Diving Into A Writer's Life

Art In Hand

2011-06-08T19:56:00.000-07:00

If I were male, I'd tat my hands and forearms in similar fashion.

These, to me, are warrior hands. These hands tell a story.
The writer in me conjures images of what this warrior might look like. His accent and timbre, words he crafts to argue a point or seduce a woman or blackmail enemies.
The lands he has traveled to, their divergent customs, smells, sounds, sights. Battles he has won and battles he has lost.
What cause he would willingly die defending. Who he would willingly die protecting.

I must apologize for having lost the thread as to where I found this photo and who deserves credit for it.

See Here...

2011-05-25T17:11:00.001-07:00

Yeah, yeah. I've been gone. A lonnnnnnng time. I've had things to do, places to go, people to see. Which brings me to the subject of my Hey, I'm back first post in three months...

I remember very clearly the day I discovered my need for eye glasses.
My dad was stationed at Fort Ord in Monterey, California. The U.S. Army Post is now closed but at that time it was a pretty choice assignment. Our quarters sat on a hill with an amazing view of the Pacific Ocean. The climate being fairly temperate, we kids stayed outside until dusk most days. We played hide-n-seek in the oak tree stands behind the houses, built forts & go karts (no, you cannot just nail the wheels on! jeez.) , captured blue-bellied lizards, put on plays, sold lemonade, and continually had poison oak.
One day while waiting for my friends, I grabbed my mom's glasses and put them on for kicks.
Whoa. Wait. What the heck? Those are what leaves on a tree actually look like? Damn.
I didn't say damn. I don't think. Knowing me, I probably said something a lot worse.

When I informed my mom of my amazing discovery I was hustled off to the optometrist and fitted with a pair of adorable (not) cat eye glasses. blech
And I've been visually challenged ever since. The glasses were replaced with contact lenses at one point but I've always had to rely on assistance of some sort in order to see.
Over the last two years the challenge has become more like a WWWF Smack Down with me pinned on the mat.
Not only did my vision deteriorate from a minus 7 to a minus 11.5 over the last two years, I had to have strabismus surgery. Yeah. Those pesky muscles that keep your eyeballs situated in a face forward position grew lazy and decided to wander around wherever the heck they felt like.
And now...gee whiz. What do you mean you can't correct me to 20/20? What the hell, uh sorry, heck does not wearing sunglasses have to do with cataracts? I'm not that freaking old yet! Well. Hell. Oh shush it. I'm upset here.

Next stop...Tyrell Corporation.
"You Nexus, huh? I design your eyes." (Blade Runner)

Can I get me some new eyes?

That New Fangled Music Machine

2011-03-01T17:53:00.000-08:00

My dad is 82. He's always been quite hip and knowledgeable. He stays on top of trends. He dresses a hell of a lot better than many men half his age who insist on wearing...never mind. That's just going to get me all hot and bothered and off on a tangent.
He watches the news incessantly (really, he does) so I never have to. I hate the news. I just call dad and ask him for the Cliff's notes version of what's going on in the world.

He knows the best car to buy, the most reliable kitchen appliance, how to turn off the gas in case of earthquake, what to do if a power line falls across your car, stuff like that. Well, he's not all that handy with fix-it type things. He reversed the hot and cold water spigot in the spare bathroom, but who ever uses that anyway? And if it can be secured with duct tape then go for it.

And then we found out that dad had cancer. Oh, hey...it's all good here. Happy ending and all that. But, the chemo and radiation and surgery sure did a number on him. He hasn't quite returned to his old self yet. It's hard to see my dad forget what was just explained to him earlier that day. He gets frustrated. We understand and try to console him. Words of caution...don't do that.

One final round of chemo to go! This time, he gets to sit in a recliner with an IV in his arm for three hours. Boring. I picked him up after his first session.

Dad, what is that you're carrying?
My cassette player.
Uh, really...
Yeah, the nurses made fun of me, too. They said I should get an I-Hop.
You mean i-Pod.
One of those. What is that anyway?
Kind of like a cassette player but you don't have to insert tapes or anything.
Well, how the hell do you listen to music? Is it a radio?
No, you download music.
You lost me.
I have an i-Pod, I'll set you up. We can go onto i-Tunes and buy you whatever you want, download it into the i-Pod and you'll be all set.
I don't get it.
You don't have to. I'll take care of it.

So, we picked out Big Bands music, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin. I downloaded only his music, set it all up easy like so he wouldn't have to fuss. Told him that the nurses would help him get it going if he forgot.

So, how did you like the i-Pod?
Great! The nurses liked it too. They wanted to know why I chose a pink one.
LOL
I told them it was my favorite color!

And It Just Continues...

2011-02-23T20:19:00.000-08:00

That feeling of being pulled apart chunk by chunk like a loaf of monkey bread? Yeah, still happening.

Pretty soon the only remaining evidence of me will be the empty cake plate strewn with sticky crumbs. That cake plate has been around since I was in first grade, by the way. It has a cowgirl on it, decked out in a short fringed skirt, tight checkered button down shirt and cowgirl boots. She's poised in that Wonder Woman stance but she's got a lasso in her right hand. I think my dad bought it for my mom. Wishful thinking on his part, and not for cake, is my guess. I don't know how that all turned out but the plate is still around so...

And the weather has continued to be an unruly toddler, bugging the shit out of me. I'd send it to the corner for a time out if possible. But the next best thing I could think of was to escape the city of Angels. Ha! I'll just go up to San Francisco where no one ever expects anything remotely predictable or decent as far as weather is concerned. No expectations = no disappointment, right?

I booked my flight two weeks ago in order to take advantage of the Get Away bargains. It stumps me that airlines offer this ridiculous lock-em-in discount. I mean, I'd be much more apt to fly spur of the moment and much more often if the fare was truly a Get Away price all the time. Hey! I feel like eating at that noodle place out in the avenues tonight. Let's hop a flight and be back by midnight. Oh well. That's another discussion.

Where was I? Ah, I was talking about how the weather in California is conspiring to screw me over. Forecast for San Francisco this weekend...possible snow. SNOW, people. SNOW.

It's Got To Be The Weather

2011-02-17T15:59:00.000-08:00

The greater Los Angeles area is predictable when it comes to weather. Summers...hotter than hell. Winters...who knows? It's like that every year.

This winter has been one big fat mess of crazy. Last week (was it last week or the week before?) was sunny, clear, warm. Everyone traipsed around in sandals, shorts and t-shirts, convinced we were finito with winter. We'd lost our minds and forgotten that it was still February. We are completely disconnected from places buried up to their eyeballs in snow and we think tornados only happen in movies. You see, California is the sole existing state in this country. If a Californian ventures across state lines we think we need a passport and immunizations.

But this week it all went bottoms up. topsy turvy. Arctic air bullied its way into LA like some rogue gang hell bent on destruction and domination. We were offended. How dare this happen? And then it rained. WTH? Cold and rain? We don't do well with a one two punch.

Which is probably why I've been in a funky mood. I'm feeling very put upon by the world in general. Everyone wants a piece of me and I'm done with that crap. I should be flattered, really, that my friends and family think so highly of me to need me so much. But I'm not flattered. I'm being a big baby about it.

I'm sure when the sun returns all will be well in my world.

Zoe Has Left The Nest

2011-02-07T19:06:00.000-08:00

*Sigh* Months ago I coerced my niece Zoe, an honest to goodness "Young Adult", to join me here and talk about YA books. This was her first experience at blogging and talking to the blog-o-sphere about the books she had most recently read.

In the beginning she was nervous. What should I write, Auntie Deb? How about you just ask me questions and I answer them? So cute. I gave her some guidelines, she followed them to the letter. Good start. Then I prodded her to allow her own style to take over and write the way she would talk to her friends. She took the cue.

And then, she took off! Forget about "reviewing" books. She and her friend, Megan, began writing their own book. They started posting chapters on the blog! They've decided that they are going to earn college tuition with the sale of this book. :)

I am sooooo proud of Zoe and Megan! Their story is great, they have created some fantastic characters, amazing dialogue, gripping suspense. And throughout it all they haven't worried about what anyone thinks. And that is the key. Write what compels you to write. You will most certainly do a good job of it.

And now that Zoe has some experience under her belt and is quite capable of taking charge of her blog all on her own, I've set her free. It's a sad day for me but it has to be done...they all fly the coop at some point.

Shadow Demons by Zoe (and Megan) can be found in installments on Zoe's blog....www.zoetalksya.blogspot.com
Please check it out, follow the blog, lend your support.

Oh, and I hear Zoe's blog is being bookmarked in her high school library/English classes for other students to use as an example of projects to do in lieu of essays. Right on!

Happy Birthday Gift To Me

2011-01-31T06:16:00.000-08:00

It's my birthday. It's a big one.

I thought about getting a tattoo. For years. It's just that I've never seen a design that spoke loud enough. Significance is key with body art of a permanent nature. I'm pretty sure I know the design I want now. Just need to find it to "fit". And to hell with those tats that are hidden. Why get one if you can't see it? At least that's my opinion. Placement for this one...inside of the left forearm.

Erin has an amazing tattoo artist who has done a few for her. Most notably, the replication of her partner's LAPD badge on the back of her hand. ouch

My only question...what would Nyssa do?

Just Look In Your Closet

2011-01-25T18:34:00.000-08:00

It's been such a long time since I've even contemplated writing a post. Life has gotten in my way for the past few months. Pesky life. I could have written about those pesky life issues but I didn't want to. I lived it 24/7 and had no desire to relive it on paper. Most of you would tell me that I should have written it, that it would have helped in some cathartic way. In this case, no. I chose to push it around the corner where I couldn't see it again. Because it's not over yet. And there you have it.

But there is some good news in all of this! I have, with the help of my fabulous crit partners, made some real headway with a story that's been bouncing around in my head. And for the first time in a very long time I'm having fun with the writing.

I've always loved to write, have written lots of short pieces but when it comes to the dreaded novel, I have been the queen of false starts. Nothing has grabbed me beyond the beginning. When I try to envision the middle bits the screen goes all fuzzy and I end up turning the channel and trying something else.

It must be that I've never been in love with any of the characters and stories I've come up with thus far. Oh, I like them. I just don't love them. They are like the shoes or dress you bought out of like, not love. They just sit in the closet. Every once in a while you drag them out with the intention of wearing them but after you put it all on...meh. Back in the closet it goes.

This time I love my characters. Love them. I'm not sure where exactly they came from but I'm thankful for their appearance. Oh pshaw, I DO know where they came from! They came from my life. All these interesting, funny, fascinating people I run into during my daily jaunts, errands, work. Everyone has them. We just have to be awake to them. And I apparently woke up enough to realize that I had a wardrobe full of characters that I truly want to wear.

I've even written about a few of them here. *wink*

Waxing Philosophical

2011-01-06T19:41:00.000-08:00

First off, a disclaimer: Although the people and particular degree of crazy briefly cited below are real, the names have been changed on the off chance that they might actually read this post. Slim as that chance may be, since I know these people pretty well.

I can talk my friend Erin down from her bouts of insecurity and self destructive ranting/threats.
I can point out all the pros and cons about her current relationship to my friend Stella.
I can be upbeat and crank out positive encouragement to the other writing fools in my life because I believe in their talent.

It's quite easy to be the voice of reason for someone else, isn't it? I can do this because I know these people. I know myself pretty damn well, too. But I am not in the habit of giving myself pep talks, encouragement, or compassionate advice.

Why do we hold ourselves up to Mt. Olympus sized expectations but give everyone else (well, most everyone else) permission to make a few measly mistakes? Hey, don't be so hard on yourself!

I don't really have the answer to that other than it's hard work to accomplish the things I want to accomplish and I'd rather someone else do it instead. Laziness? Maybe. I prefer to think of it as paralyzing fear of failure. But then I think about that and realize half the fun and satisfaction of reaching a goal is the getting there part. And maybe I should relax a little bit and enjoy the ride. Stop thinking about the results. The "do or die" of it. Because, unless you have someone's life in your hands, no one is going to perish if you make a few mistakes and take a few wrong turns.

The best part of a new romance is the getting there part. The initial flirting and witty banter, the fall-into-my-soul eye contact, those butterflies in the stomach just before the first kiss(es), the make up stuff after little disagreements.

I realized that I have never considered the importance of the getting there in relation to my writing.

How satisfying would it be to just sit down and write a book in a couple of days, no need to revise, no need to edit? No, really. Think about it. You'd miss out on the angsty, whiny discussions with your crit partners, family and friends that have been shaping you into this writer person. You would have absolutely no excuse to overindulge in the caffeine or chocolate or sex or whatever it is that you need to kick start the creativity into a roar. But the biggest reason of all, to me at least, is when you finally hold that bundle of paper that is your manuscript in your hands, you can be damn proud of your accomplishment. Because it was a long, hard road to get there and you did it. You persevered over everything that was thrown in your way and you kicked it to the curb.

Well what do you know? I just gave myself a pep talk.

Whew! Are You As Glad As I Am...

2010-12-26T15:07:00.001-08:00

I'm very happy that the holidays are on the down slide. Or is it the down slope? Well, you know what I mean. Just one more to get through. But Santa was very good to me this year, I have to say!

Of all the Christmas gifts I received, this is my fav. Because you all know how addicted I have become to the VS. My collection of hip hugger panties is growing by leaps and bounds and now I've started a new collection. Bras. I know it sounds absolutely silly, but for some strange reason I've become one of those women. You know the ones...they wear matching bras and panties. They buy florals and polka dots and stripes and lace. They don't just buy one bra or a pair of panties. It must be bra&pantie - the matching set. Like peanut butter and jelly. You can't do one without the other.

I used to think the concept was ridiculous and way too girlie. I mean, who gives a crap if your panties match your bra, right? Who's going to know if you're wearing a bra covered in tiny purple flowers and green leaves, iced with pale green lace, and the pretty matching panties? My old answer: No One. My new answer: I WILL!

How important is it that you pair the panties of black polka dots on cream background with the black lace bra rather than the charcoal lace bra? VERY!

I can be super confident that, should the unfortunate occur and I am forced to strip down to my undies, everyone will be envious and just a little ashamed of the state of their own affairs. You never know when you might be called on to quickly shed your clothes and jump into a body of water to rescue someone or something. Always be prepared. Not only will you be a hero, you will most probably get a hot date out of it. At least, that's my theory. And no, I'm not randomly hanging around bodies of water looking for possible rescue situations.

The real reason I've started wearing these under-the-clothing ensembles is because it makes me feel good. It makes me feel sexy. It's my little secret that makes me smile a lot more these days. Those of you who might think I'm crazy...try it. You'll like it.

Drama, Drama, Drama

2010-12-10T07:57:00.000-08:00

Some people are more prone to drama than others, no?

My friend, Erin, has been known to have the occasional mini-breakdown. This is usually when she has had one beer beyond her limit. Hey, we've all done that, right?

Most of the time the mini-breakdowns involve a "disagreement" with her significant other. Erin is rather gorgeous and does tend to attract a lot of attention. Which she completely ignores, mind you, because she is utterly in love with her mate. But it does create tension, and hurt feelings ultimately result.

These are the times that Erin knocks on my window at dark-o-clock, scaring the crap out of me. I do my usual routine of threatening to scalp her if she ever does that again, then haul her inside for a long chat. During my very philosophical musings she inevitably looks at me thoughtfully and says, "You need your roots done."

Did I mention that Erin insinuated herself into my life when she informed me I needed a new hair style? Well, that and the convo where she was utterly convinced that I was a lesbian because I wear Puma tennis shoes? I did, I'm not, I do. And she's been my hair stylist/friend ever since.

Back to the philosophical musings...I ignore her, finish my very enlightening diatribe about life, love, and drinking too much, then release her to walk home. She lives up the street. I keep watch to make sure she's not attacked by a pack of coyotes, text her significant other that she's on the way home, and then go to bed. It's all good.

And then the drama reached a new level the other night. When I think about it, I probably would have been just as dramatic in this case.

"Deb, I lost my ring!"

"The 8 carat monstrosity?"

"*sob* Yes!!! *more sobbing and gulping*"

"Oh, shit."

Uncontrollable crying at this point. "I'm... just... calling... to... say...goodbye."

And the phone went dead.

I thought, That's a pretty good scene for a book. After I tried to call her back, okay?

Zoe Is Running Circles Around Me!

2010-12-09T17:33:00.000-08:00

Zoe, that other person who shares this blog, aka my niece, has posted yet another bit from her story Shadow Demons. I've said it before...she's going to publish a book one day. While I sit here continually re-writing chapter one.

Zoe and her friend, Megan are co-authoring this fascinating story full of paranormal intrigue and kick-ass characters. Literally. Ezra, (who is a female character) has encountered her share of trouble in just two chapters and she's landed herself in the hospital.

In this chapter, we are taken back to an earlier time in the story. Now, to be honest, I'm a bit confused at the moment as to what is really going on and how the two authors are going to tie it together. But I have faith that it will all turn out. And if it doesn't have a HEA, I'm going to kick some ass. Cause everyone knows I need my HEA, dammit!

And, today's post recounting their Christmas tree hunt is howling funny!

Questions Of Randomness and Meetings Of Chance

2010-12-07T19:12:00.000-08:00

Is it acceptable to dig your favorite exercise pants out of that pile of dirty laundry if you only wore them once and didn't sweat very much?

Why the hell doesn't iTunes have any Def Leppard albums actually recorded by Def Leppard, not some dumb tribute band?

Were you aware that Starbucks offers more than mere coffee? The answer to this one below:

I've tested the name/character, Nyssa out in two different Starbucks locations to amazing success. It's been so fantastic that I've actually considered changing my name. Not only do I get ooh's and ahh's over the loveliness of the name when submitting it to the barista, but I also morph into said character and am actually quite the extrovert. I'm bolder, more interesting. I talk to strangers in line. Which we all know is not the case in real life.

