Candice Kennington

Why I love, What About Bob?

2012-01-30T07:46:00.000-08:00

My husband hates the movie What About Bob. He's a psychologist and thinks the idea of a patient stalking you to your vacation home, then subsequently winning the hearts of your family and driving you insane, sounds more like horror than comedy. I on the other hand, love that movie. I have a soft spot for the antics of Bill Murray. What can I say, I'm from the Ghostbusters generation, but that's not the only reason I love it. I actually think it contains some sound wisdom. Really, I do.

Sometimes I wonder if the producers of What About Bob knew they be doing the public a favor when they made the movie? And I'm not talking about raising the awareness of bladder explosion. (Which is real, by the way. My sister had a patient in the ICU whose bladder had exploded. That is the honest to goodness truth!) No, I'm talking about the sound psychological advice contained in the pages of Dr. Leo Marvin's book, Baby Steps. I wish I could actually buy that book and read it! Unfortunately it doesn't exist. Though I can imagine what it would say if it did:

When facing an overwhelming task (such as doing a gigantic pile of dishes), do not look at the whole chore. Simply break it down into manageable chunks. First say to yourself, I will do the cups and only the cups and so forth.

Okay, so a famous psychiatrist might not bother with telling you exactly how to do the dishes, but that's how I use the advice. Baby steps to load the dishwasher, baby steps to wipe down the counter, baby steps to fold the laundry. It makes me laugh and I get things done.

I think most of us as writers are pretty much baby step specialists. After all an entire book is written letter by letter, word by word, page by page. Sometimes when I start a new project (after the initial new book rush), I look at all the work that needs to be done before finishing and I get overwhelmed. Then Bob's voice comes into my head, "babysteps to the elevator" "baby steps to get on the bus" and suddenly I know I can do it! What about you, do you baby step your way through life or am I the only one who loves this?

Sticking it to the Woman: Captain Crunch for Breakfast

2012-01-19T07:44:00.000-08:00

I'm doing something I rarely do: devoting an entire day to writing. Seven hours of non-stop work on my book. Usually I have a million other mom things I need to be doing during the day, but today I'm putting it all on hold and just writing. Because guess what, the dishes will still be there tomorrow (so will the laundry and the vacuuming and the expired containers that need to be cleaned out of the fridge). And if I don't fix my hair it won't fall out. Sweats are a perfectly acceptable form of clothing. I'm having Captain Crunch for breakfast just because I'm an adult and I can (and it proves I'm a rebel this morning). Chalk this all up to my Sticking it to the Woman attitude. Also did I mention it's negative 20 right now? There's no way I'm running any errands. WiP, here I come.

#FF ... Only the Blog Version

2012-01-13T12:14:00.000-08:00

New fun blog to follow! Go check out http://fridaythethirteeners.blogspot.com/ I only know a couple of the authors, but I'm excited to get to know the rest of them and to read their books!

I drove right past it!

2012-01-04T09:09:00.000-08:00

On my way home from yoga this morning I planned to stop and get a diet Pepsi from the corner gas station. I know what you're thinking: Is 44 ounces of artificially sweetened, dyed and caffeinated carbonation really the best way to end a morning of strength training, and meditation? Personally, I think it is. Though I do try to scale it back to 32 ounces some days. Yoga is all about balance. And I walk away from it as relaxed as a jelly fish, so to balance that out and get back a healthy amount of anxiety and tension, I drink Pepsi (It makes perfect sense in my mind). But I digress ... The point I'm trying to make is that this morning I was thinking about my book, and I drove right past the gas station. Right past it! I didn't even realize until I got home what I'd done. There was not shaking, no automatic turning into the parking lot, no cold sweats or salivating when I saw the Chevron sign. There was nothing. My point? Apparently writing is stronger than anything, even classical conditioning. Take that Pavlov.

***Update*** I just added that image and about sprinted to my car.

Holiday Reading

2011-12-05T15:43:00.001-08:00

Did you know you can buy any of Michelle Davidson Argyle's books on Kindle or Nook for .99 for the entire month of December? Any one of them would be a great holiday traveling read. And if you don't know who Michelle is I suggest you get to know here. She's awesome!

For Fun

2011-11-17T07:17:00.000-08:00

My awesome friend, Sara, recently printed up a copy of my book to read on the train and designed a cover for it. Then she sent it to me! It was so fun to get a copy of my manuscript in book form with her cover design.

I love how she combined space with the eye. Both are such important elements of the story. Sara, you made my week!

Some of my family members (mostly my parents) have been asking for a printed copy of my books . So I decided to follow in Sara's footsteps and design a cover for my book and print out a few copies. Thanks to my sister for providing me with the pictures. I told her to send me some of her high resolution, professional pictures, but wouldn't say why. Fortunately once I was done she agreed to let me share the result.

Here's what I started with:

(I know, isn't she beautiful? Not fair.)

And here's how I combined the images and added the title:

I had so much fun incorporating symbolism into the cover. The straight lines, black and white coloring, and blue eye, all have meaning. I'm so happy with the result.

On the Lookout for Superheroes

2011-11-08T12:29:00.000-08:00

I'm always on the lookout for superheros in disguise. I figure the fact that we believe they're made up is really the only thing keeping them concealed. Because let's face it, Clark Kent is not a great cover for Superman. Glasses, really? If glasses were enough to conceal your identity everyone at my son's school would think he had two moms. The I-can't-be-bothered-to-look-like-a-human-this-early mom and the moderately-put-together-because-today-is-a-gym-day mom.

And what about all those suspicious behaviors, like disappearing every time there's an emergency. Do any of you remember watching He-Man and how all the other characters mocked Adam for being a coward and running away every time there was danger? Put two and two together people. If the blonde bob and rippling muscles aren't clues enough (again with the poor disguise), surely the fact that he runs away seconds before He-Man appears ought to tell you something.

In my superhero book, JADED, the characters have all done away with their alter egos. They're too impractical and let's face it, being a hero all the time gets you more attention. I think if you've got super powers you should just go with it. Maybe that's why I love the Old Spice Guy . He's got it all: talents, good looks, sexy smelling body wash, and the ability to do everything. But most of all he doesn't try to hide who he is. He says he's exceptional, and I, for one, am inclined to believe him. You GO Old Spice Dude. You're my superhero of the week, this time discovered in plain sight.

Do you think Brad Pitt has stale,coffee breath?

2011-10-12T09:33:00.000-07:00

This morning on my way to the Y to swim (see previous post on J-E-L-L-O). I was thinking about this totally pointless, fluff article I read on my home page about crazy things stars have done (yes, sometimes I read gossip, don't judge me). Anyway, the article said that Brad Pitt purposely chipped his two front teeth for his role in fight club and then had them reconstructed after. To be honest I thought that was a super-duper stupid thing to do, but who I am to judge the lengths one will go to for their art? Then my mind started wandering...

Brad Pitt is pretty darn good looking when he's cleaned up, but then there's this major gray-bearded, stringy-haired side of him that shows up occassionally, and I started wondering, does he smoke? A lot of stars do, like his ex-wife Jennifer Aniston. And I wonder if he has nasty smoke/stale coffee breath because he doesn't brush his teeth as often as he should (because clearly he can have as much dental surgery as he wants and his teeth aren't that important to him). Suddenly I was sure he DID have stale coffee breath and number of other unattractive features that don't come across on screen. I had totally reinvented a real person into a character and was sure I knew him. Am I the only one who does stuff like this? Just curious.

And now you've read your totally pointless, fluff article for the morning.

Like Jello

2011-09-19T08:53:00.000-07:00

I've discovered something important: life is like Jello. I'm like Jello. My new all-encompassing life philosophy came to me after swimming laps this morning. When I went to get out of the pool my arms felt like Jello. I actually ended up walking over to the ramp because I don't think I could have hoisted myself out. It was a long ramp and gave me ample time to consider the irony of the situation. I work out because I was beginning to feel like Jello then I get done working out and I feel like Jello anyway. Either way...Jello. But one type of Jello makes me feel better than the other. It's like the lime of Jellos (which is my favorite). The good type of Jello happens because I worked hard and accomplished something. The bad type happens when I do nothing. So if I have to be Jello for the rest of my life I might as well be lime.

Writing is the same. If I work hard, my brain feels like Jello when I'm done. But I have a shiny exciting story in front of me. If I don't work at my writing, I lose some of my groove and writing skills. My brain turns to Jello. Or even more Jello-y than it was to start with because according to my husband our brains are sort of the consistency of Jello anyway.

Hello Internets

2011-09-06T11:27:00.000-07:00

(Imagine my title said in the soothing voice of the Old Spice Guy. And yes, it's suppose to say Internets, because that's how he says it on his Youtube Channel.)
Long time no see. No, really, really long time, no see. I have officially been without the internet in my house for SEVEN (unlucky seven) WEEKS!!! During that time I learned something interesting: my brain requires WiFi to function. So much so that I camped out in the McDonald's parking lot on many a morning. (Sidenote: My son now owns an "action figure" for nearly every smurf known to man). I don't even like McDonald's, but I've eaten many fruit and yogurt parfaits over the past month and a half. Mostly because I felt guilty for mooching off their internet and not buying anything.

The good news is that apparently, the WiFi has an opposite effect on my manual labor abilities. I get a lot done around the house when I'm not connected. Brain off--housework on. Take for example my basement storage room. Two days ago I cleared everything out of it and painted all the walls and bought lots of new shelves. I also scrubbed the concrete and bought epoxy to paint it. I was halfway through painting the floor when the internet guy showed up today. Now two hours later, the floor is still half painted, and I have a feeling the storage room contents will be in the hall for quite some time. But my brain is positively buzzing. WiFi.

Now to hook up my home phone (our cell service is terrible in the mountains) and soon I will be connected to my friends again. Equilibrium is being restored in my universe today.

A Guide to Reading J.R. Johansson

2011-08-06T11:06:00.000-07:00

Illustrated Guide to Reading Jenn Johansson's Very Awesomely Scary Book

1. Before starting Jenn Johansson's psychological thriller, INSOMNIA, give your concerned-look facial muscles a good work out. They're going to need it.

2. Grow your nails out really long so you're not forced to gnaw off your finger tips when things get really scary.

3. Figure out how to read while covering your eyes. And when you do, share the secret with me because I'm the type who always covers my eyes during the scary scenes of a movie or I'm a mess by the end.

4. Hide if necessary.

5. Learn German!!!!!!! Because she's going to be a German superstar. Here's the proof:

Publisher's Weekly Announcement

"Germany rights to INSOMNIA by J.R. Johansson, a debut YA supernatural/psychological thriller, about a teen boy who thought spending every night trapped in other people's dreams was bad, but discovers that losing control of his own body and mind is so much worse, sold to Heyne Flieght in a TWO-BOOK deal at auction by Agence Hoffman, on behalf of Taryn Fagerness Agency and Kathleen Rushall of Marsal Lyon Literary Agency."

Also, some really cool German's stopped by to congratulate her.

"Brialliance = Jenn x A2 Book Deal"

"Insomnia is a Symphony of psychological thrills."

"I may not be German, but they love me there. No, really, I'm a German mega-super-popstar. And I can tell you they love Jenn in the Deutschland."

Guess what David, I love her too!! And I couldn't be happier for my dear friend. Ich liäbä Dich, Jenn!!

Life as a House

2011-08-04T09:19:00.000-07:00

You would think after overseeing four remodels and the construction of a new home I would be a pro at that kind of stuff. The reality is I am much better than I used to be at handeling projects. I don't get flustered when something unexpected pops up as often as I used to, but every new project brings new challenges and problems. The metaphors are pretty clear, don't you think? But for those of you who want my take on them, here's what I've learned from writing and remodeling.

1. Prepaparation is EVERYTHING. The right tools, a clean surface, a level floor, a solid foundation... the basics of good storytelling, plotting, grammar, and practice.

2. Don't rush. Make you paint lines straight and clean. Measure your flooring before deciding where to cut the planks. Let a new story idea ruminate, write down a major outline. Flesh out your characters on paper or in your head.

3. Get help from friends and professionals!! You need it! Don't attempt to redo major plumbing or electrical repairs on your own. Make sure you have two people for two-man (woman) jobs.. Find great Beta readers, make friends you can help and who can help you. Establish genuine and mutually beneficial friendships. Accept critique and feedback (especially from agents and editors).

