Teh Awe-some Sauce

Music for a Monday: We Were Promised Jetpacks

2012-01-09T07:18:00.000-08:00

Okay, so this is a post that I've been meaning to write for a while, but my time management skills are not so hot around the holidays and family trumps blogging.

But now life is back to the normally hectic pace, and Mondays are once again blah.

So what could be better than new music?

If you haven't heard of We Were Promised Jetpacks not only do they have an awesome name, but they're one of the few bands where every song on the album is awesome. This is the first song I heard from them, courtesy of Pandora:

I should probably reveal that I have an unhealthy obsession with all things Scottish (and judging from the number of Scotsmen wearing nothing more than a steely gaze and a kilt on romance novels, I'm not the only one). And it's not often that you hear a singer that sounds Scottish.

We Were Promised Jetpacks does.

*LOVE*

How can you not love this?

Even their lyrics are amazing. You know, when you can figure out what they are (I need a Scottish to Yankee translation book). Some of my favs?

Hard to Remember: Sink my teeth into frustration

Short Bursts: Your silence is bearable
But only in short bursts
and then it becomes uncomfortable

Roll Up Your Sleeves: Slower
But I can wait this out
Forming an orderly queue
Outside your house
I'm not even kiddin'

Seriously, check them out.

*LOVE*

Music for a Monday: Northstar

2011-11-21T08:57:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite bands of all time, like most great bands they imploded after only a couple albums.

Genius has its price.

I first saw them in Tampa in Dec of 2002. They were playing with Taking Back Sunday and the Starting Line. Northstar may have been the opener, but they were probably the best band. They're certainly the one that stuck with me the longest.

You know, if you can even understand what they're saying.

This song comes off of their last album, which came out in 2004.

Their lyrics are some of the best I've ever heard, right next to Modest Mouse. Except, you know, more shoegaze-y.

There also aren't very many videos of them. So, you know, even more reason to be all emo.

Music for a Monday: Two Door Cinema Club

2011-11-07T11:24:00.000-08:00

So, this group wasn't so much a discovery of mine, but something my husband found. He was making breakfast one morning (which is rare because I'm usually up before him) and when I came downstairs all bleary eyed this was playing in the background. And I was instantly like "Oh, what's this?" Well, after I was all "COFFEE!!!!"

Anyway, love.

What I like about their music is it's just as great driving in the car, writing, or running on a treadmill. And anything that's good on a tradmill is pretty awesome.

How can you now love this? It's pop-deliciousness.

Doesn't it just make you want to get up and dance?

Happy Monday!

Self Publishing: An Experiment

2011-08-02T18:18:00.000-07:00

So, I'm not really an early adopter when it comes to anything, but I always want to be. But I'm not. Because I'm lazy-ish.

Either way, I decided to try out a little Kindle self pubbing. I wanted to publish a short story that grew into a novella. If you know publishing, there's not really a huge market for novellas. Doesn't really change the fact that I wrote one:

I plan on chronicling this experience here on my poor blog, which ends up getting dusty too often. I figure this will be good motivation.

Here's the blurb:

Mayor Maddy Valdez is the town of Meyersburg’s best defense against the threat of ferals: rabid, carnivorous humans who roam the countryside devouring anything they can get their hands on. Too often, the flesh in question is a citizen of Meyersburg, and Mayor Valdez’s only goal is to make sure that’s not the case.

Maddy is just doing her civil duty to keep order in a world struck by an apocalyptic plague, and it doesn’t hurt that she has no real family to speak of. She throws herself into her work, because she knows that a town without order is at the mercy of the feral threat.

But when a mysterious stranger struts into town, will she choose duty over a chance at happiness?

So, this could be fun...or not. Let's find out.

By the Numbers

2011-07-01T16:58:00.000-07:00

Music for a Monday: Cursive

2011-05-23T10:19:00.000-07:00

So, my blogging habits are erratic at best, mostly because blogs that talk about just writing tend to be very boring (So, revising again, but got a great idea for a new scene…repeat x100) and I hate being boring. If I bore myself I know I’m boring the hell out of anyone who actually takes the time to read this. And that’s just really sad.

So I’m trying something new, by using Mondays to share the music I’m digging right now. Music is one of those things that’s pretty universal. Sure, not everyone has the same taste in music, but I’ve never heard anyone say that they hate music, except for maybe the kind of people who also hate puppies and kittens. Either way, this week’s band is CURSIVE.

I first started listening to Cursive with the Ugly Organ, which was actually their second album. I came to them through an obsession with all things Saddle Creek, which has the more famous artist Bright Eyes (or used to at least. I don’t keep up on these things much anymore). I fell in love with the discordant sounds on the Ugly Organ, including this, “Art is Hard”:

Happy Hollow was the next album, which features songs that are different vignettes about a small-ish town. “Dorothy at Forty” was probably the best known song off of this album. I really like how the quality of the music video went up dramatically:

“Big Bang” is also off of this album, but the video is pretty sucky. Still, the song is really good:

Right now I’m addicted to the most recent album, Mama, I’m Swollen. I totally missed when this came out, probably because I don’t stalk the CD aisle like I used to (yes, CD. Even the stuff I buy off of iTunes still gets called a CD). I found this one when I was sitting at home one night wondering why they hadn’t released an album in a while. It seems they had, back in 2009. Color me lame.

The best song by far off of this album is “I Couldn’t Love You”:

If I could write a scene that makes people feel the way this song makes me feel, I’d be a much better writer.

All in all I’d put Cursive in the same camp as Modest Mouse, since their songs have similar themes. Modest Mouse’s lyrics are a lot more clever (cleverer?), but Cursive’s tend to be more heartfelt.

Best lines:
There was this big bang once, but it don't jive with Adam and Eve
Original sin, idyllic garden
Some talking snake giving apples away
What would that snake say if he could only see us today?
~Big Bang, Happy Hollow

So, This Thing Happened the Other Day

2011-04-13T16:05:00.000-07:00

I try not to get too excited about things, since I figure it invites the universe to smite you in some way. But I have to admit I'm crazy, unreasonably excited about this from Publisher's Marketplace:

Justina Ireland's BLOOD GUILT, in which a teenage girl is inhabited by the Furies who make her carry out their justice against men at night, while she tries to keep her murderous tendencies at bay and live as normal a life as she can by day, to Courtney Bongiolatti at Simon & Schuster Children's, at auction, in a good deal, in a two-book deal, by Elana Roth at Johnson Literary (World English).

This book took a lot of work to get right, and it'll take even more to get as close to perfect as I'm capable of. But I can't wait to work on it, and to keep perfecting my craft as a writer.

Now, I'm going to go Snoopydance, but in a reasonable manner.

361. Watching a movie in the theatre

2011-01-16T06:12:00.000-08:00

There’s something really cool about watching a movie in a theatre, as annoying as other people can be. I love the way the screen makes your favorite actors larger than life, and the watching the cigarette burns in the upper right hand corner that tell the projectionist when to switch reels (thank you, Fight Club). Most of all, I just think it’s easier to lose yourself in a story in a theatre than it is in your living room. A darkened theatre is the perfect place to forget the world.

It’s also the perfect place to make out if a movie blows. Kind of awkward trying to do that in your parents' living room.

158. Judge Judy

2011-01-15T12:04:00.000-08:00

I seriously dig this tiny, angry little old lady. There is nothing more entertaining than watching her eviscerate the stupid, and I get a kick out of the show. A guilty pleasure I don't feel so guilty about.

58. The Pittsburgh Steelers

2011-01-14T12:02:00.000-08:00

I’ll be honest, I liked the Steelers before Ben Roethlisberger thought “no” meant “maybe”. In spite of Touchy McGrope I’m still a fan, but mostly because of Troy Polamalu. Watching him fly over an offensive line to take out the opposing team’s quarterback does funny things to my stomach that I hadn’t felt since this one time when I got bad refried beans.

And trust me, the Polamalu outcome is ALWAYS better than the refried beans outcome.

So I’m still rooting for the Steelers, even if I was the teensiest bit glad when Roethlisberger got his stupid nose broken. Ahh, schadenfreude.

151. Bruce Willis

2011-01-13T08:25:00.000-08:00

Two words: Die Hard. Hands down my favorite action movie of all time. Bruce Willis is probably the best action hero ever. Why? He's not the best looking guy, has a face that looks like he probably spent one too many nights holding down a barstool, and he just has a way of delievering his lines that makes you think he really doesn't give a shit. That is a quintessential action hero necessity.

After all, how can you be a loose canon if you spend all of your time worrying what people will think? This is why accountants don't get to save the day.

Plus he's like sixty-five and still kicking ass. How awesome is that?

(Yes I know movies are not real, but I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear that.)

79. Tampons

2011-01-12T13:22:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I think that needs no further explanation. If you are female, you've probably been VERY thankful that someone invented feminine hygiene products.

And if you're a guy, you are probably very squicked out right now.

With 365 things to be thankful for, there are bound to be some TMI posts. But really, this list is about appreciating the little things.

Yay tampons!

22. Snow Days

2011-01-11T18:22:00.001-08:00

There’s something magical about fat snowflakes drifting down, and the way snow seems to silence all of the background noise of the world. It coats the world in a pristine blanket of white, and erases all of the flaws of the day, leaving everything fresh and new.

Even more magical is getting to enjoy all of that from the comfort of your living room because there’s no work or school. Hells yeah!

Here’s to snow days, when I don’t have to slog to work in twenty degree weather.

228. Ed Brubaker

2011-01-10T15:00:00.000-08:00

If you aren’t into comic books you probably have no idea who Ed Brubaker is, but he’s easily one of my favorite writers, especially for comic books. Even my husband, (who until a few years ago scorned comics as a geeky thing he was above) likes Incognito: Bad Influences, Ed’s most recent offering. And my husband hates words, especially when he has to read them.

Ed Burbaker's work is brilliantly noir.

I like noir. Of course, who doesn't?

Wanna know more about his work? Check out his website. Even if you don’t read comics, you should check out Ed Brubaker.

109. AFI

2011-01-09T11:16:00.000-08:00

I'm not quite sure why I love AFI. Sort of goth power pop, they started out as a much louder band in the nineties but have mellowed along with the scene. Just compare two of their videos.

The first is from an EP from 1999. The melodies (and outfits) are a little kitschy, but Davey Havoc's voice is still distinctive.

Now compare that to "Love Like Winter" from 2006.

I appreciate a band that can change their sound, although I'm not a hundred percent in love with their newest offering. I'm still waiting for it to grow on me.

1. Indoor Plumbing

2011-01-08T13:23:00.000-08:00

See the previous posts RE: Fresh Laundry and Beds. The Army really made me appreciate some of the more obvious things in life. Especially when I went to Kosovo.

I didn’t really go off post too much when I was in Kosovo, not because I was busy or afraid of being shot at. All because I was afraid I’d have to pee in a hole.

In case you didn’t know, Kosovo is in eastern Europe, one of those former Yugoslavia states where all hell broke loose in the late nineties. In this case the “hell” that broke loose was hundreds of years of racial tension, much like nearby Bosnia. By the time I got there in 2005 most of the shooting was done, except for the random skirmish every now and then, and a Polish warrant officer who committed suicide when his wife left him (we had weapons and ammo at all times, since it was still technically a combat zone).

All of this going on and I was afraid of peeing in a hole. Pretty unbelievable, huh?

Yeah…have you ever had to pee in a hole? Trust me, it can be pretty jarring.

We females aren’t exactly built for that maneuver.

The whole thing started when our unit’s mail clerk went on a humanitarian trip to a nearby orphanage. I was the executive officer (read: the head guy’s errand bitch) and I was asking her how it was, because that's the kind of thing officers are supposed to do. Also, because she seemed a little shaken up when she got back. She told me and another girl, our clerk who was so soft spoken that it was sometimes easy to miss her very funny observations, that it was fun until she had to go pee. “It was just a hole,” she said, cheeks pinkening.

“You mean like a pit latrine?” We had those in basic training. It was a wooden bench with holes in it. I’ll let your imagination fill in the rest.

“No, just a hole. In the floor.”

This blew my freaking mind.