But I'm afraid that if I actually changed my name I might just lapse back into the old insecurities and neurosis that I'm saddled with as Deb. That would suck. So for now, I'll just let it ride and use Nyssa as my coffee name and for other random reasons where my true identity needs to remain anonymous.
It started out as an experiment, just to see how people would react to the name Nyssa. And to see if I could actually morph into said character whom I like a lot and aspire to be. I'd say the experiment was a success. *grin*

On to a meeting of chance...

Remember Jackie? Remember I was just saying that I hadn't seen her again and really hoped she'd show up with more stories of old Hollywood? Yep. There she was yesterday. At Starbucks!! It's making me wonder where those coffee beans are coming from. The place is a swirling vortex of cosmic energy sucking me in.

I was later than usual for coffee. The place was devoid of the rush-in-rush-out crowd. The lingerers were occupying a few tables. I was waiting for my vente whole milk latte when I noticed a short, elderly woman placing an order. Hey, isn't that...Jackie?

Suspicion confirmed when I heard the barista say, "Thanks, Jackie! See you tomorrow."

I watched Jackie walk toward me. We looked at each other. I could tell she wasn't sure if I was someone she knew or not. Should I say something to her? Deb would not have. Nyssa sure as hell would. And did.

We had another lovely conversation, standing outside in the sunshine of a spectacular southern Ca. day. Jackie said that she was late for her coffee today because the TMC channel had been playing one of her favorite movies this morning - Young Man With A Horn - the story about jazz trumpet player Bix Beiderbeck's life, starring Kirk Douglas and Doris Day. Which led into her memories about a jazz club in Santa Monica called The Horn as well as other clubs that were popular in the 1940's.

Jackie was a dancer, but she loved the music scene back then. She told me, "You can teach people how to do pretty much anything. But singing...you've got to have the talent. I didn't have it. And, more than anything, I wanted to be a singer like Doris Day."

I'm sorry that you didn't get to fulfill your wish to be a singer, Jackie. But I'd take your experiences any day.

Where To Begin?

2010-11-30T18:12:00.000-08:00

I hadn't realized how long I've been gone! Life has been a whirlwind of activity, as it always is during the pre-holiday amp up and the post holiday insanity that is the business of retail. My body and mind tend to live on separate planes of existence between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I have to push through long, exhausting days of tortuous physical activity. Early, early mornings (who the hell shops at 3am, I ask?) and the occasional late night. And then there's the pleasure of dealing with all the wonderful, sparkling personalities also known as customers. Fine. I'm being exceptionally harsh. I hold my hands up in surrender. But you all know this...it only takes one bad apple to spoil the bunch.

I haven't seen my customer/character, Jackie again yet. Too bad because I'd love to hear more stories about old Los Angeles and Hollywood. But, we do have another bit of sunshine who has been visiting quite often.

Betty Decker. I even love her name. Maybe it's because it reminds me of one of my favorite movies - Blade Runner. Okay, Deb...focus. Right. Betty.

Betty is in her 80's and has a sweet voice that is somewhat child-like. When I first met her a long time ago I thought she was a bag lady. She wears long skirts, oversized tops and sweaters, and large straw hats in the summer. And sometimes she appears to have forgotten to shower. Then I got to know her. She has a charming eccentricity.

She was a teacher for many, many years. She still teaches English to Hispanic kids on a volunteer basis at a few local schools. She also has a child's view of the world - it's all new, refreshing, wonderful. We should all be more like Betty.

And a few days ago, Betty was all a flutter. She was buying a new sweater specifically because she and her husband were going out to dinner in celebration of their sixtieth wedding anniversary! *sigh* And she was so excited to tell me how they met.

"How did you meet your husband, Betty?'
"OH, that's a story!"

"Are you going to tell me?

"Well, he walked into my high school history class. And he looked at me as he passed by to sit at the back. After class was over, I looked to the side as I was gathering my books, to see a hand held out in front of me, palm up. It was Henry." Betty shrugged up her shoulders in that cute, excited way.

"Yeah? And what happened?"

"Well, he said, 'I don't know if you know me, but I've been watching you for a long time. May I walk you to your next class?'

I couldn't help the huge grin that overcame me at this point. What a beautiful scene!

Betty looked at me with a wide-eyed gaze, as if she was in that moment years ago. She gave a little shudder, waved her hand above her head, and said, "And that was it. We've been together ever since."

Shadow Demons Part Deaux

2010-11-16T12:58:00.000-08:00

My need to employ a French word may have something to do with my strong desire to hop a plane and get the hell out of Dodge. Alas, I must be content with escaping inside a good book.
Zoe posted more of her Shadow Demons story. I'm hooked. Still wondering why her female mc is named Ezra. Why, Zoe-bug, why? Am I too traditional? Too old to know that this is a popular female name these days?
I do like the name, though. :)

Sometimes A Character Just Appears

2010-11-15T22:08:00.000-08:00

My real life job is not brain surgery. Thank the gods for that because I'm blind as a bat and my math skills have third graders shaking their heads. You wouldn't want me messing with your gray matter, that's for sure. See? Look at how distracted I get!
My real life job involves dealing with the public, face to face, solving their problems, fixing things they consider to be broken beyond repair. They come at me all revved up and ready to rumble. Most of the time I'm okay with that because I put myself in their shoes and understand. I am a problem solver, I'm quick and efficient, I'm a cooler of sorts. You want results? I'm your gal. I'm just not allowed to rough anybody up. dammit
Most of the time I operate on auto pilot merely because there's a lot to do, there's not much time, and it's the same old shit, day in day out. I don't enjoy these people for the unique individuals they are. Or would be if they weren't all stressed out. Such a shame.
But isn't it interesting how the universe waggles its eyebrows, giggles, and then tosses something your way? That happened to me today.

A character fell into my lap. And I've been thinking all day just how I want to work her into a story.
Jackie and I started out "business as usual". When I asked her how she was doing today and got the response, "You don't want to know", for some reason I was compelled to push. Usually I just shrug and forget about it.
Turns out her car had been giving her problems and her mechanic of some twenty five years had been dicking her around. My words, not hers. I suggested she try the place my dad swears by. As I looked up the phone number for her, she filled me in on the history of said mechanic shop. Which in turn, led to the fact that she grew up in Los Angeles when it was a burb. She graduated from Hollywood High in 1950 (picture me counting on my fingers). She went to Hollywood Professional School.
She looked at me and said, "My best friend was named Debra, too. And she was a movie star."
"Oh really? Debra who?"
"Debra Paget"
Now, I'm an old movie buff. Love old movies. I know who Debra Paget is. Jackie was thrilled. The stories poured out of her.
She and Leslie Caron studied ballet together. Jackie still has the fancy silk stockings Leslie brought back from Paris and, my! they were fancy compared to those crummy fishnets they all danced in back then. Jackie still has the stockings! She danced in Vegas during the era of Martin and Lewis, Frank Sinatra, Jackie Gleason. All the biggies, she's met them and worked with them.
We were laughing and having a wonderful time and I thought, this is what it's all about. A life enjoyed, good stories to tell.
And that's when I decided Jackie's story needed to be told in some way. I'm not sure yet how it's going to happen, but I'm gonna do it.

Evan's First B-Day

2010-11-09T18:49:00.000-08:00

I'm a great-auntie. Wow, I'm old. Go on over to Zoe's blog and check out the photos of my nephew John Henry's son Evan celebrating his first birthday. What a riot!

Sunday, Sweet Sunday

2010-11-07T19:01:00.000-08:00

It's rare that I get a Sunday off, especially at this time of the year. So what did I do today? Well, I went to the mall, of course! Ridiculous, I know. But not to shop!
My friend Mary and I have a favorite restaurant that we can't seem to get enough of. The Lazy Dog Cafe. They have this fab wok fired chicken in sweet and spicy sauce served with broccoli and rice. Add a beer and it's...heaven. And technically, it's not in the mall. It's situated outside in this very Southern California mall outdoor promenade thing they added on last year, which, by the way, is pretty nice. We sit outside, eat, drink (that would be me) and gab about writing. Okay, we gab about all the non-writing that's going on between us. We bond in our non-ness.

Then, we go to Macy's and get samples of men's cologne on those little white pieces of cardstock. Hey. It's fun. And I loooove Giorgio Armani Acqua Di Gio. I try others but the Armani still does it for me. Maybe that's the reason it is the number ONE selling men's cologne. Just a word...I couldn't promise any measure of control if I actually encountered a man who smelled of this fragrance. Just sayin'. Hey, if it's the number one seller, where are all the guys who wear it?

And then, I dragged her into Abercrombie. Just to look. They have really nice posters. They have fragrances also. I'd buy the men's cologne if it actually looked like this.

That's what friends are for. Putting up with your craziness.

Christmas Year Round

2010-11-05T19:44:00.000-07:00

Christmas season has officially started. In retail, that is. No longer are the stores waiting until the day after Thanksgiving, known as Black Friday, to launch their sales. Stores have begun the discount wars right now. Kind of ruins the spirit, no?
People become monsters. Devious shape shifters who turn into Wile E. Coyote and Rascally Rabbit. I know this. I work in retail. I'm the person who opens the store at 4am just so you can get a bargain.
All I'm saying this year is...Don't push me, people! I'm on to your tricksy stunts and conniving ways. But let me fill you in on a little secret. I'm willing to give you what you want, pretty much. As long as you behave yourself and be nice. No need to try to pull the wool over my eyes. Because that ain't gonna happen anyway. I know all about every teensy trick.

And while we're talking Christmas...my mom casually mentioned that her friend, Kathy, kept her Christmas tree up year round.
"Seriously?'
"Oh, yes. It's in the corner of her living room all year."
"Oookaaay."
"She decorates it according to the current holiday. She just had pumpkins and fall leaves on it."
"That's weird, mom."
"Oh, it gets better. She keeps her dining room table set with china, wine glasses, everything as if she's having a formal dinner that night."
"Wow."
"Yes, and she has wine goblets sitting on coasters on her end tables."
"*Snort*
"I have weird friends."
"Ya think?"

A Wickedly Good Book Report

2010-11-03T15:58:00.000-07:00

Cruise on over to Zoe's blog and read her book report on Wicked. I've not read the book and I have to say...I have a totally new perspective on that Wizard of Oz!

I'll Admit It

2010-11-01T15:59:00.000-07:00

November 1st NaNoys me. I'm really sorry. I'm a bad person.
I know NaNo is a big deal to millions of people out there. People who use it to psych themselves out, buoyed by all the support, the camaraderie, the "go girl/guy" cheering to push out 50K words. And I say that's wonderful if it works for you.
It doesn't work for me. Mostly because I'm a neurotic perfectionist when it comes to writing a story. Sure, NaNo is supposed to be an exercise in letting go, relinquishing that compulsive need to control every single word. Can't do it. And maybe that's why I never finish anything I start. Writing.
Someday I will break through that crazy, self-destructive, self-defeating behavior and allow words to flow without too much angst about getting it right the first time. I can only hope.
But for now, for the month of November, I avoid reading all the blogs about daily and weekly goals and whether or not they've been met. All the blogs giving advice and pep talks. The highs and lows of everyone participating in NaNo.
November is my lay low month in regard to reading blogs. Maybe I'll use the time to write.

The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday

2010-10-26T22:10:00.000-07:00

It occurred to me tonight, as I was sprinting through Walmart, that I am a get-to-the-point kind of gal when it comes to shopping and, generally any type of errand. I'm a like a rogue Navy SEAL, operating solo. I leave the house with a plan of attack; achieve destination via most productive route, park as far away from structure as possible (you never know what might go down so it’s best to be able to haul ass to your vehicle and escape while everyone else is negotiating traffic jams), infiltrate objective and accomplish mission. Hoo-Rah!
At work I maximize every single sloppy second of my day. Gad forbid I stand still for any length of time. No sir! There is always something with which to occupy my time. And if it’s not right in front of my face, I’ll search it out, g-dammit. I’m methodical, detailed, efficient, creative, and able to operate a wide range of high tech, specialized equipment. There is always a solution to be found and if I can’t find it, I’ll make it up.
Then why, oh why, am I paralyzed when it comes to my WIP? Where’s that SEAL who has to think fast on her feet, dodge bullets and land mines, swim across shark infested rivers (just seeing if you’re paying attention), make shit up and still come out alive??

"Fire in the gut - you either have it or you don’t."

Speaking of fire in the gut...Zoe posted a snow story today! Go check it out.

Oh, High School Days

2010-10-20T19:33:00.000-07:00

Zoe seems to be on fire lately! I wish I'd had as much fun as she appears to be having in high school. I must say, her post today sounds like a page out of a YA novel. The way she's going, that will be her next accomplishment. I'd better get writing because she's not finishing a book before I do, dammit! Oops, I meant to say darn it.

Zoe Writes!

2010-10-18T19:41:00.000-07:00

It's been a long while since Zoe has graced us with her presence. But the wait was worth it! Please move on over to her part of the blog and read a short story she wrote for an English assignment. Wonder where that girl got her imagination?

Shocking. Just Shocking.

2010-10-17T20:29:00.000-07:00

When did I become a confident woman, able to flirt without blushing red hot like a bottle of Tabasco? Maybe it's something like the flu. It just crept up on me. You know, you feel a bit off, a touch achy, a bit fuzzy in the head but you just can't put your finger on what's going on, and then you're flat on your back.
Climbing into Nyssa might have jump started it. And if living as my character (for research purposes, only) has lit this spark, I'm liking it. A lot. I've never, never, never been a flirty girl. Not enough confidence to allow that. I'm the one who looks over her shoulder if a guy comes on to me, looking for the real target of his attention. Then I wonder what the joke is.
But being Nyssa for the past few days has been...wonderful. Not only have I owned the attention of those guys at Starbucks the other day, I've had a lot more fun at work. I'm cruising through my day, dealing with customers and their issues, sporting a devil-may-care recklessness. Mind you, I've not been doing a shoddy job! I'm just being Nyssa. She'd do a bang up job because she's smart and funny. Okay, I'm smart and funny. But Nyssa is sexy without realizing it. So I've channeled Nyssa's subtle sexy stuff. And I must say, it works. It could also get me into trouble.
Case in point:
It's late one evening. The store is fairly deserted, especially back there at my customer service counter. Surfer Dude approaches with a pair of Levi's in his hand. It's late enough for Nyssa/me to be giddy silly. And Nyssa is really attracted to surfer guys. The tan, the messy blond hair, the lean muscles. And when Surfer-ish Dude reveals the huge rip in the crotch of the 501's, the reason for the return, I had to clamp my hand over Nyssa's mouth. But when Moondoggie locks eyes with me and grins...game over. I couldn't stop my eyebrows from hiking up, a silent request for more info on the Levi's and their state of ruin. Which led to that boy shamelessly flirting with Nyssa/me. It's a good thing I have a measure of control over Nyssa/me. I grabbed the back of her shirt just as she was about to leap over that counter. Nyssa/not me, thought she should conduct her own stress test on Surfer Dude's Levi's. The Levi's currently riding low on those surfer hips. Bad girl.

And The Experiment Continues...

2010-10-15T17:12:00.000-07:00

In case you didn't read my post on identity crisis the other day...go, read. Because I've decided that it's the most fun thing on the planet right now.
This morning I had exactly 15 minutes to get my Pilates reconditioned butt to Starbucks before I would officially be late to my Friday-only office job. I'm the only one in the office, but I do try to make the effort to be on time. You know, goals and all. Now if I could only fake myself out like that and stick to those writing goals.
As I pulled into a parking space I decided to be Nyssa again today. I was having a good hair day and was rocking the quasi-biker look with the black and the denim and the motorcycle jacket (okay, it's from the Gap but it still looks like a motorcycle jacket). What the hell. As soon as that decision snuggled itself down into my frontal lobe I transformed. Instead of my usual sneak-in-unnoticed-because-I-hate-attention mode, I did the saunter thing just like the other day.
I pretended to be oblivious when I saw the four guys, sitting at two different tables, whip around to watch me approach the door. I looked past the guy standing just inside the door and purposely dissed the blatant eye contact he was trying to make on me. I glided up to the counter and smiled nicely at the sweet girl ready to take my order.
"A vente whole milk latte, please."
"Sure! Name?"
"Nyssa. N Y S S A"
"Oh! That's such a pretty name!"
"Thanks."
I squashed a goofy giggle but I did smile really big.

In The Mood

2010-10-13T09:36:00.000-07:00

It's officially fall. Somewhere.
You'd think I would remember that September and October tend to bring on the Santa Ana winds here in Los Angeles. Hot, dry, incessant, make-you-crazy-in-the-head winds that suck every drop of moisture out of your body.
But the sun is angled differently now. The impact is less harsh. The days are shorter and the evenings bring a pleasant chill.
I dragged the Halloween decorations out of my mom's garage attic yesterday. She's big on the holiday decorating, which includes not only the house but her self as well. She worked at the local library for years and got into wearing holiday themed earrings, pins, sweatshirts, you name it. For all the kids. Yeah, right. It's cute, though and kind of Golden Girlish. I expect by next week the skeleton earrings will appear.
So to foster the mood of fall and my favorite holiday fast approaching, the blog has an appropriate color makeover.

Identity Crisis

2010-10-09T19:50:00.000-07:00

You know how when you order at Starbucks they need to know your name so they can shout it out when your coffee concoction is ready? Yeah. Hate that. Why can't they be impersonal like every place else and just hand out numbers? Because when I'm in need of coffee I'm really not in the mood to be chatty and personal. And speaking for all of us introverts, I certainly do not appreciate someone shouting my name out in the middle of a busy coffee shop. *shudder* I feel like I'm being called on in class.