4. Enjoy finished projects. Ignore the flaws for a while. Wait a few weeks before attempting to redo anything. If you're not sure about a paint color, look at it in all lights and at all times of the day. If you LOVE a paint color, look at it in all lights and at all times of day. Insert the word "scene" or "chapter" or "book" instead of paint color and the rule is pretty much the same.

These are my basic rules for remodeling and editing. Yours might be different than mine, but either way I believe it's important to have them and reevaluate them from time to time until you find what works.

Yet Another Reason to Love Superheros

2011-07-06T09:31:00.000-07:00

Those who know me or have followed my blog for very long, know I love superheros! I also love Broadway musicals (my favorite CD in Jr. High was Phantom of the Opera). It therefore follows that I have a new, New York dream (one that comes after getting an agent and publisher, but only slightly). My second New York dream is to SEE THIS SHOW:

This show is pretty much the ultimate compilation of everything I love. Just for fun I'm going to make a list.
1. A classic, awesome superhero with one of the best supersuits ever.
2. Music by Bono and the Edge!! Hello.
3. An actor who looks a lot like I picture my MC from Immaterial.
4. Flying acrobatics
5. Broadway.
6. Rise Above (the song released on the finale of American Idol) is playing on my itunes right now and it was released on AI. You also know how much I love that show.

Just to prove my point I'll share the video with you. You'll love it too! If you don't, just pretend like you do. I will not tolearate opposing points of view on this blog post. :)

Enjoy!

I cannot walk and chew gum at the same time

2011-06-27T22:28:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me is not surprised by the title of this post. Aren't women supposed to be the multi-taskers? I heard that somewhere sometime ago from someone who I can't remember (but must have known what they were talking about, otherwise why would they say it?).

I guess I was just born without the multi-task gene. Except, I do have a lot on my plate right now (figuratively speaking, and maybe literally speaking too, but I'll never admit it), so maybe I am a multi-tasker, just not a multi-tasker-er. The point is, my blog suffers when I am writing and editing and coordinating a mountain of remodeling stuff with contractors. I didn't even draw my own stick figure for this post. What is the world coming to?

Twitterpated

2011-06-17T07:51:00.000-07:00

I finished my first draft of Immaterial and #amediting (how is it Twitter tags are seeping into my everyday thoughts and grammar?). I can only imagine what my communication will look like in a year or two. Probably something like this:

(Warning: If you don't speak Twitter, this will be gibberish)

Dear @lifelongfriend,

It's been way 2 long since we #YALitChatted. Things have been hectic #Kidsoutofschool #BuyingaHouse #EpicEverythingFAIL. By the way, did you catch #TheLastestRealityShow last night? Wasn't @FamousFemale so #annoying? Good thing they have @FamousMale. His hair looked AmaZING!! <----- I <3 him soo much!!! #stillhappilymarriedmomwithacrush Glad we could catch up. I #missyousomuch (#FF @lifelongfriend #TT @lifelongfriend #WW @lifelongfriend #MM @lifelongfriend )

@CandiKennington

For Fun!

2011-06-01T08:22:00.000-07:00

Jenn did a fun post this morning in which she shared random dialogue from her characters. I told her I was going to steal her idea and post a random excerpt from my WiP. I don't think I've posted anything from this book before, but since I'm celebrating it's almost-completion, I thought I would share a random passage I like that gives you a bit of a feel for my MC. She is robotic and stilted in her thoughts and dialogue, yet very observant of the world around her. (At least that's how I see her.)

Two-hundred and forty-three questions determine my fate. Six hours and twenty- two minutes flashes at the bottom of my tablet. My time is adequate. I know my results will be sufficient to choose my duty station. I wish to rest my head while I wait for the others to finish. I sit up straight in my chair. I look to the front. P3111 sits before us. A red curl protrudes from the tight knot at her neck—a single strand of rebellion in a world of compliance.

My hair does not curl. It is straight like the edges of my tablet. P3111’s curves like the wind across the fields, the hills behind my home, the clouds in the sky. There are no true straight lines in nature. I look at the white walls, the black box, the rows of Prospects in metal-colored suits. Survival does not require curves. It does not require color. Neither must I.

The seconds pass in silence. I miss the tick of the round clock in my mother’s kitchen—perfect miniature sections of time marked by a soft tock. No one can control a single second. Yet, a lifetime of bondage is made up of them.

I look at the blinking numbers on my tablet. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight... For a single second I have chosen to be free. For one miniscule moment of my day I withhold my compliance.

The prospects have all finished their tests, except one. P7027 sits next to me. Her pen taps the tablet in an outbreak of convulsive movements. I know she is filling in answers randomly, trying to finish the test in the allotted time. A small beep sounds. Unlike the blaring horns of the mines, it is unobtrusive, yet I see everyone stiffen. Next to me I hear P7027 whimper.

The door at the front slides open. P3111 stands up. We all follow her lead. Envoy Sharp enters flanked by two Sentinels. His sausage fingers hold a tablet. “Sit down,” he says. We obey.

“I have the result of your testing.” He pats the tablet screen with his free hand. “Some of you received adequate scores. Duty stations will be assigned tomorrow. That is all.” He looks at his tablet, then up at a P7027. He points to her. “That one,” he says.

A Sentinel walks to where she sits. “Come with me P7027.” His voice is like sheet metal, strong and thin and sharp as a razor around the edges.

P7027 cannot stand. The Sentinel reaches down and lifts her trembling form. A cry rises up from within her and erupts into the empty space above us. It is visceral, instinctual. It betrays us all for what we are—caged animals. The Envoy has known all along. We have only been hiding the truth from each other.

The finish is in sight!

2011-05-31T08:48:00.000-07:00

I interrupt this extended blog neglect to say that I am just two chapters away from finishing the first draft of a book I have been working on for over a year!! Hence my absence from the internet. I'm focused, people! Focused I tell you. Characters need to get injured and healed and be heroes and die. This is the point in every book I write where I begin to feel like the master of the universe I've created. (It goes to my head, a little.) I walk around the house with my hands on my hips and bellow, "I am the CREATOR!!! Worlds begin and end at the behest of my keyboard." At least I bellow in my mind.

The Zombie Apacalypse contains spoilers

2011-05-20T09:13:00.000-07:00

Apparently everyone is feeling a little extra protective of their brains these days. There is so much talk of the impending zombie apocalypse that I thought maybe I should prepare myself.

This is what I came up with (thank you random person for modeling my zombie defense gear).

I posed this idea to some of my brilliant friends (read: appetizer,bait,deterrent). They suggested my preparation may be a bit short sighted (read: idiotic, naive). Here's what they came up with instead...

Jenn has already thought this through and a has a zombie-defense closet in her panic room. She says if I want to model her plan, I'll need a bank vault, a garden hose, steak knife, underwater river, and garlic. It all seems so clear when you lay it out like that.

Renee has outlined a schedule for the event (the main item being the end where we all form a human ring around her). She even proposes we have a party to celebrate our imminent deaths. I admire her devil-may-care style of dealing with the end of the world. Well played, Ren. Well played.

Side note: Before agreeing to Ren's plan Jenn feels it is important to know if it will be preceded by an impromptu dance party. That's why I love Jenn; she always knows the right questions to ask.

Chantele is all for the party and even suggested we dress like zombies. Camouflage...it's an oldy, but goody. You can't disregard the tried and true war tactics when the end of the world in marching slowly toward you with it's hand outstretched. If this doesn't work, she will throw in the towel and just go with the flow. The old "if you can't beat em, join em" tactic. I like Chantele's retro style.

Kasie is low on ideas right now (this may or may not have to do with the fact that her brain is completely wrapped up by the impending doom of her two book deal with Harper Collins which will never come to pass if the world ends). This probably explains her assertion that "we are all going to die."

In the end Jenn summed up the situation well when she tweeted: @reneecollins_ <--ruthless leader of the revolution @chantelesedg<--first victim @KasieWest @CandiKennington <--have popcorn

She then invited us all to her panic room. She then uninvited us all to her panic room (true friend). Which led me to the final conclusion of the zombie apocalypse: @JennJohansson<-- last human alive.

A Message to Kasie West from THOR, God of Thunder

2011-05-16T12:25:00.000-07:00

"This book, I like it! ANOTHER!!!!!"

"I must return to my own planet to save my father and do many other Norse-godly things, but I swear to you I will return to read the sequel!"

"The pen is mightier than the hammer, and this book is mightier than them both!"

Wow, Thor sounds just like Harper Teen! They must've heard how much he loved Kasie West's book and decided to buy it and the sequel.

Thanks, Thor.

A Character Developing Mother's Day

2011-05-09T09:07:00.000-07:00

This year for Mother's Day my son brought home a handmade booklet from school in which he filled in all kinds of information about me. He was right on the basics: eye color, hair color, age (okay, so he said I'm twenty-one, but he's within a dozen years of right). What really cracked me up about this document were all the things he filled in about my favorites, because they were actually all his favorites. It tickled me that he thought McDonalds was my favorite restaurant and Star Wars was my favorite movie.

I do go to McDonalds and I do watch Star Wars, so he definitely knows me, but what he doesn't realize yet is that I do those things for him. This really got me thinking about my characters. I wondered how often I only look at their actions without taking time to develop an understanding of their character.

Sometimes I think I understand a character without developing their backstory (because it never directly comes into the book), but inevitably I reach a point in the story where I need to know that backstory because it affects that character's decisions, outlook, actions, speech, well basically everything. I can't skip character development even when I think it doesn't matter.

I once hear JK Rowling talk about Seamus from Harry Potter. She knew everything about his family and loved his story, though she never put any of it into her books. I also loved that Neville's story was so beautifully woven into the series and just as tragic and triumphant as Harry's, though he was a more minor character.

What do you think? Is it important to know all your character's stories? What about minor characters, do you know theirs too?

Gut Writing

2011-04-27T07:59:00.000-07:00

When I first started writing I wrote purely for the love of writing. To be cliche, I wrote from my heart.

"Oh beautiful manuscript, where have you been all my life? You are so special, and I love you so much. It doesn't matter if I don't know anything about writing a book or the publishing industry because my love is enough. My love will make everyone else fall in love with you. It will make them overlook your glaring plot devices and pages of exposition. I <3 U!"

Then I began studying about writing and publishing and plot arcs and effective dialogue. I read agent blogs and Publisher's Weekly. My next book was going to have all the elements of a best-seller. I put my brain firmly in charge!

"My character is so relatable and my hero is flawed (but hot), and there is action and romance and comedy and unexpected twists. My dialogue is realistic and my plot is tight. I am a WRITER (insert heroic roar)!"

Then I calmed down a little bit. I had a few reality checks. The mystery of the writing world became less mysterious. I took time to read more. My voice became much clearer. And a funny thing happened. My brain and my heart sort of began working automatically in the form of my gut. I began to trust my writing instincts, but know that I was always going to have work hard and edit alot. (I know, the picture is kind of creepy.)

"Dear manuscript, thank you for giving life to my inner voice, while still sticking to the rules of good writing and editing. And thank you for giving me permission to trust my own style and instincts. I have high, but hopefully realistic, hopes for you. But even if you don't work out I will always be thankful to you for helping me discover what kind of writer I really want to be."

The interesting thing about writing only from the heart or mind is that my gut always told me something wasn't quite right. But when I'm writing from my gut, my heart and mind are automatically engaged. I know I still have a long way to go, but I hope that means I'm finally getting the hang of all this.

Someone Interviewed Me

2011-04-21T14:38:00.000-07:00

Chantele asked me if I would be willing to answer some questions for the aspiring author post she does each week. I readily agreed to as long as she knew up front that I had very little writing wisdom and a whole lot of silliness to share... You can read it here.

Thanks, Chantele!

Has the age of digital books and queries changed who writes?

2011-04-20T10:26:00.000-07:00

Writing has changed a lot in the past several years. Most agencies have "gone green" and hi-tech with their submission process. This has brought down costs for submitting manuscripts and for querying widely.

And

Which means we have all gone a little more green at home too.

The point of this email is not the "go green" aspect (thought conservation is never a bad thing), but rather the fact that all of these developments have led to, what I consider to be, an even bigger shift in writing. Which is that the proverbial, reclusive, pipe-smoking, writer in the cabin in the woods...

