If you are of the Disney bunch who still love mice and think they're great, DO NOT READ THIS. I used to be like you. No more. They have ruined my yarn, stolen my butter, made my house stink, routinely ruin my breads and leave their $#!+ everywhere. It's disgusting, unhealthy, and I'm allergic to them.
Some of you who have long followed me on twitter know that I'm on a crusade. I have had a SEVERE mouse problem since last summer. Figured out why, but it doesn't matter at this point. The point is that traps and a cat have been unable to keep the little Fu...er suckers down. Having a cat did stop them from treating my house like their personal zoo and we were the animals... Trust me, they would WATCH us play video games.
Anyways, My cat has been put outside, allowed in every other day or so for a while. She gets mice. In fact, I think she got one of the most annoying ones out of my room. Today we started to rearrange the house in prep for redoing floors and a fat mouse got away. I was so irked. I had gotten my letter opener and everything so I could get it.
Hours later, we're going through stuff to put it back together enough for us to rest. We have have a third of the area's carpet up, had to add more flooring as the current flooring was way warped, and started tiling. We also took the wallpaper off the walls. All in all, a productive day, but that mouse getting away irks me.
We had an old dresser that held our VHS movies. When we pulled out one of the drawers, we found a mouse nest over the whole top of the movies. My husband pounds over the nest with one of the movies and a mouse does a back flip out the back! We lose sight of him and go back to the drawer. It was disgusting. We threw that drawer away.
We found the mouse in the dresser's bones and chased it with my letter opener. My husband said "You can't kill a mice with this," but preceded to chase the mouse with it, around and out of the dresser. My son chased it down where it attempted to go under the rug. It was mostly under the rug and my son stepped on it.
Due to a cord running under the rug, the mouse was stuck but not dead. It is now. I won't go into details here, but lets just say that my husband was wrong,I love rocks, and my dogs got an extra treat.
I feel vindicated after the earlier miss. This warrior woman has come one step closer to getting her house back!
There's more than one way skin a cat...er, mouse.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Friday
I haven't gotten much writing done this week because of the sickness plaguing me. However, I have made leaps and bounds on the first person issue. I wrote a comedy erotica in the first person (talk about squirming under first person!)and a about 10k more words in the story. I've also gone back and started changing the other stuff into first person. It's driving me crazy being unable to focus for very long.
Just a reminder, 99% of what I post is raw or early drafts so feel free to point out flaws and any grammar problems :D
End of chapter 7
"They turn into, well," I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "They turn into zombies."
The silence in the room is profound. I watch as a myriad of emotions cross his face: disbelief, confusion, thoughtfulness, then the awareness. He's put what I've told him together with whatever he knows. I can see it in his eyes. It's his turn to trust me.
"Spill it," I say.
He looks at me as if I'm a witch or something. "Spill what," he says carefully.
"Whatever it is that's making you believe me so easily. You know something. Now tell me what it is."
"It's nothing concrete really. I may be wrong."
I let out a frustrated sigh. "Tell me."
"I remember hearing about a group of elite soldiers that were killed. It was covered up."
"You think it has something to do with this. Why and how did you find out about it?"
"A team of our agents were down there on assignment. The army was their back up."
This was like pulling teeth. Whatever he had to say must be bad. "And?"
"And, our office got a hold of video footage. I saw it before it was confiscated." He pauses and looks me in the eye. "What I saw were men, running so fast they were a blur on the videos. Men who viciously attacked the agents. The other soldiers shot the attackers in the head. Six people died that day, including one of our agents."
"But how did they keep that out of the news? That's the part that's been bugging me all this time. If soldiers are losing it, someone would know."
"Yes, someone would know. I think they're killing anyone not willing to run the party line."
"But that means--" I can't say it.
He's nodding anyway. "That means you."
Just a reminder, 99% of what I post is raw or early drafts so feel free to point out flaws and any grammar problems :D
End of chapter 7
"They turn into, well," I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "They turn into zombies."
The silence in the room is profound. I watch as a myriad of emotions cross his face: disbelief, confusion, thoughtfulness, then the awareness. He's put what I've told him together with whatever he knows. I can see it in his eyes. It's his turn to trust me.
"Spill it," I say.
He looks at me as if I'm a witch or something. "Spill what," he says carefully.
"Whatever it is that's making you believe me so easily. You know something. Now tell me what it is."
"It's nothing concrete really. I may be wrong."
I let out a frustrated sigh. "Tell me."
"I remember hearing about a group of elite soldiers that were killed. It was covered up."
"You think it has something to do with this. Why and how did you find out about it?"
"A team of our agents were down there on assignment. The army was their back up."
This was like pulling teeth. Whatever he had to say must be bad. "And?"
"And, our office got a hold of video footage. I saw it before it was confiscated." He pauses and looks me in the eye. "What I saw were men, running so fast they were a blur on the videos. Men who viciously attacked the agents. The other soldiers shot the attackers in the head. Six people died that day, including one of our agents."
"But how did they keep that out of the news? That's the part that's been bugging me all this time. If soldiers are losing it, someone would know."
"Yes, someone would know. I think they're killing anyone not willing to run the party line."
"But that means--" I can't say it.
He's nodding anyway. "That means you."
Story on Meds or Waving a Magic Wand
As most of my twitter followers have gathered, I'm on a long dose of antibiotics as well as benadryl, sudafed and saline flushes. This got me to thinking. Yeah, I know, I'm weird. But since I can't focus on my writing my creative weirdness needs to vent somehow.
You see, I've read the last few hundred words I wrote while sick. Not pretty. Plot is okay, structure is okay, but there is no oomph. Apparently I write like I paint--expressionist impressionist LOL If I'm not feeling it, you'll get the impression with no real feeling.
That's what's happened in my last chapter. I may leave it and go on to finish the story since there are no major plot issues. I can fix the lack luster in edits. I'm sure my critique partner will fix the lack luster in no time :) I have a wonderfully honest, yet positive Critique Partner. Have I told you all how much I love her? Between my MIL beta reading since the beginning of my serious writing stints, my new beta readers, and my Critique Partner, I'm starting to feel like a professional writer LOL Sorry, off topic, but I heart these peeps!
As I'm moaning and groaning my way through day, trying not to be a Narcissistic Nancy, I got to looking at that chapter and wishing I could put it on antibiotics. Maybe some sudafed. And a saline flush. Figured I'd skip the benadryl since it's sleepy enough :P
How many times as a writer do we wish we could wave the magic wand? Too many. What if I could wave a wand and fix all? I wouldn't learn for one thing. My brain would stagnate. And that doesn't guarantee that a reader will like my story. Also, I'd lose that contact with my beta readers. I wouldn't have gotten so close to my critique partner who has turned into a lovely friend.
So when you're moaning and groaning about having to edit your writing, or weeding your garden (I wish, I'm ready for spring!), or plain old having to redo something, think twice about that magic wand or wishing you could flush it :) Who knows what you might miss?
Writing. It's more than a book, it'a an adventure.
You see, I've read the last few hundred words I wrote while sick. Not pretty. Plot is okay, structure is okay, but there is no oomph. Apparently I write like I paint--expressionist impressionist LOL If I'm not feeling it, you'll get the impression with no real feeling.
That's what's happened in my last chapter. I may leave it and go on to finish the story since there are no major plot issues. I can fix the lack luster in edits. I'm sure my critique partner will fix the lack luster in no time :) I have a wonderfully honest, yet positive Critique Partner. Have I told you all how much I love her? Between my MIL beta reading since the beginning of my serious writing stints, my new beta readers, and my Critique Partner, I'm starting to feel like a professional writer LOL Sorry, off topic, but I heart these peeps!
As I'm moaning and groaning my way through day, trying not to be a Narcissistic Nancy, I got to looking at that chapter and wishing I could put it on antibiotics. Maybe some sudafed. And a saline flush. Figured I'd skip the benadryl since it's sleepy enough :P
How many times as a writer do we wish we could wave the magic wand? Too many. What if I could wave a wand and fix all? I wouldn't learn for one thing. My brain would stagnate. And that doesn't guarantee that a reader will like my story. Also, I'd lose that contact with my beta readers. I wouldn't have gotten so close to my critique partner who has turned into a lovely friend.
So when you're moaning and groaning about having to edit your writing, or weeding your garden (I wish, I'm ready for spring!), or plain old having to redo something, think twice about that magic wand or wishing you could flush it :) Who knows what you might miss?
Writing. It's more than a book, it'a an adventure.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Setting Example
I'm sick, so I'm going to fudge a little today. As you all know if you've read my blog lately, I started a new dark parnormal female noir series. I've posted some of it here. Everything I post is usually raw or early drafts so it doesn't mess up later publication and so my family and friends can get a taste of the process.
The Gal Friday Noir series is important to me. It was thought up during a dark time in my emotional life. And it's getting me through these few weeks between my brother's birthday and the 2nd anniversary of his death. I now have critique partner helping with it. But before I found my partner of awesomesauce, I turned in bits of my story for public critiquing. Where? To my favorite grammar blog, of course.
I've since experienced other difficulties most of which has at least gotten a mention on my blog making this story, my writing even more important to me. I'm editing and writing new. Struggling with this illness, but seeing a doctor today should help. Then I can get back to writing thousands of words a day instead of hundreds.
Please go read the critique here: http://edittorrent.blogspot.com/2011/02/your-setting-examples-4.html And while you're at it, go read anything else that may look interesting or helpful to you. These two ladies are full of awesome, fairness, and are two wonderful editors. (Seriously, I've expounded on their wonderfulness on this blog before.) You still here? You haven't gone to their site? Be gone! Then come back and comment ;-)
The Gal Friday Noir series is important to me. It was thought up during a dark time in my emotional life. And it's getting me through these few weeks between my brother's birthday and the 2nd anniversary of his death. I now have critique partner helping with it. But before I found my partner of awesomesauce, I turned in bits of my story for public critiquing. Where? To my favorite grammar blog, of course.
I've since experienced other difficulties most of which has at least gotten a mention on my blog making this story, my writing even more important to me. I'm editing and writing new. Struggling with this illness, but seeing a doctor today should help. Then I can get back to writing thousands of words a day instead of hundreds.
Please go read the critique here: http://edittorrent.blogspot.com/2011/02/your-setting-examples-4.html And while you're at it, go read anything else that may look interesting or helpful to you. These two ladies are full of awesome, fairness, and are two wonderful editors. (Seriously, I've expounded on their wonderfulness on this blog before.) You still here? You haven't gone to their site? Be gone! Then come back and comment ;-)
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Writing while sick
I've been sick lately. Sinus infection type stuff. As I get this all the time, writing has been easy enough, and my tone has been fine. Well, it has moved into my chest. Still used to that, so wasn't to upset, but now the lymph nodes under my arms seem to be infected. Damn and double damn. I've had a full body "sinus" infection before and it's not pretty. Explains why I feel so down. Last couple of days of not enough sleep has combined to make me feel BLAH.
So, how do you keep writing when you're sick like that? I do. Sometimes, I do lots more edits. But I have a goal. I have to have rough draft finished my March 15. No excuses. Right now, I'm on pace as I'm about 25% finished and we're about a quarter of the way into this challenge. I can do it. But only if I don't slack.
What's that mean? I'm so "not in the mood" to write. I want to lay around and watch movies. I did slack of a little yesterday. I wrote only couple hundred words, and did some editing. I can't do that today. It means buckling down and writing. Period. Even if I think it sucks a$$ and erase it all later. I may get good plot point out. I may just be helping instill good habits. Who knows. The point is, I have to write today.
So, here's me, doing the routine, getting things moving, so I can write. Have y'all found your routine yet?
So, how do you keep writing when you're sick like that? I do. Sometimes, I do lots more edits. But I have a goal. I have to have rough draft finished my March 15. No excuses. Right now, I'm on pace as I'm about 25% finished and we're about a quarter of the way into this challenge. I can do it. But only if I don't slack.
What's that mean? I'm so "not in the mood" to write. I want to lay around and watch movies. I did slack of a little yesterday. I wrote only couple hundred words, and did some editing. I can't do that today. It means buckling down and writing. Period. Even if I think it sucks a$$ and erase it all later. I may get good plot point out. I may just be helping instill good habits. Who knows. The point is, I have to write today.
So, here's me, doing the routine, getting things moving, so I can write. Have y'all found your routine yet?
Monday, February 21, 2011
Have so much to do
My critique partner and I are rocking. I wrote an erotic comedy short for a contest that opens on March 1st. And you know what? I wrote it in first person :D
I think it's pretty good for a quickie. *snicker*
I'm now at 19360 words on my Gal Friday Noir and it's coming along nicely. About to send her out into the fray again. Knives blazing. Momma is pissed. Her kids are being held captive to ensure her cooperation. Nothing like a grizzly momma after you. Bad guys never learn. Don't mess with someone's kids.
Not going as quickly as I'd like on the edits. In fact, Hubby just left with the reason and I may have to edit instead of write while they're gone!! It's hard though. I'm really digging my new story and my critique partner as well. Sigh. But I must finsh the other one. Send it off :D
And ahem, I have one other beta reader. her initials are AG who needs to put her two cents in. Or on the other one :D Maybe should send them to her again? LOL I guess I'll be good and go edit. Course, it is the devil's human son, demons, Succubai, angels, Soulmates, sex, love, bondage, sword fights... Hey, that's right, I like that book. :D
I think it's pretty good for a quickie. *snicker*
I'm now at 19360 words on my Gal Friday Noir and it's coming along nicely. About to send her out into the fray again. Knives blazing. Momma is pissed. Her kids are being held captive to ensure her cooperation. Nothing like a grizzly momma after you. Bad guys never learn. Don't mess with someone's kids.