So then, for the rest of my tour I was petrified by the fact that I’d go somewhere and have to try to pee in a hole, aiming just right so that I didn’t splash my boots. Or worse, what if my side arm fell down the hole? Not that I dropped my weapon a lot, or ever, but still?

This was really probably just all of my other anxieties focusing in on one cultural difference that my mind wouldn’t accept, but it still gave me a profound appreciation for indoor plumbing.

33. Beds

2011-01-07T13:09:00.000-08:00

See previous post RE: Fresh Laundry. Nothing like living in the woods in a sleeping bag to make you appreciate a mattress.

Also: Sleep is awesome, and beds really do make that possible. Ever spent the night on a friend's couch? Unless you were there due to severe inebriation there isn’t much chance you slept well. Sure, you might not sleep very well in a bed, but the chances of at least a decent night’s sleep are better in a bed than anywhere else.

The only exception to this rule is when I was pregnant. Then, I was so mastodon-like that I could only sleep in a chair. Yeah, and it sucked.

207. Fresh Laundry

2011-01-06T11:00:00.000-08:00

There’s something really nice about having clean clothes. It’s really one of those things you take for granted until you don’t have it. The first time I didn’t have clean clothes was in the Army. It’s one of those things they put you through that’s supposed to show you how much worse war will be than the comfy life you grew up with. At the end of Basic Training they take you out to the field for a whole week. The drill sergeants play the opposing force (OPFOR in Army lingo) and it’s basically a week of no sleep with the same people that have made your life hell for almost three months continuously fucking with you.

And you have only what you pack for clean clothes. You have to carry what you pack.

See the dilemma?

So I basically hated my life that entire week. I spent so much time in and out of my protective mask that I just started wearing it to bed at night to be on the safe side. I slept with my rifle after someone lost theirs to drill sergeant trickery. I jumped into the mud when one particularly sleep deprived, and terrifying, drill sergeant ordered me under a line of barb wire. And I rationalized that my uniform did not smell as bad as I thought.

It actually smelled worse.

I now appreciate hot showers and clean laundry like you wouldn’t believe. Try wearing the same clothes for a week and you will, too.

154. Gravity

2011-01-05T11:00:00.000-08:00

So, for Thanksgiving on the YA-5 I posted 365 things I was thankful for. The goal this year is to do a short blog post for each one, ensuring that this poor blog doesn’t become dusty again.

In no particular order, here they are:

154. Gravity
It keeps our feet on the ground. Enough said. Especially since I don’t particularly like heights.

127. Health Insurance

2011-01-04T11:00:00.000-08:00

I really think this goes without saying. Being sick sucks. Being sick and trying to figure out how to pay for it sucks even more.

There was a short point in time where I was unlucky enough to not have health insurance. I had gotten out of the Army, finished my degree, and was working at Target, a time period I like to refer to as the fifth circle of Hell. Here I was, a recent college grad. I was supposed to have the world by the short hairs. Instead, I spent my days arguing with blue-hairs over why we wouldn’t take back the item they bought four years ago. Ma’am, I get paid ten dollars an hour. Please stop yelling at me.

But even worse than working in the waiting room to Hell was the insurance they offered. For me to have adequate insurance cost a hundred dollars a paycheck. This meant no covered check-ups, but in the case of a catastrophic injury (like getting beat with a walker) I only had to cover the first ten thousand, and then the insurance company would generously pick up the rest.

Did I mention I only made ten dollars a hour? For you math geniuses, this means I made a whopping $20, 800 a year. Before taxes.

So of course, I declined the insurance. After all, I had loans to pay back (because that degree was REALLY coming in handy).

What followed was a nerve wracking few months where I was pretty much afraid to walk in case I fell and busted my ass on the ice, which I’m sure wouldn’t have been a cheap medical bill. I have quite a bit o’ junk in the trunk.

So, health insurance is pretty cool, and affordable health insurance is definitely something to be thankful for.

88. Jon Lovitz as Satan

2011-01-03T11:00:00.000-08:00

So, for Thanksgiving on the YA-5 I posted 365 things I was thankful for. The goal this year is to do a short blog post for each one, ensuring that this poor blog doesn’t become dusty again, and also giving you a glimpse into my poor, wretched brain.

88. Jon Lovitz as Satan

I first saw this Saturday Night Live skit when I was in junior high. To be honest, I didn’t really get it. But, now that I’m older, it is one of my favorite SNL skits of all time.

76. Hawaii Five-0

2011-01-02T11:00:00.000-08:00

So, for Thanksgiving on the YA-5 I posted 365 things I was thankful for. The goal this year is to do a short blog post for each one, ensuring that this poor blog doesn’t become dusty again, and also giving you a glimpse into my poor, wretched brain.

76. Hawaii Five-0

You know, most crime dramas are set in dark gritty places, like New York and Omaha. But not Hawaii Five-0. It’s set in—you guessed it—Hawaii. It’s about time someone showed us that bright, sunshine-y places with hot girls in bikinis can be terrifying, too.

I mean, in just about every episode some poor tourist is either taken hostage, kidnapped, or witnesses an all out gun battle. With publicity like that, who wouldn’t want to go to the Big Island? Have a fruity drink from a pineapple, go to a luau, watch some gangster get gunned down in the middle of the street. It’s the thing dreams are made of.

16. Pop Tarts

2011-01-01T11:00:00.000-08:00

So, for Thanksgiving on the YA-5 I posted 365 things I was thankful for. The goal this year is to do a short blog post for each one, ensuring that this poor blog doesn’t become dusty again, and also giving you a glimpse into my poor, wretched brain.

16. Pop Tarts

I love Pop Tarts. Not that I eat them all that much. They have a crazy number of calories, like 250 for one. And it’s not like I’m going to eat just ONE freaking Pop Tart. That means if I eat two there goes 500 calories, and that’s before I add in some coffee, which is going to be so full of whipped cream and awesomeness that it could be its own breakfast, but it isn’t because I'll still be hungry after I suck it down. For 500 calories, I’ll have a box of donuts (everyone knows calories covered in powdered sugar only count on Wednesdays).

So I’m thankful for Pop Tarts, because someone thought you should be able to make pastry in your toaster, and I’m a big fan of pastry. I am not thankful for the Brown Sugar Cinnamon ones, though. That flavor is a crime against humanity.

Happy Christmas!!!

2010-12-23T07:06:00.000-08:00

So, it's a little early, but I really wanted to have a reason to post this video. Mostly because it's hilarious. I mean, fruitcake really is a crime against the word "cake". This at least turns it into a fun song.

ENJOY!

Fun Fact # 23: Things on My Desk

2010-12-21T05:21:00.000-08:00

These are the things that are currently on my desk at work:

Kleenex
My mug, full of Lemon Lift tea
Suave hand lotion
Lost in Fantasy hand lotion from Victoria's Secret that a coworker just gave me for Christmas
Half empty pack of Extra Classic Bubble gum
Computer with old school speakers
Desk phone
Calculator
Four different pens, because I keep losing them, grab a new one, and never put them away
Scissors that somone borrowed and I never put away (sensing a theme here)
Random sticky notes with phone numbers. Not sure who's numbers they are. I didn't write down the name.
A broken candy cane.
A sad poinsetta that is slowly dying, but will stay on my desk until X-mas, dammit.
Highliters
Hand sanitizer
A stapler that doesn't really work
Four packets of Splenda left over from one morning when I had coffee.
A notebook with notes like "Send spreadsheet to X"
Scotch tape dispenser, which I never use unless I'm wrapping a gift.
My cell phone
Access badge. We have a security system to keep crazies out of the building. Too bad most of the crazies in the area work here.
Car keys.
Half a dozen birthday cards from last week. I'm going to chuck those tomorrow.

And there you have it. The exciting, thrilling, list of things on my desk.

Fun Fact # 7 - My Mug

2010-12-10T11:34:00.000-08:00

Since I don't write on here nearly as much as I should, I'm going to start posting a fun fact about me every once in a while. Okay, so they probably aren't all that fun or factual, but I need something to carry me through until I get that big break (snort).

So here is Fun Fact #7-My Mug

I use this mug at work. I bought it at Target one day for a whole dollar ($1.06 when you add in sales tax).

I like to fill it with both hot and cold beverages. Most of them are non-alcoholic. You know, because I'm at work. I like to save the hard stuff for meetings and trips to Chuck E. Cheese.

FREE READ FOR EXCERPT MONDAY: The B-Day Girl, Part II

2010-10-18T05:10:00.000-07:00

After the close call with granny I realize I have to be smarter about this whole avoiding death thing. So I slink down alleyways, watching for anyone who looks like they might be out for blood, which is honestly everyone. The baton dangles from my wrist by its leather loop, just in case. Most of the town is Varian, and any of them could be participating in the bloodthirsty initiation. Seriously, this is almost as bad as when I joined my sorority.

It’s really not my fault I don’t know anything. I’ve been gone for the past year, pursuing the parental requirement of “furthering my education” (translation: drinking my face off and messing around with boys). I didn’t want to go to college. School seemed pretty lame, especially when you knew that you were really sort of superhuman, but my parents had been adamant. It was only when they saw my grades for spring semester, and I told them flat out that I wasn’t going back, that they agreed to let me come home. They wanted me to take summer classes, to make up the grades. I didn’t know how to tell them there wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be but home.

In fact, this is the first day I’ve been back, and I’m not ready for any of this. I should be laying out in the backyard getting a tan and figuring out what I’m going to do with my future, not running around barefoot in my PJs trying to stay alive.

Life is so unfair.

A ninja star flies past my face with a swish and jerks me out of my pity party. It lodges into the building with a metallic tink. Another four stars hurl towards me and I back flip out of the way. Landing in a crouch I realize that I’ve carelessly left myself exposed. At some point I exited the alleys, but I was too deep in thought to notice. In front of me, a row of new townhouses. Across the street, a line of identical townhouses. And death. A tiny blond woman pushing a stroller grins at me, the sun glinting off of the shuriken still in her hand.

“Happy Birthday, Shannan. The Ghrinthel Clan sends its regards.”

I have no idea what that means, but vaguely I remember that Varia had eight clans back in the day. Whatever. I wonder if I can outrun throwing stars.

I cry out as a star lodges in my upper thigh, sinking deep into muscle. Hot agony screams down my nerve endings, pain driving out all rational thought. I fall to my knees, and I roll forward to avoid anymore of the projectiles.

Well, that answers that question.

I duck behind some heavy duty plastic cans, silently thanking the slacker that left them curbside after garbage day. A couple more of the throwing stars thunk into the cans, and I whimper as I look at the shuriken buried in my leg. Two of the five points are deeply rooted in my flesh, and blood runs freely from the wound. At some point Varian healing will kick in. The only question is whether it will be before or after I pass out and Ninja Mom kills me.

“Don’t you have a playdate you should be getting to?” I yell, my frustration bringing tears to my eyes. What kind of people do I come from? Who thinks it’s a good idea to let an entire town try to kill their offspring? This is crazy. How could they think hunting down a girl in her pajamas is even a good idea? And how do I fight back when everyone is against me?

I can taste the metallic edge of panic, and I take a couple of deep breaths to push it back. I need to assess my options, which are pretty pathetic. I can’t exactly outrun her, not with my thigh gushing like Old Faithful. And the baton I snagged from the little old lady is completely useless at this distance. Maybe I could throw it. I glance down at the tiny little stick and grimace. Nope, not happening. I can either cower in fear or fight back.

Fighting back is the only real choice. Because I am not ready to die. I’m going to live forever and make sure my parents end up in the worst nursing home around, one of those ones where they serve applesauce with every meal and make the old folks play board games at night. Endless nights of Motts and Monopoly sound like a fit punishment for putting me through this nightmare.

There’s just the small problem of surviving.

Another couple of ninja stars hit the trash can, one ripping through the heavy duty plastic and slicing across my upper arm. The fresh pain breaks through my revenge plot, and I stand up, holding the can in front of me. I can’t see where the lady is, but I run in the general direction of where I last saw her. I try to zigzag like they tell you to in those survival shows, but my leg isn’t working so hot. It collapses under me, slamming my knee into the pavement and unleashing a whole new kind of punishment. But I can’t stop. Stopping means death. So I mostly gimp in a semi-circle.