So today I decided to try something I've been daring myself to do for a long time. Offer up a different name. Okay, I know this is not ground breaking. I know many people do this. But not me.
I've been wanting to give out the name of my main character. I like my main character and I'd like to be more like her, so what better way to try it on?
"Okay, I've got one vente whole milk latte. Name?"
"Nyssa"
I go to this Starbucks a lot. Starbucks guy with the glasses looked at me like one of us was crazy. But he didn't even ask because I stared him down just like Nyssa would have. And then I sauntered over to the little island thingy to wait for my latte. I normally like to blend into the woodwork, avoiding attention of any kind. But today I didn't even mind that people looked at me while they waited for their coffee. They were probably envious of my cool name.

Yoga Nerd

2010-10-07T17:09:00.000-07:00

Anyone out there do yoga? Well, good for you. I'm not being facetious. I'm jealous. Tim says I really need to do yoga in order to connect with my body on a more intimate level (I won't repeat what I said to him about that) thereby opening the flow of creativity. I think he's just tired of hearing me whine about being stuck with my writing.
I've seriously considered a yoga class many times and I'm not really sure why I haven't actually signed up for one. It looks satisfying in a meditational kind of way. I can imagine being all zen, stretching slowly, holding a pose while I allow creative ideas to burgeon in my oxygen filled brain.
While I was in the waiting room of my therapist's office today I saw, in one of those women's magazines, a little article on the Fish Pose. It claimed this yoga pose was excellent for relaxing the lines in your face and unkinking your neck and shoulders.

It showed a Gumby girl lying on her back, elbows against the floor to raise her torso just enough so the crown of her head was against the floor. Easy peasy.

Could I even get my shoulders off the floor? What the heck.
Apparently I'm sorely out of shape. Hell, there's no apparent about it. I am out of shape. But here's the thing...I'm skinny so I've fooled myself into thinking I am in shape. Pfft. Face it, if I suddenly met up with a vampire in a dark alley I'd be toast. I'd make it to the dumpster against the wall and then my lungs would collapse. All I can say is he'd better be hot. I digress.
So now I think I need to drag myself to the fitness room of the complex and reacquaint myself with that thing called a treadmill. I know how to walk. I walk my dogs every day. That's exercise right? Although the handful of gummi bears I consume while doing said walk probably counteracts the exercise.
I'm complaining about it but I feel great when I exercise. I used to do ten mile mountain bike rides over real mountains. I did aerobics (remember that?), lifted weights, hiked, cross country skied.
Was that really me that did all those things? Wow.
Gotta go. Pizza's here.

The Stuff That Makes You Wonder

2010-10-05T22:07:00.000-07:00

When I was six years old I suddenly discovered that you die. Huh? What? You mean we just... are no more? Where do we go?
Up until that point I really had no clue, no experience with death. And it wasn't that anything in particular happened to trigger this new found knowledge. I still have no recollection of how I learned the terrifying information.
I refused to go to bed for fear I would die in my sleep. I became obsessed with death and all the possible ways it could snatch me. Since we were living deep in the heart of Texas at the time, I considered scorpions to be death's hit men. They crawled up the drain and into the kitchen sink, they lurked in corners and under things just waiting for their chance.
After we left Texas and the Scorpranos behind, I started reading Life magazine in secret, in the bathroom. There were articles, complete with photos, of people suffering from diseases and other tragedies. My mental library of death opened a new wing. I contracted every new disease I heard about, and believe you, me, I listened up when the adults thought their conversations were going over my head. I gleaned mucho from my espionage.
I've had brain tumors, shrinking scalp, Legionnaires disease, heart attacks, possible strokes, things growing in my throat. I worried about parasites crawling through the soles of my feet and invading my gut or bleeding out from flossing too hard. I slept with cotton in my ears to prevent earwigs from burrowing in and driving me insane. 'Cause you know this really happens. At least on that episode of The Twilight Zone.
For a kid who was scared shitless of death, I actively looked for ways it could blindside me rather than what kids usually do about things they're afraid of... the la la la, can't hear you attitude.
Maybe I needed to worry about death in order to feel that my life meant something. Maybe if I looked at death hard enough I'd understand why I was here in the first place because I sure as hell had no idea.

I'm no longer obsessed with death nor do I fear it. I still wonder why I'm here though and what I'm expected to accomplish while I am here. I still wonder what happens when you die.
I wonder where my grandmother's journey is taking her this very night.

Rant Of The Day - Misogynist

2010-10-01T17:58:00.000-07:00

This was the image I was rockin' today. I always picture myself as Angelina Jolie kicking ass whenever I encounter one of those kind of men. What is it with guys who get off on intimidating, berating, and degrading women? That's a rhetorical question.
But it still blows my mind whenever I run up against one! I'm more stunned that they think I'm going to take that crap than the fact they're sporting a Mad Hatter-sized asshat.
Ohhh, I'm intimidated by your eye contact. Not.
Uhm, did you know you have a giant booger dangling from the nose hair escaping that schnoz? I bet your wife gets hot over that look. What? No wife? Aww...
I'm not a misandrist. I like men. What I don't like is being pushed around by one. Especially when they get off on it.
If I were a man, would asshat pull that nonsense? Probably not. Unless we were in a bar trying to impress the same woman with our undeniable style, wit, and charm. That's sarcasm.

So, Mr. Asshat misogynist who felt the need to display your Neanderthal noodle today (take that any which way you want) ...I had a swell time. Need one of those donuts to sit on for a few days?

Saturation Point - Love It!

2010-09-30T16:22:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I told you that I'd won Nevets' contest to have a moment of my life "Nevetsized". I didn't have to dig too deep to find the moment I wanted to throw at him. I figured it would also appeal to his style of writing, which is full of atmosphere, suspense, interesting characters. And it involves one of those things in the photo over there.

The story has just been posted over at his blog, Nevets QST! Whoot! And it's just as great as I knew it would be. He even threw in a bit of the romance for me. *grin*

Thank you, Nevets! I LOVE IT!

Zoe's Back!

2010-09-26T16:56:00.000-07:00

School started for Zoe and she dropped off the planet. The kid loves school. I'd say she was adopted but she is the spitting image of my sister. I think I guilted her into thinking she was a bad parent, forgetting about her blog and all because she has just put up two posts. So head on over (click on the link at the top of this page) and read. Let's hope the parents of her "charges" don't see today's post.

I'm Being Immortalized!

2010-09-23T21:16:00.000-07:00

Okay, I may be exaggerating just a bit. But I'm so excited because, you see, I've won a contest! I never win anything. Ever. Although once, at a school carnival, I think I won a fat chocolate cake at a cake walk. Maybe that was someone else and I just really wanted that fat chocolate cake. Oh well, doesn't matter because this is way better than chocolate cake!

C.N. Nevets, on his blog, Nevets.QST recently conducted a contest. One lucky winner, chosen at random, would receive one moment of his/her life "Nevetsized". Now, if you are at all familiar with Nevets' writing you know he is a master at psychological suspense. He loves the dark side. Which appeals to me to no end because I have a rather creepy, sassy alter ego who loves to write about revenge.

Nevets began posting on that blog I keep touting, Flashy Fiction, a long while back. He was tentative at first, not sure of how far he should delve into the dark and stormy night, so to speak. Then he got bold. Bolder. And that's the Nevets we all know and love. His pieces of flash make me cackle with glee, cringe with "glad that didn't happen to me", and turn green with envy at his turn of phrase and delicious nailing down of character.
Now, I get to have a moment of my life written from his twisted perspective. And I say that with utmost respect and admiration. I think I also get a cool t-shirt. *fingers crossed*
Oh gosh, which moment of my life will I choose?

How Gutsy Are You?

2010-09-21T02:34:00.000-07:00

Balls to the wall:
To push to the limit, go all out, full speed.
A very colorful phrase, one needs to be careful when using "balls to the wall". Although its real origin is very benign, most people assume it is a reference to testicles.
In fact it is from fighter planes. The "balls" are knobs atop the plane's throttle control. Pushing the throttle all the way forward, to the wall of the cockpit, is to apply full throttle. courtesy of urbandictionary.com

Did you know this? Me either. neither. whichever.
But the thing is...how often do you actually push yourself, taking the chance that if you go all out you won't crash and burn?
I'm a wimp. I want a sure outcome before I attempt something. And this, I realize, is where I'm cheating myself. Seriously.
I don't just go balls to the wall with my manuscript (if you can call a few thousand words a manuscript) because I'm thinking about the outcome.
Starting now, my hand is on the throttle control, jamming it to the wall, having faith that I'm going to come out on the other side alive.

Have You Flirted Lately?

2010-09-16T20:39:00.000-07:00

My good friend, Sara (not her real name) recently decided to throw herself into the world of online meat-greet-date sites. No, it’s not a typo. She figured it was about as good a way as any to meet a man, as opposed to boy, the emotional genre which her ex falls into. Her words, not mine. Hey, I thought the guy was endearingly sweet. In a Gilligan-ish sort of way.

I’ve been following every step of the ongoing journey and I must say...wow. This stuff is a lot of work! It’s like trying to find a job after graduating from college. Or trying to find a job...now.

Update your resume, throw in a few s l i g h t l y exaggerated details - Sold my house in Malibu due to beach erosion. I prefer the Valley anyway. If this reference escapes you, think of owning a house in a posh neighborhood, then tell your friends you’re moving to the decrepit middle class hood instead because you like it better. Huh. ( I know I’m going to get crap for this analogy down the road)

Whenever Sara gets a flirt or a nudge or a wheedle or a cajole or whatever it is each site calls messages declaring interest, she forwards it on to me.

“What do you think about this one? He’s sounds really sweet.”

“His grammar is atrocious.”

“Maybe he was nervous.”

“Clearly. I thought the whole point of this endeavor was improvement. I’m not expecting Robert Browning caliber love letter writing but c’mon.”

“You have a point. *blink* I’m meeting him for dinner anyway. He’s in construction. You know how I love a man in steel-toe boots.”

“Text me when you get there and do not tell him where you live. And if he's wearing his damn steel toe boots to this date please promise you will walk on by.”

Turns out that they actually hit it off. Of course, being grown-ups with baggage there are a lot of obstacles to overcome. Kids, ex’s, quite a drive between places of residence. But I have to hand it to Sara. She knows what she wants and she’s not afraid to go look for it. She encountered a lot of jerks who expressed interest and then failed to show up for coffee dates or lunch. But she has never lost faith that her Prince Charming is out there trying to find her. Good luck, Sara. I love you.

What Were YOU Doing When You Were 10?

2010-09-15T21:50:00.001-07:00

Pretty In Pink or Lavender or Red

2010-09-12T21:09:00.000-07:00

I'm blaming this current fascination with nail polish on my main character. I think I'm living vicariously through her. Or she's a manifestation of my new outlook on life. Not sure which but that's another story. Regardless...

I've never, ever been interested in maintaining perfectly polished nails. That's not to say I have claws or anything. I just have no patience for the upkeep. And when I had a massage therapy practice I held the belief that it's more professional and hygienic to present bare naked nails. Call me crazy. I still keep my nails cut-to-the-quick short. Relax. I'll get to the polish thing in a minute. After I set the scene.

When I prepared for my NYC trip I felt compelled to buy some new clothes which included, as you all know, lingerie. Maybe lingerie is too sultry a term. After all, it was only hip hugger panties, but the point is...once I'd bought the new undies it flipped a switch of consciousness. Creepers, when did I become an androgynous bore? Show a little skin for goodness sake! Wear a skirt, some heels, jewelry. Yeesh. And so the monster was shocked to life.
I dragged out the Guide To All That Is Girl and crammed for the exam. Thank god I'd highlighted the important bits because it's a long damn book. Cliff's needs to make notes on that one.
I texted Erin in a panic the day before my departure:
- I need ur tanning stuff!!
- K, why?
- I'm wearin a skirt & heels on the plane. Hafta even out the sock marks.
- LOL! we r headin out on the Harley. Be there in a sec.

So in a sec, I was scrutinized by the both of them.
"I don't know, babe. I think your tanning cream might be a little dark for her."
"No, it's fine. She can just mix it with lotion."
"I don't know..."
"Hey. I'm the hairstylist/cosmetics expert. You arrest people for a living. Hush."

Oh boy. Experimental skin shading the day before departure. I started to sweat. Very against everything set forth in that aforementioned guide. I carefully blended lotion and tanning cream to a perfect shade of mocha. Lest anyone feel the need to start biting fingernails in concern, it all worked out fine. My farmer's tan miraculously disappeared.
And so, with new clothes, tan skin, and twelve hours till take-off, I thought Why not? polish my fingernails. Thus began my infatuation with nail color. I felt more feminine, my fingers looked pretty.
Since I've been back I have purchased three new colors. I've changed color every few days. I'm coordinating my clothes with the polish. *shakes head* I got it bad.

The Bestest Season Of The Year

2010-09-10T06:22:00.000-07:00

Is, of course, Fall. Before you get all up in my face, I am fully aware it is only September 10th. But *grin* the weather here has been slightly crisp! And not in the usual, southern California "burnt to a crisp". It's cool and breezy, sunny and beeutiful! That always makes me snappy happy. It also triggers the crazy in me. Causing me to say things like snappy happy.
I also get a head start on the October/Halloween shenanigans. This strange and disturbing holiday used to creep me out when I was a kid, but now that I'm an adult I enjoy the snot out of it. In my other life I coordinated the Halloween Carnival at my stepson's school. *Blows on fingernails and buffs on shirt* Damn, I was good!
Now, my Halloween is channeled through writing pieces of twisted fiction and reading other pieces of twisted fiction. I'm so looking forward to the October Flashy Fiction offerings!! The entire month was made of amazing prompts and posts. If you weren't around last year, go check it out. Now. That's an order. Yes, I'm bossy. Get over it.
I just might resurrect this disgustingly awesome photo/prompt:

nook, dude!

2010-09-09T09:05:00.000-07:00

Dear nook designer,

I appreciate that you were trying to make your e-reader cool and innovative. But sometimes function must take precedence over cool.

For instance - those little page turner arrows on each side of your lovely reader. For some unknown reason it was decided that instead of the "buttons" being flush into the frame of the device, it would be cool if there was a space in between. (See the gray area where the < & > buttons are? There's a small gap between the frame and the base of the nook. But you already know that.)

Did you really think that nook owners would get great satisfaction each time we pushed one of those arrows and heard the little "click" sound it makes? Because as far as I can tell, that's the only purpose the vacant space serves.

OH, WAIT A MINUTE! There is another benefit to that space hovering between frame and base. IT UNDERMINES THE STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY OF THE FREAKING nOOK.
I mean, I'm no design genius but even I could tell right off that this was a potential problem. Think about it. What could possibly happen when a rather thin piece of rigid plastic with no support behind it is pushed over and over and over again?

Due to your ADD or ADHD related design techniques, my original nook suffered a stress fracture. Yep, the frame cracked. I diligently concentrated my efforts on using the silent finger swipe across the bottom screen with nook #2. However, there are times when it's just not possible and I need to click. Not often, but it happens.

Now that nook #3 is UPS-ing its way to my door, I just want to know...do I hold the title of "Most Likely To Need Another Nook?"

2010-09-08T20:35:00.000-07:00

Holy cow, I love Scrivener. It's an OCD organizer's dream. *sigh*

We're still in the starry-eyed dating stage - you know, that period when you're charmed to giggles with those cute quirks, never imagining in your wildest dreams they'd get on your last nerve. Ever.

I have to say, it's looking pretty dang good. I can see long term with this one.

Lalala...giggle

Lefty or Righty?

2010-09-06T21:44:00.000-07:00

I am a task master. I relish the challenge of a project and its myriad components that need organizing, prioritizing, crossing-off-the-list-izing. It’s satisfying in an immediate, see results way.

I am an artist. I relish forming sentences that create atmosphere, nail an emotion, paint a scene, tell a story. It’s satisfying in a deep, bare the soul, creative way.

So when all is said, I walk the line between left-brained and right-brained. Which is my dilemma. At least that’s what I thought until I took an online quiz to determine whether I leaned more toward one side of the brain or the other.

I scored 20% left brain/80% right brain. Pffft?! Then why am I having so much trouble getting that manuscript to materialize? Why am I able to fly to NYC, take charge of Tim’s moving project in seconds and knock it out like I was sitting at Starbuck’s having a latte?

I’d love to think I was really 80% right brained. It might fool me to just…write. With abandon. Not thinking about plot, where to go with that thing or this character just now. Trust it will all materialize due to my 80% right brainedness because that’s what right brainers do. Create.
In truth, I think that bastard 20% left brain has been working out at the gym. It’s muscling in on the right brain and kicking sand in its face. What to do, what to do…

Did I Write That?

2010-09-04T17:01:00.000-07:00

I moan and groan that my imagination lacks imagination.

And then I pick up one of my little notebooks, blow off the tortilla chip crumbs, pry apart the sticky pages ( no idea) and look at the scrawly writing. Did I write that?

Oh, that's the stuff I wrote... And that's the stuff I wrote while on the plane from Dallas to Burbank, while we were cruising smack against a thunderhead pulsing with lightning. Yea, that crazy was about the time my Xanax wore off. But hey, that's kind of good. I should go with that idea cause it could work out better than what I'm wrestling with now.

Sometimes I should just shut up and let my imagination take over.

Victoria's Secret Trickery

2010-09-02T22:16:00.000-07:00

So, before my NYC adventure I decided to invest in new undies. My current collection is perfectly fine but it's nice to have lovely new lingerie. Not that anyone important would be seeing them, mind you. It's just best to be prepared. Nothing worse than having to forgo an opportunity for fear of revealing shabby underthings.

I love Victoria's Secret. That store makes me feel girlie, (even though I could technically shop in the pre-teen section of JC Penny) so I really hope they don't employ any nefarious labor techniques because then I'd have to hate them and go elsewhere.