Not going as quickly as I'd like on the edits. In fact, Hubby just left with the reason and I may have to edit instead of write while they're gone!! It's hard though. I'm really digging my new story and my critique partner as well. Sigh. But I must finsh the other one. Send it off :D
And ahem, I have one other beta reader. her initials are AG who needs to put her two cents in. Or on the other one :D Maybe should send them to her again? LOL I guess I'll be good and go edit. Course, it is the devil's human son, demons, Succubai, angels, Soulmates, sex, love, bondage, sword fights... Hey, that's right, I like that book. :D
Sunday, February 20, 2011
On the road again...
Thanks to some wonderful comments and support from my critique partner, I pounded out two more chapters in first person. And I'm a success. :D Anne-Mhairi says I nailed it! No she wasn't talking about a guy! Get your head out of the gutter. Yes, you know who you are.
I have written a third now, since Friday's excerpts. Go me! Our hero had to learn of a little bit of her secrets, and be told what he was getting into. He still doesn't know she's got a few side effects... I think I may have to keep him in the series long term. Can't decide. Need to kill somebody. It's been too long since someone was killed...
It's intense to be writing something from first person. I'm liking it now, although I still feel the fear at the top of my throat threatening to strangle me. I didn't write yesterday. I did do a little editing, but had to stop that when 2 yo decided it was his turn for attention :D
I had family things to take care of yesterday. I bought some of the supplies for the scrapbook project my MIL and I are doing. While shopping, I found watertight file boxes for six bucks! Sweet deal. I got two. One for my homeschool stuff (I'm sure I'll need more eventually) and one for my edits and ongoing writing stuff.
I got it all organzied. Tore out the relevant pages from their work books and filed them away. labeled oodles of files. Thought up more projects for the kids. Saw where I needed more prep for the boys. Busy, busy.
Now I have to get back to critiquing and writing. How is your weekend going?
I have written a third now, since Friday's excerpts. Go me! Our hero had to learn of a little bit of her secrets, and be told what he was getting into. He still doesn't know she's got a few side effects... I think I may have to keep him in the series long term. Can't decide. Need to kill somebody. It's been too long since someone was killed...
It's intense to be writing something from first person. I'm liking it now, although I still feel the fear at the top of my throat threatening to strangle me. I didn't write yesterday. I did do a little editing, but had to stop that when 2 yo decided it was his turn for attention :D
I had family things to take care of yesterday. I bought some of the supplies for the scrapbook project my MIL and I are doing. While shopping, I found watertight file boxes for six bucks! Sweet deal. I got two. One for my homeschool stuff (I'm sure I'll need more eventually) and one for my edits and ongoing writing stuff.
I got it all organzied. Tore out the relevant pages from their work books and filed them away. labeled oodles of files. Thought up more projects for the kids. Saw where I needed more prep for the boys. Busy, busy.
Now I have to get back to critiquing and writing. How is your weekend going?
Friday, February 18, 2011
Friday Excerpts--Gal Friday Noir
Okay, I did something. My critique partner suggested I try my story in first person. I'm not a big fan of the first person. In fact, my initial blase attitude regarding Twilight had to do with the first person POV. (BTW, in case you missed my earlier post regarding this, no author bashing here on my blog. I will erase the post. Constructive criticism only, please.) I told my critique partner this, and being the brave soul that she is, she said, "It would be good exercise anyway." So I did it. Instead of a "new" chapter, I rewrote the last chapter, and did it in first person. Here is an excerpt.
PLEASE comment, give your opinion constructively. (The no author bashing rule applies to me too!) This is a little long because I need some feed back on the first person and this chapter is full of dialogue. Enjoy :D
"I don't think they meant to. Only one other person knew I was taking those days before I left the office. I was kidnapped on my way home. Since I live alone, there's no one to report me missing unless I don't check in today."
"Nice," I said. "I bet you pissed off someone. They can't say a word and all their careful planning is backfiring because you had a whim for a few days to yourself."
He grinned at me and I could see some color returning to his face. "Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn't it?"
My kind of man. "Pissing people off always makes my heart glow." I glanced quickly his way and smiled. "So, their mole isn't likely to be your boss, or he could have called off the kidnapping. That is, if the intended result was to have you pulled from the case."
"You're scary when you smile like that," he said, approval lacing his voice. "What training have you had?"
Surprised, I glanced over at him again, then shrugged. "Here, there. Mostly local people." Some dumb luck and experience is how I learned most of my survival lessons, but that would lead to lots of questions I have no intention of answering. Besides, those experiences are what made me seek out self-defense lessons.
"I can't imagine how you'd be if you had any formal training." He shook his head then dropped the subject. Smart man. "But back to the problem. I agree with you. The more I think about it, the more I'm sure they intended to have me taken off the case. I need to find out why. And who."
"What's the next step? This is way past my skills." Even my private investigator training wasn't enough to deal with a mole in the FBI.
"I doubt it. You handled yourself like a pro back there."
"Damn it." That's not what I meant at all. But if he leaked that she was cool under fire and had bested an infected, there's no telling the damage it would do. "Is there any way I can keep that information out of your official report?
"There's not going to be an official report," he said grimly. "Normally, I'd report, they'd pull me as lead, but keep me as consultant. But I don't think that's what'll happen this time. There's something underhanded about all of this that I mean to get to the bottom of. What if they wanted more than to get me off the case?'
His question surprised me, but I immediately knew what he meant. "Like fired?"
"Yes, fired. I've been secretly searching for the mole. The director isn't convinced there is one. I'm sure there is. What if I'm getting too close and they've decided to get rid of me in a non-sensational way?"
"This group seems to enjoy the bloodshed. Why stop now?" I had an inkling of where he was going, but wanted to hear him talk out the process for me.
"Because the death of an FBI agent would cause too many questions. Better for them to try a different route first."
I pondered this while driving, letting the car fill with silence again. After a while, I heard him mumble "What the hell?" and reach in his pocket. It was his cell phone. That worried me. They kidnap him, bloody him up, then leave him with everything, including his phone? Nothing added up.
Granted, I'd interrupted them, perhaps foiling some of their plans when they left, but they'd been there for two days. Simple enough to slip his gun, badge and phone into a pocket or purse. Spinning the scenarios was giving me a bitch of a headache. Normally, I didn't get them anymore, but apparently my body was telling me it'd had enough for the day.
I reached behind the front seat and started rummaging in my pack. Joseph gave me a look and pointed to the road. I sighed in frustration and mouthed "headache" at him.
He nodded and pulled my pack to his lap. While plastering his phone to his ear with his shoulder he poked around in the pocket I'd just been digging in. He came up with my bottle of Motrin.
I popped them with some of the left over soda from McDonald's and surreptitiously watched his features. His face was still somewhat swollen, especially around the eyes. However, fully dressed, the only clue to the recent ordeal were the black eyes.
I wanted to offer him some of her Motrin but figured he knew about them now and could ask or get some if he needed it. I noticed him tensing his jaw which made it difficult for me not to ask "What?" while he talked on the phone. Driving aimlessly for a few more minutes wouldn't kill me. But my curiosity might. I was so busy mocking myself, I didn't notice he'd quit talking on the phone and shut it off.
"I'm not saying anything about my kidnapping and we have to go in to the Bureau. The person I talked to said all calls from me, to me, or regarding me were ordered rerouted to another number--two days ago," he said darkly.
Two days ago. I was incredulous. No way. I'm not buying. "That's a little much for my bullshit meter," I said mildly, not wanting any of his anger directed at me.
"Mine too," he replied.
"I know the director didn't set it up, so it had to come from one of two people. My regular partner is stuck on desk duty from injuries arising out of a hit and run. In light of recent events, I'm beginning to think his accident is related to this case. These people are ruthless and have no morals if I'm right," he said with hot anger in his voice.
Despite knowing he wasn't directing it at me, I flinched at his tone. Even while being tied up and tortured, he hadn't lost his cool. Now he looked ready to take someone out for what happened to his partner. I planned on staying out of his way.
"What happened," I ask him quietly. "And give me directions to the local office so we can take care of that before I check in to a hotel somewhere."
He gave me the directions while he talked. "A month ago, my partner, David, was t-boned on his way to work. He left the Shell Station by the freeway after getting gas and witnesses say a large black truck appeared out of nowhere and smashed the driver's side of his sedate sedan. The doctors said if his car hadn't come equipped with side airbags as well as front air bags, he would have died."
The malice and forethought involved with planning a murder for an Agent only peripherally involved stunned me. Killing someone in that manner was risky at best. You were more likely to permanently handicap them. I had to agree with Joseph's assessment. Chances are that they did it to get David off a current case in the field and stuck behind a desk or worse.
I'm not sure what he thought of my continued silence, but he didn't stay quiet for long. This time I could hear the raw emotions in his voice. "It took two weeks before he was well enough to come to work and sit behind a desk. His color was so bad, I almost made him go home. I don't know how he convinced his own doctors, much less the FBI ones to let him back so soon, but he did."
He started to say more than stopped. I let him contemplate his thoughts on his own for now. I have my own worries to ponder. As I thought things out, I didn't much like the conclusions I came to. Fear is not a comfortable bed fellow. Tended to make people make mistakes and I was no exception. If these people were willing to do that to an FBI agent, how much more would they do to me, a lowly writer?
PLEASE comment, give your opinion constructively. (The no author bashing rule applies to me too!) This is a little long because I need some feed back on the first person and this chapter is full of dialogue. Enjoy :D
"I don't think they meant to. Only one other person knew I was taking those days before I left the office. I was kidnapped on my way home. Since I live alone, there's no one to report me missing unless I don't check in today."
"Nice," I said. "I bet you pissed off someone. They can't say a word and all their careful planning is backfiring because you had a whim for a few days to yourself."
He grinned at me and I could see some color returning to his face. "Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn't it?"
My kind of man. "Pissing people off always makes my heart glow." I glanced quickly his way and smiled. "So, their mole isn't likely to be your boss, or he could have called off the kidnapping. That is, if the intended result was to have you pulled from the case."
"You're scary when you smile like that," he said, approval lacing his voice. "What training have you had?"
Surprised, I glanced over at him again, then shrugged. "Here, there. Mostly local people." Some dumb luck and experience is how I learned most of my survival lessons, but that would lead to lots of questions I have no intention of answering. Besides, those experiences are what made me seek out self-defense lessons.
"I can't imagine how you'd be if you had any formal training." He shook his head then dropped the subject. Smart man. "But back to the problem. I agree with you. The more I think about it, the more I'm sure they intended to have me taken off the case. I need to find out why. And who."
"What's the next step? This is way past my skills." Even my private investigator training wasn't enough to deal with a mole in the FBI.
"I doubt it. You handled yourself like a pro back there."
"Damn it." That's not what I meant at all. But if he leaked that she was cool under fire and had bested an infected, there's no telling the damage it would do. "Is there any way I can keep that information out of your official report?
"There's not going to be an official report," he said grimly. "Normally, I'd report, they'd pull me as lead, but keep me as consultant. But I don't think that's what'll happen this time. There's something underhanded about all of this that I mean to get to the bottom of. What if they wanted more than to get me off the case?'
His question surprised me, but I immediately knew what he meant. "Like fired?"
"Yes, fired. I've been secretly searching for the mole. The director isn't convinced there is one. I'm sure there is. What if I'm getting too close and they've decided to get rid of me in a non-sensational way?"
"This group seems to enjoy the bloodshed. Why stop now?" I had an inkling of where he was going, but wanted to hear him talk out the process for me.
"Because the death of an FBI agent would cause too many questions. Better for them to try a different route first."
I pondered this while driving, letting the car fill with silence again. After a while, I heard him mumble "What the hell?" and reach in his pocket. It was his cell phone. That worried me. They kidnap him, bloody him up, then leave him with everything, including his phone? Nothing added up.
Granted, I'd interrupted them, perhaps foiling some of their plans when they left, but they'd been there for two days. Simple enough to slip his gun, badge and phone into a pocket or purse. Spinning the scenarios was giving me a bitch of a headache. Normally, I didn't get them anymore, but apparently my body was telling me it'd had enough for the day.
I reached behind the front seat and started rummaging in my pack. Joseph gave me a look and pointed to the road. I sighed in frustration and mouthed "headache" at him.
He nodded and pulled my pack to his lap. While plastering his phone to his ear with his shoulder he poked around in the pocket I'd just been digging in. He came up with my bottle of Motrin.
I popped them with some of the left over soda from McDonald's and surreptitiously watched his features. His face was still somewhat swollen, especially around the eyes. However, fully dressed, the only clue to the recent ordeal were the black eyes.
I wanted to offer him some of her Motrin but figured he knew about them now and could ask or get some if he needed it. I noticed him tensing his jaw which made it difficult for me not to ask "What?" while he talked on the phone. Driving aimlessly for a few more minutes wouldn't kill me. But my curiosity might. I was so busy mocking myself, I didn't notice he'd quit talking on the phone and shut it off.
"I'm not saying anything about my kidnapping and we have to go in to the Bureau. The person I talked to said all calls from me, to me, or regarding me were ordered rerouted to another number--two days ago," he said darkly.
Two days ago. I was incredulous. No way. I'm not buying. "That's a little much for my bullshit meter," I said mildly, not wanting any of his anger directed at me.
"Mine too," he replied.
"I know the director didn't set it up, so it had to come from one of two people. My regular partner is stuck on desk duty from injuries arising out of a hit and run. In light of recent events, I'm beginning to think his accident is related to this case. These people are ruthless and have no morals if I'm right," he said with hot anger in his voice.
Despite knowing he wasn't directing it at me, I flinched at his tone. Even while being tied up and tortured, he hadn't lost his cool. Now he looked ready to take someone out for what happened to his partner. I planned on staying out of his way.
"What happened," I ask him quietly. "And give me directions to the local office so we can take care of that before I check in to a hotel somewhere."
He gave me the directions while he talked. "A month ago, my partner, David, was t-boned on his way to work. He left the Shell Station by the freeway after getting gas and witnesses say a large black truck appeared out of nowhere and smashed the driver's side of his sedate sedan. The doctors said if his car hadn't come equipped with side airbags as well as front air bags, he would have died."