A hail of shuriken tells me I’m heading in the right direction, and even though a couple get through they don’t sink in nearly as deep as the one in my thigh. I am beyond pain. I am a ball of screaming rage. All I want to do is survive this day so I can give my parents hell.

If that means I have to take out a soccer mom, so be it.

When I can see the woman’s feet I swing the trashcan around in a wide arc, catching her upside the head. The trash can slams into her temple with a sound like a melon hitting the floor. That isn’t really enough to stop her. She stumbles back a couple of feet and pulls a pair of nunchuks out of the waistband of his jogging pants. I drop the trashcan and yank the throwing star out of my thigh. In the back of my mind I realize that was a really bad idea, that I could have gotten one from the front of the can, but it’s too late now. I grit my teeth through the agony and focus on one thing: I want to live.

I throw the star right at the woman’s forehead, and at this distance my aim is deadly. The projectile lodges between her eyes with a wet, sucking sound. Her eyes roll back into her head and she falls onto the sidewalk.

“Yes!” I cheer, doing a little happy dance as I stand over her. It’s awkward, though, because my leg is injured, so I mostly just hobble from side to side. I study her face, and the elation drains away as I realize I know the woman.

Last year, before I went to college, I used to work at the coffee shop in town. It was run by a woman who’d lost her husband in the Devloian War, the same conflict that brought most of the town here. Jennith. Before fleeing Varia Jennith had been a princess, but on Earth she was just a friendly blond woman who sold coffee for a living. She used to whisper about how much she missed her husband, and how their little daughter was her world, the only thing she really had to live for.

I stand there for a moment in shock, waiting for her to get back up, but she doesn’t move. I nudge her with my toe, but she just stares up at the sky, eyes impossibly wide.

Oh gods.

I stare at her, the sun beating down on my head and shoulders. Still, I feel chilled. I’m an easy target for anyone who wants to strike at me, but I can’t bring myself to care about that. I just killed a woman. Not only that, I killed someone’s mom. I made some poor kid an orphan. I hiccup, thinking I’m about to cry. Instead, I puke all over a carefully manicured lawn.

Yuck.

After I’ve emptied my stomach I inch my way over to the stroller. I can’t just leave the woman’s baby out in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s still early, but already the temperature is climbing. Who knows how long it would be until someone finds the poor thing?

I peek into the stroller, preparing myself for the wave of self loathing that’s going to hit when a chubby cheeked cherub gurgles up at me. But when I look into the stroller there’s no baby. Only a short sword tied with a red ribbon.

I reach in and take it out. I can’t help but smile when I realize what it is. A serpentine blade. Closed, it resembles a Roman short sword. But if I push the thumb trigger on the hilt the blade will telescope out like a whip, changing to a chain of sharp blades. I swing the sword a couple of times to test the weight, pushing the button and wrapping the deadly length around a low hanging branch on a nearby tree. I yank, and the branch falls to the ground in three inch sections.

“Oh, you are beautiful,” I murmur. The blade hums a little, Varian magic awakening at the sound of my voice.

I stare at the sword as a thought occurs to me. Two people, two weapons. Is this a sign? Why are people attacking me one at a time? If they really wanted me dead they should rush me all at once. There was a logic to this whole thing that I didn’t understand, and hopefully I could figure it out before it no longer mattered.

I press the blade to the blood on my thigh as the wound finally closes. Mom used to tell us that Varian weaponry tempered in the owner’s blood was guaranteed to never kill you. I hope she’s right, and this is truly a Varian blade. There would be nothing lamer than getting killed by my own sword.

I walk down the sidewalk, jerkily at first, and then more smoothly as my body knits itself back together. I’ve never had the opportunity to take my superhuman healing for a test drive. It’s nice to know it’s so efficient. After less than a block I’m mostly normal, just really tired.

I turn the corner and freeze. Someone runs towards me at full speed. Already? I was hoping I’d get a little bit of a break before the next assault. Oh well, at least I have a weapon this time.

I take a defensive stance, and the figure keeps running. I swallow thickly, remembering the poor lady lying dead from her own throwing stars. I can do this. It’s me or them.

So why am I not attacking?

I will my arms to move. The person is closer now, only thirty feet away. Kill them! I yell to myself, but I don’t move. Twenty feet now. Just a slice, my mind urges. My muscles refuse to cooperate. Parry, feint, jab! Nothing. I’m about at dangerous as a statue.

Finally my muscles loosen, and I swing the serpentine blade in a wide arc, triggering the blade so it swings wide, six or seven feet in front of me. The person running towards me ducks backward under the blade, and I jerk my arm up and snap the links back tight. When he rights himself I recognize the wide set brown eyes and the full lips. They look a lot like mine, by his are twisted in a smirk.

“Jeez, you suck. If I would have been one of the Eight you would totally be dead.”

My sword arm falls to my side, and I sag in relief. “Edwin. What are you doing?”

He rolls his eyes in true little brother fashion. “Duh. Saving your behind, what else? Now let’s get going before someone sees us. I thought you’d have been here a while ago.”

A car pulls up, and the door swings open. I recognize one of Edwin’s friends behind the wheel. “You guys aren’t old enough to drive.”

Edwin shrugs. “You want to make it to breakfast or not?”

I climb in and close the door, sagging against the seat with a sigh.

I have never been so happy to see my brother.

My New Addiction

2010-10-04T13:09:00.000-07:00

Make up videos on YouTube! Where were all of these people when I was stabbing myself in the eye with eyeliner freshman year of high school?

Seriously, I'm trying to figure out when I would ever be able to use this:

I can't really imagine ever using this, but now I want to at least get a white eyeliner...

Life in PA

2010-09-23T10:37:00.000-07:00

Ever wonder it's like to live in Pennsylvania? This pretty much covers it.

FREE READ FOR EXCERPT MONDAY: The B-Day Girl, Part 1

2010-09-20T07:00:00.000-07:00

Plopping down at the kitchen table, I pour my usual bowl of cereal and rub the sleep from my eyes. Mother watches me from across the room, her eyes hooded as she sips at her morning coffee. There’s a tension in the room that I haven’t quite grasped yet. Does she know I snuck in late last night? Or is she still pissed about my decision to not return to college in the fall? Hell, maybe she noticed a new wrinkle. With Mom, it could be anything.

I grab the milk and drench the cereal, which is some brightly colored creation with bits of crunchy marshmallows. Don’t ask me, my brother Edwin picked it out.

I shove a spoonful into my mouth, but she’s still staring at me like I’m a pile of shit on her white carpet. “What?” I say, around a spoonful of sugary goodness. I talk with my mouth full just to irritate her. Mom has this image of how girls should act and I’ve spent the last nineteen years trying to destroy it. So far, I haven’t been successful.

“That’s for you.” She points to a white box with a red ribbon. It wasn’t sitting there before, and I wonder if it’s some sort of Varian magic. I frown. I hate being reminded that we aren’t really human.

“I’ll open it later.”

“Open it now.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument, and I grab the box while heaving the world’s largest sigh. There’s writing on the card, but it’s in Varian and I don’t bother trying to interpret the swirls and squiggles. I pull the ribbon on the box, and remove the lid. Inside is another scrap of paper, and I have to read it twice before the meaning sets in.

Happy Birthday, Shannan.

I’m already out of my seat and diving towards the door when my mother launches the first blade at me. I trip over my own feet, going down hard on my ribs before I roll over and scuttle across the linoleum like a crab. The kitchen knife buries itself to the hilt in the wooden seat of my chair. I try not to choke on the cereal still in my mouth.

My mother just tried to kill me. My brain freezes as it tries to process the thought.

She sips at her coffee and pulls the next largest knife out of the wooden knife block. Her movements are slow and deliberate. I try to stand, but my slipper shod feet skid across the floor.

“Don’t I even get a head start?”

She shakes her head. “Sorry, honey, that’s not how it works.” I roll to my right as she flings the next largest knife. A whisper of a breeze brushes my cheek as the sharp edge lodges into the cabinet next to my head.

I’m panting, and my brain is screaming a dozen different messages, most of them something along the lines of run, dumbass! I manage to get to my feet, but I have to duck as she launches two more knives. One catches the hem of my bathrobe, pinning it to the floor. I slip my arms out of the sleeves just as another knife whistles through the air, and this time slicing through the robe itself.

I reach the back door. My hands fumble with the lock for an eternity. I yank the door open. Mom throws a paring knife at my head. It lodges in the doorframe, but I’m already stumbling out the door and into the backyard. My heart pounds. My palms are slicked with sweat. I have to get away.

As I run across the dew damp grass my slippers fly off. I’m barefoot after only a few steps. I sprint past the old oak tree between our yard and the neighbors. A flash of memory: a tire swing and long summer days spent playing in the tree house in the branches. As I dash by a steak knife thunks hollowly, lodging in the trunk.

I can’t stop. I don’t stop. Once I hit the fence I vault over it. No looking back. I sprint around the Murphy’s koi pond, arms pumping like I’m about to win the big meet. Their chihuahua sees me and lets out a confused bark, but I ignore the ankle biter. I scramble over the neighbor’s far fence, and as I hit the ground on the other side I hear my mom call “Good luck.”

I run until my side aches and I’ve cleared at least two miles or so. At some point my brain shuts down. There are no thoughts, just the command to run, run, run! So I do. After a while I slow down into a loping jog and finally to a walk as I enter town. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. It’s still early so there aren’t many folks around, which I’m thankful for. I need some time to think before the next attack.

I duck down an alley and slump against the wall. My head pounds, probably the beginnings of a hangover from the night before. If I’d known today was The Day I wouldn’t have drank so much. Honestly, I wouldn’t even have gone out. I would have found a nice hole to hide in. But there’s no changing things now. All I can do is adapt and overcome, as my dad likes to say.

I lean against the wall, letting my breathing slow and my heart return to a normal rhythm. Glancing down, I realize that I’m still clutching the ribbon from the box. I stare at the squiggles, slowly translating them from Varian, the language of my parent’s home planet, into English.

Survive today as a child, and join the tribe tomorrow, a woman.

They can’t be serious. I reread the ribbon, the message slowly sinking in. When I was younger my parents used to tell stories of their home planet, Varia, and the ritual initiation that all went through on their twentieth birthday. An entire day of living by their wits, avoiding attempts to kill them. Anyone in the tribe who was considered an adult could try to kill the birthday boy or girl. My parents would laugh and reminisce about magical traps, or creatures trained to kill, or the fierceness of one particular tribesman or woman (from what I know Varia is very PC, with the exception of all the killing). My brother and I would look at each other like our parents were crazy before going about our business. I always thought it was just a bunch of crazy talk, like the same way my dad keeps telling my mom he’s going to remodel the family room.

I never thought they’d make me go through it. I’m first gen earthborn. I grew up watching cartoons and playing computer games, not battling dragons and casting spells and waging wars on rival clans. Sure, I learned little magics, and I’d considered one day being a super hero like most of our kind. But I am not going to spend the entire day dodging threats on my life. I’m an American, dammit.

I push off of the wall, dropping the ribbon on the ground. Uh-uh. Screw that whole “being a woman” thing. I want breakfast, some Tylenol, and a nap. In that order. I’m just going to head home…

And what? a little voice in the back of my mind prods. Dodge knives and whatever else Mom can throw at me?

Ugh, my subconscious is right. If Mom is all gung ho on this, then there’s a good chance Dad is as well. Of course, that leaves the teeny tiny issue of the rest of the town. Most of Granger’s Roost is Varian as well. Do they know today is my Varian birthday?

I pace for a few minutes, deciding on my next course of action. I need a plan. Clothes, food, and get out of town. I only have to stay alive for twelve hours. That can’t be too hard, can it?

“Excuse me, young lady. Are you lost?”

I turn around to see a diminutive old lady, her skin like crepe paper, her steel gray hair pulled back into a bun. She grins at me, but there’s something strange about her smile. My foot whips around, catching her on the chin. She falls, ass-over-teakettle across the sidewalk.