...is actually much more likely to be the spit-up-cleaning, diaper-changing, dish-washing, mom in the kitchen. Granted, this has opened doors for many others, career men and women, working parents, teenagers and countless others. The prevalence of the stay-at-home mom demographic has just struck me recently (perhaps because I am one), and I have a feeling this demographic has grown astonishingly in the last five years. I don't have any data to back it up, but it sure seems like that is the case.

How have the changes in technology and the publishing world affected your career choice to become a writer?

The Winner! There Will be Brevity in This Post

2011-04-18T12:29:00.000-07:00

And the winner of The Brevity of Roses by the fabulous Linda Cassidy Lewis is.............. Darlene! Darlene is lucky number 16 in our drawing (as chosen by Random.org). Darlene, please send the address you would like your signed copy of Brevity shipped to to my email, Candice_Kennington(at)comcast(dot)net .

The rest of you can buy your own copy of Linda's book or ebook by following these links:

Buy the E-book at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Smashwords.

Buy the print book at Amazon.

Thanks to everyone who entered and to Linda for her gracious responses and willingness to sign her book for us!

Happy Monday!

For Someone I Love

2011-04-14T07:26:00.000-07:00

Someone dear to me requested a blog post this morning. I think she wanted something funny, like a rant to say, "Poop on the world!" You know, that kind of thing. And I could do a rant. I've been wanting to do one about cliche phrase for a long time. It would go a little something like this:

When life gives you lemons throw them at all your breakables.
or
Stick a fork in it--literally! (Long time readers of my blog know I don't use that word lightly)
or
When push comes to shove, fight dirty.
or
There is light at the end of the tunnel, but you're probably dead if you see it.
or
My bark is actually smaller than my bite.

I could seriously go on and on. And that would be a fun blog post, but I decided to post something serious. Those of you who had fun with the first part can turn back now, or go enter my contest to win a free signed book in the next post, or leave me a comment telling me a cliche phrase you hate and how you would change it. This next part is long. And it's serious. And it's personal. I only feel I can post it now because it's about something that is quite definitely in my past. And it's something the person who this blog post is for helped me through. This is not advice or me telling anyone else what to do. I'm not trying to say just do this and everything will be okay. I hate it when people say "just" (another rant for another day). This is simply my own personal journey to healing.

Love you, You-Know-Who.

The Empty Doll

For the last little while I haven’t been able to shake an image from my mind. It’s a strange picture, not that I’m a stranger to the strange, but this time it’s personal, a self portrait of sorts. In my mind’s eye I see a version of my face painted in thin, skilled brush strokes on the upper portion of a Russian nesting doll. From the outside I notice that I look like any other nesting doll, brightly colored with floral patterns in smooth, flowing brushstrokes around my face and along the lower portion of my rounded wooden body. I’m not too old, my paint is still shiny with only a few small chips and a bit of dust and dirt on my outer layer. For the most part I think you could say my doll has been well cared for. To any passerby or casual observer it would seem that nothing is amiss. But when I look at my shell in the proverbial self-portrait, I know something that most others don’t. For though the seam in my middle is thin and barely visible now that it has been tightly shut, not too long ago it came apart, spilling all of the interior pieces and mini me’s on the floor. Since that time I’ve been slowly picking them up again, and discovering that some have been lost, damaged and even discarded in the process. The result is a fact that has been staring me in the face for a while now, but it’s a fact that I’ve been trying to resist: I’m not the same person I was a few months ago, and try as I will to pretend that I am to the outside world and even myself, I can’t deny there is an emptiness that didn’t exist before, and it’s left a hollow feeling in my chest.

I know I’m not alone in this feeling. Not a person has lived on this earth without passing through sorrow. Yet, I also know that despite the shared human experience each individual’s pain is unique. I’m not ashamed to say that for quite a long while I’ve been focusing on my pain. The only thing that seemed to give me any relief from the void I felt where I had been broken, were mindless and often pointless distractions, distractions that seemed preferable to the questions that filled my mind in their absence. Questions like, what am I supposed to do with a broken doll? Or, How can I ever get back to who I was before? And, Am I worth anything to anyone this way? I’ve felt angry and sad and resentful, feelings which all led to the biggest question of all, Why? What is the purpose of suffering? At times over the past weeks I’ve been truly contemplative, but often my question have been desperate, angry and hopeless, and though I tried to fool myself into thinking they were inquiries, I knew often they were rhetorical , more statements of bitterness than anything else, and I couldn’t see how things were ever going to get better. But then something unexpected happened while I was sitting in church, only half listening to the speaker one Sunday. As I often did, I again went through my many questions, when a single thought came to my mind. You choose what fills the void. That one sentence changed me or at least it changed my perspective. Suddenly I could see what had happened as a fork in the road and a potential turning point in my life.

I believe we all have some sort of metaphorical container that represents who we are and we fill it up day by day with activities and beliefs and priorities. When life runs smoothly it’s easy to get full on what is frivolous or temporary, amusements, social events, shopping, television, things that don’t require as much effort and seem to make us happy. Then something happens that turns our world upside down and we watch as all the things we filled our lives with fall out on the table or floor. We see it all laid out clearly and for some reason it no longer seems as appealing. But we know the emptiness isn’t right either. A vessel’s purpose is to hold something inside otherwise it is susceptible to mold and dust and cobwebs or any number of opportunistic inhabitants. So we stare at the components of our life, realizing some of them are rotten, broken or maybe just outdated and we have to decide what to do with them. Do we pick up the pieces of the life we once knew, put the same objects back in that were there before? If they are broken do we replace them with light fillers, more tv or video games, more socializing, more internet, and other sources of entertainment, only to have our lives become less solid, less stable, easier to topple, until the cycle starts over again. Only the next time we get knocked over the pieces on the table or floor seem more bleak, less varied, less fulfilling. Or do we take our blank space, that feels like an unbearable trial and see it for what it really is, an opportunity, a new start, a chance to fill up with something solid and lasting.

My grandmother passed away a few years ago and after the services were completed the estate needed to be taken care of. I was given the opportunity to request a few items that were meaningful remembrances to me. I looked around her room and thought of the graceful and refined woman she was. For every outfit she owned there were coordinating shoes and purses. She was always very elegant and polished when she went out. So I choose a fancy clutch, it was gathered pink silk with a small, tailored bow across the top. Then on an impulse I looked inside to see if she had left anything in its folds. Nothing spectacular met my eyes, in fact the contents of the purse were quite ordinary, a handful of wintergreen mints and a folded cloth handkerchief, yet both were meaningful to me. They reminded me of all the times she’d snuck those very same mints to me while sitting next to her at church. Then while I sat enjoying my treat she’d roll up her handkerchief in her special grandma way and turn it into a baby doll for me to hold. Much like the elegant purse she was beautiful on the outside, but what really mattered was what she chose to put inside, devotion to her family, her faith, her principles and unconditional love.

My personal vessel has been knocked over recently. I realize some of what it contained is unsalvageable. It will never be the same again. It would be impossible to expect that it could. I’ve spent time denying that fact, while I passively let sorrow, anger and fear seep into all my empty spaces. But I know now that my heart was not the only thing broken in my recent fall. So were many of my habits and my old way of life. All around us there are examples of demolition for the purpose of rebuilding. A forest must pass through fire for seeds to be released and regrowth to begin. Muscles are broken down by exercise so they can be rebuilt stronger. I have a chance to rebuild now, to make my life better than it was before. Faith, family, friends, service, hard work, and so many other things can take up the space that seemed like an irreparable hole. But first I have to see my experience for what it really is, a chance to deliberately choose what will fill up my life.

Signed Book Giveaway and Author Interview

2011-04-11T07:01:00.000-07:00

I am so excited to be able to introduce you to one of my favorite writers and critique partners, Linda Cassidy Lewis. Linda and I met three years ago when we both attended the same writer's group. She immediately stood out to me because she was always so well-spoken and her critiques were amazing! I loved getting them (I still do). She is one of the most (if not the most) flawless writer I know. Her words are beautiful and just make you feel good while you read them. After I moved away from California, we continued to correspond and critique each others work despite the fact that we write in different genres. I value her input greatly and am thankful to have her as a Beta reader and a friend. She graciously agreed to let me interview her for my blog and to sign a copy of her novel, THE BREVITY OF ROSES, for a giveaway.

Here's the back of the book blurb:
Jalal Vaziri has looks, money, women—and a habit of running from reality. When he abandons New York and reinvents himself as a poet in a California beach house, he thinks he’s running from a father who hates him, a career mistake, and endless partying. A fresh start is what he needs. And after an intriguing woman enters his life, he believes all his dreams are coming true. But that dream dissolves into nightmare, and Jalal flees again. Only this time, his retreat is blocked by a woman who challenges him to face that it’s himself he’s trying to outrun.

Who or what inspired you to be a novelist? Reading and lots of it. We’re all required to write in school, and I didn’t suck at it, so eventually I started writing on my own. Then, one day, I realized my job as full-time mom was done and I decided to start and finish a novel.

Is The Brevity of Roses the first novel you've written? No, it’s the second. The first was a paranormal romance that wasn’t. A romance, that is. Someday, I may resurrect it as neither.

Your main character, Jalal, has Middle-Eastern roots and there is a sprinkling of Farsi in your novel, how did you do your research and was it difficult? My husband has Middle-Eastern ancestry, and I’ve always been fascinated with that culture. Bits of what I’ve observed is reflected in Jalal’s family. After I’d written the first draft of Brevity, I read a memoir by an Iranian-American, and after the revision I read another to make sure what I’d written was true to what these two memoirists experienced. I don’t speak Farsi, so I had the online help of two Iranian contacts to translate the few words and phrases I used to a phonetic spelling.

How did you decide on your cover and how long have you been painting? The cover image is actually a multi-layered drawing, a technique acceptably called painting. I’ve been drawing since I could hold a crayon; I just never stopped like most children do. Follow up question: Whatever happened to that awesome drawing of Jalal you did? I searched your site and couldn't find it. Sorry about that. I took it down quickly, when I realized that it was not my true image of Jalal. I’d allowed my familiarity with a couple other faces to corrupt it. I want to try again, but maybe just for myself. I’m not sure my readers would appreciate me imposing my vision on them.

Well whoever he was, he was not hard on the eyes.

Your writing is so smooth, and when I read it, it makes me feel like I'm sitting in a hammock gently rocking back and forth while a cool summer breeze rustles in the trees (Dear Readers: You have to read this book if only to experience the hypnotizing trance of Linda's writing). Do you have some hidden magic? Are the pages perhaps sprinkled with fairy dust? Because I still don't know how you weave your magic spell. Thank you for those lovely words about my writing. Do you have a source for fairy dust? I’d like to try it. Seriously though, I just write. I don’t mean that to sound flip. Most of what happens when I write is subconscious. I let a story gestate in my head for a long time before I put fingers to keyboard. So, when it’s going well, I write in a sort of dream state. I see and hear my story like a mental movie and try my best to transcribe it. When I revise, I can usually spot where I wrote “blind” and then I have to fix those clunky spots. I do that mostly by listening for the rhythm of the words. A good sentence has a perfect number of beats.

When Linda reads other people books she sees them like movies in her head too. This means that if your character puts toast in the toaster and it pops up a line later, she's going to call you out on your five second toasting. Her superhuman editing vision misses nothing.

It may just be my imagination, but it seems to me a lot of authors have cats. Do you have any pets? I do have a cat, but she’s snotty and regularly bites the hand that feeds her. I had a gentle English Springer Spaniel for years.

Aren't all cats snotty?

Sunrises or Sunsets? Oh my, I have to choose? I associate sunrises with hope and sunsets with loss, but I love the beauty of them both.

Coke, Pepsi, or Dr. Pepper? Coke, and not diet, which explains why I need to diet. To me, Dr. Pepper is dessert.

I'm so with you on the Dr. Pepper dessert classification. Even better, a Dr. Pepper float. mmmm...

Thank you, Linda for your time and insight into writing.

To win a copy of Linda's superb novel all you have to do is leave a comment by Sunday. I will choose a winner via random.com and announce it next Monday. You can also pick up a copy for yourself on Amazon.

*For those of you who are used to the books I talk about being YA or MG, please keep in mind this is an adult book with adult themes, situations, and language.

Jenn Gets an Agent!