The malice and forethought involved with planning a murder for an Agent only peripherally involved stunned me. Killing someone in that manner was risky at best. You were more likely to permanently handicap them. I had to agree with Joseph's assessment. Chances are that they did it to get David off a current case in the field and stuck behind a desk or worse.
I'm not sure what he thought of my continued silence, but he didn't stay quiet for long. This time I could hear the raw emotions in his voice. "It took two weeks before he was well enough to come to work and sit behind a desk. His color was so bad, I almost made him go home. I don't know how he convinced his own doctors, much less the FBI ones to let him back so soon, but he did."
He started to say more than stopped. I let him contemplate his thoughts on his own for now. I have my own worries to ponder. As I thought things out, I didn't much like the conclusions I came to. Fear is not a comfortable bed fellow. Tended to make people make mistakes and I was no exception. If these people were willing to do that to an FBI agent, how much more would they do to me, a lowly writer?
Thursday, February 17, 2011
You up for a challenge?
As everyone and their brother knows, I'm busy. Busy is a way of life with big families. However, Part of the business is the business of writing.
What did you think a career in writing would be? Me, I imagined writing in solitude,kids playing and swimming off the dock (I always had kids in my imagination) while I wrote pen and paper style. Obviously that is not how it's done anymore. More and more it's turning to networking, advertising, and doing things the writer wasn't expected to even have an inkling about 30 years ago.
What happens? I think one of the things that has happened as a result of this push for writers to do more of their own branding, is they're spending less time writing. More time is going into being availabe for things like FB and twitter and less is spent doing whatever it is each writer does for inspiration and focus on the story.
Also, authors like Racheal Vincent (Yikes, I hope I spelled Racheal right??)end up spending time protecting themselves from pirates. Which also translates into less time writing. Pirating is a story for another day, so have run this one off quickly. Anyway, so many things work together to pirate *hehe* our time away from writing.
My point here is this:
We authors spend so much time doing what we're supposed to do, we forget to WRITE. Well, my critique partner and I are not going to let this happen. We're writing fools, you might say. We have decided to finish our books rough drafts by March 15. (no minimum word counts. This isn't nanowrimo :P) The Ides of March. In honor of the date, we are calling it the IdeM Writing Challenge.
Who's with us??
What did you think a career in writing would be? Me, I imagined writing in solitude,kids playing and swimming off the dock (I always had kids in my imagination) while I wrote pen and paper style. Obviously that is not how it's done anymore. More and more it's turning to networking, advertising, and doing things the writer wasn't expected to even have an inkling about 30 years ago.
What happens? I think one of the things that has happened as a result of this push for writers to do more of their own branding, is they're spending less time writing. More time is going into being availabe for things like FB and twitter and less is spent doing whatever it is each writer does for inspiration and focus on the story.
Also, authors like Racheal Vincent (Yikes, I hope I spelled Racheal right??)end up spending time protecting themselves from pirates. Which also translates into less time writing. Pirating is a story for another day, so have run this one off quickly. Anyway, so many things work together to pirate *hehe* our time away from writing.
My point here is this:
We authors spend so much time doing what we're supposed to do, we forget to WRITE. Well, my critique partner and I are not going to let this happen. We're writing fools, you might say. We have decided to finish our books rough drafts by March 15. (no minimum word counts. This isn't nanowrimo :P) The Ides of March. In honor of the date, we are calling it the IdeM Writing Challenge.
Who's with us??
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Critique Partners and Beta Readers
Recently, I have found a few beta readers. I love my beta readers. They're concise, insightful and all have different strengths. I've got one I can hit up for short spurts, I think. I've got one who is strictly a reader not a writer. And hello to my new daily writing partner/critique partner, Anne-Mhairi!
Because of the input of my beta reader I have started out a new WIP so strong in it's rough (Yes Anne-Mhairi I did send you the rough draft :) that my husband had to say it was good and he is cranky critiquer. He expects me to be awesome out of the starting gates. I only let him read first five pages. Mostly cuz my beta reader had a full he was working on and I needed some feedback that the new story was as good as it felt.
Along the way of my personal journey that has had pain and stress as you've likely read about, I found Anne-Mhairi. She's got a fantastic fantasy going that I can't wait to finish, and together we are holding each other accountable. I'm telling my friends here, so they can help her hold this stubborn, opinionated, procrastinating writer accountable :D
Here's the deal: 5 chapters a week, plus any editing. When we finish our stories, I guess we'll have to change that up a bit, but for now, both of us are early in our WIP.
Now here's the extra bit for me. I have a returned full MS back from my beta readers I forgot to mention my mother-in-law. Technically, she is a beta reader as well :D Her strengths are finding my damn inconsistencies. I'm really glad she can, but I hate that they're there to find! LOL She is the awesome support system from my husband's family that has GREATLY helped me over the years.
I have to edit this full MS and get back to editor who really likes the premis. This is the Damian series. It started out as short story that was asked to be turned into novel to remind everyone. Novel is going through final edits now. This ought to keep me busy for awhile. You think?
So say hello to Anne-Mhairi at her new and very popular blog! It's wonderful that a writer can start off with so many to follow and support her in that way. I hope you all are there as well! :D Here is the link to her latest blog. Sorry I haven't figured out the fancy html code yet!
http://annemhairisimpson.wordpress.com/2011/02/16/small-victories-are-worth-celebrating-too-and-another-tip-for-increasing-traffic/
I expect you all to be asking me how I'm keeping up and poking me if I start to fall behind, even if I'm busy!! Although, I draw the line at cattle prods! I need to write the story while I have it in my head, and I need to edit the other and get it to the editor. So, here's to having work to do and friends to help us along the way!
Cheers!
Because of the input of my beta reader I have started out a new WIP so strong in it's rough (Yes Anne-Mhairi I did send you the rough draft :) that my husband had to say it was good and he is cranky critiquer. He expects me to be awesome out of the starting gates. I only let him read first five pages. Mostly cuz my beta reader had a full he was working on and I needed some feedback that the new story was as good as it felt.
Along the way of my personal journey that has had pain and stress as you've likely read about, I found Anne-Mhairi. She's got a fantastic fantasy going that I can't wait to finish, and together we are holding each other accountable. I'm telling my friends here, so they can help her hold this stubborn, opinionated, procrastinating writer accountable :D
Here's the deal: 5 chapters a week, plus any editing. When we finish our stories, I guess we'll have to change that up a bit, but for now, both of us are early in our WIP.
Now here's the extra bit for me. I have a returned full MS back from my beta readers I forgot to mention my mother-in-law. Technically, she is a beta reader as well :D Her strengths are finding my damn inconsistencies. I'm really glad she can, but I hate that they're there to find! LOL She is the awesome support system from my husband's family that has GREATLY helped me over the years.
I have to edit this full MS and get back to editor who really likes the premis. This is the Damian series. It started out as short story that was asked to be turned into novel to remind everyone. Novel is going through final edits now. This ought to keep me busy for awhile. You think?
So say hello to Anne-Mhairi at her new and very popular blog! It's wonderful that a writer can start off with so many to follow and support her in that way. I hope you all are there as well! :D Here is the link to her latest blog. Sorry I haven't figured out the fancy html code yet!
http://annemhairisimpson.wordpress.com/2011/02/16/small-victories-are-worth-celebrating-too-and-another-tip-for-increasing-traffic/
I expect you all to be asking me how I'm keeping up and poking me if I start to fall behind, even if I'm busy!! Although, I draw the line at cattle prods! I need to write the story while I have it in my head, and I need to edit the other and get it to the editor. So, here's to having work to do and friends to help us along the way!
Cheers!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
White Swan Fire
Last weekend we had some of our worst weather. We had high winds. I don't know what the "official" tally on the winds turned out to be. I do know they are never as bad where ever it is they keep the damn recorder. It's much stronger down in the valley because of the mountain.
So last weekend the winds blew crazily. The normal winds coming from Mount Adams combined with someting coming from the...west, I think. Warmer wind anyway. In the midst of all this, it appears that someone had sparks from their chimney fall on their roof and start a fire.
The wind whipped said fire into an immediate frenzy. The normal things that help firefighters fight fires were ineffective as aresult of the high winds. Usually, if you have a good wide road, it works as a natural barrier. Not in this case. The wind blew that fire into a 240 acre rampaging beast.
I think they are still fighting the two contained fires left from that fire--one in a lumber yard, the other in a hay stack. The hay stack may sound funny to some, but not to those who live in cattle country. Hay stacks around here aren't the cute Monet rounded mounds for little boy blue to sleep on. They are 2 tons and bigger walls of hay that can burn for-seemingly-ever.
In the end, it appears that no one was killed. However, 120 people have been displaced, at least 20 homes have burned down. If you want to see what I mean, you can feel free to look on my Facebook (Leona Bushman should get you there. If you friend request me and send message you found me via my blog, I'll accept :) to see the pictures of my husband's grandmother's house.
Although her daughter-in-law saved some of her pictures, it was only a precious few she could grab in a hurry. Grandma lost her husband a while back. All she had left were her memories. In recent posts, I have talked about losing my brother's pictures and how much it meant for me to get them back. Having the pictures to look at are like having a continual memory update. And like having a security blanket for when you're missing them.
She's lost all of his things that she kept to remind her of him and to pass down to the grandkids. I ran the idea of doing a scrapbook for her. Gathering pictures from the rest of the family and scanning them and making her a new scrapbook as a house warming, or sooner gift.
Everyone's jumped on the wagon and we're probably going to do three of them. It has really comforted her as well as those affected by her loss. She will get some pictures back, and everyone else doesn't feel so helpless.
The Red Cross is taking donations to help with blankets, clothing, etc. I'm thinking of taking donations to put together a premade scrapbook for all of the families affected. I don't know how to spearhead something like that though. I know at least two more of the families by proxy, and probably more of them since names haven't been released. Is this a feasable project? I've seen premade albums done for wedding and stuff as gifts. I have the know-how. Would that be something you would like to get? In the cases of these other families, I'd be trying to give back hope.
So, any ideas? My MIL and I can take care of my Grandma but the others? What do you think?
So last weekend the winds blew crazily. The normal winds coming from Mount Adams combined with someting coming from the...west, I think. Warmer wind anyway. In the midst of all this, it appears that someone had sparks from their chimney fall on their roof and start a fire.
The wind whipped said fire into an immediate frenzy. The normal things that help firefighters fight fires were ineffective as aresult of the high winds. Usually, if you have a good wide road, it works as a natural barrier. Not in this case. The wind blew that fire into a 240 acre rampaging beast.
I think they are still fighting the two contained fires left from that fire--one in a lumber yard, the other in a hay stack. The hay stack may sound funny to some, but not to those who live in cattle country. Hay stacks around here aren't the cute Monet rounded mounds for little boy blue to sleep on. They are 2 tons and bigger walls of hay that can burn for-seemingly-ever.
In the end, it appears that no one was killed. However, 120 people have been displaced, at least 20 homes have burned down. If you want to see what I mean, you can feel free to look on my Facebook (Leona Bushman should get you there. If you friend request me and send message you found me via my blog, I'll accept :) to see the pictures of my husband's grandmother's house.
Although her daughter-in-law saved some of her pictures, it was only a precious few she could grab in a hurry. Grandma lost her husband a while back. All she had left were her memories. In recent posts, I have talked about losing my brother's pictures and how much it meant for me to get them back. Having the pictures to look at are like having a continual memory update. And like having a security blanket for when you're missing them.
She's lost all of his things that she kept to remind her of him and to pass down to the grandkids. I ran the idea of doing a scrapbook for her. Gathering pictures from the rest of the family and scanning them and making her a new scrapbook as a house warming, or sooner gift.
Everyone's jumped on the wagon and we're probably going to do three of them. It has really comforted her as well as those affected by her loss. She will get some pictures back, and everyone else doesn't feel so helpless.
The Red Cross is taking donations to help with blankets, clothing, etc. I'm thinking of taking donations to put together a premade scrapbook for all of the families affected. I don't know how to spearhead something like that though. I know at least two more of the families by proxy, and probably more of them since names haven't been released. Is this a feasable project? I've seen premade albums done for wedding and stuff as gifts. I have the know-how. Would that be something you would like to get? In the cases of these other families, I'd be trying to give back hope.
So, any ideas? My MIL and I can take care of my Grandma but the others? What do you think?
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Death and the Red Parrot
Death and the Red Parrot
inspired by Andrew Jack
See before you now not a man, but a young child
Full of wonder as he sees a glimpse of the wild.
Birds, great cats, snakes and more as he walks
Barely listening to the keeper as she talks.
He sees not the cages, the glassed in walls
Inside his mind, a brighter, living image calls.
His heart is alive with a desperate beating
His imagination flows, time will show it is not fleeting.
His face is bright. The images alive as they form inside
His great mind. His feet keep moving, one in a slide,
As he drags his feet when the teacher says time to go.
He's staring intently at the great bird as it moves to and fro.
His eyes, wide, he stares intently at the one great red.
It catches the stare and slightly turns its feathered head.
Time stood on its axis for our young Aaron, though he later doubts,
As the bird and him took turns, neither one hearing the shouts.
The years crawl by and our young Aaron never forgets
The day at the zoo with the animals, especially the parrots.
He grows up strong, resplendent in body and mind.
In his heart, he remains, truthful, just and kind.
He meets his love, her blue eyes, and honeyed colored hair
Turn him into a poet, as he wants to claim her with beauty and flare.
His love is strong; his pursuit is mighty. He knows she is the one.
He gets her to laugh, to cry, to be his wife. Her love, he has won.
His joy is complete when she births to him, one son, one daughter.
He knows not of the impending sorrow, the soon to happen slaughter.
That Death has rubbed his hands in glee, seeing Aaron's complete
Love, seeing him so happy. Thru sun, rain, ice and sleet
Their family loves, from the depths of their hearts,
Not seeing the day from each other they will depart.
Death remembers young Aaron well, for he looked
Out, from a sick bird's eyes, saw purity of soul and was hooked.