Oh my god. I just kicked an old lady in the face. What’s next, punching Girl Scouts?

I feel moderately better when I see the baton still clutched in her hand. I snatch it from her limp fingers and run out of the alley.

New plan: get out of town, worry about clothes and food later.

My Thoughts on Mockingjay

2010-08-24T17:35:00.000-07:00

*****I don't think this post is spoilery, since I don't reveal any major plot points, but it may give you some idea as to the tone of the last book. Be warned*****

So, like a good portion of the country I was super excited to get Mockingjay. So excited that I downloaded it the morning of the 24th instead of waiting for my hardbound copy (yes, I will single handedly end the discussion about the end of traditional publishing ;). I read through the book, finishing it in record time. I snickered at Katniss Everdeen's typically acerbic observations, cried as thing went wrong, and sat shell shocked as I read THE END.

Whoa. It was the only word that came to mind. Slowly, reality crept back in, and I logged on to see what other folks thought about it, because I wasn't able to coherently form an opinion beyond the frat boy staple of "dude, that was effing awesome!"

Then I saw the lovely @MyraMcEntire's response on twitter:

"Realizing as I read Mockingjay - it will be read for generations, studied, discussed, argued - and that #Teams will cease to be mentioned."

Less than a hundred and forty characters, and she captured exactly how I felt after I finished the book.

Although Hunger Games and Catching Fire were excellent books, the real thing that captured readers for those books was the romance. But if anyone has any delusions that The Hunger Games Trilogy is a romance along the lines of Twilight, Mockingjay quickly grabs that idea by the throat and chokes the life right out of it.

The Hunger Games is not a romance. Yes, there are romantic elements, but Collins has created something much more than a girl saves boy, boy saves girl, outside influences cause unhappiness, problems are resolved, happily ever after series.

Collins has her Message, and there are parts of Mockingjay that feel a little preachy. But I think more importantly than the message of non-violence is the theme she has about growing up. The whole "you can never go home again" trope.

The Hunger Games series is just as sweet and heartbreaking as growing up. If the Hunger Games and Catching Fire are the early adolescent years, Mockingjay, with its twists and turns, is that bittersweet moment when you realize that you're an adult. When you realize that things don't always end up with the good guy winning, that there are sacrifices to be made, and that the world is a very cruel place where the innocent sometimes (and usually do) suffer.

Mockingjay brings that feeling of knowing that you'll never be that kid again, the one that laughs with unbridled joy on the merry-go-round, or the teenager who spends hours in the mirror. It sucks, but at the end of the day there's a comfort in knowing that everything is okay, or at least the best that can be reasonably expected. Collins accomplishes this so well that finishing is cathartic. Satisfying? I'm not sure. But definitely worth the read.

Bottomline? Mockingay is amazing.

You Know When

2010-08-11T09:21:00.000-07:00

You know when you start a book, and it sucks you in, and you're convinced it's going to be the best thing you've EVER read, only somewhere around the middle the characters start acting like idiots, and you can't figure out why they don't just TALK to each other and solve their problems, and the mystery isn't really a mystery to anyone except the characters who are bumbling around haphazardly NOT talking to each other and it's only a hundred pages to the end but every scene is sheer torture and you're praying "Dear God make it stop so I can just go reread the Hunger Games before Mockingjay comes out," but you have to finish the book because godammit you're THIS close to the end?

You know that feeling?

Yeah, I hate it.

BUY THIS BOOK: Before I Fall

2010-07-30T07:53:00.000-07:00

Okay, so last weekend I was supposed to be on vacation in VA Beach with my family, and I totally ignored them until I could finish Lauren Oliver's Before I Fall. How good was this book?

Phe-NOM-en-AL.

I read a lot of books, and like most people, most of them fall into that "Hey, it was okay" kind of range for me. It's not that the books are BAD, they just aren't the kind of book that float my metaphorical boat.

Okay, Before I Fall made me cry. I don't cry. I spent almost ten years in the Army. I do not cry.

This book had me balling like a little girl who lost her My Little Pony. Great, big, sloppy tears. Which was sort of inconvenient, since it was almost one in the morning and I woke up my husband who thought I was dying. After I managed to choke out that was about a book, he rolled his eyes and went back to sleep.

I'm not kidding. Seriously good book.

Read it NOW.

Fantabulous Contest Over at the YA-5!

2010-07-19T12:38:00.000-07:00

This week over at the YA-5 we are having an AWESOME spooky themed relaunch. Pop by and win some really cool prizes.

Go. Now! Seriously, you are missing all kinds of coolness.

Watch It Now = Lose Hours of Your Life

2010-07-12T17:58:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I came to the realization that I have a problem. No, it’s not my lack of social skills (I don’t consider that a problem) or my habit of saying things I should keep to myself. My problem is Netflix. More specifically, the “watch it now” feature.

Instant gratification is the devil.

I’ve been a fan of Netflix for a while (a reason to avoid the video store? AWESOME!), but the “arrive in the mail” DVDs have never really been a problem for me the way the “watch it now” is becoming. I think it’s mostly because you can only watch so much, maybe a movie, maybe four episodes of a TV show, and then you have to wait for your next DVD. Maybe for a day, maybe longer, depending on whether or not your movie nemesis (you know, the only other person in your zip code who wanted to see Point Break). But the watch it now? Where else can you get an entire season of a TV show at your digital fingertips?

Oh my god, it’s like crack.

I sit down, intending to watch one episode. Twelve hours later, I’ve just watched an entire season of television. My dog is pawing at the door, my kid is drawing on the wall with crayons, and my husband is just as dazed as I am. Even worse, I have to be to work in four hours.

Tragic.

Yet I think I like it.

Seriously, it’s sucking up a lot of my writing time, but I can’t really complain. Because I really need to see if that one guy is going to get away with that thing he did or not. And who can chase plot bunnies when there is a potentially dangerous cult running around the streets of some city that I think might be Miami but could also be L.A?

Anyway, I’d write more, but I have a season of some made for cable TV show to watch.

Damn you, Facebook

2010-06-29T06:59:00.000-07:00

I am not a nice person. I am not a caring person. I am selfish, and usually the myriad events in my life will take precedence over yours. Most of all, I am a very bad friend when measured against the Lifetime Movie of the Week standard of friendship. No, I won’t be there to save you at the last moment when your serial killer ex-boyfriend or girlfriend (played by someone from the original 90210) tries to push you off of the roof of your office building. But I will be there to share a drink about it and give you a hearty “Wow, didn’t see that one coming. Seriously, s/he did not seem like a psychotic killer at all when I met him/her on New Year’s.”

Somewhere in my life I realized how completely lacking I am in the empathy/sympathy department, agonized over it for a brief second, and then came to terms with it. I am the friend that will lose your email address. I am the friend that will suggest we get together for dinner and then have a million other things to do. I am the friend who will not email you for two years, and then act like I’m surprised you’re still alive when we run into each other at Chili’s.

Basically, I suck.

That’s not to say I don’t have friends. I do. But they are people like me, happy to get together once or twice a month to talk about writing and books and life in general. They are also busy, and they can’t make dinner on Tuesday night either because of some catastrophe. But I’m cool with that. That’s why we’re friends. We like hanging around, but we don’t need each other.

Which is why I find Facebook so frustrating. Facebook tends to be the place where old, needy friends reappear like a presumed dead supervillian in a sequel. People who I clicked with for a brief moment in time, but then lost touch with either accidentally or purposefully. Not every person I meet is someone I want to make the commitment of attached-at-the-hip-finishing-each-other’s-sentences lifetime friendship to. Sometimes, you might be just a little too clingy for me to handle. Or a little too crazy. And if you don’t understand that the Super Bowl may take precedence over listening to you rant about that chick you can’t stand at work, I know we were never meant to be.

But Facebook (FACEBOOK!!!) makes that permanent kind of break up nearly impossible. Because people can find you, people who you thought were cool but ended up being crazy. People who have the burning need to call every other day just to “catch up.” Unless you happen to be Jack Bauer, no one needs to catch up that often.

People (in my case, mostly stalkery, close to the edge kind of people) can find you on Facebook (and on MySpace to a certain degree, but the insane seem to love Facebook more) and ask you to be their friend. But then you kind of have to say yes, especially if they are one of those clueless people who don’t know that the distance was intentional.

“Hey, haven’t talked to you in a while! Found you on Facebook, lol! Great to see you still like pudding! Let’s get together soon!” I always read those notes with the stalker music from Friday the 13th playing in my head.

*noise from the end of dark hall* Billy, is that you?

Don’t get me wrong, although I am awesome I don’t think everyone wants to be my friend. I’m loud, and not everyone likes loud. But people wanting to be my friend, especially when I don’t feel the same way, makes me sad. These notes make me feel about two inches tall. They force me to a) relive high school *shudder* or b) relive a crappy job we shared *shudder* or c) remind me what a crappy person I am by repeatedly ignoring your friend requests (Did I mention I suck?).

So thanks, Facebook, for making it completely impossible to disentangle myself from tedious friendships. I don’t know if rekindling friendships with people I don’t particularly like makes be a better person, or just a coward. Now, I have to start the whole distancing process all over again.

Either way, Facebook, I hate you.

Review: The Gates

2010-06-23T05:42:00.000-07:00

If you love paranormal like I do, then you were probably pretty happy to see that ABC’s The Gates premiered last Sunday at ten. That, unfortunately, is past this little girl’s bedtime, so I recorded it and waited to watch it, giddy like a kid before Christmas.

What a complete and total letdown.

The premise is pretty good. An exclusive community where paranormals go to try and live a safe life. Throughout the show there are vague references to a pledge, which we slowly, and through VERY clumsy dialogue, find out means no shifting for weres, no blood for vamps, and maybe no magic for witches (there are two herbalists dueling it out on the show, I’m assuming we’re going to find out one is named Glenda and the other Elphaba or some crap like that).

I wanted to like it. I really did. I sat through stilted dialogue (well, you know that I’m really concerned with getting good grades.) and worn out clichés (OMG, the vampire has a pseudo-British/European accent. That means she’s OLD). Unfortunately, it was about as well executed as an elephant doing ballet. No offense to the elephant.

All of the backstory was dropped like landmines in the middle of conversations (I appreciate you teaching me all you know, character I can’t remember the name of, but now I’m going my own way) and this was when characters weren’t acting like no human being on earth would act (what angsty I-don’t-want-to-move-because-all-my-friends-are-in-Chicago teenager raises his hand the first day of school to analyze the emotional importance of literature? What kid does that on a normal day? In my school, that would have resulted in major ass-kickage) they were making profound statements of BACKSTORY (you know our adopted daughter would never make it in our world. That’s why we moved here, where it’s safe. (And by the way, why does a vamp who doesn’t really want to be a mom adopt?)) Seriously, the highlight of the episode was when the cop’s wife chewed his ass for being, well, a walking, talking stereotype.

The stilted dialogue and uneven characters weren’t even the worst feature of the show. The worst part, which made me cringe a little every time one appeared, was the overabundance of clichés. It was a trainwreck of clichés. They rained down from above like God was crying over used character-types. Seriously, you could play cliché bingo with all of the tropes that appeared within the one hour pilot.
In fact, I did just that:

BINGO!

It was so bad at one point that I wondered if the script had been written by a computer.

I think the worst thing about this episode it that it felt like every other pilot I’ve ever watched. It was like 90210, only the Walsh’s neighbors weren’t just rich, but rich and paranormal. This show was so “meh” that I can’t tell you a single character’s name. None of the characters felt like a real person, just a sterotype. If I hadn’t recorded it, and therefore got to skip the commercials, I probably wouldn’t have even made it through the episode.

Overall, good idea, horrible execution. I’ll probably watch it one more time, just to see if it improves, but if it still sucks I’m done with it.

I give it two out of a possible five splats of awesomesauce, only because the premise is a pretty cool one and I heart anything paranormal.