2011-04-05T07:38:00.000-07:00

What? Another friend got an agent?! Yep that's right. My writing friends are super awesome (I only hope it rubs off on me someday)!! And Jenn is no exception. You should see the way this girl can write a query letter. It's pretty much mindblowing how fast she creates querying perfection. Have I mentioned that she also writes amazing books? Creepy, psychologically-thrilling, amazing books!! Seriously Jenn, you rock!! And to top it all off, she has the most amazing hair. (I know that's not writing related, but it's the truth and it must be said.) So go congratulate her, and share in the jumping up and down and partying that is going on over at her blog.

Jenn, I love you!! And as you like to say about other people: "You are made of Awesome!"

Road Trip

2011-04-04T09:04:00.000-07:00

I just got back from ten days of vacation and four of them were spent driving. It's funny how many interesting things you come across when you're on the road for a total of 48 hours (the gas bill on the other hand, not so funny). Here's a tally of the more interesting sights.

Accidents - 3
Accidents with bloody man walking on the road - 1
Pieces of tire littered across road - I forgot to count
Whole tire bouncing and rolling down the freeway while cars swerve right and left to avoid it - 1
Deer and elk lining side of the road - hundreds
Deer standing in the middle of the road - 1 (which also translates into near heart attacks -1)
Fast food restaurants - billions
GuadalaHonky's Americanized Mexican restaurant - 1
Crazy bumper stickers - hundreds
Ginormous, entire-car decal proclaiming, "His Body, His Choice. Just Say No to Circumcision." - 1

I could go on and on, but suffice it to say I've driven across the country three times in the last 18 months and every trip is an education. I'm just glad to be home. Maybe I 'll post something useful after I recover a bit. Happy Monday!!

Question for the Universe

2011-03-23T07:44:00.000-07:00

Why do a million things pop up when you're trying to go on vacation? No really, a million! Already this morning by 7:30 I had called the bank (who was on east coast time, thank goodness), the motor vehicle licensing department, put in two loads of laundry and moved an entire entertainment center/ large TV in order to unwire and rewire my internet so that I could have internet access on a day when I most needed it... I'm not complaining (okay, maybe a little) but, really, I'm just posing this question to the Universe:

Is it me or is it you?

Am I the one who subconsciously puts everything off until it's absolutely necessary at which time I suddenly "realize" it has to be done, or are you the one throwing these boulders in my path? Because if you're the one who makes me drive way far away, just to fix a small clerical error with my health insurance so that I can get my prescription refilled before leaving town, well... that's just so mean. Please stop. That is all.

The Books I Could Put Down

2011-03-21T07:46:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I read a book like this:

And Sometimes I read a book like this:

And lately there's been more of this:

Than this:

Which leads to this:

I never used to put down books, but lately, I don't waste my time. I'm not sure what changed. Maybe I just became a mom and lost my patience. (That didn't sound right...) Maybe I just became a mom and lost my patience for anything that wastes my time.

Are you a die-hard, must-finish, book-reader or do cut your loses and move on?

Immaterial

2011-03-16T07:55:00.000-07:00

I added a "My Books" page to my blog with brief descriptions of my books. There's not a lot there, but as I do more I'll add more. Who knows, maybe one day I'll even get ambitious and add some homemade trailers or something.

If you follow my blog, you've probably already seen stuff for my first two books, but for the first time I'm revealing a bit about my third book, Immaterial. I hope the picture* and tag-line give you a little preview of the flavor of the book.

*The images I collaged to get the picture are not mine

Just Relax

2011-03-14T09:41:00.000-07:00

Doing yoga with a kindergartner running around in the house is not a practical (or relaxing) endeavor. I don't know why I thought that things would be different this morning simply because said kindergartner was in the bathtub. My meditation time this morning went a little something like this:

*Sitting Pose**Deep breath* in with the good out with the bad...
"Mommy, the water isn't touching my toes!"
*Forward Lunge**Stress levels rise* "There is plenty of water in the bathtub. Just wash your hair."
*Garuda Mudra* Activate blood flow, increase circulation, listen to my breath, calm beating heart.
"Mommy, I need you to come in here!"
*Ignores**Downward Facing Dog*
"Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy..."
*Warrior One**Stress levels rise to twice what they were before starting yoga* Just keep breathing. Maintain relaxation and focus.
"Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy..."
*Pauses DVD* *Walks into bathroom*
"What do you need?"
*Son looks up and thinks for a second* "Are you exercising?"
*Deep breath* in with the good out with the bad...

Sometimes keeping balance in my life can be tough. I feel an urgency to finish my books, acquire an agent and get published. But I know from experience I am better off when I take the time to do the other things that are important, like exercising, taking care of my family, reading and giving service. In the end I believe I accomplish more than I would if I just ignored everything and wrote all day long. Yoga is just one of those things that helps me find that balance. Some days are just more "balancing" than others.
What do you do to keep your writing life in balance with everything else?

Writer Reality

2011-03-09T07:39:00.000-08:00

We've been sick around my house this week. Consequently, I've been doing a lot of something I rarely ever do: watch TV. For some reason, despite the queasiness, I've been drawn to Food Network. They have several reality shows that pit chefs against each other in timed contests. My favorite is "Chopped." You may have seen it. Chefs are given a mystery basket with three or four items that they have to use to create an appetizer, main, dish, and dessert. They're given a new basket each round and only thirty minutes to finish each course.

It's intense. Or maybe I'm the only having an anxiety attack watching Food Network.

The show got me thinking, why are there no reality writing shows? There totally could be. Picture it:

Round 1: Four computers, a panel of agents and editors and an envelope containing a setting, a character and a genre. Thirty minutes on the clock and ready, set, TYPE! The person with the best flash fiction wins the round.

Round 2: The writers have thirty minutes to write a synopsis and query based on their flash fiction.

Round 3: Thirty minutes to prepare a verbal pitch and marketing plan which they must then present.

I'm tired just thinking about that show. Maybe instead we should just throw a bunch of writers in a big mansion with their finished manuscripts and one agent. Then we could send them on dates together. Some of the contestants would naturally click with the Agent who would then ask about their manuscript. Other contestants would carry their MS around with them wherever they went, shoving it under the agent's nose when he was talking to other contestants or relaxing in the hot tub.

At the end of each episode we could line all the contestants up and the agent would give bookmarks to anyone he wants to stay in the mansion for another episode. There would be crying and hissy fits and ripping of paper. It would be a runaway hit! (Are you paying attention Mark Burnett?)

Yep, that's TV I would watch.

Poetry of a Beatnik Housewife

2011-03-07T06:00:00.000-08:00

Integration

Slippery
Slimy
Segregated oil covering all
Powerless water
Rushing
Rising
Scalding metal and skin
Plunge deeper
Work faster
Fruitless labor
Only soap can break the barrier
Ah miracle of lemon scent
Rubbing
Scrubbing
Bubbling to a higher plane of existence
Clean!
Clean!
Hands softened in the watery basin of life's long day
Emerge calloused and cracked in the dry air of brief reprieve

Why I Haven't Queried My Books

2011-03-02T08:15:00.000-08:00

I don't talk much about my writing on this blog (weird, since it's a "writing blog"), but today I'm going to. I've had a couple of people ask me if I'm querying recently. And the answer is well, no, I'm not. I'm actually finishing up my third novel, and I've never really queried (I've sent out like five really novice queries). Does that make me weird? Maybe.

If you were to ask me why, I'm not sure I could give you a clear cut answer. The timing just never felt right. I did love my first novel, a YA contemporary fantasy. I loved the story. I loved the characters. I didn't love the writing. So, I revised it over and over and over and over again. Somehow it just never reached the standard I wanted it to.

The writing in my second novel was much better. Again, I loved the story. The problem was it was a tough genre to market. I had unwittingly written myself into a literary corner with a college age character in a Chick Lit Superhero Romantic Comedy (say that five times fast).

Now I'm finishing up my third novel. A YA SciFi Dystopian. It's quirky. It takes place on the moon. There are lots of made up words. It's written a strange voice and my character is withdrawn and and counts everything around her (as in literally counts everything). I LOVE it! I will definitely query it when I'm done.

So, I've been around in the blogging/writing world for about three years now. Most of the friends I started with are agented. I've seen their struggles and learned a lot. But I've never experienced it. I guess I just wasn't ready. But now I definitely am. So in the next few months (as soon as I finish my book) I will be putting myself out there and getting my poor little writing heart trampled on like the rest of all you brave souls. I would love to hear about your querying journey.

The Origins of the Stickfigure Blog Drawings

2011-02-28T07:38:00.000-08:00

There are two reasons I draw stickfigures on my blog:

1. I like to have something visual on my blog posts, and I can pull up Microsoft paint and do a drawing with my mouse in 30 secs flat!

2. My only other alternative to "drawing" something is to use an actual picture. Which means I would either have to take one (I am not a photographer or a model), or find a random google image that may or may not be copywrited and stick it on my post. The problem is that even if I do find the perfect Google image and paste the url into the picture link, it could change. Then when I print out my blog and look through it I may realize that in place of an American flag on my July post there are two random guys, wearing stocking caps under a street light, doing who knows what. And now when my kids grow up and look through my family blog album they will forever ask why I have a picture of two shady dudes smoking a doobie. Hence the need for stickfigures (even though I'm clearly not an artist either).

I thought this drawing stickfigures thing was something new I created just for my blog, but then I was looking through my old college stuff and came across a few things that told a different story.

At first, these may just look like pictures of my extremely messy dorm room (Mom, look away).

But upon closer inspection you will find the poster my roommate had of a hot guy with his shirt off . I was young and overzelously idealist (as college kids are prone to be) and against the objectification of women, which meant that I was there for equally against the objectification of men (because I was no sexist!), so I decided to modify the poster to meet my standards.

In case you're wondering what that lovely cursive writing says, I'll decipher it for you. "& He has to have sexy nostrils." What can I say. I had high standards for my perfect guy.

So it appears I've had a penchant for random, skilless drawing much of my life. If I were to look through my other memory boxes I would bet money that the stick figure phenomenon dates all the way back to my early toddler days.

*Here's the real poster. Just in case you were wondering what lies under the stick figures. Clearly I'm not as idealistic as I once was. Though I still do object to objectification (most of the time). ;)

Buss-a-me Mucho (or Conversations with my Husband)

2011-02-24T06:43:00.000-08:00

Fellow blogger friend Chantele likes to find obscure and fun words and post them on her blog for "Weird Word Wednesday". Then she challenges people to make up a sentence with them. Well yesterday the word was, buss. She posted the definition which in essence said, to kiss, especially with a smacking sound (at least that's how I remember it). I thought it was a cool word and left this sentence in the comments, "If Buster bussed a bus full of babes, how many babes on a bus did Buster buss?"

Later that night as I was getting ready for bed I thought I would ask my husband if he knew what the word meant since he's the kind who always remembers random trivia (as in the man has only ever lost Trivial Pursuit twice in his entire life. Before we go married I made him play me every night for several weeks straight, but that's another story for another day.). Anyway, the conversation went a little something like this.

Me: "My blogger friend Chantele (proceeds to explain blog)... So do you know what the word buss means?"

Husband: (thinks for several seconds...) "Is it some kind of stick?"

Me: (overly pleased that I've stumped him for once and still ticked about losing Trivial Pursuit hundreds of times) "Nope!! You're wrong. You're wrong. Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah." (Okay, I didn't actually say that, but my eyes did. I then told him the definition and my sentence.)"Wasn't my sentence a clever tongue twister? Are you sad that yoooouuuu didn't know the word?"

Husband: "Buss my Butt!"

Me: (Feigning shock and indignation and then laughing)

Husband: "or better yet, buss off."

Me: "Hey!"

Husband: "I'm sorry, was that the buss of death?"

Me: (Laughing, again)

Husband: "Here let me make it up to you." (Begins to sing) "Buss-a-me, buss-a-me muuuuuuuchooooooo..."

Me: (Yep, still laughing while pushing him and his smack-kissing lips away)

Husband: "Oh man, now I've got a song stuck in my head...(silence)...a song by BUSS!"

Me: "You are now officially the topic of my blog post tomorrow weather you like it or not."

Husband: "Won't that be stealing Chatele's blog post?"

Me: (climbing into bed) "Not really, because I will link back to her blog and give her all the credit for finding the word and make sure everyone knows how much fun we had with it and it will all come back to Chantele."