Death's soul has long been charred, burned, bloody, and scarred.
His original mission of accompanying the lost has been marred.
He started out pure, but after time, the soul is no longer clean.
Giving in to the power, his lust, his greed, makes him mean.
Throughout the years, death has looked upon the boy.
Looking through the eyes of the birds, Death remained coy.
He wanted to damage the man. Marr the soul, make it black.
Show the world, that once love is gone, there is no getting it back.
So here and there, as time moved inexorably forward,
The family's red parrot became a way to watch, to speak the odd word.
To penetrate Aaron's mind, to start him along the murky walk.
Grooming him for the time when together they would talk.
The day finally comes when Death no longer has to wait.
He stands by and watches as the family goes through their dark fate.
Aaron is gone, happily at work. Earning money so his family
Could live in peace in the world's depressing economy.
He has no inkling of what he will eventually find.
The blood is spattered all over the walls, leaving none behind.
Death is eager for the young boy turned man to come home.
Eager to see someone with the same pain be left alone to roam.
He stays inside the blood soaked room, waiting, waiting.
Gathering the souls to him, the feeling of life fleeting.
He closes his eyes as he feasts on their beauty
Knowing that he is failing, still he refuses to do his duty.
Aaron comes home, laughing and calling "I'm home! I'm here!"
Puts his briefcase down then faces the room. He grips the wall in fear
As his eyes roam over the beloved bodies of his family.
His soul's tears start deep within, the bird watches him cagily.
For the bird can see the specter of Death and knows him.
He's seen him before. Haunting, bringing chill, leaving the house grim.
Aaron cries out and falls to his knees, trying to scream out his pain
But for all his troubles and emotions, his voice finds no gain.
He fumbles in his pocket for the phone, for help he calls.
The pain inside is deep, it can't be contained within the four walls.
He gets up and staggers outside, waiting to take more inside.
Inside where blood has seeped through the boards and spread wide.
His mind stirs and thinks of the bird from so long ago, the staring.
Somehow that look is akin to the one on the face of his wife, accusing, glaring.
His heart is wretched, broken, and bleeding. His soul is crying.
So caught up in his pain, he never senses Death spying.
He gets up to talk to the cops, he copes as he must
Each move on auto as he gets ready to see his family returned to dust.
He holds it together for his family and friends,
Inside he is dying, the world as he knows it suspends.
He has no wish to do anything else but this.
His life, his blood, turned to dust, gone is his bliss.
The parrot has cried when the man has been gone.
He is aware of the part Death has played to bring the pain on.
He watches with his keen eyes, as his master, his companion
Cries and makes plans for the ones whom he lost to Death's minion.
One day the man comes home, his spirit has waned away.
The power keeping him moving, has gone, life has no more sway.
He pulls out a weapon, sits down on the couch. In his hand, a gun
The bird starts to squawk. He looks sadly and pauses, remembering his son.
He opens the cage, inserts his hand, and coaxes the red bird,
To let him be held. He stroked his parrot with nary a word.
But Death is calling to Aaron. His finger he crooks, his smile wide.
The parrot is angry, wishing he could help Aaron get away, to hide.
With deep love and affection, the bird has a glimmer,
An idea has started, for a moment left to simmer.
"Cracker," he says, hoping his master will reward him,
Needing the reprieve. For hope has waned, the feeling is dim.
Aaron smiles dully, deciding to give to the beautiful parrot he loved
A cracker as a gift before facing Death and giving life a shove.
The Parrot's eyes meet Death's darkness, and for a moment,
Death is worried, but then remembers grief's torment.
Aaron comes out and says, "Cracker, my feathered friend?"
The parrot thinks I must say something, or this is the end.
"Death is near. He is like a parrot. It is on blood he feeds.
Do not ask him if he wants a cracker, because it is your soul he needs"
The man turned white, wondering if his mind has gone mad.
This bird has spoken as if he knew the gun meant the news was bad.
He looked hard at the red parrot, deep into the eyes of the bird,
Neither moving, neither speaking, seemingly absurd.
But suddenly Aaron's mind to the past it went, the thoughts they flew.
The grooming was there, if how to look you knew.
He looked over to the place his mind's eye still saw blood.
And there it was, in shadows, crusty, full of hatred, hiding behind a hood.
Death stared back at him, not believing his eyes.
It looked as if the man was saying his goodbyes.
It was a start along the path needed, for grief to get peace
And begin the healing. Death roared his anger, his rage he began to release.
But Aaron is safe now, he can see. No longer Death's pawn.
The red parrot and he, together, they stood, to greet new dawn.
inspired by Andrew Jack
See before you now not a man, but a young child
Full of wonder as he sees a glimpse of the wild.
Birds, great cats, snakes and more as he walks
Barely listening to the keeper as she talks.
He sees not the cages, the glassed in walls
Inside his mind, a brighter, living image calls.
His heart is alive with a desperate beating
His imagination flows, time will show it is not fleeting.
His face is bright. The images alive as they form inside
His great mind. His feet keep moving, one in a slide,
As he drags his feet when the teacher says time to go.
He's staring intently at the great bird as it moves to and fro.
His eyes, wide, he stares intently at the one great red.
It catches the stare and slightly turns its feathered head.
Time stood on its axis for our young Aaron, though he later doubts,
As the bird and him took turns, neither one hearing the shouts.
The years crawl by and our young Aaron never forgets
The day at the zoo with the animals, especially the parrots.
He grows up strong, resplendent in body and mind.
In his heart, he remains, truthful, just and kind.
He meets his love, her blue eyes, and honeyed colored hair
Turn him into a poet, as he wants to claim her with beauty and flare.
His love is strong; his pursuit is mighty. He knows she is the one.
He gets her to laugh, to cry, to be his wife. Her love, he has won.
His joy is complete when she births to him, one son, one daughter.
He knows not of the impending sorrow, the soon to happen slaughter.
That Death has rubbed his hands in glee, seeing Aaron's complete
Love, seeing him so happy. Thru sun, rain, ice and sleet
Their family loves, from the depths of their hearts,
Not seeing the day from each other they will depart.
Death remembers young Aaron well, for he looked
Out, from a sick bird's eyes, saw purity of soul and was hooked.
Death's soul has long been charred, burned, bloody, and scarred.
His original mission of accompanying the lost has been marred.
He started out pure, but after time, the soul is no longer clean.
Giving in to the power, his lust, his greed, makes him mean.
Throughout the years, death has looked upon the boy.
Looking through the eyes of the birds, Death remained coy.
He wanted to damage the man. Marr the soul, make it black.
Show the world, that once love is gone, there is no getting it back.
So here and there, as time moved inexorably forward,
The family's red parrot became a way to watch, to speak the odd word.
To penetrate Aaron's mind, to start him along the murky walk.
Grooming him for the time when together they would talk.
The day finally comes when Death no longer has to wait.
He stands by and watches as the family goes through their dark fate.
Aaron is gone, happily at work. Earning money so his family
Could live in peace in the world's depressing economy.
He has no inkling of what he will eventually find.
The blood is spattered all over the walls, leaving none behind.
Death is eager for the young boy turned man to come home.
Eager to see someone with the same pain be left alone to roam.
He stays inside the blood soaked room, waiting, waiting.
Gathering the souls to him, the feeling of life fleeting.
He closes his eyes as he feasts on their beauty
Knowing that he is failing, still he refuses to do his duty.
Aaron comes home, laughing and calling "I'm home! I'm here!"
Puts his briefcase down then faces the room. He grips the wall in fear
As his eyes roam over the beloved bodies of his family.
His soul's tears start deep within, the bird watches him cagily.
For the bird can see the specter of Death and knows him.
He's seen him before. Haunting, bringing chill, leaving the house grim.
Aaron cries out and falls to his knees, trying to scream out his pain
But for all his troubles and emotions, his voice finds no gain.
He fumbles in his pocket for the phone, for help he calls.
The pain inside is deep, it can't be contained within the four walls.
He gets up and staggers outside, waiting to take more inside.
Inside where blood has seeped through the boards and spread wide.
His mind stirs and thinks of the bird from so long ago, the staring.
Somehow that look is akin to the one on the face of his wife, accusing, glaring.
His heart is wretched, broken, and bleeding. His soul is crying.
So caught up in his pain, he never senses Death spying.
He gets up to talk to the cops, he copes as he must
Each move on auto as he gets ready to see his family returned to dust.
He holds it together for his family and friends,
Inside he is dying, the world as he knows it suspends.
He has no wish to do anything else but this.
His life, his blood, turned to dust, gone is his bliss.
The parrot has cried when the man has been gone.
He is aware of the part Death has played to bring the pain on.
He watches with his keen eyes, as his master, his companion
Cries and makes plans for the ones whom he lost to Death's minion.
One day the man comes home, his spirit has waned away.
The power keeping him moving, has gone, life has no more sway.
He pulls out a weapon, sits down on the couch. In his hand, a gun
The bird starts to squawk. He looks sadly and pauses, remembering his son.
He opens the cage, inserts his hand, and coaxes the red bird,
To let him be held. He stroked his parrot with nary a word.
But Death is calling to Aaron. His finger he crooks, his smile wide.
The parrot is angry, wishing he could help Aaron get away, to hide.
With deep love and affection, the bird has a glimmer,
An idea has started, for a moment left to simmer.
"Cracker," he says, hoping his master will reward him,
Needing the reprieve. For hope has waned, the feeling is dim.
Aaron smiles dully, deciding to give to the beautiful parrot he loved
A cracker as a gift before facing Death and giving life a shove.
The Parrot's eyes meet Death's darkness, and for a moment,
Death is worried, but then remembers grief's torment.
Aaron comes out and says, "Cracker, my feathered friend?"
The parrot thinks I must say something, or this is the end.
"Death is near. He is like a parrot. It is on blood he feeds.
Do not ask him if he wants a cracker, because it is your soul he needs"
The man turned white, wondering if his mind has gone mad.
This bird has spoken as if he knew the gun meant the news was bad.
He looked hard at the red parrot, deep into the eyes of the bird,
Neither moving, neither speaking, seemingly absurd.
But suddenly Aaron's mind to the past it went, the thoughts they flew.
The grooming was there, if how to look you knew.
He looked over to the place his mind's eye still saw blood.
And there it was, in shadows, crusty, full of hatred, hiding behind a hood.
Death stared back at him, not believing his eyes.
It looked as if the man was saying his goodbyes.
It was a start along the path needed, for grief to get peace
And begin the healing. Death roared his anger, his rage he began to release.
But Aaron is safe now, he can see. No longer Death's pawn.
The red parrot and he, together, they stood, to greet new dawn.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Friday Exerpts - fantasy
This excerpt is again from my fantasy. I'm getting it ready for smashwords and kindle to be released soon.
This is from end of first chapter. The king and queen from the Land of Drache are the parents of Lucian, our heroine's best friend.
The queen paced in her dragon form. She was a green dragon—rare among her kind—with a deep red under belly. Her scales glowed luminescent under the floating magical lights they used for scrying on other worlds and kingdoms, especially those linked to the Land of Drache by magic.
“We can’t help what Fate is asking of Cerisa. We can only offer our support. Lucian is strong, my love. With his help and the teachings of her parents, Cerisa has learned to respect other races and has grown strong in her magic.” He was anxious as well, but knew that Serena needed his comforting. He refrained from pacing—just—as even the greatness of their throne room would feel restricted if both were pacing in dragon forms.
“And Lucian can call on his older brother, Daniel, if he needs to, or any of the other Draches we have in the dimension they are currently in. We must not lose faith,” King Pythes continued, following her with his head. He was black with a red tint to his scales and underbelly. He was sleek like his wife; merely being in his presence made you cognizant of his power. The two of them often used their scrying orb, the Illessence, to watch their son and his charge, as well as her parents, whom she lived with near the small village of Glasuisce.
“The seers in times past have said that there would be untold bloodshed in Riverhand before the rightful heir to the throne reclaimed it,” King Pythes said into the silence as his wife glared at him.
“They also said Cerisa will be pivotal in these events. Events that will decide if all of the Land of Drache will continue to exist on this plane or not, or if the Old Magik will return,” she replied tightly.
“Not the current magic that is so weak it can’t carry the proper name, but real Magik.” Strong disdain laced her words. She was old enough to remember the ways and power of the Old Magik.
“Yes, but that is all they agree on. Cerisa Andersen of Glasuisce is important to us. We have known that for a long time. That is why we sent our son to protect her; she is our best hope. Already, she shows signs of having the Old Magik.”
She nodded her great maw. “Yes, that is true. However, I believe that the time foreseen is upon us, now. Lord Kyle Namred has been torturing and killing to keep his rule strong for many years. Although he has claimed the throne in the name of the missing heiress, there are still those who oppose him despite the harsh punishment they receive for their troubles.” Her voice cracked, as her agitation increased.
“I agree. There has been much bloodletting in the human realm of Riverhand as was foretold. Our people have witnessed horrifying incidents and have even been hurt on occasion. Whatever Cerisa’s role is to be, I believe it will happen soon," he agreed.
“Pythes, we must do something,” Queen Serena implored. She swished over the blue marble flooring, away from the Illessence. She changed into human form, swaying her hips. Her long, dark hair retained a green strip from her temple. A reflection of her true color.
“My love, there is nothing we can do from here.” He changed to human form to match hers. Strong strides took him quickly across the room to her. He grabbed her hand. “It is part of the checks and balances of the worlds that we are dependent upon the humans' balance. That they must have the proper authority on the throne of Riverhand in their dimension in order to exist beyond the gates of our lands is part of fate's decree for us.”
“I hate it,” she said, a rumble sounding under the words, despite her human form, emphasizing her frustration. “It is not right that in order for us to exist beyond their imagination, the humans have to do things right. They are the biggest despoilers of all intelligent races. Even the damned Orcs seem able to keep their species balanced.”