The Unpubbed Writer Motion Sickness Roller Coaster Addiction Blues

2010-06-15T05:50:00.000-07:00

There are a ton of clichés out there for what it’s like to write. At a recent NJSCBWI conference Catherine Gilbert Murdock compared writing to a drug, and stated that writers write because we are addicted to the awesomeness of the written word (I ad-libbed that a bit, but you get the point). I’ve seen people compare being a writer to a roller coaster, the ups and downs and thrilling loop de loops. But I disagree. For me, being a writer is like being trapped on the Astronaut’s Revenge.

Let me explain.

I used to love to go to carnivals. You know, those ones that pull in with the rusty rides and midway games with toys that are at least ten years past being cool (oh, wow, I could win a stuffed Smurf!). When I lived in Georgia I made the mistake of going to one of these carnivals and getting on the Astronaut’s Revenge, or maybe it was Blast Off. Either way, it was one of those rides that looks like a space shuttle and swings you from side to side really fast before flipping you over and suspending you in mid-air. A lot of amusement parks have them.

At this roadside carnival the ride was being operated by a sadistic man who might have been more than a little drunk. After each ride, which is probably all of a minute and a half, he would slow down the ride, look at the empty queue, and yell “You wanna go again?” At which time all of the kids under the age of fifteen would cheer. After all, it cost like six tickets to ride, and a free ride is a free ride, right?

Yeah, after the fifth ride, I wondered why the Astronaut wanted revenge in the first place. Also, I wanted to kill that carnie.

Twenty minutes later, my husband and I stumbled off of the ride ready to puke. A few kids looked near tears, and even some of the more daring older kids looked a little green. I took three steps and started laughing uncontrollably. I turned to my husband and said “That was the worst ride, EVER. But you know what? I kind of liked it.”

My husband said, “Are you crazy? Oh, I don’t think my hot dogs are sitting so well. What kind of person would do that to themselves? No, seriously, I think I'm going to puke a little. Oh god, the astronaut won!”

As we went to find him a trash can, a nearby group of kids were begging their parents for more tickets, desperate to get back on.

Every time I have a setback, or feel like a story isn’t working, or get a critique that makes me feel like I’m missing something major, I feel like that. I feel like I just spent twenty minutes being swung from side to side, and what started out as fun somehow along the way became sheer torture. I just want off of the ride. Maybe I could do something easier than being a writer. Maybe it’s time to settle down and realize my dream of raising goats. I’d be an awesome goat herder.

But I don’t. Because I love writing. For me, it is an addiction, it is like being on the world’s best roller coaster. Most of all, it’s like being stuck on the Astronaut’s Revenge, and realizing that the nauseous feeling I have is really a lot of fun.

For Love or Money (Why Not Both?)

2010-06-03T05:17:00.000-07:00

Last night I joined #yalitchat, a weekly chat that happens on Twitter and is hosted by YA-5 co-blogger Georgia McBride. The topic was writer advances/pay, and as usual I found the discussion lively and engaging. I was surprised by some of the advice, though, and found it funny that published writers and unpublished writers were pretty split down the middle.

All of the published writers said: you don’t make much, and that sucks. Work hard but don’t quit your day job. Most of the unpublished writers said they were completely unconcerned about money. And I have to be honest, I wondered what planet those people were living on. Because the one I live on requires money, especially if you like nice things.

And I am a girl who likes nice things. Particularly nice things to eat.

Seriously, I found it pretty amusing that every single unpublished writer basically said the same thing: you have to just love writing. Money isn’t important, just getting published would be its own reward.

But can’t I have both? An awesome book that’s published and boatloads of money?

I think there’s this misconception in the writing world that being worried about money makes you somehow less of an artist. It’s like those bands that tour and tour and work their butts off and finally get signed, but then they’re sell outs because they took a huge deal from a big record company and now their single is on Top 40 radio. But isn’t that why they were working so hard in the first place? To get to a larger audience, and maybe one day get paid for reals to play music for people?

I’ve always thought that if you were really good at something someone would pay you to do it. For example, if I was really good at taking my clothes off I would become a stripper. No one would turn to me in the dressing room and roll their eyes and say “Sure you’re making money, but are you really climbing that pole for a love of hanging upside down and showing off your naughty bits? Or are you in this just for the money?” Gasp.

Or to use another analogy: making copies. I like making copies well enough, it gives me a chance to zone out in the middle of the day. But no one ever comes by and says “You’re just making those copies for a paycheck. You don’t really love making copies the way I do.”

Seems pretty silly, huh?

So why do we apply this double standard to writing? There are a ton of writers who’ve made churning out books a business, and they do well. *cough* James Patterson *cough* Should we look down our writerly noses at them just because they took a different approach? Or should we look at what worked for them and try to adapt it to suit our needs?

I think writers need to get away from this suffering artist mentality and focus on what we know is true: it’s really hard to make a living as a writer. Writing a book takes a long time and a lot of work, so you should probably enjoy the process. You need an agent to make sure you can make as much money as possible. And maybe, if you’re lucky, your writing will speak to people and they will come back again and again and you’ll make oodles of money.

Or maybe not.

Everything I Ever Needed to Know I Learned from the Trailer: Inception

2010-05-24T18:16:00.000-07:00

Have you ever noticed that all the good parts of the movie are in those extended trailers you see? Yeah, me, too. That's why I don't even bother going to the movies anymore. I just watch the movie trailer.

For example, here's what we learn from the movie trailer, Inception.

1. I've seen this movie before (Minority Report, The Cell, Identity)
2. Leonardo DiCaprio is not nearly as hot as he was when he filmed this:

or even this.

3. Buildings will fall and bend in on themselves, if only in the landscape of your mind. *Cue suspenseful music*
4. Ellen Page really needs Diablo Cody to write her another movie.
5. Christopher Nolan needs to quit wasting his time on crap and get around to the next Batman (instead of directing movies that just look like the next Batman).

You're welcome.

Second Time Around

2010-04-27T15:13:00.000-07:00

So, I'm on submission. Again. That's mostly why you haven't seen my nonsensical ramblings the past few months (other than the fact that I've been blogging over at the YA-5). I've been a busy little bee, working through rewrites and making my story extra better (through the tears of frustration I cried nightly. Oh, god, why?!? WHY?!?).

And you know what? It worked. (The rewrites, not the crying)

Now my uber-super agent is sending out my MS and I'm on submission again. But this time I am decidedly less nervous. Why? Because the worst thing that can happen already did: a lot of people said no the first go round.

I know a lot of writers think that once you get an agent you have it "made in the shade", to use a term no one under the age of 65 would use. But you don't. You know all that "Why, why why?" and agonized hair pulling you do while trying to land an agent? You get to do that ALL OVER AGAIN when you go on submission. Yeah. Being a writer is a never ending cycle of self loathing and suck.

And I love every minute of it.

But once you realize that you will go on living and your boss at the job you work at (until you get your movie deal based on the bestselling novel) will still ask you stupid questions like who's in charge of the coffee club (it's been the same woman since the dawn of time) and when's your next vacation day (even though you wrote it on the scheduling board two months ago) and oh by the way did you see that email (you know, the one YOU sent her), you start to realize that it's not that big of a deal. Maybe you'll get an epic deal and everyone will be jealous when they see your name on Publisher's Marketplace, and maybe you won't. The important thing is to keep trying.

Honestly. I'm even typing this with a straight face (of course, there's a beer in my hand, but whatever).

So whether you're trying to get published, trying to get an agent, or just trying to get through the week (Friday, where the hell are you?) just remember that:

0% EFFORT = 0% SUCCESS

And that's a formula that works every single time.

Holy Crap!

2010-03-19T11:12:00.000-07:00

So, I just finished Susan Beth Pfeffer's Life as We Knew It, and now I have one more way for the world to end to add to my ever increasing list of things to be afraid of.

Ways the World Will End

1. Meteor crashing into Earth

2. Zombie Plague

3. Huge Natural Disaster (includes tsunamis, eathquakes, and a new Britney Spears album)

4. Financial Meltdown that leads to complete and total anarchy.

5. Bunnies

6. The Moon

I know. The moon, right? Who could be afriad of the freaking moon? Read Pfeffer's book, and you'll see what I mean. Seriously, it gave me almost as many nightmares as The Forest of Hands and Teeth.

In other news, I am toying with the idea of a Super Sekret Project. I'm smack in the middle of Kinda Sekret Project, and it's going rather well, but Super Sekret Project is starting to occupy more and more of my brain. It's loosely based on a part of my life, but not so closely that it would be autbiographical. After all, there will be magic of some sort to make things interesting. :)

Hope everyone is enjoying the Spring that's heading our way, and Happy Reading!

Ridiculousity Abounds

2010-02-26T07:39:00.000-08:00

Hey, guys! If you're wondering where I am, you can come visit me hanging out with the YA-5. Check out my post on how I survive reading the classics. This time, I'm discussing The Lord of the Flies.

Doesn't that sound like fun?

OMG, Where Have You Been?

2010-02-15T07:47:00.000-08:00

Okay, this is that perfunctory, "sorry I haven't been blogging in a while" post everyone does when they, you guessed it, haven't blogged in a long time. I was surprised to see it's been almost a month since my last post, so I figured I should post something. So here it is.

Winter sucks. I was snowed in for two days, and now there's supposed to be more snow. Plus, I'm in the middle of rewrites with my agent, since my book on submission did not sell. I could throw out a line about the shortsightedness of the editors of the publishing industry, but who are we kidding? My ego isn't that big, and I'm always the person who thinks it's my fault things when things go to hell. So, I am rewriting. Which is actually kind of fun. We'll see how it turns out.

So, for everyone on the East coast surviving snowpocalypse: I feel your pain. For everyone who lives somewhere warm and is wearing shorts right now: I hate you. A lot.

Steampunk or How Cool Would a Robot Abe Lincoln from 1864 Be?

2010-01-25T07:04:00.000-08:00

A couple weeks ago I was in the bookstore looking at a copy of Leviathan by Scott Westerfield. I was debating whether to use my coupon to buy it or not when some kid wearing a camouflaged jacket (which, ironically, made him stand out) walked up to the table and picked up a different copy of the book. I flipped through the illustrations. The guy did the same and then looked at me. "Is this any good?" he asked.

Now, I'm not quite sure why this happens, but people are always asking me questions when I'm in the book store. It's not because I'm friendly. I hate roughly 99.5% of all humanity (children are my one exception). I've come to the conclusion that I must look officious, standing there in the Young Adult section and weighing the pros and cons of certain books. I've taken it as my lot in life to be the Decider of What Books You Should Read.

So I straightened my shoulders, cleared my throat, and told the guy in my most official voice. "I haven't read it yet, but it's steampunk."

To which he nodded and replied. "Cool. Is that like a band or something?"

So, for those of you who don't live your life as firmly in Geekland as I do, here are the basics on steampunk.

Steampunk is awesome. That is all.

Imagine if the Civil War ended and Abe Lincoln was shot like history tells us, only he was brought back as a half cyborg, half man creature a la Robocop. He'd have a shiny gold watch, top hat, and a machine gun arm, and he'd enforce Reconstruction by blowing sh*t up. That's steampunk.

Or what if there was a catastrophic earthquake at the 1893 Chicago's World Fair which split open the door between our world and one inhabited by all those things that go bump in the night. All of a sudden humans have to contend with demons and vampires while still planning a civilized dinner to introduce the Duchess of Wiltshire to the American Peerage during her world tour. That's steampunk.

I love steampunk because it combines some of the cooler aspects of Victorian culture (corsets! parasols! high tea!) with the stuff that makes sci-fi and fantasy so awesome. And I'm not the only one who feels this way. In the past few months it seems like there's been a definite expansion of steampunk books being released. Which is awesome. Because you can never have too many brass accoutrements.

In fact, here's an awesome list you can refer to courtesy of Goodreads. I personally agree that Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials Trilogy is some o' the best that steampunk has to offer. So get out there and read some (more) steampunk.

Your official Decider of What Books You Should Read has spoken.

How to Series: Zombie Apocalypse

2010-01-19T06:14:00.000-08:00

Today I was going to post a helpful entry on how to do your own book trailer, but Nathan Bransford beat me to it. So instead I'm going to give you some advice you can really use: How to Survive the Zombie Apocalypse.