The colors! The styles! It's like a candy store of the old-fashioned variety where brightly colored ribbon candy and pastel taffies are displayed in glass jars. I wander around ogling for a while before choosing. I'm a creature of habit in most regards, however, I do like change to break up the boring. This was the day to break up the boring and choose a new style of pantie. I had to think about it long and hard. My high-leg brief suits me just fine. It's not your grannie pantie digs-into-your upper-thigh and tops just below your bosom style yet it contains any jiggly bits that might have snuck up on you.

But this day I was drawn to the Hip Hugger style. It looked...hip. What intrigued me the most was the fact that the back had a puckered seam running down the middle. Would this serve to hug the cheeks, thereby making them appear more? Might I actually look like I possessed a tush? It was worth a try. Although common sense shook her head at me and said, "Since there is no padding in the tush section, how would a mere gathered seam make your ass look more significant? My guess is that this seam will serve to be a colossal annoyance when it sneaks between the cracks, so to speak. Besides, those girls are cut pretty low. Will you be able to handle it?"

I shushed Ms. Common Sense and bought three trial pair. I laundered them and tossed them in my NYC bag with the promise I would wear them and the excitement that they would create an ass where I have none. (unless you count my ex-husband)

Saturday morning I showered and donned my hip hugger panties. Not too weird. That back seam kind of hugged in a sexy way. Maybe I had a butt! With no full length mirror in the bathroom with which to see, I stepped out for an objective opinion.

"Do these new panties make my butt look big?" I said, hopefully.

"Uh, no. God, you have a tight piriformis." While that statement sounds like dialogue in a romance novel just before the hot guy ravishes the girl, it couldn't be farther from it. In Pilates-speak, a tight piriformis is another way of saying flat butt.

"Dammit!" I said as I wriggled the seam out from between my cheeks. "You did NOT just laugh."

"Me? No. No laughing came out of my mouth."

Back To Being Me

2010-09-01T14:44:00.000-07:00

I went to NYC for four days. Four fun, hectic, hotter-than-Hades, work-my-ass-off days. Apparently, months ago, while under the influence of two glasses of wine, I promised Tim I would help him move out of his pilates studio. Okay, okay. It didn't exactly go down that way. More accurately, I insisted that he not throw away or give away all the Ikea cabinetry in the studio.
On the one hand, the pieces weren't all that expensive but still...add up about ten pieces of cabinets with all the accoutrement and you've spent some bank. On the other hand, is it worth paying movers about $1500 (NYC prices!) to move it all to his apartment? Dilemma.
"I'll just fly out and help you move it."
"You're kidding, right?"
"No. I haven't seen you in ages! Besides, we can knock it out in a day."
Famous last words. I should know better. I've moved a million times. I opened retail stores for a living. I know better.

Of course, bossy me also decided that Tim was in desperate need of an apartment make-over as well. Not only did we disassemble Ikea at his studio, haul it down the freight elevator, down the street (no parking in front of the building, natch), into a rented van, drive across town, shimmy it into another freight elevator and into the apartment...I made him wash walls, tear down disgusting blinds, and toss various c r a p as well. I'm such a good friend. :) Translated: control freak

But you know, it was fun. It was my escape from my life for four days. When I'm on vacation I can be another person. When I'm in New York, I'm a New Yorker. And Tim makes me laugh. That's one of the best things in the world.
Besides, he gave me a pilates workover. Translated: torture session
"I have a flat butt. Can we fix that?"
"You have a tight piriformis. Yes, we can fix that."
Good thing it was a weekend and all the other occupants of the building were gone. I screamed. Very loudly. I screamed profanities too because there was no holding them back. They came out of my mouth all on their own. Some of the words I'd never heard before. I just had a sixth sense they were bad.
But let me tell you, I have a much happier piriformis. And I even have a special lasagna noodle stretchy band thing with which to continue stretches here at home. Soon I will have a butt.

Here's To An Awesome Week Ahead

2010-08-21T20:22:00.000-07:00

Lordy. What a hellacious week I had.
First off, since we've been experiencing a mild summer, Mother Nature decided enough was enough and the ingrates, sinners, and debauchers of LA deserved to be punished. Temperatures in excess of 100 degrees swooped down upon us, twirling their handlebar mustaches, tying us to the railroad tracks and leaving us to suffer.

Next, due to a bit of unexpected (more like WTF?) goings down, I was forced to speak to my ex (via text because this is the only way we can speak to each other with any civility) . I truly envy those couples who, when they cease to exist as a couple, can still manage to carry on a grown up relationship. Hey, I'd be willing to do that if the party in question would remove his head from his...don't get me started. But, as is my usual, I got my panties all bunched up anticipating the worst case scenario. I was never a boy scout but I ascribe to their motto about being prepared. And then in the end, I can laugh and convince myself the entire experience wasn't really all that bad. Yeah, right. Anyone want to tell me why all that was necessary this week?

And then, I found out my dad has the big C. Let me tell you, it was a shocker. The man is 82, has never had anything remotely serious health-wise, and has more brain cells than a lot of people half his age. The good news is that they found it early and it's contained and totally treatable. I think we're all still in a bit of denial but the prognosis is excellent.

So it was somewhat of a whirlwindish week. I'm so looking forward to climbing aboard that American Airlines plane on Friday! I can see all my friends and family raising their eyebrows right now with exclamations of "Damn woman! Did you get kicked out of the country?" I hate to fly. HATE it. This is how much I hate it...Ms. Doesn't-even-take-ibuprofin unless a digit is hanging by a ligament had the following convo with her physician:
"I'm going to NYC next week."
"You hate to fly."
"No kidding."
"I know how you feel about medication but would you like to try a few xanax?"
"Sure, why not?"

Please tell me I'm not going to turn into Liza Minelli.

Please take a look at Zoe Talks YA, linked at the top. Zoe is easing into the blog thing by telling us a bit about herself. And that photo of her? Spitting image of my sister at that age. Spooky, that.

Exciting New Link

2010-08-16T22:29:00.000-07:00

My niece, Zoe, is a bookworm extraordinaire. The perfect YA age - she turns 15 on Aug. 31! - I thought, Who better than the Zoe-bug to do an occasional guest post on a new YA fiction novel? I totally enjoy hearing her take on a book.

The guest post idea suddenly morphed into its own entity. Today. I decided to create a link devoted to the YA, Zoe's musings and enthused reactions to her current reads.
It's up now, with a link at the top here - Zoe Talks YA. She is currently writing her first post, which will have something to do with Mockingjay. Stay tuned...

Countdown!

2010-08-12T21:05:00.000-07:00

August 24: Anticipation for this one is like Christmas eve when I was eight. I will admit to a bit of trepidation. I'm a staunch advocate of the HEA or at the very least, a HFN ending. And I'm not sure where this last book of the trilogy will take us. *biting fingernails* I have my ebook version on preorder as well as a hardback copy. This is how much I admire Collins' writing.

August 27: Anticipation for this one is almost like Christmas eve when I was eight. I've been to NYC lots of times so I know what to expect. Although... come to think of it, I never truly know what's in store for me when I relinquish control to Tim. No doubt it will involve that kind of laughter where you actually lose your breath. And vocabulary challenges. Oh, and my body being twisted like a pretzel (get your mind out of the gutter. you people always go there. I'm talking Pilates torture). And maybe Fire Island.

Project Runway: How Do I Love Thee?

2010-07-31T15:04:00.000-07:00

Reality shows usually fail to keep my attention after two, maybe three seasons. But Project Runway! Season 8 debuted the other night and did not disappoint. I'm still in love.

The opening sequence is carefully crafted to give us a gander at the personalities of the designers as they arrive at various locations in NYC (airports, train stations, Staten Island ferry, I'm not too sure because I was rooting in the freezer for a dark chocolate Dove bar during some of this) - meeting up "randomly" with other contestants in mostly awkward but always staged encounters. Ya gotta love it .

Like a carefully choreographed Broadway show, they merge outside Lincoln Center. Picture the Rockettes doing a routine with suitcases.
Cue gorgeous Heidi Klum (the woman has had like ten kids and I bet you could bounce a quarter off her ass) and dapper Tim Gunn (I love you Tim but please invest in some new eyeglasses).

Everyone is all shiny excited because, hey...We're on Project Runway! But...No, no you're not! You are actually still auditioning. *Gasp* *WTF?* And your final task in this audition is to yank something out of your suitcase, right now! with which to make a totally new garment. In five hours.
Some grumbling, frowning, wide-eyed confusion ensues along with rummaging in suitcases. Articles of clothing are chosen and proudly displayed. Smug smiles. Piece of cake. I can crank this out. But...No, we weren't finished with you yet! There's a twist! (Heidi: "I love twists.") Hand that piece of clothing to the person on your right. Bwahaha!

Now, here's the thing about these shows...you have to know that nothing is as it seems. If they ask you to choose something from your own wardrobe wouldn't you be just a beensy bit suspicious? C'mon people, think a few steps ahead! I laughed hysterically as Casanova (yep) pouted about the D&G $1000 and some change trousers he'd just given up. Oh ho!
The cast of characters is predictably eclectic and artsy and sport names like Peach, Casanova, McKell, and Mondo. As per usual, their looks run the gamut.

Casanova

Is is just me or does Casanova look like the love child of Ron Perlman?

I must say the final judging was a bit more catty than usual with phrases such as:
"Hot mess"
"It looks like my hairdressing cape"
"80's streetwalker"
"Side cleavage is not a rare thrilling moment for any woman"
"She looks like a pole dancer in Dubai"
"Fascinatingly bad"
"Butt ugly"

Ron Perlman aka Hellboy

I'm sad that they tossed the white chick from Utah. I so wanted to see how those dreadlocks held up for six weeks.

Spam...a lot

2010-07-25T21:10:00.000-07:00

Contrary to what appears to be popular belief out there in the blog-o-sphere, I am not fluent in any Asian language.
My blog, when I actually post (which has not been often this summer ), is conveyed in the English language. Good golly, English is hard enough to master! Sometimes I do it well and sometimes, well...

Heck, my name is nowhere near Asian sounding so that can't be the reason why I've been getting so many comments in a language, or languages, that mean nothing to me. I certainly do not look Asian. Oh! could it be all the Chinese take-out I order over at China Wok? Maybe it's those guys.

Is it wrong to feel a tiny bit peeved that I have been inundated with spammy comments in Asian? I'm probably being politically incorrect or insensitive or something by using the all encompassing term Asian. But, bottom line is...I don't give a crap. Stop with the spam. Please.

Happy Birthday, Sis!

2010-07-15T11:46:00.000-07:00

Today is my little sister Suzanne's birthday. I resurrected the photo from last year's post since it's so damn cute.

Last year's birthday marked a monumental accomplishment. We were so proud! Suz completed her Bachelor's degree after postponing school for a mere hundred years to have a family.

This year marks its own momentous occasion. My little sister became a grandmother. *choke* Which is really impossible since I'm only thirty. Okay, thirty five. Still impossible.

We don't see each other much since she and her pack have lived in the shadow of the Grand Teton's for the last fifteen years or so and only surface to run down a deer, bathe in the Teton River, or howl at a full moon.

Despite living in the sticks, she has managed to raise a fine litter. The oldest has begun a pack of his own, as I just mentioned, and lives within barking distance. The middle pup effectively slipped his collar and hightailed it to Arizona to attend flight school. The youngest of the litter, Zoe, is appropriately named. She's full of life. I'm partial to this one since she shares my penchant for reading. I just sent her a box of YA books to consume. It's interesting to hear an actual young adult's take on a YA book. The other reason she's my favorite - she really likes my WIP even though it's rough and ugly.

You did a good job with the pack, grandma! Happy Birthday!!

A La Carte Monday

2010-07-12T13:18:00.000-07:00

Inspired by Emily's marathon eight hour brainstorming session with her BFF at Panera Bread, I promptly hauled my BFF to the Lazy Dog yesterday afternoon. BFF and I get together once a week anyway for this purpose, however we do not engage in eight hour marathons. There is an informal agenda; she gets to talk about her life for thirty minutes and then it's all about me and my writing. She is allowed to interject tid bits of a personal nature throughout our date, about which I act appropriately interested and concerned. She is fully aware of this sham. (Just so you don't think I'm a horrible person/friend, we have separate dates where writing is not a topic)

I've been concerned that my story is too shallow. I've had some glimpses of things I'd like to try with the plot but I've also been keeping myself from getting too ahead of the game. Being a novice who thinks she should be far more advanced than she is, I tend to forget that there really is a process to writing. Like the all important first draft. In which things are not perfect. Illusory even. Relationships are not fully formed, worlds are still in creation, minor things like that.

Which made me think of Anne Lamott's book on writing, bird by bird.

Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he'd had three months to write. It was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother's shoulder, and said, "Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird."

So the image I have of that Hitchock movie...good or bad?

Break Out The Layers

2010-07-01T22:39:00.000-07:00

I've been working on something new for a few weeks. I actually listened to a very talented writer's advice and dashed out a first chapter without editing. A first for me.

I read the pages aloud to my good friend Tim. He loved it. Tim is a profoundly funny and gifted writer. Even though we write vastly different genres, he listens to my stuff and makes thoughtful and helpful comments. He makes an effort to understand about vampires and other-worldly creatures.

Then I started messing with it. Oh, don't put that face on, please. There is a reason for my messing.

When I am immersed in a good book I take it in on a couple of levels. 1. pure enjoyment and the bliss of being inside another world. 2. to analyze the writer's style and how they create these characters.
I go back and forth between the levels while I read. Sometimes I reread parts a few times.

One of the common denominators I notice about compelling characters is layering. The writer is like a chef creating a meal. You don't just toss a wad of bland pasta in a bowl and serve. Your guests would walk out. Create a sauce to enhance that pasta. Here's where the layers come into play. The onions and garlic are sauteed first. Imagine that fragrance wafting throughout the kitchen. It gets your taste buds going. As each subsequent ingredient is added, the sauce becomes more complex, more interesting, more compelling. Characters...pasta sauce...

So even though I had no business editing that chapter, I did it anyway. I was messing with layering my character. It may all be tossed out at some point but it did give me a lot more insight into who she is, how she thinks, what kind of pasta she likes.

Mission Accomplished

2010-06-30T17:50:00.000-07:00

After endless hours of agonizing indecision and hair pulling frustration, I've arrived at the new blog look. Theoretically, this should have been accomplished in about 30 minutes (including cruising for a new background) but what can I say? Life is hard, people. So hard. Some of us make it even harder.

Closing In On Two Weeks...

2010-06-27T20:21:00.000-07:00

Once the bell tolls on Wednesday it will officially be two weeks since I vowed to change the look of my blog. Two weeks. How's that for the epitome of deferring action? Actually, it's not that I'm dragging my feet. I'm currently in the land of indecisive. Which is a sub-division of La La Land. It has its own brand of charisma. I spend a bit of time looking at templates, then I dive into the book I'm currently reading since it's very taxing to look at templates. Sometimes I go to work, which is a requirement of living in this sub-division. Sometimes I write. *gasp* That's a whole other story.

Used to be, when I decided something in my life needed an overhaul, I moved faster than Edward Cullen zipping around to open Bella's car door. My friends and family suffered whiplash.

I quit jobs, went back to school, moved out of state, then out of state again, and yet again. None of these moves stymied me.

I suffered mind-numbing jokes regarding my name and that big city in Texas where I lived for a tiny bit.
(One year, three months, two days, four hours to be exact. Not that I counted.)

I chopped wood into appropriate sized pieces to feed the only-source-of-heat wood stove for my cottage in Vermont. By the way...don't EVER try to jam a too large log into an already blazing stove. If it gets stuck halfway in and halfway out, your f****ed.

I've wrangled kids and dogs. I've massaged exhausted bodies on the annual AIDS bicycle ride between San Francisco and Los Angeles. Hell, I survived (and loved every minute of) going to India not once, but twice. I drew the line at the cobra, though. Put that thing back in the basket, thankyouverymuch.

I guess my point is...what's the problem with making a decision about a new blog look? Only the week will tell.

Let's Make It As Difficult As Possible!

2010-06-23T16:29:00.000-07:00

Exactly one week ago I tossed out that I was tired of my blog look and was promptly going to do something about it. My how time flies.

Changing out the template is a no-brainer, right? Should be. I've done it before. But somewhere along the line I've implemented the same tactical shenanigans that I use while writing. Which is...make it as freaking difficult as possible!
I've tested various templates and subsequently nixed them. I actually wanted to use the old/original photo of ripples on a lake as my header again but alas, my Mac and I are arguing over how to accomplish that little feat with a new template.
A friend asked me today if I'd finished the new look. I could see the wheels turning even before the sentence was completely out of her mouth.

Oh, crap! Sore subject, not to mention that I've just outed the fact that I've not even so much as looked at her blog for days. Oops.

On with my mission...

Remember Me?

2010-06-16T17:08:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I'm back. Europe was amazing. *grin*

Time to get back to business. First off, I'm changing the busy busy of the blog look. I thought I liked it at the time, and maybe I did but, it's got to go. I think it contributed to my not wanting to visit. So, I am on a mission to revamp, redesign, reconnect with the blog. Stay tuned.

However, while I was in Europe I did get some writing done on the MS. *bigger grin* The bruises have healed, Heather. Just in case you were worried.

Summer's A Comin'

2010-05-30T16:59:00.000-07:00

Summer. It's not my favorite season but it seems to be the most popular of the four, though. Some people love to be hot and sweaty I guess. Admittedly, there are choice circumstances where hot and sweaty works for me but overall, nah.