“It is not the Orcs, but those who oppose them that keeps those foul creatures in check. All races have a check and balance—someone more powerful than they are in order to keep any one race from annihilating the rest of us. Humans are fate’s choice for equalizing the scales, so to speak, whether we like it or not.”
“Decidedly not,” she said emphatically. “We are more powerful than they and we are not cruel. We are wise. We have found balance and peace in our disputes here on the Land of Drache. Why do we need them to balance us? I’m powerful enough to control any of us who aren’t willing to follow our lead. You are as well. Together, you and I have had a peaceful reign for almost a hundred years, despite the turmoil in their lands these past years.” Queen Serena said fervently.
“It was not always so. There is good and bad in every species. At least it is the humans balance us," he said. "Despite that they figured out long ago how to kill our kind despite our obvious advantages in a fight." Queen Serena waved her hands in frustration at him, as if to wipe out what he was saying. He was undaunted. "We are fortunate that they are our balance because, although it is rare, we are able to breed with the humans. The ruling family has dragon’s blood in it, as it was meant to be from the beginning as our destinies are so entwined. Fates weren’t completely cruel in setting up our balance. They made sure that our needs would be felt by the ones in charge of keeping magic alive in the lands we depend on.”
“Of course, you're right. It could have been a much less compassionate race that held our lives in the palm of their hands. I’m afraid though, Pythes. I am afraid that Cerisa may be too late in saving Riverhand. If that is the case, then it is too late for us as well.”
The king and queen looked at each other sadly. He took her other hand in his. “Do not give up hope. She is strong in the Old Magik, as well as the new; I feel it in her. She is also a warrior. We may not know why she is so important to the fate of us all, but we know that she will do her best when the time comes.”
“And if that is not enough? What then?”
He had no answer for her. He moved back to the pulpit and looked into the Illessence, hoping for a clue as to help his kind not become extinct. However, what he saw did not bring hope. At times like this, he would gladly give his right eye to be able to hear as well as see into his scrying orb. For when he looked into the clearing where his son and his son’s young charge lived, he saw something that brought terror and fear that Riverhand, and therefore the Land of Drache, was lost before the greatest war ever foretold in any of their lands in either dimension had seen in a millennia had even begun.
Please comment and tell me what you think :) Including typos!! I've edited this story so many times, (this is one I initially edited my voice and too much description out of) that my eyes start to bleed when I read it lol. Because I was putting stuff back in when editing, it's easy for me to miss the typos.
This is from end of first chapter. The king and queen from the Land of Drache are the parents of Lucian, our heroine's best friend.
The queen paced in her dragon form. She was a green dragon—rare among her kind—with a deep red under belly. Her scales glowed luminescent under the floating magical lights they used for scrying on other worlds and kingdoms, especially those linked to the Land of Drache by magic.
“We can’t help what Fate is asking of Cerisa. We can only offer our support. Lucian is strong, my love. With his help and the teachings of her parents, Cerisa has learned to respect other races and has grown strong in her magic.” He was anxious as well, but knew that Serena needed his comforting. He refrained from pacing—just—as even the greatness of their throne room would feel restricted if both were pacing in dragon forms.
“And Lucian can call on his older brother, Daniel, if he needs to, or any of the other Draches we have in the dimension they are currently in. We must not lose faith,” King Pythes continued, following her with his head. He was black with a red tint to his scales and underbelly. He was sleek like his wife; merely being in his presence made you cognizant of his power. The two of them often used their scrying orb, the Illessence, to watch their son and his charge, as well as her parents, whom she lived with near the small village of Glasuisce.
“The seers in times past have said that there would be untold bloodshed in Riverhand before the rightful heir to the throne reclaimed it,” King Pythes said into the silence as his wife glared at him.
“They also said Cerisa will be pivotal in these events. Events that will decide if all of the Land of Drache will continue to exist on this plane or not, or if the Old Magik will return,” she replied tightly.
“Not the current magic that is so weak it can’t carry the proper name, but real Magik.” Strong disdain laced her words. She was old enough to remember the ways and power of the Old Magik.
“Yes, but that is all they agree on. Cerisa Andersen of Glasuisce is important to us. We have known that for a long time. That is why we sent our son to protect her; she is our best hope. Already, she shows signs of having the Old Magik.”
She nodded her great maw. “Yes, that is true. However, I believe that the time foreseen is upon us, now. Lord Kyle Namred has been torturing and killing to keep his rule strong for many years. Although he has claimed the throne in the name of the missing heiress, there are still those who oppose him despite the harsh punishment they receive for their troubles.” Her voice cracked, as her agitation increased.
“I agree. There has been much bloodletting in the human realm of Riverhand as was foretold. Our people have witnessed horrifying incidents and have even been hurt on occasion. Whatever Cerisa’s role is to be, I believe it will happen soon," he agreed.
“Pythes, we must do something,” Queen Serena implored. She swished over the blue marble flooring, away from the Illessence. She changed into human form, swaying her hips. Her long, dark hair retained a green strip from her temple. A reflection of her true color.
“My love, there is nothing we can do from here.” He changed to human form to match hers. Strong strides took him quickly across the room to her. He grabbed her hand. “It is part of the checks and balances of the worlds that we are dependent upon the humans' balance. That they must have the proper authority on the throne of Riverhand in their dimension in order to exist beyond the gates of our lands is part of fate's decree for us.”
“I hate it,” she said, a rumble sounding under the words, despite her human form, emphasizing her frustration. “It is not right that in order for us to exist beyond their imagination, the humans have to do things right. They are the biggest despoilers of all intelligent races. Even the damned Orcs seem able to keep their species balanced.”
“It is not the Orcs, but those who oppose them that keeps those foul creatures in check. All races have a check and balance—someone more powerful than they are in order to keep any one race from annihilating the rest of us. Humans are fate’s choice for equalizing the scales, so to speak, whether we like it or not.”
“Decidedly not,” she said emphatically. “We are more powerful than they and we are not cruel. We are wise. We have found balance and peace in our disputes here on the Land of Drache. Why do we need them to balance us? I’m powerful enough to control any of us who aren’t willing to follow our lead. You are as well. Together, you and I have had a peaceful reign for almost a hundred years, despite the turmoil in their lands these past years.” Queen Serena said fervently.
“It was not always so. There is good and bad in every species. At least it is the humans balance us," he said. "Despite that they figured out long ago how to kill our kind despite our obvious advantages in a fight." Queen Serena waved her hands in frustration at him, as if to wipe out what he was saying. He was undaunted. "We are fortunate that they are our balance because, although it is rare, we are able to breed with the humans. The ruling family has dragon’s blood in it, as it was meant to be from the beginning as our destinies are so entwined. Fates weren’t completely cruel in setting up our balance. They made sure that our needs would be felt by the ones in charge of keeping magic alive in the lands we depend on.”
“Of course, you're right. It could have been a much less compassionate race that held our lives in the palm of their hands. I’m afraid though, Pythes. I am afraid that Cerisa may be too late in saving Riverhand. If that is the case, then it is too late for us as well.”
The king and queen looked at each other sadly. He took her other hand in his. “Do not give up hope. She is strong in the Old Magik, as well as the new; I feel it in her. She is also a warrior. We may not know why she is so important to the fate of us all, but we know that she will do her best when the time comes.”
“And if that is not enough? What then?”
He had no answer for her. He moved back to the pulpit and looked into the Illessence, hoping for a clue as to help his kind not become extinct. However, what he saw did not bring hope. At times like this, he would gladly give his right eye to be able to hear as well as see into his scrying orb. For when he looked into the clearing where his son and his son’s young charge lived, he saw something that brought terror and fear that Riverhand, and therefore the Land of Drache, was lost before the greatest war ever foretold in any of their lands in either dimension had seen in a millennia had even begun.
Please comment and tell me what you think :) Including typos!! I've edited this story so many times, (this is one I initially edited my voice and too much description out of) that my eyes start to bleed when I read it lol. Because I was putting stuff back in when editing, it's easy for me to miss the typos.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Cancer Survivors painting of hope.
I painted this cuz I love flowers. It turned out better than I had expected. I donated it to The Walk for Life in 2009 to help raise money for cancer awareness. I walked as a survivor. This is dedicated to all survivors, of which, I am one.
Finding the Time
One major obstacle I encounter in my writing is finding the time. The other is my Internet, but that's another story. I have 5 kids, and although the eldest has moved out, her bipolar has only begun to be treated and she still needs her mom. I'm going to make a rundown list of my children and their needs.
Ash: Age 19, PVC's, asthma, bipolar
Josh: Age 17, Severe asthma, rebellion (don't laugh this is serious issue!), senior.
Patrick: Age 9, Severe asthma, peanut allergy
Edward: Age 7, Newly Severe asthma (used to only get it when sick and not as bad as others)
Isaac: Age 2, Down Syndrome, odd sleep patterns, terrible two's. (there is not a mother out there that wouldn't agree with the assessment of that being a NEED!)
I'm homeschooling the two middle boys at this time. I've cleared everything except now I can't get the Internet working long enough to get the stinking scanner working. May have to make copies and mail. Sigh. It's always something.
Since pulling my children out of school, we have had zero asthma attacks. I know this will change, but up to now, the majority of attacks were not illness related, they were stress related, school was that bad. That means the amount of time I'm spending on asthma related crisis has drastically reduced. In fact, there is now a direct correlation between the time spent homeschooling and the time I used to spend on asthma. Just less stressful cuz, you know, helps when your kids breathing.
As you can see, having a job with my children can be tricky. I do have a husband, and he is more than capable of dealing with it. However, I would still end up having to stay home. Also, I'm absolutely certain the 2 yo is better off with me than at a daycare.
But staying home with them takes work. There are demands of different types, needs that can't wait, and the normal love and care with raising kids. How do I find time to write, you may ask. Simple answer is I have to. For my sanity, I have to.
One thing my family doesn't do well is schedules. The health needs pretty much preclude that happening. Where does that leave me? With an 'approximate' schedule for them. Where does that leave my writing? With an approximate schedule and taking it where I can get it.
I've spoken before on having a ritual. This helps. A ritual means I don't have to worry about what time it is when I start, which helps me to find the time.
I write on paper, notebooks, anything I can get my hands on if I can't be on the computer. In fact, there are times I purposefully move to paper because it changes the way your brain works. There's science to back it up, don't ask me to prove it :P
The other thing is, my mind is always working on my books. If I'm stuck, my mind will work it out as I'm cooking dinner or feeding the 2 yo (certain foods we select to give him minimal amounts as his idea of informing us he's finished is to THROW THE FOOD so, yeah. Still feed him at times.)
The other thing is editing. Editing is the pits for a lot of people, but I don't mind it. If I know my computer time is going to be limited, I print out a copy of the current project I'm working on. Then, when stuck at doctor's offices, or whatnot, I can read, edit, take notes, or even write more. I have added thousands of words to MSs this way. I write on the back of relevant pages. Then when I'm finished, I input it into the computerized version, working backwards. (I will explain the benefits and technique of this in another post. It is awesome for finding problems.)
After I've input everything, I can either reuse the pages I didn't write on back of for next time, or give to my children for drawing/coloring.
What do I have so far? I have a ritual, so the time I work is immaterial, I work in various formats, I'm working things out even when not in front of the MS, what have I missed? Lots of little things, I'm sure :D
But that's the gist of it. If your time is severely locked with family and work responsibilities, you have to be willing to work when you can. You cannot be picky about where, sound, etc. Or you will go crazy. You may have to teach yourself to work through extraneous distractions, but it is well worth the effort.
How about you? Do you have any tricks or tips you can share? I know there are tons more since I barely touched the tip of the iceberg! What obstacles do you overcome to find time to write and how do you do it?
Ash: Age 19, PVC's, asthma, bipolar
Josh: Age 17, Severe asthma, rebellion (don't laugh this is serious issue!), senior.
Patrick: Age 9, Severe asthma, peanut allergy
Edward: Age 7, Newly Severe asthma (used to only get it when sick and not as bad as others)
Isaac: Age 2, Down Syndrome, odd sleep patterns, terrible two's. (there is not a mother out there that wouldn't agree with the assessment of that being a NEED!)
I'm homeschooling the two middle boys at this time. I've cleared everything except now I can't get the Internet working long enough to get the stinking scanner working. May have to make copies and mail. Sigh. It's always something.
Since pulling my children out of school, we have had zero asthma attacks. I know this will change, but up to now, the majority of attacks were not illness related, they were stress related, school was that bad. That means the amount of time I'm spending on asthma related crisis has drastically reduced. In fact, there is now a direct correlation between the time spent homeschooling and the time I used to spend on asthma. Just less stressful cuz, you know, helps when your kids breathing.
As you can see, having a job with my children can be tricky. I do have a husband, and he is more than capable of dealing with it. However, I would still end up having to stay home. Also, I'm absolutely certain the 2 yo is better off with me than at a daycare.
But staying home with them takes work. There are demands of different types, needs that can't wait, and the normal love and care with raising kids. How do I find time to write, you may ask. Simple answer is I have to. For my sanity, I have to.
One thing my family doesn't do well is schedules. The health needs pretty much preclude that happening. Where does that leave me? With an 'approximate' schedule for them. Where does that leave my writing? With an approximate schedule and taking it where I can get it.
I've spoken before on having a ritual. This helps. A ritual means I don't have to worry about what time it is when I start, which helps me to find the time.
I write on paper, notebooks, anything I can get my hands on if I can't be on the computer. In fact, there are times I purposefully move to paper because it changes the way your brain works. There's science to back it up, don't ask me to prove it :P
The other thing is, my mind is always working on my books. If I'm stuck, my mind will work it out as I'm cooking dinner or feeding the 2 yo (certain foods we select to give him minimal amounts as his idea of informing us he's finished is to THROW THE FOOD so, yeah. Still feed him at times.)
The other thing is editing. Editing is the pits for a lot of people, but I don't mind it. If I know my computer time is going to be limited, I print out a copy of the current project I'm working on. Then, when stuck at doctor's offices, or whatnot, I can read, edit, take notes, or even write more. I have added thousands of words to MSs this way. I write on the back of relevant pages. Then when I'm finished, I input it into the computerized version, working backwards. (I will explain the benefits and technique of this in another post. It is awesome for finding problems.)