Zombies are everywhere these days. Those that don’t have them want them, and those that do…are running for their lives. So in honor of National Hug a Zombie Day (January 20)*, I grace you with my tips for surviving a zombie attack.

1. Triage the situation

Before you make any hasty moves it’s important to know what variety of zombie you’re dealing with. Are these the slow, lumbering beasts of George Romero fame, or are these the quick, clever creatures from the 28 Days franchise? Remember that not all zombies are created equal.

2. Choose Your Weapons

It’s important to have the right equipment for fending off the zombies desperate for you flesh (or brains, as the case may be). Some of the more favored weapons are shotguns, chainsaws, and the coup de grace, the .50 Cal. If you don’t have a lot of upper body strength these weapons may be out of your league. Unless, of course, you have one permanently affixed to replace your amputated leg.

3. It’s All About the Wheels

In the case that you find yourself sans weapons and running for your life it’s important to have good transportation. The idea is to travel in something large enough and heavy enough that a few bodies are no more damaging than hitting a cat. Military grade vehicles which are conveniently located at your nearest armory/military base are highly recommended (check out the Army’s selection of .50 Cal’s while you are there). Just remember, a motorcycle might seem like the ideal escape vehicle, but it’s almost inevitable that a zombie will knock you over and you’ll have to watch your best friend be devoured by the starving horde.

4. Location, location, location

There really isn’t any right location to wait out the zombie apocalypse, but there are plenty of wrong locations. Military bases, abandoned labs, shopping malls, and warehouses all have the potential of becoming death traps. You can’t really go wrong by fortifying yourself in a nice gated community or posh suburb. Just remember: Yuppie zombies are the worst zombies of all. They don’t go down easy, and while they are eating your brains they will probably complain about your lack of customer service and how last year’s brains were so much better.

So, those are the basics. I’ve also included a helpful flow chart to help you triage your best course of action quickly and with relatively little chance of being eaten. Just remember: the only way to truly survive a zombie apocalypse is to be the Main Character. So it never hurts to pray that you aren’t supporting cast.

*National Hug a Zombie Day is an annual event, but was canceled last year due to numerous injuries.

YA Books I'd Like to See

2010-01-15T07:15:00.000-08:00

I have a secret to confess: I am addicted to Publisher's Marketplace. Everyday, first thing in the morning, I check out the deals page and obsess over what's selling and what's not. Sometimes I'm pleasantly surprised, and I think "Dammit, why didn't I write that?" Other times, not so much. But lately I've been praying to see certain books make it into Publisher's Marketplace, hoping that someone out there is working on the plot. So here are the YA books I'd like to read:

1. A steampunk romance featuring breakdancing zombies who wear corsets and carry parasols. Tentative Title: You Got Served Brains for High Tea

2. A Bollywood type story set in the middle of Gandhi's fight for independence featuring a trio of swashbuckling pirates who don't believe in violence. Tentative Title: Mahatma's Peaceful Marauders

3. A story featuring a wayward ninja working in a fast food chain while he searches for the man who killed his father. Tentative Title: Ninja Burger

4. ~~A story about a not so good mad scientist and the platypus who foils his evil plans. Tentative Title: The Curse of the Doofenschmirtz~~ Never mind.

5. A story about vampires who actually drink blood and kill people. You know, like in the olden days. Tentative Title: The Vampires Who are Scary and Kill People Like in the Old Days

Thoughts?

76. Hawaii Five-0

2010-01-02T11:00:00.000-08:00

So, for Thanksgiving on the YA-5 I posted 365 things I was thankful for. The goal this year is to do a short blog post for each one, ensuring that this poor blog doesn’t become dusty again, and also giving you a glimpse into my poor, wretched brain.

76. Hawaii Five-0

Chicken Fingers or The Fickleness of Awesome Books

2009-12-29T10:58:00.000-08:00

I love chicken fingers. I mean I really, really LOVE chicken fingers. My waistline is a testament to the fact. What in the world could be better than chicken, dipped in batter and deep fried?

Nothing, I say. N-O-T-H-I-N-G!

And there are so many different, delicious variations on the chicken strip. Popeye's has a killer one that is spicy and crispy, while McDonald's is more of a homemade kind of flavor. Yum, can you say an extra hour on the treadmill?

So it's always a bit of a disappointment when I find a chicken strip that isn't good. You know that feeling, when you bite into a food that looks awesome, that you've had a dozen times, but just doesn't satisfy? You start to think "What's wrong with me? I love chicken strips. Have they somehow magically lost their appeal?" And then you realize it isn't you, it's the chicken strip.

I've had this same issue several times in the past months with books. I've picked up books hyped to the gills, books with gorgeous covers and all the right ingredients including but not limited to: forbidden love, inconvenient truths, determined heroines, paranormal activity, socially awkward girls and et cetera, etc. And you know what? Most of them made me say "Meh."

Were they good and I missed it? Is there something wrong with me? I do like romance, but hate the overdone purple-y prose kind of romance. There's something about it that makes my teeth hurt. Maybe that was the problem. For a while, I was beginning to think maybe I had issues.

Well, I do have issues, but those are beside the subject.

But then last night I picked up a book with the exact same ingredients as a book I read earlier this year. And you know what? It rocked. Enough so that I forgot to make dinner and my husband was looking at me at around eight and wondering if he was going to get to eat.

It's got me thinking about books, and how things can come together so right or so wrong for folks. It's made me appreciate how fickle and flawed and wonderful writing is, and how unpredictable. There is no way to know what will work and what won't work until you try it. Which has led me to my one true resolution for next year: I will write the thing I least expect myself to write. I will push the boundaries of my abilities. I will reinvent the wheel on my terms, do the things that I fear, and generally be just as awesome as always.

I've had a pretty good year this year, and I'm hoping next year is even better.

An Ode to My Agent

2009-12-11T08:46:00.000-08:00

Today is Agent Appreciation Day, and I would be so totally remiss if I did not pay homage to my own Agent Awesome, Caren Johnson Estesen. So here is why my agent rawks:

1. She's honest: Caren doesn't sugarcoat things. When I got my first set of revisions back she was spot on in her corrections and questions. I dig that.

2. She's fun: I just went to NYC this past week and had lunch with both Caren and Elana Roth (who I'd originally sent my query to, but passed it on to Caren). I had a wonderful time, and the food was awesome. Caren answered all the questions I had truthfully and honestly, and I felt much better about my own crappy writing afterwards. Plus, I had a really good time. Which is awesome because I hate almost everyone. ;)

3. She gets me: After getting comments on my writing that I felt were so far out of left field they made me go "huh?", Caren understood the goal of my writing, and her keen insight has helped me improve my work. Not everyone writes dark, moody books, and I like that Caren gets that and can appreciate a fun book. Especially since that's what I write.

So, Happy Happy Agent Appreciation Day, Caren!

Some Thoughts on The “Enfeebled Heroine”

2009-11-30T07:16:00.000-08:00

Ever since the release of New Moon the same old arguments about the flaws of Bella Swan (as though that name isn’t awful enough) have resurfaced. She’s weak, she needs a man (a semi-psychotic blood sucking one) to complete her. The writing is terrible. Blah, blah, blah.

The thing is, no one cares.

Don’t get me wrong. I got about halfway through the book when I tossed it across the room. It is poorly written, the prose so purple it could audition to play grapes on television.

But Twilight is not the first and is far from the last series to do this. Other books have come out to challenge Twilight’s reign of girldom, including the emo laden Shiver (which I read and did not throw across the room only because it was on my Kindle) and Evermore (same story). These books did not appeal to me because of their over the top emotional content. It’s the same reason I don’t read a lot of romances or watch a lot of chick flicks. About halfway through the book/movie I just want to throttle both of the characters. That’s not to say I don’t like romance. I just like my romance with a heavy dose of action, or mystery, or something besides the back and forth of trying to make a relationship work.

And I think this is where I pull in the argument about the “enfeebled heroine.” There’s been a lot of concern lately that much of YA is trending towards these wilting violets who sit around pining away for the Perfect Man. The argument revolves around the lack of action most of these heroines have in their stories. They sort of stand patiently by while things happen. It’s is only when their “Truwe Wuv” is threatened that they do anything.

The problem is, this is the model for about 85% of the traditional romances that are out there. To make war on the enfeebled heroine is to make war on a good portion of the romance industry. Women enjoy romance. But the majority of women enjoy romance novels that same way as men enjoy Fantasy Football. It’s fun, it’s an escape, and when the last page is turned reality will come crashing back. It doesn’t mean that women will model their relationships off of what they read. No more than fan boys will build plasma rays in order to achieve world domination.

It’s just a fantasy. If you don’t think the Twi-hards know this you aren’t giving them enough credit. That being said, if there was never another Bella Swan-esque character written I’d be deliriously happy, but I’m not so self involved as to think that will happen. I felt the same way about Harry Potter. It’s mostly because I am very anti-bandwagon, unless it is my own.

Every time I read one of these rants I’m reminded of the battle within academia against historical fiction. In both of my programs many of the professors were aghast at the popularity of books like Devil in the White City. Sure, they cared, but the average reader could care less. It’s a compelling read. Sometimes people just want to read without having facts jammed down their throat.

The truth is, most folks don’t analyze a novel any deeper than whether they enjoyed it or not. The average person does not notice the over usage of dialogue tags or adjectives. They want to know if there is a happily ever after involved. I’m the same way when I read for pleasure. Although I may note a particularly evocative passage I care way more about the story than the social ramifications of what I read. It this shallow? Maybe. But not all of us are looking for some deeper meaning in what we read. Sometimes the enjoyment of reading an exciting story is enough.

Chock Full of Awesome

2009-11-13T08:42:00.000-08:00

I've been spending more time these days reading than writing. There are two reasons for that. #1: I'm supposed to be doing NaNo. So of course, the more I'm supposed to write, the less I want to. #2: There are a ton of awesome looking books out there.

Some really cool books have come out in the past few months. I'm kind of picky with the books I read, mostly because I have very little time. Also, I got a little burned out on the urban fantasy thing earlier this year, and it's been hard to find stuff the piqued my interest. I read pretty fast, but I hate to waste my time with books that ultimately disappoint (I'm looking at you, Maze Runner). So here are my top five books of awesome, in no particular order:

1. Hunger Games and Catching Fire: If you haven't heard the hype about these books you may have been living under a rock. Not judging, just stating the truth. These books are so full of action, tension, just a smidge of romance...that you may need to take a break after reading these books. Seriously. Reading anything else can be the literary equivalent of watching black and white television after a week watching 1080p HD. You've been warned.

2. Ballads of Surburbia: This book had some of the best characterization I've read in a long time. I usually don't care for contemporary YA, but this book had me hooked. Sure, it's set in the 90s (and as an aging hipster I'll always have a special place in my heart for grunge) but the characters literally came to life, something that few books do for me.

3. Graceling and Fire: Again, two books that had me glued to my seat with anticipation. Although I liked Fire much better than Graceling, I think it's because I liked the storyline better, not because of any flaw with the writing. Both stories are definitely the kind of books you want to grab you Snuggie and curl up with.

4. Liar: This one kind of took me by surprise. I finished the book, and thought it was kind of "meh." But the story stayed with me, until I finally decided that I really liked it after all. I had to reread the ending, as there is a twist in the book that will stop you dead in your tracks. The character of Micah is very likable, despite all of her flaws. I loved how she pretended to give it to you straight, only to realize later that she may have exaggerated things. It leaves you at the end thinking, "So what else did she lie about?"

5. I don't have a number five, but I hate lists that end with an awkward number (and not a base ten number). Besides, there were more than five books in that list, anyway. So what do you think number five (really number seven disguised as five) should be? I'm always looking for another book to read. Leave your recommendations in the comments.

Making Faces

2009-11-09T14:32:00.000-08:00

It's recently caught my attention that anyone who is ANYONE gets arrested. Seriously. Gone are the days that mugshots were for criminals and driver's licenses. Now, if you want to be A-List you need to get arrested and have your picture taken by an officer of the law.

This goes doubly so if you are black. I'm not making this up. Even black professors are getting arrested. It's getting so a girl can't turn on the television without a prominent black person getting arrested.

