta readers, and has been revised mercilessly. Finally, yesterday morning, I took a deep breath and clicked "send" - "Delicious" was off along the mysterious byways of the Internet, to the waiting inbox of an editor who'd recently started her own e-publishing company.

Four hours later, my iphone blinged.

Several emails were waiting.

JCPenney was having a sale they thought I should know about.
I'd been "poked" on Facebook.
And " Dear Laurie, I would like to thank you for submitting your short story..." Uh oh... Oh well... I'm a big girl, I can take a no...

I opened the email.

"To reject this story would indicate I am a fool. And I am no fool. You will receive a contract..."

To say I happy danced around the living room would be an understatement.

Left at Albuquerque?

2010-05-04T08:33:00.006-05:00

You know that spot you hit, the one where you find yourself looking around, asking "How in the wide world did I end up here?"

The place I've spent the last dozen or so years is a far cry from the mountains where I grew up and is so very, very far from the ocean I fell in love with after leaving those mountains of my childhood. Yet, it was here, in the wide, flat plains of the middle of the country that my words found their way to paper again. Words that when strung together just so have given some a shiver, telling me with a smile that my stories are "creepy." Of course, there are a few others that have read them and have asked, their tone much the same as my father's when he read a story I wrote in first or second grade, "Why? Why not write a nice story?" It's funny how that question was asked of me again after such a long time.

Perhaps an argument for fate?

Is there a great map of your life lying around somewhere; your route carefully plotted out either by a Great and Mighty Hand, the stars under which you were born, or perhaps by yourself in a place between lives?

If so, then what of free will?

Is free will nothing more than the ability to see the choices before you, the map I mentioned above if you will, and making the wrong choices? Instead of making the left at Albuquerque you keep going straight?

Looking back at where I've been, the route I've taken so far, there have been a few detours and slow downs, and a couple full on dead stops. Stops like the one I came to not so long ago when I realized I'd taken a detour that was only leading me further away from who I wanted to be, where I wanted to be, and what I wanted to be doing.

So, I turned around, found a faded, barely visible track in the dust and followed it. Hopefully, it'll take me back to the highway, this time headed in the right direction.

Perhaps fate struggles to assert itself in spite of our free will?

Now, it was a left at Albuquerque, right?

Shameless!

2010-04-23T06:50:00.003-05:00

A wee bit of self-promotion :D

One of Those Addicting Games
Krista is swept away on the compulsive need to play an online game, one that effectively changes her life forever. A story that just may give you pause when you click "play" on one of those addicting games.

Beware the Butterflies
From a picnic in the park to an odd manifestation at a hospital, are they really as innocent and carefree as they seem, or is there something more sinister in the gathering of the butterflies?

Find links on the "Stories Published" tab above.

Words Fail Me...

2010-04-15T23:26:00.002-05:00

Words.

From some of our earliest days, we're told what to do with our words. We're taught as babies how to say them, as toddlers how to put them together, as school-age children how to spell them and arrange them into proper sentences. We're told "use your words" instead of fighting on the playground.

Then we reach adulthood. The words we say suddenly have more weight. We use our words to provide comfort when a friend's heart is broken, to express indignation when a friend has been wronged, to communicate our point of view to others, developing new friendships beyond those of childhood.

Somewhere along the line, we grow up. We learn to make our words work for us - waitresses, sales people, doctors, nurses, teachers, mechanics - how many first impressions are formed from how words were put together or how they were said?

But what happens when your words don't come out the way you intended? Your mouth opens and words seem to fall out on their own. Your brain screams, "Close your mouth! The words will stop if you close your mouth!" Eventually, we stick our foot in our mouth, which time has proven to be one of the most effective ways to stop a runaway mouth.

Over the last week or so, real life has kept my words from hitting paper, leaving them trapped in my head. They built up, like flood waters behind a dam. Eventually, a crack formed, leaking words bit by bit until a gaping hole ensued, my words tumbling onto paper, helter skelter. Words that should have, could have landed in nice, showing sentences hit the paper like splatters of wet paint, telling, telling, telling. They had a story to say and after being cooped up so long, had lost patience with me getting it down right. They took matters into their own hands.

My head is so full of my words telling me what they want to say, that I've been overwhelmed and at a loss to convince them to show me, so I in turn can show you.