Husband: (turning off lights and getting into bed) "You're such a buss-up." *

*No actual marriage was hurt during this conversation. In fact it was probably strengthened due to the extreme silliness and craziness of both participating spouses.

Since we're on the topic of superheroes...

2011-02-22T06:27:00.001-08:00

I actually fancied myself one yesterday. You see, snow had been falling all weekend long, but yesterday was beautiful and sunny and a holiday, so we decided to take our son sledding with some friends. Because kids love sledding. And since we will only live in South Dakota for a few years I thought we should take advantage of all there is to offer. At least that was my reasoning when I planed the outing.

Then I really thought about what we were taking our little child to do, and suddenly I saw less fun and more stitches, concussions, and broken bones on the hills that were once covered in feet of soft fluffy snow, but after much use had turned into steep tracks of solid ice. I realized if I was going to let my son do this (because I can't hold his childhood hostage to my neurotic ability to see the worst possible conclusion to any given situation), I was going to have to bring my A-game to the slopes. Just in case. Nevermind the fact that we were going with friends from my husband's work which meant there were no less than four military doctors and pilots present. Clearly none of them would have the right kind of training for an emergency. So I donned my old Marvel T-shirt, the one with Ironman, Thor, Captain America, the Hulk and Wolverine (yes I really do own this shirt and I really did wear it), and I stuck my first aid kit in the car (just in case one of the doctor bags was missing something), along with fruit snacks and juiceboxes for those hunger/whining emergencies. I then found my sweetest pair of sunglasses for surveying the slopes with my super-tuned, paranoid mommy vision. I was ready!

The slopes were crowded, very crowded. Good thing I'd come prepared. I was vigilant! Rarely taking my eyes off the scene, only allowing myself to be mildly distracted by the other women there and --"Oh what's that you say? You're throwing a baby shower? Ooo, can I help?!" CRASH !! Yep, it was a big one, but by the time I noticed it there was already a doctor on scene checking for concussions and stanching the bleeding. Fortunately the only resulting injuries were a bruises and scrapes. I am happy to report that I did save the day later on when I warmed up my sons little hands. They were freezing, and he was crying. That is until I sacrificed my own warm hands to cover his little popsicle ones. Then I gave him a juice box and patted his head, pretty much saving the day and the entire trip. Ah the life of a superhero.

When we got home my son, or Spidybatwalker, as I like to call him (because he likes to mix and match his superhero dressups), asked me to draw a superhero for him. This is a common request, and I usually just draw some generic muscled man and let him color and fill in the details. Earlier in the day he had completed an orange Batman. But this time I was feeling a little heroic, so I decided to draw a woman which may or may not have had similar coloring and features as me, though I did take a little license with the flat stomach and toned arms. I also added a Tinkerbell tutu (because I would not be caught dead in only spandex) and colored in the picture for him. I was curious to see what he would think. He made a few additions to the drawing and told me he loved it. So I present to you Vry ("Varee" he says). She is twenty years old (woohoo) and has purple powers (not powers that are purple, but the power of purple! I hear it's a great one.).

Cover Design

2011-02-21T07:52:00.000-08:00

I decided to design a cover for the last novel I wrote, JADED. I thought I would post it just for fun! Happy Monday!!

Excerpt

Jade spent enough time around Superheroes to know there was nothing super or heroic about them. The Supers she knew were more like super-egotistical jerks. Sure a lot of what they did saved lives, and on occasion, one had been known to save the world, but they were all about the glory. There was no higher cause motivating them to great deeds, only an insatiable desire to feed their already inflated egos—one more notch on their utility belt or one more feather in their bullet-proof, metallurgic cap. She knew the truth; their noble deeds were more about self-promotion than self-sacrifice.

As she drove up the windy, mountain road to the designated meeting place, a refurbished castle, of course, she couldn’t help but dread the forthcoming weeks. When she agreed to take her position with the International Bureau of Remarkable Genetic Assets, or IBRAG as she preferred to call it (though her boss always chided her for using the unbecoming, unofficial, acronym around the office), she had expected to be working behind the scenes, not directly with the Assets.

Her fingers tightened on the wheel as the road narrowed. She rounded the final curve and let up off the gas until the car slowed to a near stop, which afforded her the opportunity to take a good look at the castle.

The main structure had a single, high tower on the west end, and spread out on the east side into a long rectangular row, three stories high. There were several outbuildings that had been converted into garages, and a high, modern wall encircled the entire property that sat amidst the rocky green landscape of Ireland. Though it was at least ten feet high, she knew it was merely cosmetic, since an invisible force field covered the property like a dome.

She pressed the gas again and pulled up in front of a wrought iron gate, the only opening in the field.

“Here we go,” she muttered to herself when a tall muscled man in black pants, high boots and a long overcoat stepped out from the guard house to greet her. She rolled down her window.

“Hey green eyes, are you lost?” The man leaned down to rest his elbows on the window.

You knew it would be like this. Keep your cool. Jade grabbed her badge and did her best not to look like she was shoving it in the man’s face.

“My name is Agent Jade Markston. I’m with

I-B-R-G.”

He raised his eyebrows in a look that plainly showed he wasn’t impressed. Then he focused his eyes on the I.D. card. She saw his pupils flicker as he scanned her credentials with his X-ray vision.

“You must be Rex,” she said when he finished.

He nodded. “It’s always nice to meet a fan.”

It took all of Jade’s self-control to suppress the sarcastic retort on her lips, but offending the first Super she’d met on her team was hardly the best way to start off a mission.

“A bit of overkill don’t you think,” she said, changing the subject and gesturing to him and the guard station. “Where’s the regular security?”

“I volunteered to use my skills to man the guard station. You can never be too careful at a gathering like this. But now that we’re all here, I’ll hand the job back over to security.” He stood up and squared his shoulders as he spoke. She saw his eyes flicker again as he gave her entire body a quick once over. This time she made no attempt to hide her scowl.

“Is that really necessary?” she snapped.

“Just doing my job. We can’t have anyone smuggling in weapons.” He smirked, and pushed the button to open the gate.

“Jerk,” she mumbled under her breath. Her foot hit the gas like a lead brick, and she heard Rex chuckle behind her.

Sports cars of every make and model covered the long drive and parking lot in front of the castle. Most of them were customized and painted to match the colors of their owner. There were emblems and logos on them, many which she easily recognized, and a few she didn’t. She should have felt right at home, after all, her father had been the president of the largest advertising firm in the world. She’d spent her life surrounded by Supers since every hot shot champion in tights had walked through his office doors at one time or another to sign a lucrative sponsorship contract. Jade had been up close and personal with the world’s “best,” and she was not impressed. Her prolonged exposure to the elite race had steadily eroded any respect she might have felt for their heroic feats.

She pulled her rental car alongside a black and gold Aston Martin with a lightning bolt pin stripe, and rolled her eyes as she stepped out of the car. Volt was among the guests. She had known he would be there for weeks, but that didn’t stop the unmistakable knot from forming in her gut. This was going to be interesting, she thought.

The crunching of gravel drew her attention away from the expensive car and toward a golf cart coming down the drive. Rex was behind the wheel. She hurried toward the entry at the front of the castle before he caught up to her.

A double wood door, large enough to drive a delivery truck through, stood before her. It looked too heavy to open. She reached for the antique iron knocker, but before she could grab it, the door swung open without a sound.

A short, thick man with black, curly hair and small brown eyes stood before her, grinning. From his physique, Jade surmised his powers were mental. The tight, silver unitard with a brain emblem across his chest reaffirmed her conclusion. There was no mask on his face. She wasn’t surprised, the trend of late seemed to be to dispense with secret identities. She supposed that some Supers still considered them a necessity—the smart ones, in her opinion—but an SI didn’t get you a lot of day to day attention, and so the majority of Supers had forgone their double life, even the ones that still wore masks. And she had a suspicion many of them only continued to wear them to cover the fact that their faces were the least of their sensational attributes. Perhaps the man standing in front of her had once worn a silver mask to match the rest of his shiny costume.

She stretched out her hand toward him. “I’m Agent-”

“Agent Jade Markston. I know. I’m Deja View,” he took the outstretched hand and pumped it up and down with his own small, sweaty one. “You can call me DJ or D-man if you’d like.”

She realized she was looking at the future-teller of the bunch and the owner of the castle. She supposed making a fortune wouldn’t be difficult if you always knew what was about to happen.

He smiled and tapped his head with his forefinger. “I saw you coming.”

“So I gathered,” she said dryly, taking back her hand and resisting the urge to wipe it on her suit.

“The meeting’s this way.” He gestured to their left. She stepped inside and followed him. His short, stout legs moved quickly, creating a swishing sound as the taut fabric of his suit rubbed between his thighs. He’s going to start a fire with that kind of friction, she thought as they passed through the opulent entry.

To her right, two large staircases descended from the upper levels. They joined together and formed one grand staircase at the bottom. Above the marble-covered steps an immense, crystal chandelier was suspended from the top of the third floor. It illuminated every niche and corner of the room, all which held replicas of Greek and Roman statues. Her eyes wandered to the area behind the staircase, near a row of French doors leading out to the back patio, she could see a fountain. In the center was a larger than life sculpture of Atlas, bent under the weight of the world he carried on his shoulders. The water emerged from a hole in the top of the globe and then cascaded down the chiseled shoulders and abs of the burdened Greek god. Jade groaned inwardly and continued toward the door that D-man now held open.

“You choose to sit in the red seat over there,” he said, obviously pleased that he could give her a preview of the future with his powers. Jade looked across the room, where a dozen of the world’s elite Supers had gathered and stood conversing, to the red velvet chair.

The future was about to change.

Guest Post

2011-02-18T08:51:00.000-08:00

Since I don't get to hang out with my friends this weekend, I spent my blogging energy writing a guest post for one of them. I was fortunate to be able to post an installment of "Happy Writers Society" for the awesome Natalie Whipple. You can read it here.

The Week of Woe Continued: How to Shake That Pesky, Happy Feeling

2011-02-16T07:58:00.000-08:00

1.Read the first three quarters of a Charles Dickens' novel, but make sure not to finish it.

2.Make three dozen heart-shaped, Valentine's Day cookies for a fund raiser; frost them all with red and pink and write happy sayings on them; eat one dozen of them alone in your kitchen; go stand on the scale and see how easy it is to gain 2lbs in an afternoon.

3.When there are three consecutive days of sixty-degree weather and beautiful sunshine, stay inside and remind yourself that it's still winter and you still live in South Dakota (I didn't say these would all be universally applicable).

4. Read Beatnik poetry, or better yet, write it. For example:

Little girl
With your face pressed against the candy-store window
We have no lollipops for you today
Only death
*raise arms overhead, snap, snap, snap, snap*

5. Watch Evil Knievel attempt to jump the fountains at Ceasar's Palace and crush his pelvis,femur, hip, wrist and both ankles. Don't think how lucky you are to have no broken bones. Just focus on how painful it must have been for him.

6. If all else fails, remind yourself that you will be ALL ALONE over the weekend with only your family, local friends, neighbors and dog to comfort you. (See first "Week of Woe" post for clarification of this item.)

What do you do to when you're feeling just a little too chipper?

We interrupt this higly depressing week of woe for a special anouncement...

2011-02-15T12:41:00.000-08:00

My dear and amazing friend, Kasie, just tied the knot with the fabulous Michelle Wolfson of Wolfson Literary Agency!! You can read all about it here. Kasie is AWESOME and so are her books! She is one of the funniest and most delightful people I have ever known, and her wit and personality show through in all her writing. I am lucky to know her. So head on over to her blog and congratulate her!

I tell you, my friends are dropping like flies, signing agent contracts right and left. I am so blessed to be surrounded by so many wonderful writers...who I won't get to see this weekend... Now back to our regularly scheduled programming of woe and surliness...

The Week of Woe

2011-02-14T14:44:00.000-08:00

In honor of Valentine's Day, I'm dubbing this "The Week of Woe." Just kidding, it's not in honor of Valentine's Day, but I am dubbing it The Week of Woe. Why? Well because this week, these people, are going here without me. And I am very sad to miss the fun. Granted, I was invited, and it was my choice not to go due to a crazy month, but don't let the unimportant details confuse the facts, which are:

1)Fun, lots and lots of fun, will be happening with out me.
2)Writer gab, lots and lots of writer gab, will be happening without me.
3)Networking, lots and lots of cool people will be met without me.
4)Books, lots and lots of books, will be purchased and signed without me!