Now, I'm only half black, so it seems like my chances of not getting arrested are a little better. For the average black person, the chances of being arrested vs. their white counterparts is two to three times greater (but don't take my word for it). That means...if I split the difference...carry the one...and multiply it by two for my awesomeness...I'm definitely going to end up arrested if I get even a teeny bit famous.

Seriously, it's science. You can't argue with science.

So, I've decided I need to come up with my mugshot beforehand so that I'm not suprised when the fateful day arrives.

There's several different routes I can go with this. There's the "Who, me?"

The "Yearbook Time!"

Or even, my personal favorite, the "WTF?"

But if it came down to it, I'd probably go with the "You can NOT be serious."

I use this face at work. A LOT.

Yup, definitely that one.

If you want to pick out your mugshot (you know, in case you ever become famous), The Smoking Gun has a great website. Enjoy!

The Art of Taking a Punch

2009-11-06T10:18:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite lines ever is from the movie Fight Club, one of the few book to movie adaptations that rocked. In the movie there's this scene between Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt) and The Narrator (Edward Norton) where they stumble outside after drinking all night and Tyler asks The Narrator to hit him. He declines, and Tyler laughes and asks if he's ever been in a fight. When the Narrator says no, Tyler mocks him.

"How much can you know about yourself, you've never been in a fight?"

For me, this is a great analogy for getting critiques on your writing. How much can you know about your writing if you've never had an honest, brutal, no holds barred critique?

Now, I know, critique can be painful. It can feel like sending a child to run out to play in traffic. There's your poor, defenseless manuscript that you've labored over for months and here comes the red pen (or the comment editor in Word), leaving a trail of bright red comments and corrections...

Oh, god, the humanity!

But once you calm down you will realize the world has continued spinning and there might be some really good points in there. That's why it's important to not act like a jerk when you get you critique back. I've done a lot of critiques and I've gotten some pretty brutal critiques. Personally, the more scathing the critique, the better. Now, I'm not talking about a generic "This sucked" response. That helps no one. But a well thought out "Your chracter's reponse here doesn't seem realistic" is always helpful. Why? Because if a critiquer sees that then a reader definitely will, and your book will end up back on the shelf or tossed across the room. If you even get that far.

So here are some tips to learning to take a literary punch when they're aimed in your direction:

1. Thank the reader for their opinions. Whether an email, a thank you after they say their piece, or a hastily mumbled acknowledgement while you blink back tears, you should always thank people for taking the time to read your work. Even if they don't offer a single helpful tip, they did you a favor. Act like it.

2. Don't argue. I think this is the hardest one for people to get. Don't argue with the critiquer about their opinions. Once more for the cheap seats: DON'T ARGUE! If someone pointed out a flaw in your writing arguing is not going to fix it. You explaining why you did it will not make the element work. Rewriting will. When in doubt, follow the golden rule of writing: if you have to explain your story to someone who's just read it, it didn't work. Your writing has to stand on its own.

3. Read/listen to the criticism now, examine it later. There should always be a cooling off period for criticism. Read what the person wrote, but don't make any decisons as to whether or not you think the criticism is valid until much later, preferably with chocolate and beer around.

4. Judge the criticism honestly. We all know that not all feedback is good feedback, but sometimes it is. No, I don't believe you should change the name of your main character because someone said it reminded them of their grandma, but if you have a couple folks tell you the plot feels thin...well, you should probably pay attention.

5. Ask questions. If someone's feedback is unclear, ask them to explain it more fully. Keep in mind, this is different than number two. Asking someone "Can you tell me why you thought her brother was a weak character?" is different than saying "They're supposed to be latch key kids, that's why the parents aren't there." Questions ask, arguing tells the critiquer why they are wrong.

6. Return the favor if asked. This is one of my personal pet peeves. You read another person's work, spending a couple hours on typing up notes, and when you ask them to return the favor...nothing. Always, always, always offer to return the favor for critiquers. If they don't write, take them to lunch or buy them some chocolate. But you should always be grateful someone took the time to read your writing.

I truly believe being able to take criticism in the foundation of good writing. People unwilling to listen to criticism, unwilling to take that metaphorical punch, never improve. They don't get published, and instead spend their time bemoaning the "crap" that does. Listen folks, if ya wanna get in the ring, ya gotta take a punch. It's just like Tyler Durden says: sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken. Writing without getting feedback does not make you a writer. Okay, it might, but not a very good one.

Don't be afraid to take it on the chin.

NaNoWriMo!!!!

2009-10-23T08:38:00.000-07:00

NaNoWriMo. No, it's not a contagious disease, it's National Novel Writing Month. Every November, writers all over the U.S. start out November hoping to write a novel in a month. Some fail, some succeed, but everyone learns something about themselves and their writing during that magical thirty days.

I've decided I'm going to do NaNoWriMo. Lately, I've found myself in this hypercritical slump, where I write three pages and erase two. Instead of giving the writing a chance to work, I hack it off before it has a chance to put down roots. If this is the kind of writer you are, NaNoWriMo may be for you.

One of the rules of NaNo-you get the point-is that you aren't supposed to edit as you go along. You write. Just write. After you've typed in THE END (if you do that sort of thing) then you can go back and edit, but not during the process. This sounds heavenly to someone who's become trapped in a vicious, word count decimating, circle.

So I am going to NaNo. Yes, it can be a verb. ;)

So far I have a pretty good idea of what my story is going to be. It's going to be a little different from what I usually write, most likely darker, but I think it will still turn out reasonably well. I'm going to write the same story from two different first person POVs, which I think is going to be tough. Luckily, I'll have Scribner to help me keep track.

So, I'm looking forward to November. It's probably the first November I've ever looked forward to. Anyone else?

Sick

2009-10-19T15:20:00.000-07:00

I'm sick today. This wouldn't be a big deal normally, but I had wanted to get a couple more chapters done this week. I'm trying to get to halfway on my current WIP (work in progress for newbies to the writerly lingo) before throwing myself into my NaNoWriMo, which is coincidentally titled Sick. But, being sick, writing is down and whining is up. Everything aches, and the thought of trying to write a scene makes my head pound.

So I'm consoling myself with a blog post. :)

Am I the only one who finds it impossible to do anything but stare at the telly when they're under the weather? Even reading a book (I'd planned on starting Stephanie Kuehnert's Ballads of Suburbia since it's sitting on my Kindle begging to be read) sounds onerous.

So is it just me? Or does everyone else feel completely unmotivated when they're under the weather?

Leave your comments next to the hand sanitizer.

Taking Inspiration from Real Life

2009-10-14T09:19:00.000-07:00

I often hear my writerly friends say things like "I wanna write but I don't know what to write." Sensible me, I always tell them to write about something that's happened in their real life. My friends, knowing that I can be the opposite of helpful, usually look at me and say something along the lines of "But my life is so boring."

Now, I will be the first to say that my life is not exciting. In fact, most of my stories have a fantastical element to them just to add in some excitement. But today I realized that little things can be very funny.

Like the fact that there is a mariachi band playing in my office RIGHT NOW!

I am deadly serious. At exactly noon a mariachi band began playing in my office. Today is some sort of cultural potluck. Anti-social hermit that I am, my plan was to work through lunch. That is a little hard when the mariachi version of "Ring of Fire" is blaring right outside your cubicle.

At first I was angry. Honestly, I don't work through lunch by choice. But then I realized how funny it was. If you could see these guys, horn section and all crammed in between a carpeted cubicle wall and the copier, you would see what I mean.

But it's the random moments like this that make writing possible. Seriously, no matter how crazy the situations are that you make up, real life is always much, much crazier.

So seize onto the awful moments of your life. They may be fodder for your next bestseller.

Your Story is not a Snowflake (Mine Either!)

2009-10-11T10:00:00.000-07:00

Friday night I watched a brand new Law and Order. This is usually a cause for mini celebration, but this week’s episode was just “meh.” Normally the Law and Order formula (Ripped from the Headlines Situation+Steely Eyed Detectives+Idealistic Attorneys+One Incredible OMG Plot Twist=TV Deliciousness) works for me in ways even I can’t understand (especially when you trade the Steely Eyed Detectives for the Quirky Unstable-with-a-Past Detectives). But on Friday I sat there watching and I was less than entertained. In fact I was so NOT entertained I considered vacuuming my living room carpet during the incredible Moment of Truth scene towards the end.

Cue “Dum DUM.”

This is bothersome, because in the past Law and Order has been the one franchise I can usually count on to entertain me. There isn’t a lot of good writing on television IMO (I’m looking at you, CSI Miami) and Law and Order has been sometimes been the exception. I was still thinking about this when I went to the SCBWI Fall Philly conference on Saturday.

I was in the lunch line (the club had a delicious tomato artichoke soup that I’m still thinking about). I overheard a woman in front of me say this:

“Well, I don’t understand why he didn’t like it. There’s nothing else on the market like it. It’s so different!!”

The first thing I thought of was my lame Law and Order episode, and how it was probably pitched as being different. But it wasn’t. No episode of Law and Order is really all that different. Maybe it’s because of the formula, maybe because there aren’t all that many variations for murder, but there is always a Law and Order that is similar to another Law and Order (no matter how Ripped from the Headlines it is).

Look, no matter how entertaining your story is, there is an excellent chance that there is something out there just like it. Your work can’t just stand on its uniqueness, and it doesn’t have to. In fact, if Law and Order has shown us nothing else it’s that a formula can work (many times over). The key is the execution, not necessarily the formula itself.

There are, of course, notable exceptions.

So don’t strive for different, strive for excellent. And if you really do believe your story is COMPLETELY different, leave the storyline in the comments. I guarantee you I can name something similar.

Revisions, or, What Was I Thinking When I Wrote That?!?

2009-10-05T17:27:00.000-07:00

Okay, so my revisions have gone back to Agent Awesome and I'm feeling pretty good about my writing abilities. So what do I do when I start feeling a little froggy? Do I go back and read earlier pieces that I either

a) started and never finished due to some unknown plotting issue

b) finished, read, and gave up on

c) wrote, submitted, and got rejected

d) all of the above.

If you said "d", you may be a writer.

I usually have a couple projects that I begin and then either give up on because the next whiz bang idea comes along or because I get six chapters (about seventy pages) into the damn thing and get stuck. I mean, plot line from hell kind of stuck. For some reason, if I can get past the quicksand of Chapter 7, 8, 9 I'm okay. But if I don't...into the back up folder you go.

So I was reading some of these earlier attempts from a year ago when I first decided I was going to be Serious Writer and I almost cried. Seriously. Little girl-someone-just-killed-my-puppy tears. Because it was so BAD. I couldn't believe that I had actually written the crap.

So today's lesson: not everything gets better with age. Sometimes it's just better to delete the old stuff.

In other news, I'm working on my bio, and I realize I'm a very boring person. Eh, who knew?

Can I get a WOOT WOOT!

2009-09-15T06:03:00.001-07:00

Last Friday I got The Call...you know, the awkward call with an agent where you get excited and breathless and feel a little bit like you are going to puke.

I got an Offer of Representation!!!

*Cue Trumpets*

It was awesome, it was exhilarating, it was everything I'd imagined it would be and more. But in all of my imaginings I had never accounted for having to contact the other agents who had my manuscript and telling them the good news, and giving them a chance to offer also.

I REALLY never imagined having not one, but two offers on the table, and possibly a third.

Oy.

Now, I've always read those agent blogs where they talk about this happening, and I thought it was a fluke. I'll be lucky to find one person who likes my writing let alone two, right?

Wrong. Keep working, keep writing about the things you love (even when someone tries to steal your first chapter, ack!), don't get discouraged, and keep going. Because if it can happen to me then it can happen to you.

Now, I'm off to hyperventilate.

Maybe You Should Rethink Your Genre

2009-09-10T07:09:00.000-07:00

This week Nathan Bransford had an interesting post about whether or not children's books should be censored/rated (same difference in my mind). My answer was a resounding 'no.' I wasn't surprised by the answers people gave, but I was surprised by the lack of knowledge about children's books categories, and some of this by people who claimed to be children's writers or YA writers and yet still were concerned about a little cussing.