After I've input everything, I can either reuse the pages I didn't write on back of for next time, or give to my children for drawing/coloring.
What do I have so far? I have a ritual, so the time I work is immaterial, I work in various formats, I'm working things out even when not in front of the MS, what have I missed? Lots of little things, I'm sure :D
But that's the gist of it. If your time is severely locked with family and work responsibilities, you have to be willing to work when you can. You cannot be picky about where, sound, etc. Or you will go crazy. You may have to teach yourself to work through extraneous distractions, but it is well worth the effort.
How about you? Do you have any tricks or tips you can share? I know there are tons more since I barely touched the tip of the iceberg! What obstacles do you overcome to find time to write and how do you do it?
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Betrayal and Writing
We've all experienced it on some level. Our friend/spouse/family memeber betrays us. It can be anything from telling an embarrassing story in public to allowing another person to come between you and getting hurt by things said and done as a result. This would include cheating spouses and the like obviously.
As you have probably noticed by my morbid and sad ballads, I have felt some of this betrayal as of late. It is human betrayal. Being a writer helps me to put a spin on it and incorporate it into something constructive. It can make a writer's work extremely powerful and the person reading it will get sucked up in the emotions with you.
My Ballad to Screwed Up Love touched a lot of people. Some commented, but more told me via twitter, or in person. We've all been there. Someone else comes into a loved one's life, and through their influence you are hurt. Whether it's because they cancel on you when you were looking forward to going to that game with them, or they quit communicating the way they used to, the change is hard.
What happens when the betrayal isn't a 'human' betrayal. Like death. I recently lost a stepdad that I didn't know extremely well since he lived across the country. However, the times I've been with him he was kind, strong, and supportive.
History: I'm adoptive. My birth mother freaked out when I was young (I believe she had post-partem depression which was rarely recognized 30 years ago) and ended up working in a casino in another state. There she met this guy. He turned her life around and they came back and tried to do right by her kids, less than a year later. To me, that's a HUGE turn around. He was good. (The State said no, so sorry, too bad for you, and let us grow up believing our mother never cared enough. My one sister is still so full of hatred, she can't hear it and let the knowledge help her heal. The STATE needs to be shot over some of the shit they pulled re my and my siblings adoption and how it was handled.)
She has been with him ever since. Thirty years. Now he is dead. This kind, gentle man suffered so much at the end. He was diabetic and suffered all the worst things that happens to those with bad diabetes-blindness, loss of limbs, gangrene, and the list goes on. And now he's dead. It feels like a betrayal to have someone good be gone early.
My brother died just under two years ago. He was the best of us (which I think I've said before :) and he went first. Why?
When bad things happen to good people, don't you feel like it's a betrayal? But from who God? The fates? The universe? In some ways, that kind of betrayal is harder to work through.
I write. I paint. I do a lot of things. I hug my children more. The emotions brought on by death are powerful, strong, and deep. Use them. Use them to write better, to give more emotion to each word in your manuscript. Words are power. They can heal, wound, and even kill. As a writer, we have the power to move people when they let us into their life. As a writer, we are given a special tool for dealing with harsh emotions. Use it to impact others, but also heal yourself. Use that gift to help you not only get through the emotions yourself, but anyone else going through it with you.
Recently, I've seen a writer's voice be stifled, if not silenced, because they were 'writing' for approval. They were worried about not offending someone. The work that is then done, is weakened, watered down and loses its impact on the reader. It also loses the ability to touch the author and help them heal.
Whether it's a strong emotion you are working out by your writing, or a piece of your story that you need to write for your character, worrying about the approval of others will only stifle your voice, cause you to lose creativity, and you get stress out constantly wondering if it's okay to write that. NO, NO, NO!! The buck stops here!
Not only am I going to quit worrying about the myriad of people who will see my writing, I'm going to write how I feel and I'm going to do my best to impact those around me, those who read my words. I dare you to do the same. In return, anyone who needs a partner in this, from being held accountable, to beta reading, I will do it. For anyone who comments here or emails me, I will be there with them as they are truthful to themselves, their story, and their emotions.
I will critique the story to make it a better story, not a watered down version of what could be. Honest, helpful critiquing. I will let you bounce ideas off me as you work out situations. I ask, in return, that you do the same for me. Don't let me chicken out and water down a powerful scene because of fear of what someone else might think.
The comments I get on here, that let me know about typos and ask about the meaning (like Hope's recent comment *waves hi :) are awesome. It may be out of context issues, but it makes me go LOOK and make sure that it is explained well in context and that I haven't skipped something vital because I, as the all knowing goddess of my book, already knew it!
Seriously, who is with me? Who will help us writers to bring back the power of our words!
Who is up for the dare? Who feels challenged enough to face the fear and get back to writing with impact?
As you have probably noticed by my morbid and sad ballads, I have felt some of this betrayal as of late. It is human betrayal. Being a writer helps me to put a spin on it and incorporate it into something constructive. It can make a writer's work extremely powerful and the person reading it will get sucked up in the emotions with you.
My Ballad to Screwed Up Love touched a lot of people. Some commented, but more told me via twitter, or in person. We've all been there. Someone else comes into a loved one's life, and through their influence you are hurt. Whether it's because they cancel on you when you were looking forward to going to that game with them, or they quit communicating the way they used to, the change is hard.
What happens when the betrayal isn't a 'human' betrayal. Like death. I recently lost a stepdad that I didn't know extremely well since he lived across the country. However, the times I've been with him he was kind, strong, and supportive.
History: I'm adoptive. My birth mother freaked out when I was young (I believe she had post-partem depression which was rarely recognized 30 years ago) and ended up working in a casino in another state. There she met this guy. He turned her life around and they came back and tried to do right by her kids, less than a year later. To me, that's a HUGE turn around. He was good. (The State said no, so sorry, too bad for you, and let us grow up believing our mother never cared enough. My one sister is still so full of hatred, she can't hear it and let the knowledge help her heal. The STATE needs to be shot over some of the shit they pulled re my and my siblings adoption and how it was handled.)
She has been with him ever since. Thirty years. Now he is dead. This kind, gentle man suffered so much at the end. He was diabetic and suffered all the worst things that happens to those with bad diabetes-blindness, loss of limbs, gangrene, and the list goes on. And now he's dead. It feels like a betrayal to have someone good be gone early.
My brother died just under two years ago. He was the best of us (which I think I've said before :) and he went first. Why?
When bad things happen to good people, don't you feel like it's a betrayal? But from who God? The fates? The universe? In some ways, that kind of betrayal is harder to work through.
I write. I paint. I do a lot of things. I hug my children more. The emotions brought on by death are powerful, strong, and deep. Use them. Use them to write better, to give more emotion to each word in your manuscript. Words are power. They can heal, wound, and even kill. As a writer, we have the power to move people when they let us into their life. As a writer, we are given a special tool for dealing with harsh emotions. Use it to impact others, but also heal yourself. Use that gift to help you not only get through the emotions yourself, but anyone else going through it with you.
Recently, I've seen a writer's voice be stifled, if not silenced, because they were 'writing' for approval. They were worried about not offending someone. The work that is then done, is weakened, watered down and loses its impact on the reader. It also loses the ability to touch the author and help them heal.
Whether it's a strong emotion you are working out by your writing, or a piece of your story that you need to write for your character, worrying about the approval of others will only stifle your voice, cause you to lose creativity, and you get stress out constantly wondering if it's okay to write that. NO, NO, NO!! The buck stops here!
Not only am I going to quit worrying about the myriad of people who will see my writing, I'm going to write how I feel and I'm going to do my best to impact those around me, those who read my words. I dare you to do the same. In return, anyone who needs a partner in this, from being held accountable, to beta reading, I will do it. For anyone who comments here or emails me, I will be there with them as they are truthful to themselves, their story, and their emotions.
I will critique the story to make it a better story, not a watered down version of what could be. Honest, helpful critiquing. I will let you bounce ideas off me as you work out situations. I ask, in return, that you do the same for me. Don't let me chicken out and water down a powerful scene because of fear of what someone else might think.
The comments I get on here, that let me know about typos and ask about the meaning (like Hope's recent comment *waves hi :) are awesome. It may be out of context issues, but it makes me go LOOK and make sure that it is explained well in context and that I haven't skipped something vital because I, as the all knowing goddess of my book, already knew it!
Seriously, who is with me? Who will help us writers to bring back the power of our words!
Who is up for the dare? Who feels challenged enough to face the fear and get back to writing with impact?
Monday, February 7, 2011
Ode to Sinusitis
Ode to Sinusitis
Wonderful beautiful day in late winter
You tease and taunt with your lack of bluster
The sun shining, perusing my pale skin
Like my lover's hand as he draws me in.
I laugh and play like being in love is something new.
The gentle breeze coaxes me to smile and feel spring anew.
I walk through the day not knowing,
That in the end, it is I who will be blowing.
Busy, I was, being happily grateful,
That my flat tire did not make my car pull
On a day of snow, sleet, hail, or freezing rain.
Little did I know of the soon to come sinus pain.
I look back now, my little car on the road,
And think of the trouble, the ill will it bode.
I wish I could see that the road I was on,
Was leading to me wishing for hot Grey Poupon.
As I try to fight my slow internet connection,
I was unknowingly growing my own sinus infection.
I started out as a small, teeny, tiny cold.
But then I had to fight a foe so cleverly bold.
Friends of enemies, enemies of friends,
When will the strife ever quit as some word offends.
Words written, felt and by my hand,
Yet they are not allowed the privilege to stand.
My poor nose retaliated, the extra stress
Leaving my aching body weak and powerless.
The insidious infection came, the cold hiding it well
As my body loses its strength, it starts a sneezing spell.
The liquid rolling out in waves with each Achoo
So bad I went through a whole box of tissue.
And there you sit, far up on your high horse,
Leading others around and leaving very little recourse.
My poor nose, so stuffed up, what an ugly sight is
My face as it fights of the nasty thing we fondly call sinusitis.
Puffy, pale, blanch. Worst it swells up, feels sore.
I try to talk but there is no air that through my nose can bore.
I'm left frustrated and feeling as if I'm to be meek
When you should know I am not that weak.
I will fight for my right to be who I am, what I am,
Even as I'm fighting with my head and all my received spam.
Don't talk to me of what is or is not fair,
Don't politely yell at me and talk to me about color of hair.
I am many things. I am mother, wife, writer.
I am that I am and that includes a freedom fighter.
So sinusitis that fills my head and goes after a lung,
You may try and stop the words of my tongue.
But you will not stop my right to believe
In my right to be the best friend and my friend to receive.
I may sound as if my nose is a little runny ,
But most of it has stopped up my sinus so I sound funny.
And it hurts so much to have a sinus infection,
That one could almost wish for the rise and resurrection
Of zombies, those brain eating undead beasts.
Not the breakfast food all summer camps serve as feasts.
My poor head feels under pressure, about to explode.
It puts me in tired, cranky, fighting mode.
So don't try and placate me with false promises
That you are not trying to hurt me as my sinuses
Have been torturing me. Soon you will have to make a choice.
Already you are paying a price and losing the strength of your voice.
I refuse to lie down and become someone else's ideal.
I will be me, with all that means and be the one who's real.
I will be sleeping as I can, working hard to overcome
Sinus pressure and watch for the loss of welcome.
But hear me now, O sinus infection from Hell,
That although my body's on fire and my face has started to swell,
I am the writer, fighter, the survivor, more than surreal.
I will do what I must to find the strength to heal.
So watch out O all of you full of snot and putrescence,
That soon as I'm all better, I will smell your true essence.
I will be watching, waiting, knowing that the spy is you.
But hell is waiting for... no my nose! Achoo!
Wonderful beautiful day in late winter
You tease and taunt with your lack of bluster
The sun shining, perusing my pale skin
Like my lover's hand as he draws me in.
I laugh and play like being in love is something new.
The gentle breeze coaxes me to smile and feel spring anew.
I walk through the day not knowing,
That in the end, it is I who will be blowing.
Busy, I was, being happily grateful,
That my flat tire did not make my car pull
On a day of snow, sleet, hail, or freezing rain.
Little did I know of the soon to come sinus pain.
I look back now, my little car on the road,
And think of the trouble, the ill will it bode.
I wish I could see that the road I was on,
Was leading to me wishing for hot Grey Poupon.
As I try to fight my slow internet connection,
I was unknowingly growing my own sinus infection.
I started out as a small, teeny, tiny cold.
But then I had to fight a foe so cleverly bold.
Friends of enemies, enemies of friends,
When will the strife ever quit as some word offends.
Words written, felt and by my hand,
Yet they are not allowed the privilege to stand.
My poor nose retaliated, the extra stress
Leaving my aching body weak and powerless.
The insidious infection came, the cold hiding it well
As my body loses its strength, it starts a sneezing spell.
The liquid rolling out in waves with each Achoo
So bad I went through a whole box of tissue.
And there you sit, far up on your high horse,
Leading others around and leaving very little recourse.
My poor nose, so stuffed up, what an ugly sight is
My face as it fights of the nasty thing we fondly call sinusitis.
Puffy, pale, blanch. Worst it swells up, feels sore.
I try to talk but there is no air that through my nose can bore.
I'm left frustrated and feeling as if I'm to be meek
When you should know I am not that weak.
I will fight for my right to be who I am, what I am,
Even as I'm fighting with my head and all my received spam.
Don't talk to me of what is or is not fair,
Don't politely yell at me and talk to me about color of hair.
I am many things. I am mother, wife, writer.
I am that I am and that includes a freedom fighter.
So sinusitis that fills my head and goes after a lung,
You may try and stop the words of my tongue.
But you will not stop my right to believe
In my right to be the best friend and my friend to receive.