Here's what I know about summer:

The season when I have a perpetual Farmer's Tan. Forget about wearing an evening gown unless I do the spray tan thing, which is an experience to be avoided. Am I the only one who feels ridiculous standing nude in a cubicle, wearing a hair net, holding weird poses while being misted with tinted goo? Maybe. Maybe the procedure has been radically improved upon since I subjected myself to it. Which was the last time I had to wear an evening gown. Really, I did.
The time when all manner of idiots take to the streets in jogging gear, dragging their dogs along with them in one thousand degree heat. I could care less about the moron out there running at noon. It's the poor canine that deserves an owner with a brain.
Miles of exposed skin = microscopic grooming required. Just because you shower sans eyeglasses does not mean you actually possess perfect dermis. Best to have someone give you the once over. *wink*
That Mojito packs a bigger punch while being sipped in the sun. You can actually get away with less alcohol during summer without sacrificing any benefits.
Public transportation is something to be avoided, especially if you live in a foreign country or NYC.
The smell of fresh cut grass makes me smile. Always.
Condom sales spike.
Insects are released into the atmosphere by evil scientists.
80's music makes a huge comeback.
They should resurrect drive-in theaters.

What do you know about summer?

Inspirational Field Trip

2010-05-27T18:42:00.000-07:00

Why does it take a visit from my cousin Roger to get me to the Getty Museum? I live in Los Angeles, for crying out loud! It takes 30 minutes (barring no sig alerts or earthquakes) on the 405 freeway. Inexcusable.
I used to be a museum junkie when I lived here. But then I moved to exotic locations, started working like an idiot, and lost touch with my inner artist.

During my long absence, the Getty was born. The museum sits atop a hillside just west of the UCLA campus. It is said that architect Richard Meier posted up on a hilltop across from the actual site during all hours of the day and evening. He used his observations of the lavender tinged mist that rolled in at sunset, the natural Y formation of the hilltop, and the surrounding landscape in his design. The result is spectacular! The architecture is absolutely inspiring, and even if you know nothing about architecture (like me) you will be in awe of the buildings and gardens.

When you arrive at the Getty, you park in a structure at the bottom of the hill/mountain. This museum is not accessed from a busy street. Instead, a tram silently whooshes you to the top and into another world. Far away from noise, traffic, and crowds, your mind eases into a quiet space. Your anticipation builds and you are a blank slate, ready to absorb all the creativity that awaits.

Gardens and landscaping complement the architecture. Sculptures and fountains surprise and make you giggle. We almost forgot that there was art inside the buildings! The paintings, sculptures, furniture, photos, prints are ever changing and awe inspiring.

As I stared at a rough sketch done by Leonardo DaVinci, tears welled up. Seriously, this piece of parchment was somewhere in the vicinity of 500 years old. The Master himself drew those very images!

How busy we all are, how much we forget that sometimes it is necessary to stop and be quiet. Look at what surrounds you. Be inspired by it. Get out of your head and your job and your crazy life. It is in those moments that life exists. And even LA can be beautiful.

What Are You Reading, Watching, Writing? Wednesday

2010-05-19T20:16:00.000-07:00

At this point on Wednesday...8pm west coast time, most everyone is done with their day or they're into the next day already. *blush* I've been so lacking with the blogging lately.

I have been prodding myself to write, write, write and get that MS out of the garage or basement or wherever it's been hanging out. I got the duct tape off it's mouth but it's pretty pissed for the treatment it's been receiving and it's not making things easy. Cranky thing. I think it's been watching too much Dr. Phil. Or maybe Tyra because that wench (my MS, not Tyra. ok believe what you want) has been flinging some attitude. Comparing it to other already published works was clearly not the right thing to do. Those bruises are almost gone but the bite mark still smarts. I decided that I should get some inspiration from other venues to keep the animosity to a minimum.

Enter last night's episode of Glee. I do love that show. I was moved, moved I tell you, at Will and Brian's duet audition for Le Mis. Hearing their rendition of Aerosmith's Dream On, with Doogie hitting those high notes...wow! I realized something. I need to keep dreaming on and believing that my MS is going to make it.

What Are You Reading? Wednesday

2010-05-11T19:43:00.000-07:00

Really folks, what are you reading? I have been totally absorbed in one of my adult novels of...amazing psychological introspection. Does that make sense? Is that a thing anyone understands?
Well, suffice it to say that there are some authors who have an uncanny ability to nail the human psyche in all its glory. All the angst, the good, the bad, the insecure, the gloriously happy. I am reveling in these characters who have issues and problems. I have had to put the damn book down a few times because I'm way too involved in their issues. It is physically painful for me to carry on and read. This is the sign of an author who knows how to convey emotion.
What have you read lately that has even come close to that level? Please share. Because there are not many authors who can push my buttons in this manner.
I desperately want to write in this manner. I'm digging deep, dredging up the crap that has comprised my life over the last few years. It's my therapy and my salvation.
What do you write about? Is it the same stuff you want to read?

Brain Waving

2010-05-06T15:48:00.000-07:00

I'm supposed to be coming up with a Task List for my writing today. An attempt to kick myself in the sorry procrastinating ass. *purses lips*

I'm sitting here thinking of "tasks" that need to be accomplished in order for this MS to actually happen. Well, duh. Write. That would be #1. Attitude, Deb. Attitude. Slap that bitch down and tie her up.

It occurred to me that I act like an eye-rolling, I-know-it-all, thirteen year old when it comes to my writing. And this is what gets me into trouble and not into writing. I cover my ears and lalalala real loud so I don't hear what my problem is. If I write a task list then I'm going to be forced to remove my hands from my ears and listen, which scares the crap out of me.

As I was playing with my iPod earbuds, imagining they were little crash cart paddles, it also occurred to me that there is a rather interesting dichotomy between Deb and Writer Deb.

Deb is all about control, organization, getting things done in a not-half-assed-manner, thankyouverymuch. Don't mess with her stuff. Seriously.

Writer Deb is all about just letting it happen as it may 'cause that's how creativity rolls. Okay, she likes the controls of grammar and spelling but those are structural elements that either indicate you are an educated adult or a Beverly Hillbilly.

Writer Deb is the one that needs the task list because Deb pretty much has one on her person at all times. How can I convince Writer Deb to stop sighing and rolling her eyes and accept the fact that she needs to take some lessons from Deb? Why is this such a big fricking deal?

Hell, I used to tell my stepson, "You'd be done by now if you hadn't stopped for a whine break."

Not To Be A Smarty Pants, or anything

2010-04-26T16:35:00.000-07:00

The famously fabulous Los Angeles Times Festival of Books happened this weekend. The weather was amazing, as it was last year. The event was spot on organized and drew a huge crowd. I'm not a great one with crowds but these people are all nice and sedate so all was good.
This year they actually had a Young Adult stage! The stage areas highlight authors or a panel of authors who talk about their work, answer questions, etc. I sat in on Boys Will Be Boys: Guys Talk YA with Ben Esch, Blake Nelson, Andrew Smith, and Allen Zadoff. Interesting to hear their take on writing YA male characters. The moderator did have to drag out a lot of info as these guys just did a lot of nodding. Typical.
Then I sat in for Blood, Fangs and Temptation: Everything Vampire with Heather Brewer, Rachel Caine, Melissa de la Cruz and Richelle Mead. The crowd for this one was out of control! whew. Standing room only. I find it very enlightening to actually see an author speak about their work. It gives me hope. These people seem...normal. *smile*
I was sooo sad to see that John Green, yes John Green! was speaking on Sunday and not Saturday when I was there. boo hoo

I didn't take a bunch of photos like I did last year.But there is one photo, however, that bears posting. Let me set it up. There are clone-like booths throughout. They house booksellers, authors, etc. My friend Mary and I just couldn't resist this one. Mind you, the event was in full swing so this is not way early or anything. *snort*

Okay, okay!!!

2010-04-22T16:18:00.000-07:00

Well, what do you know, people actually do read my blog! Jon and Emily's comments on my last post made me cringe with shame. Lest anyone think I don't like John Green, let me clarify...I did say that An Abundance of Katherines was not my fav. That doesn't mean I didn't like it! Ack. Katherines was wonderfully funny and all, I guess I was just in a mood. Green's humor and command of language blows me away.
Maybe at the time I read Katherines I was insane. Maybe I was comparing it to Looking for Alaska just a bit too much because I did soooo love that one. Jon and Emily...I have flipped through Katherines this afternoon and have come to the conclusion that I was insane. Good god. I'm recalling the hilariously funny parts. Maybe there was a little too much cocktail action going on when I was relaxing and reading Katherines the first time. Maybe someone was torturing me with needles under my fingernails and I wasn't able to enjoy the book as I should have.
Thank you for bringing me to my senses and making me reread it. Now can I go finish will grayson, will grayson? Or is it Will Grayson, will grayson? I better shut up now before I get into more Green trouble.

What Are You Reading? Wednesday

2010-04-21T06:00:00.000-07:00

Yep, just started it. Anyone finished yet? What did you think? Personally, I'm a huge John Green fan. Although I wasn't crazy about An Abundance of Katherines, I still liked it. Hey, if I was capable of writing even a smidge of what this man belts out I'd be in bliss.

I also finished the fifth Mercy Thompson book, Silver Borne. Patricia Briggs continues to bring on the good stuff with this one. I'm not sure who dreamed up the cover art because, unless I really missed something Mercy is not covered in ink. Although, it is fitting for the character! She's spunky and independent, can bring down a vampire or evil fae creature, and she's an auto mechanic. Ha!

And...I'm patiently (not really) waiting for JR Ward's next Black Dagger Brotherhood novel. April 27th April 27th April 27th April 27th
It's the little things, people.

Urban Dictionary Hilarity

2010-04-20T20:17:00.000-07:00

I like to use the Urban Dictionary to search for slang words for my writing (when I'm actually writing). I could sit for hours plunking in nonsense words and dirty words just to see what other dirty words are out there that I might not know about. Hilarity. But what's even more hilarious is...and I cannot take credit for discovering this wonderfully funny experience...when you look up your own name. Emily threw that at me the other day and I was like, you can do that and get an answer? Sure thing! Go, try it. I started with my name, plugged in my friends, and was laughing like a hyena. Do it, really, go on.

Chocolate Chip Cookies, Facial Hair & Other Randomness

2010-04-19T20:29:00.000-07:00

The only positive aspect to having been blindish, cross-eyed, and therefore generally oblivious to all that passed in front of me was...there were some scary things I didn't notice. Now that my baby browns are all fixed up and focused straight ahead let me tell you! The glaringly precise sunlight that bounces off the rear view mirror and homes in on every imperfection on one's face is earth shattering. Previously, it was all just a vaseline-smeared-on-the-camera-lense effect like that used for Barbra Streisand or Joan Collins. No longer, baby! Picture yourself sitting at a rather long red light. You lean forward and to the right for a peek at your eyeliner or lip gloss. And...WTH? When did that hair, that black hair, sprout on the side of my face? Holy mother of laser treatments. Ya know what really pisses me off about it all? No one, no one told me about it! C'mon, really. I'd certainly let you know if there was something weird going on with your face. dude.

I'm a chocolate chip cookie snob. My mom made the best! cookies ever. Mine are pretty good, too. I hate, just hate the softy greasy kind. ugh. They must be crisp and, best case scenario, just a tad soft in the middle. Store bought kind are usually crap. But I have to say, Whole Foods has a teeny plastic container of dark chocolate chip cookies with pecans that are to die for! I grew up with walnuts and milk chocolate chips in my cookie. Now that I'm a grown up (shut up) I have more sophisticated tastes, therefore the dark chocolate and pecans. Go get some.

I had to pay taxes! How did that happen? Fine. I know how that happens, but in my defense, I was distracted this last year. My paychecks were posted online and directly deposited so I never looked at those stub things. Grrrr. Sneaky bastards, don't they know I need that money?

Lastly, do you ever wonder how the universe works it so you meet certain people at specific times in your life? And then those connections alter the course of events for you? How does that happen? Is there someone sitting at a giant console, kind of like subway train or air traffic controllers, conducting what the heck throws down? Where do I apply for that job?

She Has Surfaced!

2010-04-13T19:28:00.000-07:00

Yes, I have two dogs. But these are not them...dogs. These guys are Maggie (the Airedale) and Ginger (the chiwawawa sitting on my lap). I was dog sitting for my gal pals, Erin and Lynn, a few days ago. Ginger was lapsing into a coma over my WIP. We were trying to figure out what the heck to do with Blake and Nyssa. I gotta tell ya, I'm stumped at the moment.
Maybe you've read the story. I've posted the "blog" version of that story here. See the side bar. But, in reality, I'm working on a much different version. It's very adult. Very...hmmm, shall we say...wishful thinking on my part? Hey, when I got stuck with my YA manuscript I decided to just start working on my next fav genre - adult paranormal, leaning on the erotica side. Oh, don't act shocked. You all know I'm a closet wild child. And thanks to my wild child critique partner, I've been reading some really fantastic adult stuff. Although, she doesn't like one of my favorite authors. *sigh* I just don't know what to think about that. Anyway...
I think I'm being too hard on myself with this current WIP. I want it to be perfect right out of the chute. Ain't gonna happen. I just can't wrestle that idea to the ground, though. It's holding me back. Well, that and the fact that I'm trying really hard to come up with something unique and fantastic. Whew. Maybe I should just stop with the flagellation already. Ya think? And this is why my other fantastic critique partner and I get along. She's just as bad as I am with the being hard on yourself thing. But...here's where she's wrong. She has a fantabulous MS and won't admit it. She keeps trying to tweak it. Sure, there are some things that need tweaking but...overall, it's amazing. If I had THAT much written...I'd be...probably trying to tweak it into perfection.
So, all that being said, I should probably maybe someday offer up something for my fantastic critique partners to actually read. Yeah.

So...I neglected the blog for TWO weeks. Man. Tomorrow is What Are You Reading, Wednesday. And, all I've read is repeats of my favorite adult author, in hopes of gaining some inspiration. All that has done is make me realize just how much I have to learn about this writing thing. *another sigh*

What Are You Reading? Wednesday

2010-03-31T06:48:00.000-07:00

The eyes are feeling better! I'm reading again, after taking a few days off. Crazy, but if I don't read on a daily basis I go nuts.

During my "recovery" I read The Body Finder by Kimberly Derting. Golly, what a good book!

A serial killer on the loose. A girl with a morbid ability. And the boy who would never let anything happen to her.

Violet Ambrose can find the dead. Or at least, those who have been murdered. She can sense the echoes they leave behind... and the imprints they leave on their killers. As if that weren't enough to deal with during junior year, she also has a sudden, inexplicable, and consuming crush on her best friend since childhood, Jay Heaton.

Now a serial killer has begun terrorizing Violet's small town... and she realizes she might be the only person who can stop him."
----

Violet Ambrose is grappling with two major issues: Jay Heaton and her morbid secret ability. While the sixteen-year-old is confused by her new feelings for her best friend since childhood, she is more disturbed by her “power” to sense dead bodies—or at least those that have been murdered. Since she was a little girl, she has felt the echoes the dead leave behind in the world . . . and the imprints that attach to their killers.

Violet has never considered her strange talent to be a gift; it mostly just led her to find dead birds her cat had tired of playing with. But now that a serial killer has begun terrorizing her small town, and the echoes of the local girls he’s claimed haunt her daily, she realizes she might be the only person who can stop him.

Despite his fierce protectiveness over her, Jay reluctantly agrees to help Violet on her quest to find the murderer—and Violet is unnerved to find herself hoping that Jay’s intentions are much more than friendly. But even as she’s falling intensely in love, Violet is getting closer and closer to discovering a killer . . . and becoming his prey herself.

Don't let the subject matter scare you off! Sure, serial killers are not on my list of "yeah, I want to read about that!" but Derting does such a wonderful job of creating suspense and romance that you'll be surprised. Give it a read, you won't be sorry. Loved this book!

What are you reading??

Lookimg For Inspiration?

2010-03-29T15:26:00.000-07:00

I mostly write in flashes of inspiration. A random phrase or piece of conversation pops into my head and I dash out a few paragraphs. Okay, dash makes it sound like I quickly transcribe while my amazingly talented brain dictates. Not so. It can take me an hour sometimes to spit out a page. That damn internal editor shoves his way in there. (It has to be a "he" because most females are more polite than this guy)

It's just soooo hard to let it go and write with abandon! When I discovered Flashy Fiction last year, I was terrified to post something I hadn't labored over. Now, that was defeating the whole purpose of the blog. The daily prompts are inspiration as well as permission to: jot down something quickly... be crazy...share your writing with other creative people who will pat you on the back and say "Well done!"

It took me a long time to get it. To let go and not spend way too much time on a prompt. I posted at least a few times a week. The original seven "prompters" have shuffled a bit due to various obligations and book deals (YES!), and I was eventually inducted into the hall of prompters. Flashy started out with a few followers, then some lurkers, then more followers. There were days when we had lots of contributions and comments! The posts were hilarious, fun, silly. We'd feed off of each other.

The practice and confidence pushed me to begin the YA story I wanted to write. I'm still ~~stuck~~ working on that one, but the point is - the camaraderie, encouragement, practice - of Flashy Fiction was my inspiration.

I've been lazy as of late and have neglected my Flashy fun. I noticed today that we've had zero comments for days! And we have almost 100 followers! So, I say...lurkers, contributors, newcomers - get with it! Write! Be brave! Ya got nothing to lose and you might discover some inspiration that will spur you to write something bigger.

I searched back to the beginning, afraid to read what I'd posted in the early days. I was kind of impressed with myself. *grin* Here's one:

The prompt: "She said what?"

"She said what?" I whispered, incredulous.  

The whisper was mostly due to the fact that I was stunned. There was absolutely no chance of anyone hearing us in the empty house.  

"Well, I overheard mom..." Jolene began in her own hushed voice, delighted I was interested.  

I held up my hand to stop her.  

"I heard you the first time, dork." Jolene may be divulging extremely important info but she was still my baby sister and as such, had to be treated in the same condescending manner as usual.

"Fine," she snapped, "forget about it then.