And if that isn't enough to send me into a complete tailspin of woe is me, I also will miss out on giving Natalie her annual hug, drinking all of Jenn's Diet Coke and using her possessed toaster, seeing my fabulous twin Renee (She has an actual real twin, Diana, who is more twinny and cooler, but I started calling her my twin for other reasons. Long story.), and laughing until my side hurts with my awesome bff, Kasie (who people do think is my twin).

So basically, I'm sad and mopey and pitiful. Therefore, I plan on being melodramatic and surly, very, very surly all week long. Feel free to check in anytime you need a break from the ishy, squishy love-fest of Valentine's Day-week.

E-reads

2011-02-10T07:36:00.000-08:00

Yesterday you all supplied me with a fantastic list of book recommendations. You gave me your top picks to help me overcome my E-book phobia. Thank you, thank you! I will tell you what book I chose, but first, since you were all kind enough to take the time and give me your recommendations, I thought I would compile a list for anyone who might be looking for their next page turner.

The Hunger Games' Series got several mentions. I'm glad to say I've already read them. Their shiny hardback covers sit on my shelf at home. Now I ask you, can an E-book double as home decor? Okay, okay, enough railing against the E-book. Moving on.
Life, Liberty, and Pursuit by the highly educated and multi-talented Susan Kaye Quinn (Isn't it Dr. Quinn, Susan? Like the medicine woman only with a PhD ;) )
Across the Universe got more than one mention.
Speaker for the Dead (2nd book in Enders game. Also read this. Great Book. Better than the first in my opinion.)
Anna and the French Kiss, by the talented Stephanie Perkins got more than one mention as well.
The Help got three votes. People said they couldn't put it down.
Heist Society by Ally Carter
Still Alice by Lisa Genova
The Thirteenth Tale
Little Bee
Vampire Academy (which is available in ePub from some libraries)
One Day by David Nicholls.
The Books of Bayern by Shannon Hale.
Paranormalcy by the funny and talented Kirsten White got more than one mention. (Yep, most definitely read that one!!)
The Season.
The Maze Runner (Read it. Loved it. James Dashner is the man!)
Shipbreaker
the Lost Hero
The Adoration of Jenna Fox
Graceling and its sequel, Fire (Definitely read those)
Books that had not been read by the recommender, but she wanted to read were: Jonathoan Strange and Echo in the Bone.
Revolution by Jennifer Donnelly
A Great and Terrible Beauty (I own this one, but haven't read it yet)
Ella Minnow Pea was recommended by RedHotEyebrows.com (A book review site. Check it out!).
Tess Oliver's book (title not mentioned, because it was Jessie recommending it--just sayin' Jessie :)

In the end I chose to download the awesome Stephanie Perkin's book, Anna and the French Kiss. I've been following her blog and career and though I don't know her, we have a few friends in common. I've also heard her book is funny and full of personality, so I can't wait!! Thanks for all your wise and educated suggestions. I plan on reading many of these books on me E-reader in the near future. And probably a few in book form as well.

E-readers, not as E-Z as I thought.

2011-02-09T06:39:00.000-08:00

For the love of all that is modern and convenient, why can't I buy an E-book? I own an E-reader (a lovely, shiny Nook). I've owned it for almost a year. And in that time I have not purchase one single E-book. Not one!!! As of right now, my Nook contains free books from the Gutenberg project and Google books. I have the entire works of Plato (my husband read them, not me), selected works of Mark Twain, my own novels, about 10 E-books that my husband purchased on our Barnes and Noble account to read on his droid (but have I read them? Nooooo), The Bible, and The Book of Mormon (yes, I'm one of those Mormons; no, I don't smoke; yes, I drink [just not acohol]; no, my husband does not have any other wives [I know you didn't actually think he did]; and yes, I am allowed to dance [but probably shouldn't]).

Anyway, back to the subject. What is my problem? I've been trying to figure it out. I mean it's not like I write my manuscripts on typewriters, or drive a horse and carriage to the market, or heaven forbid, wash my dishes by hand. Yet here I am, like a sucker, still turning my own paper book pages. I need help. So here is my request. Please tell me the very best book you've read recently, a real page turner that you absolutely couldn't put down. Make your case and I will buy my first E-book or e-book or ebook (maybe if someone could finally decide the correct spelling I would've bought one by now). I NEED your help, you beautiful, literate people.

Super Pale and Other Heroic Feats

2011-02-08T11:17:00.000-08:00

As I was getting ready to take my son to school this morning, I looked in the mirror and said to myself, "I wonder if being pale gives you super powers, because I am super pale." I then thought, Super Pale, perfect hero name. I don't particularly like being as sun deprived as I am up here in tropical South Dakota, but thanks to Twilight, being pale is now in vogue in some circles. I'm beginning to think that theVampire name, "the cold ones" refers to the climate where they live as much as the temperature of their blood, since both likely play an equal part in the paleness of their skin. But enough deep thoughts.

In happier news, I decided to exchange my night stand for a desk. So now my husband has two night stands, and I have a massive wood and glass desk next to my side of the bed. A desk, which I might add, I dragged up three flights of stairs from the storage basement to my bedroom by. my.self. Apparently being pale does do something for my super strength. But the point is, if I only had someone to take my son to school and a stocked mini fridge, I would never have to leave my bedroom again. Can you imagine!? Am I revealing too much about my reclusive writerly nature?

Finally, I am working on my writing goals. I would like to finish my current WIP in the next four weeks. To do that I am participating in #writegoal with Margo Berendsen, otherwise know as writerWyoming on Twitter. Feel free to join us! Happy writing.

Dance, Monkey, Dance!

2011-02-07T08:03:00.000-08:00

I heard my son talking to my husband in the kitchen the other day. Out of the blue he said, "Daddy, say something funny!" I understand why he said this, my husband is one of the funniest people I know. He's a complete jokester and makes us all laugh all the time, but at that moment, when the command was given, he was at a total loss. After a several second pause he made a face and said something like, "Boogety boogety boo!" This sent my son into peals of laughter. It did the trick, but was definitely not up to par with his usual jokes and humor.

This story illustrates how I feel about my blog. I love to communicate with all of you. Sometimes I actually feel like I have something to say. Sometimes I even think it might be entertaining. But when I sit down to actually write it, the blinking cursor stares back at me and says, "Dance, monkey, dance." "Be witty!" "Be insightful." "Be brilliant." "No pressure, but your future writing career depends on the success of your blog." I know somewhere in the recesses of my mind that's not entirely true, but sometimes it feels that way.

Like my husband telling jokes because he's a funny guy, the blog should be a natural extension of who I am. I am a writer. I love writing. Blog posts are written...maybe it's just that they're about my life. I love writing fiction, not creative non-fiction.

In the end, when I blog, I just strive to be me. If there is something I find entertaining, even if it's pure silliness, (which, if you read my blog, you know it often is) I share it. If there's something touching or serious, I share that too (sometimes). If there's something insightful, especially as it relates to writing, I generally figure somebody else has already written a great post on it, (ahem, Natalie) and I don't bother.

I guess I just need to lose my inhibitions, come what may, so all you awesome bloggers (yes, I'm talking to you), tell me, what is your personal blog philosophy.

Mondays make me wax philosophical

2011-01-31T15:37:00.000-08:00

Today I'm pondering the words of...
Philosoraptor

Love Style 2011.1 - Hyperbolic Love

2011-01-28T15:21:00.000-08:00

As we near Valentine's Day, I like to examine different styles of love. Last year I did a post on Beatnik Love. This year I have a few different kinds of love I want to put on display. I will start with Hyperbolic Love.

Perhaps this is your style of love. If you're not sure, ask yourself the following question: Have you ever said to your significant other, "I would catch a grenade for ya, throw my hand on a blade for ya," only to find your significant other would not do the same? That's what happened to this poor fellow. It obviously disturbed him to the point of writing a pop song about his pain. Yes, hyperbolic lovers are prone to drama. And those of us who are not of this love style can be inclined to mock such statements, but remember, the next time you are frustrated with your hyperbolic love's over developed sense of divaness, he/she would be willing to take a bullet through the brain....for ya.

Have you ever been a bit hyperbolic in your affections? Come on fess up!! Or maybe you have a character who is a hyperbolic lover.

Next time, Love- Simile Style.

Guest Post From My Five-Year-Old

2011-01-13T06:52:00.000-08:00

Any of you who read my blog know that I occasionally like to draw stick figures to illustrate my point. If you don't know what I'm talking about, I suggest this post on the word literally. Well my son also likes to draw and illustrate his point (though, I don't think he realizes just how effective his drawings and titles can be). So today I thought I'd share his most recent painting of me. It says a thousand words about being the son of a writer, or maybe the three he used in it's title are enough. Without further Ado I present:

"An Indoor Mommy"

For further explanation on why he might think I'm an "indoor mommy" I recommend my short story, "Evolution of a Desk."

Story Tellers

2011-01-12T18:44:00.000-08:00

I have a confession, I like sappy music. I like regular stuff too, but the sappy stuff...well it just gets to me sometimes. I guess the truth is, I like any song that tells a story. I get that from my dad. When we were kids he would play his records and they were usually artists like Neal Diamond, John Denver, Jim Croce and Dan Fogelberg. I didn't exactly love the music. It wasn't your typical pre-teen/teenage fare, but I do remember him telling me that one of the reasons he liked those artists, were that they told stories with their music. After that I would listen to the words and see if I could hear the story. It was a kind of game I would play as a kid. Some of the stories were above my understanding at that age (which wasn't always a bad thing). I liked to picture what the people in the song looked like. I would wonder at their motivations and fabricate a back story or epilogue to the song. It became sort of a habit with me, one that continued until my adult years.

Then about five years ago my husband bought me tickets to a Josh Groban concert for my birthday. I always liked his music, but I was blown away with how much I loved the concert. Hearing it live, listening to his explanations, it just affected me. I came home that night and couldn't sleep. There were too many songs, too many stories. I got up and found a notebook and wrote and wrote and wrote. Mostly my scribbles were character sketches. But that was the beginning of my serious writing. It was a strange moment for me to realize, as an adult, that I was finally doing what I should have known I loved all along; telling stories. It was freeing, even exhilarating. I couldn't get enough of it, and it started because of music.

I admire an song writer's ability to tell a story in just a few stanzas. They give us just enough to form a picture and feel the emotions, while allowing us to construct the rest. It takes me a novel to do that. I guess we all have our strengths and one is not better than the other, but what I've learned is that we can all inspire each other. A beautiful painting can inspire a song which can in turn inspire a novel which can inspire a movie which can inspire a song... The circle goes round and round with endless possibilities and combinations.

What Inspires you?

Here's one of my favorite Song Stories:

Now or Never
by Josh Groban

I watch the morning dawn upon your skin
A splinter in the light
It caught and frayed the very heart of us
It's been hiding there inside for all this time
How a sure thing winds up just like this
Clockwork silence only knows

And it's no one's fault
There's no black and white
Only you and me
On this endless night
And as the hours run away
With another life
Oh, darling can't you see
It's now or never
It's now or never

Sweeping eggshells still at 3 A.M.
We're trying far too hard
The tattered thought balloons above our heads
Sinking in the weight of all we need to say
Why's and what if's have since long played out
Left us short on happy endings

And it's no one's fault
There's no black and white
Only you and me
On this endless night
And as the hours run away
With another life
Oh, darling can't you see
It's now or never
It's now or never

You know that there's so much more

Elation and Celebration (cheesy rhymes make me happy)

2010-12-10T08:12:00.000-08:00

The amazing and talented Renee at Midnight Meditations has just been offered representation for her fantastic and super unique book, SEARCHER (which I've read and LOVED!) Head on over to her blog and offer her a big pat on the back and while your there, check out her photoshop Friday posts. :) Congrat, Renee!!

Word to the Nerd(s)

2010-11-15T03:11:00.000-08:00

In this world there are nerds a plenty. As a life-long member of the group, I should know. The nice thing about nerds is that there isn't any one kind. The term nerd refers to more of a broad classification of people than any one particular group. Don't believe me, let's review a few.