Alas, my words fail me...

Tell me a story...

2010-04-09T08:26:00.003-05:00

Tell me a story...

Said the Queen to the traveling minstrel. The beheadings of the day and the gruesome fascination her people had with them had taken their toll and she longed to hear of things beyond her every day, yearned for an escape of the heavy responsibility that weighed on her shoulders like the heavy crown that adorned her head...

Tell us a story...

Said the boys to the old fisherman as they sat on the docks, watching him repair his nets. The voice of the sea called to them, even at their young age, and the old seaman had the best stories of all - tales of mermaids and storms, monsters and treasure...

Tell us a story...

Said the cowboys to Slim as plates were scraped clean and the bottle of whiskey passed round. The seeming never-ending days of prodding along the sea of cattle was monotonous work and they all looked forward to the old cowboy's tales at the dusty end of the day...

Tell me a story...

Said the little boy, rubbing his eyes sleepily, blanket and bear in hand. No matter how heavy his eyes, he just couldn't go to sleep without a story from Grampa...

Story tellers, writers, weavers of tales...

Tell us a story...

So, I'll take out my box of words and ball of yarn; chosing this one here and that one there, I'll string them for you one by one and tell you a story...

A Peek into my Head at the End of a Monday

2010-03-23T00:14:00.001-05:00

Well, here I am! I have returned!

I've been thinking about this post for the last couple of days, trying to figure out what to talk about here, how to turn this from a page of my favorite colors to something people are eager to click on to see what I've posted. Ok, eager's maybe a bit much... Curious at least then. ; )

For a little advice, I looked around online - read a few blog posts of people I know and some people I don't, checked out a few "how to" sites. Most sites recommend blogging about bits of your day/life that others can relate to. Well, duh. One rather interesting site proclaimed to know the secrets of blogging successfully as a writer and they would be more than happy to share this exciting strategy with you... for $47. Really? Yes, really.

So, since I have other uses for my $47, let's look at my day.

Well, at the moment, I'm listening to "Hook" by Blues Traveler and to my German Shepherd, Cleo, snoring at my feet. My house is otherwise quiet - my Littlelings have gone to sleep and my Sweetie, too. The last little bit of snow from our First Day of Spring Snowstorm should be melted by morning. This makes me happy. : ) Yes, I'm a summery weather girl.

Hmm... what else about my day... I didn't get so much writing done today - Mondays are frantic during the school year, Tuesdays tend to be chaotic, and I usually find myself storing words in my head until the first two days of the work week have come and gone before I start adding to my stories. That is unless Monday convinces the rest of the week that they are Monday and, whew, those weeks are not pretty.

I'm working on edits now, well in my head at least, for one of my "Annie" stories - Annie being my pen name for some of my more, um, "adult" darker stories. The story started last fall from a prompt on one of the writer forums I visit. I finished it, got some advice on how to make it better here, a little more so there, and when I thought it was ready, I sent it off to a few magazines, each of whom found it wasn't quite what they were looking for. And, reading it again after letting it cool for a bit, I had to agree there was something off about it. So, around it went again for critiquing to a new group of eyes. And I got some more advice, which I'm in the process of working with. Having others crit my work used to leave me a nail-biting wreck, but after a time, I started to enjoy hearing what others have to say about the words I've strung together. Quite often they're able to point out things I've missed, bits I've left dangling, people that are a little too cardboard cutout-like, problems I've created with physics, and so on...

So, here's a big Thank You to all of you who've critted my work and taken the time out of your day to give me the advice I need to hear to make my work the best it can be.

Day one, step one...

2010-03-17T15:55:00.001-05:00

Well, here I am. Posting my first post on my shiny new blog.

What to say?

You'd think such a thing would be easy for a writer, someone who strings words together all the time.

I won't tell you how much "backspace" was used just for those three sentences.

What do I write?

I write fiction, mostly of a darker variety though I do have some children's picture book stories that aren't dark at all in my cache as well.

What do I hope to accomplish with this blog?

Honestly, I'm not sure yet. For the longest time, I've resisted encouragement to start one. I have several writerly websites I visit and a shiny new Twitter page, in addition to my pen name's facebook page - all with writing as their focus. But here it is despite my resistance, all set and ready to go.

Voila - my first post.

: )