I may sound as if my nose is a little runny ,
But most of it has stopped up my sinus so I sound funny.
And it hurts so much to have a sinus infection,
That one could almost wish for the rise and resurrection
Of zombies, those brain eating undead beasts.
Not the breakfast food all summer camps serve as feasts.
My poor head feels under pressure, about to explode.
It puts me in tired, cranky, fighting mode.
So don't try and placate me with false promises
That you are not trying to hurt me as my sinuses
Have been torturing me. Soon you will have to make a choice.
Already you are paying a price and losing the strength of your voice.
I refuse to lie down and become someone else's ideal.
I will be me, with all that means and be the one who's real.
I will be sleeping as I can, working hard to overcome
Sinus pressure and watch for the loss of welcome.
But hear me now, O sinus infection from Hell,
That although my body's on fire and my face has started to swell,
I am the writer, fighter, the survivor, more than surreal.
I will do what I must to find the strength to heal.
So watch out O all of you full of snot and putrescence,
That soon as I'm all better, I will smell your true essence.
I will be watching, waiting, knowing that the spy is you.
But hell is waiting for... no my nose! Achoo!
Damian series
My Damian series, the one where he is the Devil's son, has officially started. LOL My first complete novel (upgraded from a short through much sweat, tears and blood)has started trickling back from readers, and the over all impression is good :) some technical issues to take care of, but the end is in sight. At least the end until a professional editor gets ahold of it and "suggests" things to bring it inline with house rules. LOL
Wow. I realized I'm saying when, not if. That's how good I feel about it. I have set up the next book in it as well, now to find the initial conflict around which the couples have to work. I already know the personal problems they have to overcome. Need to set up the outside obstacles. First, though, I will be finishing my Gal Friday Noir initial book. It is awesomesauce in the making.
I'm excited to have so many good projects. I'm grateful that I have the ability to produce so much as it is a wonderful stress reliever. I can easily write 3-5 novels a year (fantasy and sci-fi are longer) plus edit, and research agents. My biggest block right now is my inability to write awesome query letters without extensive help, and the synopsis. For example, the Damian series is a paranormal erotica and I forgot to include the sex angle at all. only the subject line referred to it being an erotica.
As for synopsis, well, each agent/publisher wans a different length, so I don't even know where to start with that!! *sigh* It's okay. More learning, more stretching, more growing. I love the writing world!
However, I'm sick right now and can't concentrate. May be the sickness, may be the lack of thyroid meds (which is corrected, but takes time to catch up), or more likely, may be the combination. I'm thinking of penning a ballad to my over worked sinuses. LOL
How is everyone's writing going? Any one else have issues with queries? If you're one of those who DON'T have issues, please share :) Tell us how you do it, and any tricks you know. Mine is to go to CJ Redwine and take her Query workshop. I've already informed her that I shall no longer be putting out queries until I can take a workshop from her LOL
Wow. I realized I'm saying when, not if. That's how good I feel about it. I have set up the next book in it as well, now to find the initial conflict around which the couples have to work. I already know the personal problems they have to overcome. Need to set up the outside obstacles. First, though, I will be finishing my Gal Friday Noir initial book. It is awesomesauce in the making.
I'm excited to have so many good projects. I'm grateful that I have the ability to produce so much as it is a wonderful stress reliever. I can easily write 3-5 novels a year (fantasy and sci-fi are longer) plus edit, and research agents. My biggest block right now is my inability to write awesome query letters without extensive help, and the synopsis. For example, the Damian series is a paranormal erotica and I forgot to include the sex angle at all. only the subject line referred to it being an erotica.
As for synopsis, well, each agent/publisher wans a different length, so I don't even know where to start with that!! *sigh* It's okay. More learning, more stretching, more growing. I love the writing world!
However, I'm sick right now and can't concentrate. May be the sickness, may be the lack of thyroid meds (which is corrected, but takes time to catch up), or more likely, may be the combination. I'm thinking of penning a ballad to my over worked sinuses. LOL
How is everyone's writing going? Any one else have issues with queries? If you're one of those who DON'T have issues, please share :) Tell us how you do it, and any tricks you know. Mine is to go to CJ Redwine and take her Query workshop. I've already informed her that I shall no longer be putting out queries until I can take a workshop from her LOL
Friday, February 4, 2011
Word time :)
It's Friday and I remembered that I wanted to do excerpts on Fridays!! Let's here it for a memory success!! This is from my fantasy novel, Quest For Riverhand. I love this story and how my mage warrior (Is there a femal word for warrior??? Besides Amazon princess I mean! LOL), Cerisa, has to battle her own inner demons as well as do the right thing for her mother and the lands.
Here is an excerpt from the battle where her heart and mind align to bring her powers to their together.
The man in the bushes came out and started to circle behind her. The first one that had spoken to her and the other one on the road tried to crowd her to their partner. She pretended to ignore the one behind her, but she was aware of every foul breath he took.
“What have we here? A lost waif. Poor innocent thing is waiting the direction of a man like me. Let me take care of you, sweetie pie. I know lots of ways to keep a woman happy.” The man’s voice was as oily as his hair. She felt the adrenaline and lust coming off all of them in waves. It angered her further, but she kept in mind that if they managed to live through the fight, they still would never be capable to fulfill that threat again.
She looked up at them, her eyes dark in the confines of the hood. She looked into the eyes of the man closest to her and some of her magic and rage must have spilled out. He took an involuntary step back. She pulled back the hood that had been hiding her face and hair and the three of them gasped.
“She can’t be. He never said a word.” The fear was running higher than the lust. She found it to be a singularly curious turn in the conversation. One she hadn’t expected.
“I can’t be what?” this time when she spoke, she put the Truth Command into her voice. She had neither time nor inclination for lies. Whether it was the Truth Command or the natural authority she spoke with, they tripped over their words trying to answer her.
“You look exactly like our leader. Are you related to Lord Kyle Namred, known throughout the villages as Lord Kyle the Horrible?” Well, that told her a few things. One, she had the right men. Two, Lord Kyle was proud of the nickname the commoners had given him in pubs as a slur. And in fact, may even be fostering it. Three, they were cowards and idiots. And four, he hadn’t told them of her. Did he know? Curiously, it didn’t matter to her. Whether he knew or not, he would eventually die by her hand. It made no difference in the current fight.
“Lucian.” She put magic into her voice. She spoke in normal tones, yet the sound vibrated in the air. It resonated and moved in waves around them. The men looked at her in fright. They stared at her as if they believed she was summoning the great legendary demon himself. She smiled grimly at them and pulled out her sword.
“You are lower than filth as is the man you follow. I am his daughter by blood. My father of by love and choice was Jaren Andersen, murdered these last days by Lord Kyle Namred. He, as well as everyone riding with him, shall be held accountable. I am claiming my Right to Vengeance under the old laws. I also claim the Right to Vengeance in the name of the villagers you terrorized and tortured. For these crimes against my people and many more, you are sentenced to death.” She hadn’t known she was going to claim the old laws.
It had left her mouth in the storm of her power and she knew it to be right. She felt the binding of the claim on her soul. The land around her glowed as if recording her vow. She was bound to her word by the Old Magik of the land. There was no going back.
You like??? I can't wait until I have the cover ready and get everything working the way it's supposed to. Also, I'm working on the sequel to Rebellion on Piza 7 again as I found a copy of it. :) As most of you know, I work on more than one WIP at the same time. Never the same type of story. That helps me keep them straight LOL
So right now, my main two are the Gal Friday Noir series: Paranormal/detective type and a science fiction as my two works in progress.
I welcome any thoughts/comments on my writing :) HAPPY FRIDAY!!!!
Here is an excerpt from the battle where her heart and mind align to bring her powers to their together.
The man in the bushes came out and started to circle behind her. The first one that had spoken to her and the other one on the road tried to crowd her to their partner. She pretended to ignore the one behind her, but she was aware of every foul breath he took.
“What have we here? A lost waif. Poor innocent thing is waiting the direction of a man like me. Let me take care of you, sweetie pie. I know lots of ways to keep a woman happy.” The man’s voice was as oily as his hair. She felt the adrenaline and lust coming off all of them in waves. It angered her further, but she kept in mind that if they managed to live through the fight, they still would never be capable to fulfill that threat again.
She looked up at them, her eyes dark in the confines of the hood. She looked into the eyes of the man closest to her and some of her magic and rage must have spilled out. He took an involuntary step back. She pulled back the hood that had been hiding her face and hair and the three of them gasped.
“She can’t be. He never said a word.” The fear was running higher than the lust. She found it to be a singularly curious turn in the conversation. One she hadn’t expected.
“I can’t be what?” this time when she spoke, she put the Truth Command into her voice. She had neither time nor inclination for lies. Whether it was the Truth Command or the natural authority she spoke with, they tripped over their words trying to answer her.
“You look exactly like our leader. Are you related to Lord Kyle Namred, known throughout the villages as Lord Kyle the Horrible?” Well, that told her a few things. One, she had the right men. Two, Lord Kyle was proud of the nickname the commoners had given him in pubs as a slur. And in fact, may even be fostering it. Three, they were cowards and idiots. And four, he hadn’t told them of her. Did he know? Curiously, it didn’t matter to her. Whether he knew or not, he would eventually die by her hand. It made no difference in the current fight.
“Lucian.” She put magic into her voice. She spoke in normal tones, yet the sound vibrated in the air. It resonated and moved in waves around them. The men looked at her in fright. They stared at her as if they believed she was summoning the great legendary demon himself. She smiled grimly at them and pulled out her sword.
“You are lower than filth as is the man you follow. I am his daughter by blood. My father of by love and choice was Jaren Andersen, murdered these last days by Lord Kyle Namred. He, as well as everyone riding with him, shall be held accountable. I am claiming my Right to Vengeance under the old laws. I also claim the Right to Vengeance in the name of the villagers you terrorized and tortured. For these crimes against my people and many more, you are sentenced to death.” She hadn’t known she was going to claim the old laws.
It had left her mouth in the storm of her power and she knew it to be right. She felt the binding of the claim on her soul. The land around her glowed as if recording her vow. She was bound to her word by the Old Magik of the land. There was no going back.
You like??? I can't wait until I have the cover ready and get everything working the way it's supposed to. Also, I'm working on the sequel to Rebellion on Piza 7 again as I found a copy of it. :) As most of you know, I work on more than one WIP at the same time. Never the same type of story. That helps me keep them straight LOL
So right now, my main two are the Gal Friday Noir series: Paranormal/detective type and a science fiction as my two works in progress.
I welcome any thoughts/comments on my writing :) HAPPY FRIDAY!!!!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
What to do when
you don't feel like writing? As much as I love writing, there are days I don't feel like writing. So what do you do then?
First of all, (and btw, when I say first of all, I'm assuming you've already consummed copious amounts of caffeine and have more handy!) you establish yourself a routine for writing long before this. For me, it's networking, answering emails, reading my writer type blogs, and recently I've even had to watch my comment thread closely. Which I lurv! It helps as I state on the 10 things for nano time that I do. It gives me time to remember things I have to do before start writing, and for my kids to know I'm going to be busy and hurry up and ask for whatever it is you need.
So, you've done your routine and still...nothing. Your muse apparently went down the drain with your shower water. Now what? First, try these things.
One, I always start my writing by rereading last 1-5 pages I did last. It does two things. It helps me catch weird errors and other editing issues and it gets me back into the mood the characters were at. So do that. You get down to the last paragraph of superb awesomeness you wrote (When NOT in the mood to write--NEVER EVER CALL YOUR STUFF CRAP EVEN IN YOUR HEAD!!!! I don't care if it's the worst stuff you've written in 3 years. On these days, you are not allowed to start arbitrarily deleting!! I mean, if you wrote, "Sh thuchks her sumb." you may erase and fix to "She sucks her thumb." and you may even make a comment her that the whole section needs to be reworked. See how I did that? Needs reworked. Not sucks. Not crap! Ahem,off the soap box and back to our regularly scheduled program.) and you are still not in the mood?
Here's what I do. I open up other MS I'm working on. Or have finished, and I start editing. NOT TRASHING, editing. A really nice hint that my friend @tamiklockau gave me? Save in drafts. I do it before all major work is done. That way, if in your present mood you OOPS and lose a scene that in your right mind you know is needed (I have done this!) you can simply go copy paste from other draft :)
Editing is a huge, major, super, uber important, gigantic part of writing. Did y'all catch that?? So, editing when your muse is gone, is still part of the writing process. The time isn't loss and you are still improving your craft.
The other thing you can do is research that you need. Whether it's for plot point on the story or grammar geeking, doing research is not always fun and can be a good thing to do when "not in the mood" to write.
But, hold yourself accountable. don't research "the big bang theory" unless you really are looking up the science for your book and not the TV show!!
Anyone else have hints and tips for what they do when "not in the mood"--FOR WRITING!! LOL
First of all, (and btw, when I say first of all, I'm assuming you've already consummed copious amounts of caffeine and have more handy!) you establish yourself a routine for writing long before this. For me, it's networking, answering emails, reading my writer type blogs, and recently I've even had to watch my comment thread closely. Which I lurv! It helps as I state on the 10 things for nano time that I do. It gives me time to remember things I have to do before start writing, and for my kids to know I'm going to be busy and hurry up and ask for whatever it is you need.
So, you've done your routine and still...nothing. Your muse apparently went down the drain with your shower water. Now what? First, try these things.
One, I always start my writing by rereading last 1-5 pages I did last. It does two things. It helps me catch weird errors and other editing issues and it gets me back into the mood the characters were at. So do that. You get down to the last paragraph of superb awesomeness you wrote (When NOT in the mood to write--NEVER EVER CALL YOUR STUFF CRAP EVEN IN YOUR HEAD!!!! I don't care if it's the worst stuff you've written in 3 years. On these days, you are not allowed to start arbitrarily deleting!! I mean, if you wrote, "Sh thuchks her sumb." you may erase and fix to "She sucks her thumb." and you may even make a comment her that the whole section needs to be reworked. See how I did that? Needs reworked. Not sucks. Not crap! Ahem,off the soap box and back to our regularly scheduled program.) and you are still not in the mood?