There is the shy nerd, the straight-line-walking nerd, the musical nerd, the oblivious nerd, the proud nerd, the fourteen-going-on-forty nerd, the gross nerd, the brilliant-to-the-point-of -being-an-imbecile nerd, and even the faux nerd--you know, the person who is actually really cool and just wears nerd as further proof of the fact that they are too cool for it to look nerdy on them. Now you may consider that this isn't actually a classification of nerd, but rather a subtype of cool, but you would be wrong. Why, you ask? Because nerds are not exclusive, they're inclusive. They're lovers not haters, acceptors not rejectors. They protect their eyes and their pockets.

One of the things I love most about nerds is often they think they know how nerdy they are only to find out they don't. I learned this lesson over and over in my youth when I would suggest a "fun activity" to my friends only to be met with bland stares or raucous laughter. Consequently, I thought I had a firm grasp on my exact degree of nerdiness by adulthood. I was wrong. In a recent conversation with my husband and some friends I talked about going to Jr. High and High School dances on time...

"You went on time?" my husband said with a look of "I thought after eleven years of marriage I knew you." "Ya, what's wrong with that?"
"Why would you do that?" (this from another self proclaimed nerd)
"Because I wanted to talk to all my friends."
"Your friends were all there early too?"
"Ya......"
insert laughter
"You were such a nerd!"

Yes, yes I was. Apparently even more so than I realized. But I'm a nerd, so I don't care that I was even nerdier than my nerd instincts told me I was. Nor does it bother me that another nerd is proclaiming my nerdiness as if I've sunk to even new nerdy depths. I'll add to it, proudly (because nerds don't deny, they implicate themselves further). I also wore the dress my grandmother bought me for my first dance. She had good taste. No, really, she did. The dress was black velvet and taffeta with puff sleeves and layers of ruffles on the skirt.

So you may be asking, why do I proclaim my love of nerds and fiercely covet my position among them? It's simple, the nerdy, pimply, drama kings and queens of today, turn into the famous movie stars of tomorrow. The computer geeks of today end up as computer geeks of tomorrow, only a whole lot richer. Nerds provide us with literature and art and science and the need for the entire dandruff shampoo industry. In short, they make the world go round, and they do it with their own flare, or lack thereof. So today, I honor the nerds, and I do it as only a nerd could, by taking a trendy phrase and using it in a such a way as to suck all the cool right out of it. That's right I say, word. Word to the Nerd.

Were you a nerd? What was the nerdiest thing you ever did?

Dear Kasie,

2010-10-23T23:02:00.000-07:00

There's no substitute for good writing friends. Without them I would have given up a long time ago, and I am blessed to have them! Especially my dear friend Kasie. From the first time we sheepishly admitted to each other that we were both writing books, to our "book clubs" that consisted of just the two of us reviewing each others works and dreaming of publication, to our foray into the blogging world and the many other innumerable writing steps we've taken together, I've been blessed to have such a wonderful and inspiring writing buddy every step of the way! So today, since it's her Birthday, I thought I would embarrass her with her own special blog post and message:

Dear Kasie,
You are the BEST!

The end.

(Kasie's the one with the cool sunglasses. I am the one with the dorky regular ones. ;)

Dear Wisconsin, Where are your cows?

2010-09-10T18:01:00.000-07:00

I just traveled across Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and South Dakota and I have a couple of question for these states.

Dear Ohio, Why do you insist on building such huge sculptures?

Everytime I drove to Indianapolis while living in Dayton, I saw this.

And every time I drove to Cincinnati I saw this.

(Until it was struck by lightning a few months ago [true story])

Dear Indiana, Does anyone really need an ashtray next to the toilet in a public restroom?

Unfortunately, I have no picture proof. I'm still kicking myself for not taking a picture of the lovely (full) ashtray in the restroom right next to the toilet. Seriously, is anyone so addicted to nicotine that they can't spare a minute to use the loo before resuming their chain smoking habit? And isn't there just something wrong about putting anything in your mouth while you're sitting on the pot in a public restroom? Ewww.

Dear Illinois, Why must you make me love your beautiful Chicago skyline so and then make your freeways so freaky and dangerous that I can't look at it or I become lost and end up at the airport on accident twenty miles away from my husband (who has the gps in his car) and I have to ask a airport worker for directions and he gives me confusing direction and then helpfully adds, "Don't get lost again," which I don't, but am a little disgruntled for the rest of the evening?

P.S. I can't stay mad at you and your beautiful tall buildings and gorgeous architecture for long.

Dear Wisconsin, Where are your cows? I didn't see any. Is the whole cheese thing just a big conspiracy? Did all the cows move to CA? Is this huge sculpture mouse lying? And why is he standing out in front of Perkins (where we stopped for lunch)?

And further more, what's the deal with all your huge sculptures? Are you jealous of Ohio? Are you trying to be more like them?

Dear Minnesota, Why didn't you warn me that I needed my running shoes and water bottle to walk a lap around your giant mall?

Dear South Dakota, Do your inhabitants always drive so slow? Is your air always this clear and your sun always this bright? And what made you decide that you wanted to carve your giant statues into mountains?

P.S. South D. Please like me and my family.

Self portrait - The moving cross country version

2010-08-19T11:47:00.000-07:00

I'm afraid I don't have time for a "good" stick figure drawing today. This is what I looked like about eight hours ago. Since that time I've been cleaning and packing for the third day in a row. The truck is loaded (not everything fit, so we're going to try and make it fit tonight). Now all that's left to do is load both cars and drive 1200 miles. Gaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh! I'll see you guys in about a week on the other end of this waking nightmare known as moving cross country. Wish me luck!~

Mary's Request

2010-08-13T10:46:00.000-07:00

Mary won first place in my recent contest and as part of her prize she was able to request a "stick figure" drawing. She suggested I draw a Shrek-like picture of her as an Ogre who then magically turns into a lovely princess after receiving Paranormalcy, (the other part of her prize). I did my best to oblige Mary, and she posted the results on her blog here. Thanks for playing Mary, and I'll have you know I spent an extra five minutes or so on your drawing than I normally devote to my "art."

The rest of the story/contest winners!

2010-08-12T06:56:00.000-07:00

I had the hardest time picking a winner for the "What's the Story?" contest. You guys were all so dang funny and creative, not to mention many of you came close to the real story.

Some of the entry highlights:
Tricia started things off with her finely honed funny skills and suggested that the mysterious object was a "a bang trimmer and reverse mohawk doer." Clearly my bangs were having a very bad day (actually year) when this picture was taken. As always, I would like to thank Tricia for raising the level of humor on my blog. It's much needed.

Chantele brought in the possibility of dream catchers and rain dances. Intriguing and the object did look distinctly Native American. Kasie later expanded on this idea to include an Indian Chief giving me a headdress and requiring me to dance, which I couldn't do since I only knew the running man.

Then my father decided to get in on the action and reveal to all my readers that this was simply how I looked every morning when I woke up. True. Thanks, Dad.

WolfLuva said I had a unicorn horn, which was funny in and of itself, but mostly I just love her screen name, Wolfluva. I almost gave her a prize based on that alone!

Also, I have to thank Jessie for interpreting the Chinese comments I always get. Jessie, can you take a job as a full time interpreter? If so, you're hired!

Seriously, I wish I had time to mention all the entries they were so great!

Laurel was the first to pick up on the Christmas tree. Kudos to her for her impressive observation skills. This was followed by many other Christmastime theories. Indeed it was Christmas, and I loved all the variations on what could be causing the look of teenage angst on my face. But it was Mary who came closest to the truth with the following explanation:

I think you're at your grandparents house at Christmas time and your wondering when you can go home - the party's getting kind of lame. The blurry dangler is one of your grandma many homemade ornaments.

I was at my Grandparent's house for Christmas Eve. I was helping with the traditional Christmas Eve program and getting ready to play some Christmas songs on the piano. The ornament was one of many homemade ornaments on my grandmother's tree.

The only thing Mary didn't get right was the reason for my expression. I actually loved being at my grandparents during Christmas. What I didn't love was getting my picture taken, and my little sister was the queen of picture taking. She tried to be sneaky and get one from behind the tree, but as you can see I caught her. This picture is famous in my family. I was that year's official Grinch.

Recognize me now?

For her excellent guessing skills I award Mary with first prize, a pre-order copy of Kiersten White's Paranormalcy, which comes out the end of this month and a lovely stick figure drawing. Congratulations,Mary and thanks for participating.

Second place goes to Laurel for picking up on the Christmas theme in the first place. Laurel gets bragging rights and a stick figure drawing of her choice.

Mary and Laurel, let me know what you would like me to draw. It can be anything, I promise I will do my best! Mary if you could shoot me an email with your address at candice_kennington(at)comcast(dot)net I will get that book ordered for you today!

Thanks to everyone who participated. I really thought the entries were awesome and wish I was rich enough to give you all a book! I think I will run a similar contest in the future so that I can give away copies of upcoming author's books. I like the idea of supporting debut authors.

Sticking it to the Woman (The refusing to shower in the mornings rant)

2010-08-10T06:49:00.000-07:00

No, this is not a statement of feminism, more just one of fact since it seems that it's woman's expectation who rules my life (my husband is very accepting of me and all my imperfections). And when I worked in my career field most of my bosses were women. Now that I'm a stay-at-home mom I'm surrounded by women. So I'll say it again, I'm sticking it to the woman, the one that makes me think I need to get up every morning and fix my hair to clean my house. She has many other expectations for me (ones I'm sure we'll get to in future installments of this rant), but the getting-ready-for-the-day-and-the-showering one is what I'm focusing on today.

Why would I shower in the morning so that I could remain clean for all of two minutes before I'm covered in boogers, dishwater, chocolate milk and any number of unnamed and unknown substances? Listen here, Woman--THAT MAKES NO SENSE! And I hate things that don't make sense. Therefor I am henceforth (yes I used two conjunctive adverbs right by each other, get over it WOMAN) reserving my shower until the early to late afternoon and on occasion evenings. That way I can exercise, clean, cook, garden, and make award winning play doh sculptures without cursing your name every minute of the day. And since I'm not showering until later in the day, why would I change out of my pajamas? As I said before, that makes no sense.

My life is about to change. From now on my husband will no longer need to plug his nose to give me a hug after work. I will enjoy eating my dinner in clean clothes. My sheets will not be stained with residue of housework. I will wear new pajamas every night and the same clothes for days in a row. It's gonna be epic, awesome, life changing. And to prove I'm serious I ran on the treadmill in my nightgown this morning.

So take THAT, Woman!

In unrelated news, my contest closes tonight at midnight. Your entries have been awesome! I seriously don't know how I'm going to choose.

The New/Old Blogtacular - Win a Copy of Paranormalcy!

2010-08-05T03:16:00.000-07:00

Since I'm beginning anew with my new/old blog (see previous post), I thought I should do something I've never done before ... a contest! I hear they're all the rage. So I figure what the heck, I'll give it a try. Maybe we can have a little fun, and if you win I will pre-order a copy of Kiersten White's Paranormalcy and have it shipped directly to you! How cool is that?! If you don't know how cool that is then I highly suggest you check this out.

The winner and runner-up will also receive a custom stick-figure drawing by yours truly. It's guaranteed to take me at least three minutes to complete and will be sent directly to your inbox. I bet you can't wait to get your hands on one of these (note the sarcasm in my blog voice).

*Example only. Your drawing may or may not be of similar quality.

So now that we know the stakes, let's get down to the nitty gritty. Time to play...

What's the Story Here?

The following is a crop of a picture of me (no, I have no shame. Why do you ask?). Your task is to tell me what you think the full picture will reveal (e.g. what are those objects in the picture, why do I have such a lovely expression on my face, what am I doing, etc.). The length of the answer is up to you. It could be a few words or a few paragraphs. The person who gets the closest will win. If nobody is anywhere near the right answer I'll just choose my favorite guesses. Winners and full picture will be revealed in one week, so you have until midnight Tuesday to enter. Let the games begin!

Take 2

2010-08-03T05:09:00.000-07:00

I was thinking the other day how nice it would be if I could take what I know now, after a few years of blogging and being active in the writing community, and start over. And then I realized, hey wait a minute, I can. I do it every time I start a new book, why not on my blog too? After all, it is MY blog.

So without further Ado I present to you, Suffering From Writer's Blog TAKE 2. Apparently the first year and a half was just practice.