"  "Calm down, Jellybean." I purred. My brother Marcus and I tortured the poor kid with that nickname.  "So, mom was on the phone with Mrs. Forrest yesterday and...?" I began my interrogation.  

Jolene's head bobbed up and down. She was itching to tell the juicy facts herself. I let her have the floor.

"Mom didn't know I was in the kitchen." Jellybean was like a puppy that had to pee. It came spilling out of her.   "She was saying all dreamy-like that she couldn't wait to get back to Edward and that she hoped Bill's trip--meaning dad's trip--would be extended."   Jolene stopped then. Eyes wide, she expected a huge reaction.

All I could manage was a gaping mouth.  

When I said nothing, she blurted, "You know, Edward of 'Cheryl and Edward Travis' who just moved in across the street!"

No, I did not know. What the hell was going on? My own mother having an affair?

I snapped to.   "Do NOT, I repeat, do not say anything to Marcus when he comes home from Cal this weekend!" I demanded. "I'll do it."

"Sure, whatever." Jolene flipped her hair. "You know, this is very typical of middle-aged women." she said matter-of-fact.  "

"You're twelve," I groaned. "What do you know about middle-aged women."

"I watch Oprah." Jolene tilted up her chin.  

Dad's trip was extended.  

Marcus came home Friday afternoon. I gave him the bad news, expecting my normally sane med student brother to be reasonable. Didn't happen. He exploded. I did manage to contain him for an hour--Mr. Travis wasn't home from work anyway. But, as soon as the black sedan pulled into the driveway across the street, Marcus shot out the kitchen door.  

Mom came in at the same time, carrying groceries. "What in the world is going on? Marcus looks positively murderous!" She dropped her tote bag on the table and began unloading food. "By the way," she went on, " Cheryl and Edwin Travis are coming over for dinner tonight."

I turned away from the window in slow motion.   "The new neighbors?" I gulped. Then it hit me. "I thought it was Cheryl and Edward." I said slowly.

It was at that moment I noticed the book in mom's tote bag. Twilight. OMG!

"Mom, are you reading that?" I pointed at the book like it was a snake.

"Oh, yea. My book club wanted to see what all the hype was about." she said casually. "I must say, that Edward is a hottie!"

My mind fuzzed over but I could still hear her ask, "You are staying for dinner aren't you?"

"Oh you bet. Wouldn't miss it." I chuckled.

Never Take For Granted...

2010-03-26T11:53:00.000-07:00

Pretty huh? Yeah. This is the post-surgery look.

As I was saying...never take your eyesight for granted. I've always had poor vision. Can't even see the E on the chart. Glasses and contact lenses have been my life. So, when the muscles in both my eyes went kaplooey I wasn't too shocked. I lived with it for as long as I could. When it got to be too much, what with the right eye wanting to go this way and the left eye wanting to go that way, I broke down and had the surgery.

Those doctors at UCLA are amazing. The experience was kind of neat as far as surgery goes. I was awake for the procedure. Of course, they use numbing drops in the eye. Fascinating to have my doc tell me what he's doing I'm going to cut the muscle free now so it will feel weird. Then, seeing the stitches being attached. The left eye went fast. The right eye was...painful. My feeble comments...ouch, ouch, ouch! resulted in lots more drops being called for. However, when I was sewed up, sat up, glasses on, I could focus! My eyes were sewn into submission.

My next adventure will be to have cataracts removed. People, cataracts are not just for old folks. They can be a result of sun damage. PLEASE wear sunglasses! I never ever wore sunglasses. I lived in Greece for three years and never protected my eyes. Lived in sunny LA forever and never had the sense to wear sunglasses. Now I have cataracts that have reached a point of...bad.

Isn't it prophetic that I have a blind dog, too?

Isn't The Internet Great?

2010-03-21T18:48:00.000-07:00

I mean, you can find out literally anything with a few clicks. We knew that. But when I decided to go ahead and have the surgery for my Strabismus (eyeballs not aligning, hence blurred vision) I waited until two days before the procedure to have a look-see at an actual procedure. Hot damn. At least I'm at the UCLA Jules Stein clinic. Have a look, but not if you're squeamish:

What Are You Reading? Wednesday

2010-03-17T00:31:00.000-07:00

Before we talk books, I want to know something. Do you snack while reading? Of course you do! Who can just sit there and read without cramming something yummy into their mouth? (get your minds out of the gutter, people. you know who you are)

I think it's pretty much a known fact that snacking while reading follows the same principle as eating while standing in the kitchen. It doesn't count. Those calories do not exist. Isn't that a huge load off your guilty conscience?

Do you go for the salty, the sweet, the savory? I'm usually a pretzel person but now that I have an eReader I'm hands-free! This opens up the possibilities quite a bit, however, it still has to be snacky food. I go through phases with the snacks. I love pretzels so I always circle back, but within my snack food wheel you can find: Cheezits, Doritos, potato chips, all washed down with a Coke. I haven't ventured into much hands-free reading food. But today I noticed that my good friends Ben & Jerry had some new flavors gracing the shelves. For no particular reason I'd lost touch with those guys so I invited them for dessert today:

Magic Brownie: black raspberry ice cream, sweet cream ice cream and chunks of fudgy brownies. This in NO WAY replaces my fav, Chocolate Fudge Brownie. Absolutely not. It's still darn good. I think I might need to make a return trip to the Gap, though.

On to books...

I've just begun Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater. The writing is wonderful and haunting. I'm not far along but the story is grabbing me. Can't wait to crawl under the covers and read. I have a feeling this will be an all-nighter.

For years, Grace has watched the wolves in the woods behind her house. One yellow-eyed wolf—her wolf—is a chilling presence she can't seem to live without. Meanwhile, Sam has lived two lives: In winter, the frozen woods, the protection of the pack, and the silent company of a fearless girl. In summer, a few precious months of being human ... until the cold makes him shift back again.

Now, Grace meets a yellow-eyed boy whose familiarity takes her breath away. It's her wolf. It has to be. But as winter nears, Sam must fight to stay human--or risk losing himself, and Grace, forever.

Yet another Young Adult novel, Hush, Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick was fantastic! Couldn't put it down.

For Nora Grey, romance was not part of the plan. She's never been particularly attracted to the boys at her school, no matter how much her best friend, Vee, pushes them at her...until Patch comes along.
With his easy smile and eyes that seem to see inside her, Nora is drawn to him against her better judgment, but after a series of terrifying encounters, Nora's not sure whom to trust. Patch seems to be everywhere she is, and to know more about her than her closest friends. She can't decide whether she should fall into his arms or run and hide. And when she tries to seek some answers, she finds herself near a truth that is far more unsettling than anything Patch makes her feel.
For Nora is right in the middle of an ancient battle between the immortal and those that have fallen - and when it comes to choosing sides, the wrong choice will cost her life.

What are you reading?

Let's Talk Shopping

2010-03-13T15:30:00.000-08:00

Clothes shopping is not my favorite thing to do anymore. Sounds almost blasphemous, eh? What woman doesn't like to shop for clothes? I worked in retail for years and now I'm back at it. But my attitude has changed.

Years ago, I was in the stockroom salivating over the boxes of new merchandise as they were thrown off the truck. I bought something from each new delivery we received! My sister benefited from my job big time; each time I purchased a new outfit I cycled out an older one, which went directly to Suz. She never paid for clothes.

Now, forget it. I have no patience to paw through rack after rack of ridiculously priced goods. I know how much it doesn't cost to make that cotton t-shirt. And why are there so many choices and versions of virtually the same thing?

That said, where do I mostly shop? The Gap. Yeah. Here's the reason: the choices are limited, it's pretty good quality, I know it works for my lifestyle. Sure, it's overpriced. Gap was having a sale this weekend - bring in a piece of your old denim and get 30% off a new denim item. Well, that's a deal. Considering a pair of jeans costs just about $70, that's saying something. I think.

Gap has also been seducing you into their fold with a slick trick. Their sizing methods have gone all David Copperfield. You're a size 9? No, no sweetie. You're really a size 4 in Gapanese. It's true. I'm not sure if it's fooling anyone but I kind of feel more...special. At least until today when I tried on a pair of jeans. Last year I wore a size 4. Mind you, I'm 5'4 and weigh in at about 115. That was usually a size 6 a couple of years ago. When it translated to a size 4 in Gapanese I was thrilled. I'd never been a size 4!! whoohoo. Last year the 4 went to a 2. A size 2? Seriously. That is just wrong. Today I had to go to...ready? A size 0. What the heck is that? I don't exist?
Gap, you are messing with my head.

What Are You Reading? Wednesday

2010-03-10T08:21:00.000-08:00

I've never read Alice In Wonderland! Can you believe that? Since there's a lot of hype about it, what with the movie coming out and all, I decided I should venture into the wonderland. So that's what's on my list for this week. I'm forcing myself to take a break from all the adult paranormal. *sigh*

I finished all of Patricia Briggs' books. The Mercy Thompson series and the Alpha Omega series. I'm sad that there are no more at the present time. She is so good! *sigh* *sigh*

I read a new adult paranormal author, Jill Myles. Her first book, released in January, is called Gentlemen Prefer Succubi. Hilarious, hot, sexy. The second book in the series, Succubi Like It Hot, is just as fun, funny, hot and sexy. A wild and fun ride that can be read in a day. Don't you just love that cover? ;)

What's everyone else reading out there????

Still Following The Laser...

2010-03-09T18:44:00.000-08:00

Can you tell I'm still distracted? Yep. Bored with the blog look. Normally I go for muted colors. In everything. I wear mostly black, blue, gray, white. It's also a control thing. Remember, yesterday I told you I was a control freak. Keep it tight, minimal, in control. But one day, all of a sudden I'll get a bug up my behind and get all wild.
I used to do that with boyfriends, too. I'd date Mr. Establishment-with-a-normal-job. And then I'd dump him and date the craziest guys. Art students (we all know what that means, right?), tattooed motorcycle riders, you name it. Hey, don't get the wrong idea here.
And then I'd go back to dating cops or graphic artists. Maybe I am crazy. wow. never thought about that. I ended up marrying a tattooed motorcycle riding businessman. Notice the italics. Figure it out. I'm no longer married. Figure it out.
Okay...I got distracted again. Oh, yeah. My point here is that I needed a new look for my blog. So, when I rolled over to this new look I discovered that a long ago YA blog story popped up on the sidebar. Hey, I'd forgotten all about that one! Falling. Maybe I need to re-visit it and do some writing.
Laser! Oh, look!!! Red lights flying all over the floor!

What Day Is It?

2010-03-08T20:50:00.000-08:00

I have been so distracted lately! What the heck is going on?

I keep changing things in my WIP. I'm like a West Highland Terrier chasing a laser beam. It's crazy. But can I stop? I think you've already guessed the answer. Just look for the chick lying in a heap against the wall she's run into. Don't chase those laser beams, people.

I work at two day jobs, which have both been sucking my time. I chose these jobs because they didn't involve life and death decisions nor did they demand a lot of moi. I figured I could make money and be arms' length enough to let the day slide off easily. I'd be able to jump into my writing without having to decompress. Yeah, best intentions. I should have remembered this about myself - I am a control freak. I get more and more sucked in at these jobs. Control. Freak. But I'm really good at my jobs. I get instant gratification. Unlike my writing. See? Self induced distractions. Unlike a medically induced coma, which is for your own good. Don't mind me. I'm distracted.

I'm reading waaaaay too much. I'm analyzing plots and structure. What's wrong with that? you ask. I talk to myself about the book. I have my own little book club going on in which I'm the only member. My book club doesn't drink tea and discuss characters and plot with educated bantering. I toss back a glass of wine and rant. Look! It's really easy. Idea. Characters. Hook. Don't forget the plot. Progress from A to B to C. Move the damn story forward, not backward. Why are you making it so freaking hard?
That's the book club I belong to. It's rough.

I've been so distracted that I've neglected to acknowledge two awards passed on to me. *blush* Now, I tend to ignore rules when it comes to blog awards. Mostly because I usually forget what they are. That being said, I'd like to pass the Sunshine Award on to a few peeps who do make my day sunny when I read their blog. This one's simple. Just tell us what makes you feel good. (use your discretion, people!) and pass it on to the blogs that make you feel good. I'd like to pass the Sunshine Award to:

Emily @ A Heart On A Wire

Walt @ Through The Eyes Of A Poet's Heart

Jon @ Jon's Life. Or Other Odd People Doing Odd Things.

Thanks to Cher for the Sunshine Award!

And thanks to Medeia for the Honest Scrap Award!

This one is for those who tell it like it is. Which could be just about everyone that I know! In any case, I'd like to pass this one on to the two people who have always told me exactly what they thought whether I wanted to hear it or not...

An amazing writer and hilarious blogger Heather Hansen

Casey McCormick, whose blog Literary Rambles has launched a few careers.

Interview With A...continued

2010-03-04T08:21:00.000-08:00

Yet another installment of the continuing story...
If you haven't kept up, check out the labels to the right and catch up!

Detective Caldwell stood outside Rock Bottom and held the door open as I hurried to catch up. My concentration was on balancing in those stupid stilettos so I wouldn’t take a header into anyone’s lap.   On a good day, I’m confident enough to actually think I might be attractive. Especially when I wear my girly clothes. But I wasn’t going to chance it tonight by holding my head up high and mighty. I kept my eyes on the floor in case some idiot (ahem) had carelessly tossed a coconut shrimp to trip me up.

     When I finally looked up I was being stared at. Detective Caldwell had been watching my every move. I felt heat rush from my neck to my bangs but couldn’t look away.

I stepped outside. Even though Caldwell held open the door, he stood in my path. My shoulder touched his leather jacket. Soft. I took a deep breath of leather and male.

    “Um, thanks detective,” I said, holding back my desire to play like a cat and rub my body up against him.

    I wouldn’t have taken him for a cop at first glance. He didn’t fit the usual physical profile. The long hair bucked regulation, even for a detective. Dark stubble shadowed a wide jaw, and I knew in my bones this man had more than one tattoo hidden under the denim and leather. He wasn’t wearing any cheap-ass cologne, either. This was the elegant spice of Armani or Gucci.

    “Call me Blake,” he said. Blake placed a large warm hand on the small of my back and ushered me to the steel gray Escalade idling at the curb.

    “Nice company car,” I said to Andie, as I clambered into the monstrosity. I felt like a two year old.

    Her answering laugh was deep. Almost musical. “Oh, this piece of shit belongs to Caldwell.” She grinned at her partner as he took the shotgun position. “He hates my car.” She laughed again.

    Caldwell draped his left arm over the back of the driver’s seat and turned to look at me. “I allow her to drive because she’s a control freak. Andie’s itty bitty BMW and I aren’t a good fit anyway.” He used his right hand to swipe down the length of his body. “I’m a big boy.” Caldwell gave me a look. “Besides, I wanted you to tag along.”

    I’m not exactly sure what the look meant. I was out of practice. I considered a few possibilities: 1. My reaction to those body parts at Mills Hall would be the highlight of the precinct tomorrow. 2. He got off on women lusting after him. 3. He thought I was pathetic and decided to throw me a bone. 4. He actually might be interested. 5. Amendment to #4...nah.

    Only time would tell.

    “Ever seen a dead body, Deb?” Andie asked as she floored the vehicle into traffic.

    I understood why she insisted on driving. She was extremely good at it. The Escalade flew in the darkness like we were on a German autobahn instead of downtown Dalton.

    I winced when we barely missed an old lady walking her dog across the street. “Yeah, I have seen a few dead bodies.” It wasn’t really a lie. If you count my ninety five year old grandfather in a silk lined coffin and poor old Whiskers who died under our front porch when I was eight.

    “Good,” she said. “At least you’re not squeamish. I hate squeamish women.”

    Caldwell kept his eyes on the road. I thought of his earlier remark about “body parts”. I supposed it should be comforting to know I wouldn’t be seeing a dead body. Just the parts. Nice. I wished I hadn’t eaten all that sushi.

    Andie slowed to a crawl as we approached a large brick building. We’d been cruising along tree lined streets on the campus for a few minutes. It was nine-thirty by this time so I hadn’t seen many students. But when we pulled into the lot of Mills Hall there was quite a crowd. Flashing police cruiser lights randomly lit mostly young faces.

    “Great,” Andie said. Two uniformed cops waved her to a parking spot. “I was hoping this hadn’t gotten out yet.”

    Her door was open before the Escalade was in park. Caldwell threw a glance at me and jumped out as well. What the hell... I flung open my door like I was part of the team and took off.

    Yellow crime scene tape kept the student gawkers corralled in front of Mills Hall. We were heading around to the back of the building. I felt like the girlfriend of a rock star with a backstage pass.

    It was dark except for one flood light illuminating a loading dock.   There were two uniforms standing guard.

    “Mills Hall is one of the medical buildings,” Andie said, for my benefit. “It’s also known as Cadaver Hall. The anatomy classes do their dissections in the lab.”

    Nice info but I wasn’t understanding the correlation.

    Caldwell stepped close to me. “They have an incinerator for disposal of bodies. Afterwards.”

    Oh. Right. It was at that moment I noticed three plastic storage tubs sitting on the dock.

    The plastic tubs were the kind anyone can buy at any Target. Clear with light blue lids that snapped tight. Most people used them for Christmas ornaments or Halloween decorations, stuff like that.

    Although red smears on the inside of these tubs obscured the contents, I was reminded of a baby doll I’d once owned. Her arms and legs were made of freakishly realistic rubber - pale and waxy.
    Jesus. Those are human pieces inside there.

What Are You Reading? Wednesday

2010-03-03T18:48:00.000-08:00

So, I've been absent for a few days. Seems like weeks. But I really needed to step away. I haven't written anything, but I've thought about my MS a lot. I wanted to share an excerpt from a book I'm reading. This bit made me get teary because it's something that I've thought about, worried about, wondered if this idea is something other people think about. Apparently it is.