Here's what I do. I open up other MS I'm working on. Or have finished, and I start editing. NOT TRASHING, editing. A really nice hint that my friend @tamiklockau gave me? Save in drafts. I do it before all major work is done. That way, if in your present mood you OOPS and lose a scene that in your right mind you know is needed (I have done this!) you can simply go copy paste from other draft :)
Editing is a huge, major, super, uber important, gigantic part of writing. Did y'all catch that?? So, editing when your muse is gone, is still part of the writing process. The time isn't loss and you are still improving your craft.
The other thing you can do is research that you need. Whether it's for plot point on the story or grammar geeking, doing research is not always fun and can be a good thing to do when "not in the mood" to write.
But, hold yourself accountable. don't research "the big bang theory" unless you really are looking up the science for your book and not the TV show!!
Anyone else have hints and tips for what they do when "not in the mood"--FOR WRITING!! LOL
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday. It is the middle of the business week. I have done very little writing this week. I've been playing. Working on my homeschool stuff and writing a paragraph here and there. I had trouble getting character from A to B without losing momentum. I did okay. Will have to up it a bit during editing process. Now I have a problem. She's at point B and there's a problem. Of course there's a problem. You can't have zombies without a problem or two. Somehow, I've lost the immediacy of the problem. It's all in one POV. Last few have been omniscient or at least 2 peeps POV. So now, I have to go be all different and do it from one person's POV. Wouldn't want things to get all easy now, would we?
So, as I'm stuck, I've done some playing with my friends, networking, and crocheting. Yes, I crochet, in case you missed that before. I sort of forgot that I hadn't done this afghan yet for my Husband's birthday, which is now past, so have some serious hooking to do...
*scratches head* something in that last paragraph is jumping up and screaming at me. Anyhow, I will have to get busy tomorrow, or do some serious editing so I can do a short excerpt on Friday :) I have decided definitively to self publish my sci-fi fantasy stuff and concentrate on the other stuff with agents. *Sigh* sometimes it's rough being so prolific. *runs and ducks from the flying books and laptops from the fellow writers*
I'm also an artist. I'm going to design covers and release two books stimultaneously, I think... in about a month, unless I can squeeze photoshop and website out of the budget friday...
Thanks to all the wonderful people who have supported me and the other authors we have in our community! I will be referencing back to the Feb 1 post to help those writers throughout the month. Please go support them as they work hard to put out quality...
Signed,
The Ellipsis Dragon Queen
So, as I'm stuck, I've done some playing with my friends, networking, and crocheting. Yes, I crochet, in case you missed that before. I sort of forgot that I hadn't done this afghan yet for my Husband's birthday, which is now past, so have some serious hooking to do...
*scratches head* something in that last paragraph is jumping up and screaming at me. Anyhow, I will have to get busy tomorrow, or do some serious editing so I can do a short excerpt on Friday :) I have decided definitively to self publish my sci-fi fantasy stuff and concentrate on the other stuff with agents. *Sigh* sometimes it's rough being so prolific. *runs and ducks from the flying books and laptops from the fellow writers*
I'm also an artist. I'm going to design covers and release two books stimultaneously, I think... in about a month, unless I can squeeze photoshop and website out of the budget friday...
Thanks to all the wonderful people who have supported me and the other authors we have in our community! I will be referencing back to the Feb 1 post to help those writers throughout the month. Please go support them as they work hard to put out quality...
Signed,
The Ellipsis Dragon Queen
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
3 par Execellent Writers, +1
So, I have written about the awesomeness of the writing community. A great many people have taken the initiative, worked hard to come up with a great product, and e-publish, or publish thru Amazon. AKA self-publishing. But there a few who can do it with flair. My goal here is to introduce a few authors to people who may not otherwise hear about them but would enjoy them. I will be looking to do this on the first business day of the month every month.
First, I would like to introduce, Kait Nolan. She has been published in the same issue of Forever Nocturne that my as yet, one and only horror story appeared in. We started tweeting once in a while and it came to my attention that she was working off the grid so to speak.
Website: http://kaitnolan.com/ links to her books available on her site. :)
Amazon page: http://www.amazon.com/Kait-Nolan/e/B003EAMCMM/ref=sr_tc_ep?qid=1296583554
Kait Nolan Book titles include:
Devil's Eye - Trouble. That’s what wolf-shifter Mick Guidry thinks when a beautiful woman appears in his New Orleans bar with a hurricane at her back. His first impression is confirmed when Sophie starts asking questions about his missing waitress, Liza. Mick will do anything to rescue a member of the pack he’s made for himself, including forming an unlikely alliance with a woman with a badge.
Foresaken by Shadow - Banished from their world with his memory wiped, Ultimate Fighter Cade Shepherd doesn’t remember his life as Gage Dempsey, not even the woman he nearly died for. But when Embry Hollister’s father is kidnapped by military scientists, the only one she can turn to for help is the love from her past. Will Gage remember the Shadow Walker skills he learned from her father, and if they survive, will Embry be able to walk away a second time?
Second up, we have Hope Welsh. Hope first came to my attention through the contest on the Knight Agency contest. She was trying to help me :) (Don't judge her for my craziness. I am beyond certifiable!) Recently, on twitter, I saw her talking about her book available thru Amazon. And a thought was born. lol
Website: http://www.hopewelsh.com/ Links to her books available on her site.
Blog: http://www.hopewelsh.blogspot.com
Amazon page: http://www.amazon.com/Hope-Welsh/e/B004FRT66I/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1?tag=533633855-20
Hope Welsh Book titles include:
Linked
Lana Summers wants nothing to do with anything paranormal--not after seeing what psychic ability did to her own mother. When evil begins to stalk her, she's rescued by Cole Williams--but Evil is watching...and time is running out. Can they solve the prophecy in time or will her denial and his secrets tear them apart?
The Storm Within
Kari Davis is on the run. Witness to the murder she's been framed for, she's got nowhere to go and no one to run to. When she is stranded in an Oklahoma blizzard, she discovers her guardian angel rescuer is more than she's bargained for. Is he her salvation or will Cade Williams be the source of her ultimate destruction?
Danger is coming...
Third, I'd like to introduce the fabulous Samantha Hunter. Who is kind, giving, and seems to be wonder woman with her quilting and other home expertise that she offers to her blog followers on a regular basis. She is also in the position that she is a Harlequin author. I have a signed copy of one of her books from Blaze line.
Website: http://www.samanthahunter.com
Amazon site: http://www.amazon.com/Samantha-Hunter/e/B001ITXAVI/ref=sr_tc_img_2?qid=1296584143&sr=1-2-ent
Samantha Hunter book titles include:
DANGEROUS MAGIC
Kindle
There’s more than sex between them. . .
Convinced she's a stalker magnet, Gwen Mitchell is taking a break from work and from men, trying to find a little “Gwen time” and figure out what's next in her life. When she meets sexy reporter Nathan Stark, on assignment to interview witches in Salem, Ma, life gets a lot more interesting. She’s fiercely attracted to Nathan, but she’s not sure she can trust him.
Nathan is caught off-guard when one of the women he meets while conducting interviews happens to resemble a woman who keeps turning up dead in his nightmares. Unfortunately, his dreams have a history of becoming reality. To protect her, he'll have to face the past he's tried to leave behind him.
It doesn't take long before they both fall prey to the powerful sexual attraction that they can't seem to fully control, and that might be the biggest danger of all.
and
BARELY THERE
Kindle Novella
When shy Emily Tucker almost dies and ends up in a coma, her out of body experience gets very physical -- with her sexy business partner and friend, Gavin Wright. Emily isn't sure what's happening as she keeps finding her incorporeal self popping up in Gavin's apartment, but she's running out of time. Her Living Will asks Gavin not to let her linger for long. All she knows for sure is that when she's touching Gavin, she takes physical form again, and this may be her last chance to let him know how she really feels about him. But what will happen when the night's over?
And last for the month, but certainly not least, we have Carrie Bailey, AKA the Peevish Penman. This wonderful, incredible woman has put together an anthology of sorts, which I have participated in. The Handbook of Writer Secret Society. My husband shall be reading for the pod cast if I can get my darned computer sound stuff to quit bullying me LOL.
Her blog/online magazine where she and other guest authors post about all aspects of writing is an incredible font of information. http://peevishpenman.blogspot.com/
Another writer Andrew Jack, @ajackwriting on my twitter stream, did a three part overview of self-publishing, which starts here http://www.andrewjackwriting.com/2010/12/self-publishing-part-one-polymaths/ and Peevish Penman makes a prominence appearance.
The Handbook of Writer Secret Society is a wonderful book for all writers or anyone involved in the publishing industry to appreciate.
The Handbook is available through Amazon here: http://www.amazon.com/Handbook-Writer-Secret-Society-ebook/dp/B004H1TDII/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1296584324&sr=1-1
First, I would like to introduce, Kait Nolan. She has been published in the same issue of Forever Nocturne that my as yet, one and only horror story appeared in. We started tweeting once in a while and it came to my attention that she was working off the grid so to speak.
Website: http://kaitnolan.com/ links to her books available on her site. :)
Amazon page: http://www.amazon.com/Kait-Nolan/e/B003EAMCMM/ref=sr_tc_ep?qid=1296583554
Kait Nolan Book titles include:
Devil's Eye - Trouble. That’s what wolf-shifter Mick Guidry thinks when a beautiful woman appears in his New Orleans bar with a hurricane at her back. His first impression is confirmed when Sophie starts asking questions about his missing waitress, Liza. Mick will do anything to rescue a member of the pack he’s made for himself, including forming an unlikely alliance with a woman with a badge.
Foresaken by Shadow - Banished from their world with his memory wiped, Ultimate Fighter Cade Shepherd doesn’t remember his life as Gage Dempsey, not even the woman he nearly died for. But when Embry Hollister’s father is kidnapped by military scientists, the only one she can turn to for help is the love from her past. Will Gage remember the Shadow Walker skills he learned from her father, and if they survive, will Embry be able to walk away a second time?
Second up, we have Hope Welsh. Hope first came to my attention through the contest on the Knight Agency contest. She was trying to help me :) (Don't judge her for my craziness. I am beyond certifiable!) Recently, on twitter, I saw her talking about her book available thru Amazon. And a thought was born. lol
Website: http://www.hopewelsh.com/ Links to her books available on her site.
Blog: http://www.hopewelsh.blogspot.com
Amazon page: http://www.amazon.com/Hope-Welsh/e/B004FRT66I/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1?tag=533633855-20
Hope Welsh Book titles include:
Linked
Lana Summers wants nothing to do with anything paranormal--not after seeing what psychic ability did to her own mother. When evil begins to stalk her, she's rescued by Cole Williams--but Evil is watching...and time is running out. Can they solve the prophecy in time or will her denial and his secrets tear them apart?
The Storm Within
Kari Davis is on the run. Witness to the murder she's been framed for, she's got nowhere to go and no one to run to. When she is stranded in an Oklahoma blizzard, she discovers her guardian angel rescuer is more than she's bargained for. Is he her salvation or will Cade Williams be the source of her ultimate destruction?
Danger is coming...
Third, I'd like to introduce the fabulous Samantha Hunter. Who is kind, giving, and seems to be wonder woman with her quilting and other home expertise that she offers to her blog followers on a regular basis. She is also in the position that she is a Harlequin author. I have a signed copy of one of her books from Blaze line.
Website: http://www.samanthahunter.com
Amazon site: http://www.amazon.com/Samantha-Hunter/e/B001ITXAVI/ref=sr_tc_img_2?qid=1296584143&sr=1-2-ent
Samantha Hunter book titles include:
DANGEROUS MAGIC
Kindle
There’s more than sex between them. . .
Convinced she's a stalker magnet, Gwen Mitchell is taking a break from work and from men, trying to find a little “Gwen time” and figure out what's next in her life. When she meets sexy reporter Nathan Stark, on assignment to interview witches in Salem, Ma, life gets a lot more interesting. She’s fiercely attracted to Nathan, but she’s not sure she can trust him.
Nathan is caught off-guard when one of the women he meets while conducting interviews happens to resemble a woman who keeps turning up dead in his nightmares. Unfortunately, his dreams have a history of becoming reality. To protect her, he'll have to face the past he's tried to leave behind him.
It doesn't take long before they both fall prey to the powerful sexual attraction that they can't seem to fully control, and that might be the biggest danger of all.
and
BARELY THERE
Kindle Novella
When shy Emily Tucker almost dies and ends up in a coma, her out of body experience gets very physical -- with her sexy business partner and friend, Gavin Wright. Emily isn't sure what's happening as she keeps finding her incorporeal self popping up in Gavin's apartment, but she's running out of time. Her Living Will asks Gavin not to let her linger for long. All she knows for sure is that when she's touching Gavin, she takes physical form again, and this may be her last chance to let him know how she really feels about him. But what will happen when the night's over?
And last for the month, but certainly not least, we have Carrie Bailey, AKA the Peevish Penman. This wonderful, incredible woman has put together an anthology of sorts, which I have participated in. The Handbook of Writer Secret Society. My husband shall be reading for the pod cast if I can get my darned computer sound stuff to quit bullying me LOL.
Her blog/online magazine where she and other guest authors post about all aspects of writing is an incredible font of information. http://peevishpenman.blogspot.com/
Another writer Andrew Jack, @ajackwriting on my twitter stream, did a three part overview of self-publishing, which starts here http://www.andrewjackwriting.com/2010/12/self-publishing-part-one-polymaths/ and Peevish Penman makes a prominence appearance.
The Handbook of Writer Secret Society is a wonderful book for all writers or anyone involved in the publishing industry to appreciate.
The Handbook is available through Amazon here: http://www.amazon.com/Handbook-Writer-Secret-Society-ebook/dp/B004H1TDII/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1296584324&sr=1-1
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)