Do people even have a clue what it's like to be a teenager these days? It wasn't that long ago that I was in high school, but I remember sex, drugs, and other illicit topics being daily fare in the rumor mill. Do the adults writing these teen books really think kids don't cuss or do stupid things like smoke?

I've gotten some concerned looks from my critique group for having my characters drop an occaisional F-bomb or reference another character's sexual orientation or racial profiling. I think that people who are intending young adults as their primary audience need to be a little more aware of what is out there, and I mean in the real world AND book land. As a writer, I don't think I do anyone a service by downplaying what real life is like. Especially teenagers. I've always felt that if you write down to teenagers then they will call you on it, and your book sales will justifiably suffer.

Bottom line: If you don't want to write books that address the problems teenagers are dealing with (even in passing), perhaps you need to write for a younger audience. No matter what, the writing must feel authentic.

Am I Being Ripped Off? Or is it Just My Imagination?

2009-08-11T15:49:00.000-07:00

I've never been one of those writers who thought their idea was so awesomely special as to be some unique snowflake of a plot. I've always scoffed at other writers I met who did feel that way, thinking they were silly and too self involved. So when I saw what looked like someone ripping off the opening of my first chapter of my new WIP my first thought was "I need to take a break."

My second thought was "W-T-F?!?"

Last week I talked about my internet critique group where we exchange chapters and then send the work back. I had accidentally deleted the email from one of the participants in the group, and they had emailed me a fresh copy with the description of "something new they were working on." I thought that was cool, since I wasn't a hundred percent in love with the thing they'd sent before.

When I read the first few sentences I though "Huh, this seems familiar."

By page two I was wondering if I had read it before.

By page four I was reading aloud to my husband and comparing it to similar passages in my first chapter.

By page six I was done, and made the decision I wasn't reading anymore.

It's not just that a good portion of my ideas were stolen (yeah, I know, you can't really steal an idea), it was that the series of events coupled with the distinct details of my character was more than similar. They were all the same. Setting, description of the character, flippant remarks. By the time I got to a conversation that was only slightly different (and I mean one or two words) than what I wrote I was angry.

But what to do? If I contact the other members of the group I risk being the crazy lady who thinks her writing is "spee-shull". If I don't, then they run the risk of this unoriginal bastard (and I'm being nice) stealing their setting, characters, plot points, etc. I could feel flattered, but I don't. I'm angry, especially since she stole my bits and rewrote them badly, when she even rewrote them at all.

I think for now I'm done with online crit groups. I still have two groups I meet with in person, and if one of them steals my story (imagine John Turturro in Secret Window) I can pound them into pulp.

Because although violence is frowned upon in our society, punching someone who has wronged you is strangely therapeutic.

Define Black for Me

2009-08-07T18:15:00.000-07:00

Recently there was much internets hubbub about Justine Larbalestier's cover for her upcoming U.S. release of the book Liar. The MC (main character) is supposed to be a black girl, but the publisher originally had shopped around a white cover, and many (myself included) thought this was because it is believed that covers with black MCs don't sell as well.

You know, unless you're Zane or Eric Jerome Dickey or Barack Obama.../end snark.

Back to the point...on the Editorial Anonymous blog there were several comments about the character not being black (or black enough, I guess). This bothered me, because this idea of being black (enough) is one that's always troubled me. Growing up the product of a white mother and a black father I was always considered "black" by default because of the color of my skin (I'm somewhere between a Hershey bar and coffee with lots of cream). This never really mattered to me until the summer I was nine.

That year we went to visit my father's family in Texas for the first time. I met my cousins, and while I was talking to them they began to make fun of me, asking why I talked so funny. Thinking it was my West Coast accent I shrugged it off, until one of my older cousins pointed and said to me "You talk like a white girl!"

Apparently proper usage of be verbs made me white.

From that first realization that I didn't truly qualify as black (to some) I've had dozens of the same types of moments, so it irritates me every time I read an MC who happens to be black and follows the same tired tropes.

Look, you can write a black MC and not have them a) live in the inner city b) live in the Deep South c) be pregnant at a young age or get someone pregnant at a young age d)use be verbs improperly e) be wanted for a crime f) be in a gang or g) be really good at sports. Can we please, please, please write about black women who aren't necessarily sassy and running hair salons or going through man troubles because her man is a dog (okay, that's not necessarily a black thing, but it seems a common trope).

Cause, honestly, I consider myself black, and I've never done any of the above (okay, I lived in Savannah for a while, but I didn't really consider it the Deep South). One of the things I love about reading are characters that surprise me. It would be nice if more often those characters were of color, any color. Let the character's story be their story, and please, remember, just because your character is a minority doesn't mean their story has to be about being a minority.

How about those be verbs?

An Ode To Critique Groups

2009-08-05T10:30:00.000-07:00

Ah, it's Wednesday, which means tonight I go to my bi-weekly critique group. This got me thinking about the nature of critique groups, and what a mixed bag they can be.

I belong to three or so critique groups. One is strictly online, and more of a "hey, whaddya think of this?" kind of group. Submissions are sporadic, but response is quick and comprehensive, which is cool. The problem with this group is that you don't want to be the jerk who sends something every five minutes while everyone else is sending out things once a month.

My second critique group is one I found through SCBWI. If you write YA or younger novels and don't know what SCBWI is, you need to join, STAT! This group of ladies (yes, all female) is insightful and their recommendations are dead on, the kind that make you think "Why didn't I see that?" The only drawback to this group? We only meet once a month, which for me isn't nearly enough.

My third group, the one I'll be attending tonight, meets every two weeks. It's an assortment of all sorts of writers, and for the most part I enjoy it. But, like my other two groups, there are drawbacks. The biggest one is people unable to understand that YA doesn't = sanitized. My characters curse, they drink, and sometimes they might smoke pot. This isn't glorified, but presented in an honest and straiftforward manner. You know why? Because I write about teenagers, and teenagers smoke pot, drink, and cuss (look at the statistics, if you don't believe me). My Wednesday folks have a tendency to get so bogged down by the fact that my character said "shit" that they completely neglect to look at anything else. It's hard when people aren't familiar with your genre.

We also have a couple of folks who are not word economists like I am, and they usually ask me for more detail about the setting and the color of character's hair, etc. Which is fair enough, since I usually tell them their rambling paragraph about the architechture isn't interesting. Turn around is fair play, after all.

And I guess that's what writers need to remember when they join crit groups. It's not a matter of cheating if you need more than one crit group to get you through. My three crit groups satisfy my needs just fine. I rarely get contradictory advice, and I also recognize good criticism, especially when I get it more than once.

Now, if I could just land an agent. :)

Riding the Tide

2009-07-29T12:34:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago I started querying my new novel, BH&O, and I have to tell you it's been rough. When I started querying my first book I was certain I'd land an agent, but several queries later (okay, 50 or so) I realized it wasn't them, it was me. Even though my book had gotten to the final 100 of the Amazon Breakthrough Novel award, no one wanted to represent it. Maybe it was a formulaic plot (check), maybe it was an overused trope (double check).

A month later I saw REALLY saw why. My book was a Faerie book, and sometime in the spring about thirty faierie books were released. I'd missed the Farie train, so even if my novel were spotless (which it wasn't) I would still have trouble getting it anywhere.

Okay, take Two.

This time I'm coming out with a completely new idea, something not being done (a lot) in fiction. And I'm still getting "no". Why?

I have no idea.

That's the worst thing about writing. You do it for the most part in a vacuum. I have crit groups who say my writing is good, but until I score a cotract that means precious little. So you plunk away, hoping that somone will pull you out of the sea like an interesting piece of driftwood.

Until then, you just ride the tide.

It's too bad I'm starting to feel waterlogged. :(

2009-07-07T05:50:00.000-07:00

While walking through the vaunted halls of my favorite bookseller the other day I saw that Lauren Conrad had written a book. You know, Lauren Conrad, the blond girl with all of the frenemies on the Hills. Come on, you know what the Hills is, right? It’s pseudo-reality show shown 22 hours a day on MTV (Real World is the other two hours).

And before you ask…no, it wasn’t a Hollywood tell-all a lá Tori Spelling. It was a real book. With a plot, and maybe some punctuation.

W…T…F.

If you’ve ever listened to five minutes of the dialog on The Hills (I was just flipping past, I swear) you’d know why that’s surprising. Not only that, but the book is about a girl who starts an internship in L.A. and…wait for it…gets her own reality show. GASP! Can you believe it? I mean, the plot is so original, how could publishers turn her down?

Which makes me think I am working waaaay too hard to finish a well written book and submit it to agents in the hopes they will one day sell it to a publisher. So I present to you, Teh Awe-Some Sauce’s Easy Guide to Publishing

Step 1: Get rich. You can do it by winning the lottery, being born into a family of TV ad execs, or robbing a bank. Any way you do it, you need to get that paper. After all, no one wants to read books by poor people.

Step 2: Star in your own Faux Reality Show. Once you’re rich this will be a piece of gluten free, fat free cake. You’re rich, so obviously you’ll know tons of people who work in television, you’ll meet them at all of the fabulous parties you go to just to stand around and look fabulous.

Step 3: Write a Book. Yes, it is just that easy. You’re rich now. EVERYONE will want to read your story. And after all, you can afford to hire John Grisham to be your ghost writer.

So, are you still thinking that getting published is hard? Well, luckily for you I have a back up plan. Try Teh Awe-Some Sauce’s Back Up Plan to Publishing

Step 1: Become the Governor of South Carolina. How hard can that be?

Step 2: Fly to Argentina to have Sex. Bonus points if she’s a dear, dear friend.

Step 3: Get Caught. Not as easy as it sounds, but making sure a reporter sees you in the air terminal helps.

Step 4: Offer a Public, Incoherent, Rambling Apology that Makes even Your Pastor Shake his Head in Amazement. Referring often to the magic of the affair is a good way to ensure even the stalwart members of your party start to see you as an idiot.

Step 5: Sit back and Watch the Offers Roll In. Ohhh, yeaaaaah.

See? And you thought publishing was difficult. Well, I’m off to win the lottery. See you on the bookshelves!

Worst Marketing Attempt Ever

2009-06-26T05:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Mr. Awe-some Sauce and I went to see a movie. We don't get out very much since we had baby Awe-some Sauce, but we do set aside Thursdays. So yesterday we went to see Year One, changed our mind at the last minute and saw instead the Taking of Pelham123. It was good. Of course it was. It had Denzell. DEN-ZELLL!!!!!

But while walking into the movie I saw what could possibly be the worst movie poster ever. It was an advertisement for Jeremy Piven's new movie The Goods.

W...T...F

Is it just me, or did the Photoshop boys get a little overzealous with the enhancement lines in the crotchal region?

Normally I would look at this poster and say "Wow, I enjoyed the movies Talledega Nights and Step Brothers, perhaps I would enjoy this film as well." But when I saw this poster hanging over the snack bar as I went to get Mr. Awe-Some Sauce some popcorn, all I could think was "Holy crap, Jeremy Piven must be staring in a porno. Why else does it look like his wang is poised to attack?" I mean, really, the shiny belt buckle? The V of the vest drawing your eye down? This is a poster designed to try and make Jeremy Piven look sexy. And it doesn't work, especially when you place it next to these bad boys.

Captain Jack Sparrow and Batman dressed as 1920s gangsters and holding guns? What, now they're dangerous and sexy (and in a very foggy place, London?). Now that I can get on board with. After all, everyone knows the 1920s/1930s Era gangsters were the sexy gangsters. It's why I sat through the abomination that is Mobsters.

Sorry Piven, you cannot compete with the monumental 21 Jumpstreet brooding sexiness of the Johnny Depp, no matter how much you have your package enhanced.

Welcome to "teh awesomeness"

2009-05-28T11:25:00.000-07:00

Welcome to "Teh Awe-some Sauce." I write. I review. Mainly I waste time until I find something better to do. This is a blog about books, writing, teh awesomeness that is life, and a lolcat thrown in every now and then 'cause they rock. Zach Ephron may make an occaisional appearance (okay, not really.)

Let the tomfoolery commence.