From Hunting Ground by Patricia Briggs:

     What would it feel like to love music as she did and not be able to sing or play? Or worse, to be proficient but never cross the line between a collection of notes and pitch and rhythm to real music? To know that you were missing it by just a hair but have no idea how to take it from the metronome correctness to power and true beauty.
     She'd known a few people like that in school. Some of them had made the transition, some of them hadn't.
     At Northwestern, before her Change had forced her to drop out, she'd been a music major. Her primary instrument had been the cello.
     The first violin in the quartet she'd played in at school had been a precise master of technique who was so good he fooled the professors into thinking he was playing music. A regular wunderkind.
She'd thought he was oblivious to it until one night, after a performance, when they'd all gone out to a local bar and toasted the concert in beer and ale. The others were dancing, but she'd stayed at the table with him, worried about the serious way he was attempting to drink the pub dry when it had been his more usual habit to declare himself the designated driver and stick to ice tea or coffee.
     "Anna," he'd said, staring into the amber liquid in his cup as if it held the wisdom of the age, "I don't fool you, do I? Those others" -- he waved a vague hand to indicate their missing comrades -- "they think I'm all that - but you know better, don't you."
     "Know what?" she'd asked.
     He leaned forward, smelling of beer and cigarettes. "You know I'm a fraud. I can feel the beast inside me, screaming to get out. And if I loose it, it will pull me up to greatness despite myself."
    "So why not let it free?" She hadn't been a werewolf then. The world had been a gentler place, the monsters safely in their closets, and she had been brave in her ignorance.
     His eyes were old and weary his voice slurring a bit. "Because then everyone would see," he told her.
     "See what?"
     "Me."

Is this what holds me back? Or have I not figured out how to cross the line to power and true beauty?
Something to think about.

What Are You Reading? Wednesday

2010-02-24T08:00:00.000-08:00

What Are You Reading? Wednesday is sick today. In bed with a very high fever, chills, and possibly strep throat so she can't talk about books. At least, that's what she told me. I don't believe a word of it. If you ask me, she's pouting. I know she's working on a manuscript but she never shares. She thinks all the words need to be behaving themselves before they are allowed out in public. How wrong is that? If best behavior was a requirement for public displays we'd all be housebound.

Do your words behave themselves? Probably not. What do you do when they are throwing a tantrum...lock them up in the closet? Isn't that illegal? Maybe I'm thinking of kids instead of words. Well, it's wrong on either count.

Let those little rats eat as much chocolate as they want, jump on the bed, stay up till midnight watching tv. Because pretty darn soon they're going to hit the wall and become submissive. Then you can make them eat their broccoli, take a bath, and go to bed at 8pm. Life will be back to normal and you can stop pouting that no one ever listens to you.

Those Ideas Really Can Fall Into Your Lap

2010-02-19T19:22:00.000-08:00

We've all heard the saying...You can't get blood from a stone.

Likewise, you can't wring ideas from your brain if it's not relaxed. Not unlike my overworked calve muscles (gotta stop running marathons) my brain seizes up and refuses to cooperate until I stop flogging it and indulge in an awesome massage.

That's why I reluctantly allowed myself to be dragged to Happy Hour at Chile's last night. Honestly, I never do things like that. Ahem. But my two Harley riding chick friends made me go. Since we all couldn't fit on the Harley we took the Hummer. Remember...this is Los Angeles. We aren't really part of California. It's okay to leave a gigantic carbon footprint here in Terminatorville. And when the big one hits I'm gonna be very happy to know someone with a Hummer.

So over Corona and Pinot Noir (I drink the sissy drink) we batted stories back and forth. I learned more about what it's like to be a cop in LA. The stories were damn good, the Pinot massaged my brain and voila! I had me some ideas falling into my lap. Look out.

What Are You Reading? Wednesday

2010-02-17T16:33:00.000-08:00

Once again, Why can't I just read all day? There are so many titles out there that I want to read! I'm not usually good at juggling more than one book at a time but this last week I've done it.

I've been reading Suzanne Young's newly released YA book, The Naughty List, loving every page!

I read book #2 of Patricia Briggs' Mercedes Thompson series called Blood Bound and am currently in the middle of book #3 called Iron Kissed. If you love the adult paranormal with just a very little bit of romance thrown in, this is the series for you! Personally, I like a lot of romance but I was so sucked in to these books that I didn't mind the absence of it. Briggs is obviously a great storyteller!

Just started Kresley Cole's latest in her Immortals After Dark series, Pleasure of a Dark Prince. Cole is another master of the paranormal romance. Another warning...there's a bit of sex in these. The covers might be a hint. *smile* Her characters include the usual bunch of Valkyrie, vampires, werewolves, etc. living in the our world. Cole has crafted her characters in such a way that you can't help but love them and, sometimes want to be them. They are hysterically funny, wickedly crafty, and lots of fun.

I thought about picking up something more "literary". I really did. I used to think that unless a book was considered important or literary, I shouldn't be reading it. Bah. Read what makes you lose yourself!
What are you reading?

Is There Something In The Air, Or What?

2010-02-16T18:54:00.000-08:00

Be prepared...I'm on a rant. About a lot of things.

1. Why do all my technological devices need to go down at the same time? Is this just because I'm a dork who can't manage them properly? I think NOT. I'd prefer to believe that the amazing amount of energy I emit tends to send things into a tizzy. Which I view as a good thing.

Not only did my new, new, new NOOK decide to break (okay, technically it didn't break but the frame did crack next to the little page turner thingy), my Sprint mother-frickin' frackin' 3-G airport, airhead card decided that it's been working way too hard (yes, I'm a slave driver, boo hoo).
After spending copious amounts of time on my cell (Sprint calling: "you went way over your allotted minutes this month, miss, therefore we have no choice but to charge you an arm and a leg. How would you like to make the transfer of funds? What do you mean you don't have a Swiss bank account?") I now have a new, new, new NOOK winging its way here via UPS. I also have a new airhead card trying to find its way here as well. She'll probably get lost.

2. I just can't make up my mind which MS to work on! I read some great YA and then get all fired up to tackle the YA I've been avoiding. I read some great adult paranormal romance and get all fired up to tackle that MS. Either or...once I get going I hit a wall and stall out. My wonderful critique partners (do I ever offer up anything for these critique partners to actually read? hardly) tell me to get over trying to get into the "I'm working on my MS" zone and just spew it out. It's so hard to do that!!! Am I the only one out there that doesn't want to have to revise? I want it to be good and perfect the first time. Ridiculous, huh? I'm trying to get over that and move on.

3. My two amazing critique partners have spewed out some amazing work. I'm feeling inadequate. As usual.

4. My good friend, Tim (Pilates instructor extraordinaire if you live in NYC) now has Louboutin and French Vogue seeing what he's up to with his High Heel clinics and has finished his first book. *sigh*

4. My day job today was full of craziness. I basically count money for a retail company. Could the people who are supposed to close out each night manage to count to $125? How hard is that, really? Apparently it's pretty damn hard because I had to play detective this morning to figure out who murdered Ms. Scarlett. Could it have been Professor Mustard...did he do it with a candlestick...in the library? Suffice it to say that I was very frustrated today.

I've Seen The Light!

2010-02-11T21:48:00.000-08:00

That YA manuscript I kicked to the curb in December because it was stuck in neutral? Well, good golly gosh and all that. I had an epiphany while walking my dogs. It's been staring me right in the proverbial freckled face.

Dammit, I wish the dam had seen fit to burst long before I'd ~~wasted~~ invested all that time and money whining to my therapist.

Okay, those of you that know me...I sound excited right now but, really? How long will she last, you ask.

I'm not saying this is going to be easy. Reworking things to accommodate my epiphany is going to be a big pain in the you-know-what. But I can't let go of this girl's story and IT WILL BE WRITTEN.

That's all I'm saying.

What Are You Reading? Wednesday

2010-02-10T19:05:00.000-08:00

East Coast people, I'm sorry! I got behind today because...snow storm? Ahhh, it was in the upper 60's today in LA *snicker* so I can't use that one. My Sprint 3G air card was being an airhead and couldn't remember how to connect to the network? Yea, that's it.

Well...what are you reading???

I did finish Moon Called (see last week's WAYRW? post) and it was GOOD! Thanks, Heather for that one. Shiver is still in the queue as is Lips Touch. But, there are two NEW books out that I must read!!

First is The Naughty List by Suzanne Young. Suz was one of the original prompters on Flashy Fiction and, along with Heather, one of the first peeps to compliment me on my FF contributions. We've all been anxiously awaiting this one!

Next is Gone by Lisa McMann, author of Wake and Fade. I read both of those and have been looking forward to the last book in the trilogy.

Hope you are reading something fantastic and feel like sharing with us. Maybe you are writing something fantastic and feel like sharing with us??

Interview With A...continued

2010-02-07T19:40:00.000-08:00

If you've not read this story from the beginning...check out the side bar "Labels"

And now, Interview With A...continues:

What the...? I stared into those hazel eyes and opened my mouth to proclaim my innocence. I’d only just arrived in town...I couldn’t stand the sight of blood...I didn’t even know where this Mills Hall was...

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Andie stood up and whipped out her cell phone.

“Already done, sweet pea. Wallace will meet us over there.” Blake turned to look at Andie.
It suddenly occurred to me he had been addressing her the entire time he was looking at me. Was this a Southern thing? Or should I be flattered he couldn’t take his eyes off me?

“Damn it, Caldwell!” Andie shook her head. “I thought we were clear on protocol. We may not even need Wallace.” She sidled up next to her partner (at least I assumed they were partners), gently placed her right hand on his back and spoke softly, “ Oh. One more thing. Call me sweet pea again and you’ll be one ball short of a pair.” Her hand moved swiftly to smack him on the back of the head.

Blake let loose another slow grin that caused me to squirm. And then he winked at me. Oh, dear god. My thong needed wringing out.

“Trust me, we’ll need Wallace tonight.” Caldwell’s tone suddenly became serious.

Andie’s eyes narrowed. Her face revealed a grimace that disappeared quickly.

I have an infallible gut instinct. It behaves like a terrible toddler, demanding attention or else. I tend to listen to it because the alternative is...or else. The one time I’d banished it to the corner I’d ended up married to a heartless narcissist. My gut instinct is a flash of information sort of like a subliminal message. Tonight the messages were coming at me like clay pigeons.

“Randall,” Andie said as she turned to my friend, “I’m so sorry. Murder calls.”

Randall snaked his arms around Andie and pulled her in slowly. He whispered something to her that I couldn’t hear. Probably because my ears were still ringing from the elevated blood pressure caused by Blake Caldwell. Who was now downing a can of Coke. I was mesmerized by the man’s Adam’s apple, imagining all kinds of things.

“Deb,” Andie spoke at me. “C’mon.” She jerked her head toward the door.

Stuck on stupid, I looked over at Randall in a panic.

“Welcome to the big city,” he said, wriggling those dark eyebrows. “Consider this your kick-in-the-ass for that book.”

“But...I...” I looked down at my ridiculously high heels.

“If she can do it, so can you,” Randall hoisted me off the barstool and shoved an empty doggie bag in my hands. “In case you loose your cookies, cupcake.”

Shit. That did not sound good.

Randall spun me around and shoved me toward the two detectives heading for that wooden door.

I thought about arguing but really, what did I have to lose? I’d been bored with my life in LA, hadn’t I? My friends had basically kicked me out of the city, threatening me not to return until I’d purchased an attitude adjustment and written at least half of the new book.

And then, there was the gut talking to me.

I could stand to be stuck in Dalton for an indeterminate amount of time. Especially if any of that time involved Blake Caldwell.

Friday Funstuff

2010-02-05T12:12:00.000-08:00

I received an award a couple of weeks ago from Sunder and I must thank her!!! SUNDER, THANK YOU! sometimes it takes me awhile to get to these things.

The Happy Award actually makes you stop complaining and think of the all the things that just plain make you happy. How often do we do that? So, here are ten things that make me happy:
1. amazing books
2. when my writing is going well...whoohoo!
3. the fantastic feeling I get when people love what I've written
4. my crazy dog
5. my beautiful critique partners *grin*
                                         6. new followers!!
                                         7. a good pizza and glass (okay, bottle) of wine
                                         8. getting to see my stepson
                                         9. walking on the beach
                                        10. actually figuring out the plot

I would like to pass on the award to two bloggers who are new to me. Please visit them!
Cher and Racquel
Actually, everyone I follow deserves this award! I follow their blogs because they make me happy!

So, let's get to some silly stuff. This dumb commercial made me giggle out loud. Must have been the wine I had with my pizza.

What Are You Reading? Wednesday

2010-02-03T10:00:00.000-08:00

What, oh what to read now? The first two are YA, which I have slacked off on reading lately. The last one is my fav...adult paranormal romance. *grin*

For years, Grace has watched the wolves in the woods behind her house. One yellow-eyed wolf—her wolf—is a chilling presence she can't seem to live without. Meanwhile, Sam has lived two lives: In winter, the frozen woods, the protection of the pack, and the silent company of a fearless girl. In summer, a few precious months of being human ... until the cold makes him shift back again.

Now, Grace meets a yellow-eyed boy whose familiarity takes her breath away. It's her wolf. It has to be. But as winter nears, Sam must fight to stay human--or risk losing himself, and Grace, forever.

Three tales of supernatural love, each pivoting on a kiss that is no mere kiss, but an action with profound consequences for the kissers' souls:

Goblin Fruit: In Victorian times, goblin men had only to offer young girls sumptuous fruits to tempt them to sell their souls. But what does it take to tempt today's savvy girls?

Spicy Little Curses: A demon and the ambassador to Hell tussle over the soul of a beautiful English girl in India. Matters become complicated when she falls in love and decides to test her curse.

Hatchling: Six days before Esme's fourteenth birthday, her left eye turns from brown to blue. She little suspects what the change heralds, but her small safe life begins to unravel at once. What does the beautiful, fanged man want with her, and how is her fate connected to a mysterious race of demons?

Mercy Thompson's life is not exactly normal. Her next-door neighbor is a werewolf. Her former boss is a gremlin. And she's fixing a VW bus for a vampire. But then, Mercy isn't exactly normal herself.

What would you prefer? What's on your nightstand, in your backpack, in your Sony eReader?

Strabismus - Incredible or Magical?

2010-02-02T17:24:00.000-08:00

I've been having a rotten time with my vision lately. I mentioned in Dec. that I had to go to the Doris Stein Eye Institute at UCLA for tests. The test results determined that I did, indeed, suffer from strabismus. A condition where the ligaments in your eyes are out of control. Normal person speak - I am cross eyed. You'd figure that if you were cross eyed you would certainly know it, right? Sure. But really, things are just exceptionally blurry.

I had a similar problem about 20 years ago. My optometrist gave me some prism glasses to wear and after a couple of years, I didn't need to use them anymore. In the past year, constant computer use, work related issues, ex-husband related stress issues, etc. have wigged out the old ligaments once again. Only this time it's much worse.

I can't see to drive at night. I basically see a blurry mess all day long. If I have a glass of wine, forget it.

Good news! In this day and age there is a surgery to correct the problem! They numb up your eyeballs and slice the ligaments. Good times. A fair amount of money involved, too. At this moment, the surgery is not an option. So, back to the prism glasses.

I went in for another appointment today for the doctor to measure the correction needed for the glasses. Holy......

Now, the only thing remains is...who will I look like once those glasses get here.

Professor Trelawny? (thanks for this one, Casey!)

Or Edna?

Interview With A...continued

2010-01-31T21:51:00.000-08:00

If you haven't read the first two installments go to the sidebar on the right and click "Labels" to read them.

And then the ‘maybe’ got shoved out of the way when ‘Hell, yeah!’ was slapped down on the table.

All heads in the joint turned toward that crazy wooden door. Not because it was a piece of art Randall had probably imported from Chile (it was) or because they were trying to figure out what those carved figures were actually doing to each other.

All eyes were locked onto the male filling the doorframe. The. Most. Gorgeous. Male. I’d ever seen. I know this because I read a lot of Romance. A lot. And, I write it too. We writers love to create beautiful physical specimens. It’s our way of playing god.

And this guy would definitely win the Touched By The Hand Of God award. My guess topped him at six-five but the massive shoulders inside the leather jacket balanced that height beautifully. His right hand reached up to rake through a mass of thick chestnut hair as he scanned the room. I swallowed a sigh when his hair settled onto the leather collar and his hazel eyes settled onto Andie.

I was writing a new book in my head at that very moment when I felt the detective stiffen beside me. And then I heard the thunk of her glass as it hit the bar. Hard.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered.

The guests parted silently to make way for the “son of a bitch” as he strode toward the bar.
Randall suddenly appeared in front of me, blocking my view. He offered a full glass of wine with one hand and with the knuckles of his other hand under my chin, eased my mouth shut.

“Easy there, girl.”

“Get out of the way!” I hissed.

I’d just reached out to shove Randall aside when Mr. Six-five landed in front of Andie.
My mind was racing with questions. Who was this guy? Her boyfriend, fellow detective, brother?

Logically, if he was her boyfriend she wouldn’t have referred to him as an SOB. But wait! That could have slipped out as in “Shit, I’ve been caught sneaking out without my gorgeous boyfriend.” Doubtful. If he was a fellow detective ...

“Deb. Deb.”

The sound of fingers snapping brought me back to the Rock Bottom. Andie’s emerald green eyes were focused on me, the hint of amusement shining through. When she was sure I was coherent and able to understand sentences, she made the introductions.

“Blake Caldwell meet Deb, Procrastinating Writer. Deb meet Blake Caldwell, Pain In My Ass.”
He snorted charmingly at Andie’s choice of words and then completely ignored her.

Blake turned his full attention to me. He took possession of my free hand, caressing it between both of his. Damn if I didn’t feel dainty in this man’s huge grasp. My pulse amped up to cardiac arrest. Blood thundered through my arteries, reverberated into the glass and caused the Pinot to pulse. Blake shot a glance at the wine dancing in my glass and grinned. I was in trouble here.

Without releasing my hand or breaking eye contact, he spoke.

“Party’s over, sweet pea.” The voice was smooth and sexy as liquid chocolate with a hint of Southern flavoring. “Security found a few body parts over at Mills Hall.”

Clothes Make The Character

2010-01-28T18:09:00.000-08:00

This is obvious, right? Maybe dressing your characters is easy for you. If you really know these people they should actually dress themselves. Sure, you're going to need to do some research because your characters may have a lifestyle that you are not accustomed to. One of my YA characters rides a motorcycle. I don't. I had to go "shopping" for boots, helmet, jacket for a seventeen year old guy who doesn't kow tow to anyone.

In choosing the wardrobe, writer-you must not only take into consideration the character's personality. You must add in: career, financial position, geographical location, season, age. Consider every aspect that is the sum total of the character. Even if you don't describe in detail a piece of clothing, writer-you should know exactly what it looks like. Helps get you in the appropriate head space. At least, I think so. I spend a lot of brain time pondering what my characters would wear. Would she wear the Banana Republic sheath dress or the little bebe number? They look similar, but are they? They cost just about the same and yet...which one would your character prefer? Which would "suit" her?

Ah, but there is a flip side. What if a character wears clothing that unintentionally gives the wrong impression? It hit me a few days ago when I went out with two new friends.

I've always been the athletic type. I could be considered scrawny (okay, I kind of have the body of a 12 yr old boy) but there's a lot of lean muscle packed in there! I hiked the hills of San Francisco for years, walking dogs. I was a massage therapist. A mountain biker. You get the idea. However, fashion is not lost on me. I worked for a trendy retail company. I had quite the wardrobe. My life has morphed many times since then.

I am still always running around and I like to be comfortable. I am not voluptuous. I can't wear anything cleavage-revealing because...I have none. I used to wear baggy jeans until my friends, family, and every Gap sales associate refused to allow me to buy them. There is one thing I insist on wearing. My black suede Puma skateboarder shoes. Juvenile, I know. They are just so damn comfortable and I hate fat white tennis shoes.

Oh right, that flip side I mentioned. My new friends are two fantastically funny and cool gay women. We went out for drinks the other night. After a few, I was asked "the question".
"No, I'm not."
"But...the shoes."
"My Puma's?"
"Well, yea girl."
"Huh uhh."
"Sure. Hmmm, if the Puma fits..."

I had never thought of those shoes in that way. I don't care. I'm still wearing them.

Think about maybe using that flip side the next time you dress your characters.

What Are You Reading? Wednesday

2010-01-27T11:50:00.000-08:00

Wow, I've been reading like crazy lately! Probably to avoid writing. I look at it as staying in the game, honing my skills, things like that.

This week I went for two YA books as I haven't read any of that genre for quite some time. The first one was Need by Carrie Jones. I believe she just made the NY Times bestseller list with this one?

Zara White suspects a freaky guy is semi-stalking her. She memorizes phobias and chants them when she's nervous. And okay, she hasn't exactly been herself since her stepfather died. But moving to a shivery Maine town to stay with her grandmother is supposed to be the perfect fix - so her mom says.

Except, this new plan of getting away to help Zara stay sane? Yeah, not working. Turns out the semi-stalker is not a figment of Zara's imagination. He's still following her leaving behind an eerie trail of gold dust. There's something not right - not human - in this sleepy Maine town, and all signs are pointing to Zara.

The second book was Hearts At Stake by Alyxandra Harvey.

Solange Drake always knew she was destined to become a vampire queen. And as the only female vampire ever born, not made, she is surrounded by danger on all sides - from vampire suitors who want to join with her lineage to bounty hunters who are set on destroying her and her family. When she is kidnapped, it's up to her older borther Nicholas and her human best friend, Lucy, to save her. But can Lucy save herself from Nicholas, who tempts her with his every look? And what will be Solange's own fate if she surrenders her heart to the vampire hunter helping her survive the deadly intrigue at the royal court?

Let the Drake family be your guide into a secret vampire society full of epic battles, gothic seduction, undead drama, and wicked humor.

In addition to these two, I also knocked back two of what I like to call "potato chip" books. Adult paranormal romance. You can't read just one.

What's in your snack bag?

Hello, Demon

2010-01-21T20:54:00.000-08:00

Today I was so lucky to get in touch with my inner Demon. That lovely bit of me who insists on undermining, criticising, blowing raspberries at my creative efforts. Usually he just yammers at me. Today, he actually allowed me to speak. How sweet.

Deb: Nice to see you again, Demon. Not.

Demon: Love you too, slacker.

Deb: I've been meaning to ask...what exactly do you want from me? Can I just pay you off? (Slacker?, really)

Demon: *touches finger to chin* Hmmm, let me see...I want you to admit that you are absolutely no good at whatever it is you desire to do with your life. That would thrill me to bits. You're almost there. But you just keep climbing out of the hole. I love seeing humans self-destruct. At the present time, you think you want to be a writer.

Deb: Shut the **** up. I AM a writer. So why would I admit I'm no good at it? People think my writing is crack.

Demon: Crack. What does that mean? Does it mean you've been published? Thought not. In my world "crack" is something so desireable it's addictive. Is your writing addictive?

Deb: It's addictive to me.

Demon: Oh, baby. Seriously. You have no say whatsoever about your life. It's all about other people validating your existence, your importance, your role in society. Haven't you figured that out yet?

Deb: Kind of. But I try not to think about it too much because it's not very constructive. If I let that consume me, I'll never get published.

Demon: Read my lips...Y O U S U C K.

Deb: You really are NOT very nice. Go away. You're not welcome here anymore. Geez. What did I ever do to deserve this?

Demon: Nothing. That's the thing. Hehehe. You'll be begging me to come back, you'll see.

Deb: *snort* Not likely.

Demon: Lalalalala Hey, ya got any friends??

What Are You Reading? Wednesday

2010-01-20T00:26:00.000-08:00

I have a gigantic library of books in my nook. This is mostly the doing of a very generous benefactor who has deep pockets. We both like the paranormal and she has enlightened me to a number of authors I'd not experienced. I do need my dose of Vampires, Lykae, Demons, Valkyrie, Witches, you get the picture.

The authors I prefer are, obviously, masters at the genre. They are wicked funny, creative, and addicting.

I am currently having an obsession with J.R. Ward. Her Black Dagger Brotherhood series makes me weep with envy as a writer. I like the gritty atmosphere she operates in while creating characters who, although cannot exist in reality (hello! vampires), are dead-on real in their emotions and actions. If I were a vampire I'd want to be just like them.

Ward is also amazing at juggling multiple POV's and she makes it look like a piece of cake. Try doing that. You'll make yourself cry like a baby.
She also nails down each of her main characters with a dossier. These guys are real for her. That's the key. Let your characters speak to you and tell you about themselves. It also helps to write out a thirty page story proposal/outline. I think of her method as a paint-by-numbers project. She's sketched out the big picture, scene by scene pretty much. Then she fills in the spaces with the details of dialogue and specific actions. She knows where this train is going from the get-go, but she allows enough freedom for side trips.
I must give fair warning: If any of you are thinking of checking out this series, let me say...this is Adult fiction. Don't pick these books up if you have strong objections to reading a sex scene here or there or if the use of the f-word offends you. I don't want to startle delicate sensibilities!

That's my contribution. What's in your nook?

Lake Shrine Pilgrimage

2010-01-16T19:39:00.000-08:00

Last April, I posted a story about the Lake Shrine. Of all the things in Los Angeles, I missed only this place when I was absent for many years. Tucked into a hillside in Pacific Palisades, this shrine is a veritable vortex of amazing energy. Established by the very famous Yogi Parahansa Yogananda in 1950, it is a shrine to all religions. I am not a religious person. I do, however, respect to the power of energy. I suppose one could consider energy a sort of religion. It guides us, controls us, influences us.

Now that I'm back in LA (much to the bewilderment of some of my friends), I try to go to the Lake Shrine whenever I can to tap into that amazing energy.

It being the first month of our new year, I made the trip yesterday. My friend, Mary, had never been! Maiden voyage to the Lake Shrine. I love taking virgins to the Lake Shrine. Inevitably, they are overwhelmed with the power of the place. It's great fun. And the virgin Mary didn't disappoint. hahaha

Yesterday my goal was to just sit with whatever earth's energy chose to work through me. After grounding myself and settling in to "listen", I was surprised (well, not really) and touched that my buddy Chance came to sit with me. He was there, sitting right beside me. So sweet.

What Are You Reading? Wednesday

2010-01-13T18:37:00.000-08:00

Okay, so it's 6:18pm Pacific time on Wednesday. Sue me. I was busy.

"Deb," you say, " there's such a thing as scheduling your blog posts."

That would be too easy. And besides, I might be reading something new by the time it flies out of the chute. Stop laughing. Now. Please.

Listen up, I need to explain something about myself. First...I'm an anal organizer. (that just sounds nasty, sorry.) Let me re-phrase that...I'm an organizer of anal proportions. Okay, not much better. How about...I'm anal about organizing? Anyway, my point is that I must have all things in their place, all of the time. I can't sit down to read, write, watch a movie, or anything else if there is a drawer that needs organizing or a closet that needs re-worked.

I get out of bed and promptly make it. I NEVER leave a dish in the sink. Ugh. Erk. The little knick knack that is one millimeter out of place is a distraction worthy of therapy. Is that why I go?

So, in my defense, I DO pay attention to details. I'm apparently not reading anything that I feel like sharing lately. And that is why I keep forgetting that it's What Are You Reading, Wednesday?

I'm truly sorry. I am reading. I'm re-reading a series of books by an author that speaks to me. Not in the literal sense, you guys, but in the way that resonates with how I write.

And, I'm frustrated with my own writing. Let me be clear...I AM NOT WHINING. I'm just sharing. I know it's in me. I'm just having one heckofa time dragging it out.

On that note....what are ya'll reading?

Boy Did I Walk Into That One!

2010-01-11T21:06:00.000-08:00

My aunt Pearl has had the same hairstyle (she might call it a hair-do) ever since I was in first grade. And, believe me, that's a lonnnnnng time! Aunt Pearl's hair has been the subject of family jokes for years. Not that she is aware of this. God forbid. Pearl doesn't take kindly to being joked about.

This is a woman who is set in her ways. Regardless of whether those "ways" make any sense. Example: she used to vacuum her living room EVERY DAY.   She and my uncle George did not have any children. It was just the two of them. Was this a couple who tracked in enough dirt and debris to warrant vacuuming every day? Apparently that's not the point.

I digress. The hairstyle...short. The color...silver. It's been silver, by the way, forever. Naturally silver. The front swoops up just a bit with a little comma shape on each side. Kind of like Devil horns turned downward.

Hairstyles. I think we all have a particular style that looks best on us. It depends on body type, face shape, etc. Some people look much better with short hair, some with long hair, etc.   Personally, I've had just about every hair style known to the hmmmmm years that I've been on this planet. But the best style for me is short. I have a smallish face and very, very thick straight hair. If I let it grow long (which I did in the 90's a'la Julia Roberts) my hair takes over. No one notices me. Just my hair.

I let it grow, then cut it off. And, then again. Currently my hair is short.

The other day I was looking at a photo of me and my dad, taken when I lived in Vermont 17 years ago. Yikes. My hair looks exactly the same now as it did then.

I made the comment to my mom, "Wow, my hair looks exactly like it did when this picture was taken."

My smart-ass mom says, "Yea, you're Aunt Pearl."

Interview With A...continued

2010-01-09T20:30:00.000-08:00

If you didn't read the first installment of this story...go do that first. Click the label at the bottom.

Randall winked at me from over Andie’s shoulder. The writer in me immediately tried to analyze the meaning of that wink.

Was this a tell I was supposed to recognize? Did it mean, What do you think of my new squeeze?

Andie being Randall’s squeeze was not the first thing that came to mind as I watched the two of them embrace. Andie did not look like anybody’s squeeze.
What flashed in my smutty mind was Randall wearing the detective’s handcuffs. Just not in the usual setting.

When I raised my eyebrows in question, though, he subtly shook his head and crinkled his dark brows together.

Oh my god! That wink couldn’t be implying he wanted to... she and I...?

I must have had a crazy expression on my face because Randall broke out in a loud laugh as Andie pulled back from the hug and turned to look at me. Great. Now she thinks I’m a lunatic.

Detective goddess Andie Masters had emerald green eyes that sparkled like diamonds. She offered her hand. I felt compelled to grasp the tips of her fingers and lightly brush my lips to the back of her flawless skin as if she were royalty. But I came to my senses and took hold with a firm handshake.

“Ah, the infamous and mysterious Deb. Procrastinating writer.” She held tight to my hand, sizing me up. It’s what women do when their male friends introduce them to another female friend. But then again, this woman is a cop. Cops are suspicious of everyone and extremely hard to read.

“Randall tells me you’re working on a new novel.” Her eyes never left mine. Crazy cops. Make you feel like a criminal even if you’re volunteering in a soup kitchen.

“Um, yea. It’s just a glimmer right now. That’s why I’m here. To get out of my normal routine and hopefully bust through some blocks.” I forced myself to maintain eye contact. I was not going to be taken down in the staring contest. I could be a cop too. Yea.

“Well, if you’d like to tag along with me...ask questions, hang out. Whatever. I’d be more than happy to help out.” Andie backed up against the bar, no doubt to make sure she had a clear view of the door to the restaurant. Cops and mafia...never sit with your back to the door.

Without looking back, Andie reached to caress the tall crimson beverage offered by the Pavlovian bartender. Man, that kid had a sixth sense.

My brain was busy re-calibrating my take on the detective. Maybe I would stay in Dalton longer than I’d planned.

What Are You Reading, Thursday

2010-01-07T11:52:00.000-08:00

Maybe I should change this to What Are You Reading, _____ day?

I missed Wednesday again, didn't I? I'm not living the Lost Weekend, really. I just get wrapped up in life and stuff and since my place of work is a seven-day-a-week kind of establishment, my schedule changes all the time. So when I work, say, four days in a row I tend to think of day one as Monday even though it may actually be Tue, etc.

Which only serves to confuse the heck out of my brain. The little guys in gray suits have to scramble to rearrange the furniture and put it back in order. Sometimes they're like Lucy and Ethel at the chocolate factory. They get a bit testy and then I have to calm them down with a workout or a trip to Gap or a shiny object of some sort. Can you see how I get confused and miss Wednesday's now? No? Try!

I wish I was reading something pithy and intellectual right now to share with you all. Something to make me sound really smart. I'm not. Reading anything, that is. I am smart, though. See how kind I'm being to myself today? Remember the NO WHINING policy? I've tacked on a NO SELF-DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR clause too. May as well go for the whole magilla (I never know how to spell that word).

Is anyone reading anything gooood?

Interview With A...

2010-01-06T00:09:00.000-08:00

I'm in the process of conducting an interview with a vampire.

Well, I'm not absolutely certain that she is a vampire but I have my suspicions. Tricky. She's frighteningly beautiful. Yet there is no evidence of fragility that seems to be characteristic of women blessed with exquisite physiognomy. No, think ethereal with a gun. And today, as usual, she was packing.

I met her a few months ago at a private soiree hosted by my friend Randall at his restaurant, Rock Bottom. Social situations and I do the thumb wrestle. I always lose. "Go! Meet people! Fodder for your writing!" So I go. I'm usually disappointed but this time I hit pay dirt.

I'd just teetered into Rock Bottom on ridiculously high heels. Another thumb wrestle lost. But I owed it to Randall to look hot. He was waiting for me by the door. Thinking I wouldn't show, most likely. Not that I'd done that before. *cough*

"What's happenin', hot stuff?" He grabbed my elbow, shoved a shrimp puff in my mouth ( never remembers I hate shrimp) and steered me toward the bar.

" Christ, you're quoting lines from Sweet Sixteen?"

"Can't help it. My XM is stuck on the 80's station."

Thank god he was man-handling me or I'd have done a face plant on the terra cotta tiles. He rapped his knuckles on the distressed metal. Too bad Randall's not my type because I love the way he takes charge. I feel sorry for his employees, though. The bartender reacted to the knuckles like Pavlov's dog. I had a glass of Pinot in my hand within seconds.

"You're lucky you showed up," he purred in my ear. Why, oh why could I not be attracted to this man? He's tall, built, and beautifully rich. Oh, and he can cook! One thing I've learned the hard way. Don't ignore chemistry. Or the lack of it.

"No, you're lucky I showed up," I said, surveying the intimate party. I knew less than half of these people. My hands started to sweat at the thought of schmoozing. I'd rather just get drunk but I was my own designated driver tonight and there was no way no how I would crash at Randall's. Things inevitably happen in situations like that and I can't trust my weak-willed self.

"I know how much this pains you, sweetie. Have another drink. You can stay at my place tonight."

I caught sight of a predatory looking brunette staring at us. "I have a premonition you'll be otherwise engaged tonight and don't need a house guest." Randall followed my gaze and let loose a low growl. I rolled my eyes. I do that a lot.

Thirty minutes and at least twelve pieces of sushi later I saw the vampire walk through the ornately carved wooden door. Well, she didn't walk through the door. You know what I mean.

Damn, I want to be that tall. And that gorgeous. And dangerous looking. Those were my thoughts as I watched her glide toward us. She was dressed in black leather pants that had to be worth more than my car. Her shoes I know I'd seen in Vogue. And the white blouse was superbly tailored and screamed feminine. I was a schlump next to this woman.

"Deb, meet Andie Masters. Detective, this is my favorite procrastinating writer." Randall eased off the barstool and wrapped his arms around this woman who, in heels, met him eye to eye at six ft.