Now for the nitty gritty--what to expect from my blog:

-Brevity

-Stick Figures (done exclusively with the highly technical and exclusive program, Microsoft Paint)

-An ocassional outcry of frustration using strong language (like sassafrassa and dagnabit)

-Antics, lots and lots of antics

-An utter lack of filtering between my brain and the type written page

-TBD (Yes, the rest is To Be Determined, but you can also expect lots of acronyms because I love them)

**I've re-added a few favorite posts for blog flavor.

Something to Miss

2010-06-28T06:31:00.000-07:00

I love the way thunderstorms roll in here. Last night we opened the curtains and the windows and all sat on the bed and watched the, now familiar, phenomenon. At first there was a dark, jagged line across the sky where the clouds turn from steely blue to dark charcoal. Far back in the distance bright lightning flashed, still too far away for the resulting thunder to be heard. Then came the wind, it was almost instant, stillness one second followed by whistling and howling the next. Finally the rain. We watched it appear in the street light of the culdesac behind us before it hit our window. I'm truly going to miss the way the storm gods seem to pull the weather across the sky here like a giant, metallic sheets, rumbling a cracking as they pass.

FUNNY!!

2010-04-21T08:43:00.000-07:00

I'm peeping out of my hiatus to share this bit of humor with you. I haven't laughed so hard in a long time. This man is an idea factory. If his wife were a writer she would have an endless well of ideas to draw from.

Warning: This video is totally clean, but the website that documents his sleep talking is full of uninhibited ramblings which contain a lot of swearing, so be aware of that if you decide to check it out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WztLoZZkTc0&feature=related

For some reason Youtube won't let me embed this.

***My personal favorite:
"Garlic cheese! Double death to you, you lactose intolerant vamp man!"

What I expect from you!

2010-04-09T07:28:00.000-07:00

You know that thing you feel when waiting at a stoplight for thirty seconds seems like it takes too much time out of your day. I've been feeling that a lot lately. Life is a series of crests and troughs. Sometimes I'm riding high, sometimes I get a bit bogged down. I'm not complaining, just stating the facts.

My husband's work is taking him to D.C. for the rest of the month, and we're going with him. After we get back from D.C., I have family coming into town followed by a long trip to California for more family excitement stuff, and then we will be moving (again). No, I don't know where to yet. Could be Arizona, could be Guam or a number of other places... Hopefully we'll find out by the end of April.

So that's my long way of saying that I'm taking a hiatus from blogging for a while. Maybe a month, maybe the whole summer. I haven't decided yet, but I hope you'll all be here when I find my way back. Don't forget me ;)! I expect you all to be agented, published, and on your way to a life of literary success when I get back.

I don't care how many cool monsters you have in your story.

2010-04-03T06:02:00.000-07:00

Put me, a pretty girl in a toga, and a hero with an accent in your story, and you won't have to worry about anything else.

As I become more and more involved in the writing community I must admit, I have a hard time not analyzing everything I read and watch. I find that the typical bad boy just doesn't do it for me and a lot of cool special effects won't make up for a lack of characterization.

I can enjoy some aspects of almost any book or movie, and I always try to look for what was done right as much as for what was done wrong. I want to learn from both. But in the end I favor great characters over almost everything else.

This was especially apparent to me last night as I watched Clash of the Titans with my husband. I don't want to dissuade you from going to it. I love Greek mythology, and it was entertaining enough, not to mention the special effects were really cool. But I just found something lacking in the main character. He was so flat to me. His motivations should have been clear, but at times were confusing, and he did a lot of raspy-voice, tough-talking one-liners. Honestly, I like Hades more (played by the amazingly talented Ralph Fiennes). His character I understood. Even though he was doing bad things, in a way, I liked him more than the hero because his character was three-dimensional. By the end of the movie I wasn't sure if I was rooting for Perseus or the Cracken.

The whole experience felt like eating pancakes without anything on top. I was full, but everything was a bit dry going down and felt heavy in my stomach afterward. A little syrup or jam and a edible meal would have become a delight.

When does your story open up?

2010-03-25T17:02:00.000-07:00

I'm always interested to see other writer's creative process. I've learned that as writers we share so much, yet there is so much individuality in methods. This post may be more for me than for you, but I would like to document my own creative process.

*I find my stories start in different ways--sometimes it's a character, sometimes a setting, sometimes a song inspires me, or a book or funny anecdotal story.

*Writing the first chapter almost always reveals the arc of my novel.

*After I know the arc, I write down an overreaching, very broad outline in my notebook.

*I think and think and think about my characters motivations. I ponder them when I'm washing the dishes, folding the laundry, laying in bed at night, listening to music.

*The nuances creep in at random times (often early morning or right before I fall asleep), and I must act. I keep notebooks everywhere. At the beginning of the school year Walmart had one subject notebooks on sale for .05 each. I bought one hundred of them, literally. I use the notebooks to write down details of my story, or I go to my computer if I can and type them at the bottom of my manuscript to use like a checklist.

*I would say, in general, by the time I've reached ten thousand words I know all the major plot twists and the ending of my story. At which point I may, or may not write a chapter by chapter outline.

What about you? When do you know the whole story? Do you outline everything before writing it? Are you a free-writer who discovers your story all along the way? What works for you?

Writing a Query is HARD!

2010-03-18T07:29:00.000-07:00

Consider the title of this post my "duh" statement for the year. This week I've been thinking life would be so much easier if I could just write a novel to explain my novel. Seriously. I would also vastly prefer to illustrate my novel with stick figures, or better yet, I would just send the illustration Natalie Whipple drew of Jade and Jet arguing. That would get fulls requested for sure!

I know there are a few of you out there who love writing query letters. You baffle and amaze me. I have rewritten my query one ga-jillion times and cannot come close to your awesomeness. Yet I persevere (insert heroic, martyresque music). I continue writing and rewriting until my eyes are crossed and I am roaming my house like a query-brained zombie, mumbling plot lines like lyrics from a pesky song.

I need a distraction stat. I think I still have some of the Chocolate cow pie Jessie sent me. I'm going downstairs to look for it...

Devastation

2010-03-12T06:01:00.000-08:00

I was doodling this morning and I thought I would share.

I would just like to personally apologize to these contestants for liking them. Apparently my support is the kiss of death on American Idol. What in the world was America thinking????

AI and Querying Fun.

2010-03-11T09:49:00.000-08:00

First off, I want to cover the important stuff going on this week--American Idol. The top twelve are about to be chosen! Yep, things are getting interesting. I'm rooting (at least for now) for Alex Lambert. That kid can sing and I never thought a sflb (short front long back) haircut could be so cute. I must admit his first performance was PAINFUL. He looked so incredibly awkward, but man did he come back and now I'm rooting for him. Other contestants I really like, Siobhan, Michael, and Crystal and Lily. What about you guys?

Now on to writing. I'm working on my query letter. It is WAY harder to write than I expected, even with awesome help (you know who you are). But I'm so happy to be moving along in the process. Wish me luck! Have a good week.

I was on American Idol!!

2010-03-04T12:38:00.000-08:00

I know what you're thinking (at least those of you who know me personally), you're thinking I'm too old (true, my American Idol dreams died five years ago). You're also thinking I can't sing that well (undeniably true), but neither of those things stopped me from having a very realistic dream in which I was performing on American Idol. I have new respect for those contestants and what they go through now that I've "experienced" it. Let me tell you, it's not as easy as it looks.

My journey on American Idol started with the contestants sitting in the audience, not the red room. It was our first live performance. I was sitting on the end of the front row, waiting from my turn when they went to a commercial break. Knowing I was next, I looked down to smooth out my clothes and found, to my horror, that I was wearing a long, stretchy, cotton-knit skirt, ugly, dirty tennis shoes, and a oversized, wrinkled t-shirt. How could I have chosen these clothes and not even realized what I was wearing, I thought? They were ugly and wrinkled and made me look fat! So, without permission, I darted from my chair and down the hall into the dressing room to find something else to wear, because America could not see me in that!

As I tore through my suitcase, I found more of the same, wrinkled oversized t-shirts, stretched out tube socks, stretchy skirts and pants. The only exception was a green, ribbed, v-neck shirt and a pair of designer jeans. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was saved. I ripped off my hideous ensemble and started putting on the clothes. Down the hall I could hear Ryan talking to America. The commercial break was over. I panicked, I still wasn't finished dressing. Outside a producer yelled through the door (not nice things). I grabbed the waist band of my jeans and tugged on them. I remember thinking that I would just have to go barefoot and pretend like it was intentional because there was not time for shoes. The jeans stuck at my hips. I pulled harder. I was frantic. I could hear Ryan stalling. Finally they inched over my hips, and I was just barely able to get them zipped. I am going to make it, I thought with a surge of hope.

Then I noticed my pockets. The were bulging out, the interior fabric flapping around my hips like tiny useless wings. I grabbed them and tried to stuff them back in, but there was no room. The levi fabric was hugging my body like a second skin. I shoved harder, but I only managed to tuck the fabric back inside the very top edge of the pockets. It looked like I was carrying wadded up socks on each side. If only I had a longer shirt, I thought, but there was no more time. I would just have to risk it or lose my chance forever.

I walked toward the stage as fast as the confining jeans would let me. Ryan looked at me out of the corner of his eyes, ever the professional, his relief didn't show on his face, but I knew I was going to hear about my stunt later. He introduced me, handed me the microphone. "Take it away," he said. I took it from his hand and turned to face the audience and cameras. I had made it in the nick of time. I didn't look great, but at least I didn't look like a hobo either. I didn't ruin my chance. I took a deep breath as the music started to play, and then it hit me; I had no idea what to sing. In all my worry about wardrobe I'd forgotten that I didn't even prepare a song. And what was worse, I realized, I didn't know how to sing either. How could I have forgotten that? Humiliation washed over me, but fortunately that was where the dream ended. Thank goodness, because I don't think I could have kept my composure through the judges comments after that. You know how in dreams you just know things. Well, I knew that they judges were not fans of mine.

When I woke up the next morning I have to admit I was a little confused (not to mention stressed). Why would I have such a strange dream? I'm not one to put much stock in dream interpretation, but I do think our lives can sometimes influence our dreams. So just for kicks, I decided to investigate the possible causes of my stress dream. I came to two conclusions:

1) I obviously take my American Idol watching a little too seriously (and I had watched it that night).

2) This whole getting ready to query thing may be more anxiety provoking than I consciously realized.

There are all kinds of possible parallels I could draw between my performance anxiety (and lack of preparation) and querying, and I have been drawing them, but I would be curious to hear what you guys think? Was my American Idol experience just a metaphor for my querying fears? Do dreams really mean anything?

Tribute to the characters of Fablehaven

2010-02-25T09:10:00.000-08:00

I am a huge fan of the Fablehaven series. Some of you may have heard me talk about it before on my blog or yours in the comment section. I really just think the books are charming and enjoyable for all ages (from my 11-yr-old brother to my age-not-to-be-mentioned father) . Two weeks ago I got to hear the author of the series, Brandon Mull, speak about his books to a group of kids and adults. I also attended a few workshops where he was a panelist and went to a book signing. So this week, in honor of the forthcoming, fifth and final installment of the series, Keys to the Demon Prison, I bring you,

Characters and Covers of Fablehaven

How Brandon Mull makes well known mythological characters new and unique.

My art vs. the professionals (there's very little difference, as you can see).

There are witches.

And then there is Muriel

The creepy-house-in-the-forest-knot-chewing-until-your-gums-bleed Fablehaven witch.

There are Frogs

Then there's Ollach the Glutton

The eating-everything-and-person-in-sight-growing-bigger-than-a-house-demon-frog.

There are centaurs (Napolean Dynamitesque)

Then there is Cloudwing and Broadhoof (and others).

The powerful-and-noble-yet-arrogant-to-fault Centaurs of Fablehaven.

There are Dragons

And then there's Navrog

The-Demon-Prince-lord-among-dark dragons-covered-in-oily-black-scales-belching-fire-like-liquid-gold dragon of Fablehaven

There are Fairies

And then there's this dude!

No, I don't know who is yet (the book comes out March 23rd), but the cover is beautiful! My guess is this is the fairie king. I guess we'll see.

If you haven't read these, you've still got a month before the final one comes out. Happy reading!

LTUE Life the Universe and Everything (I couldn't think of anything original for this title)

2010-02-18T07:07:00.000-08:00

I just got back from a long weekend in Utah where I attended the LTUE writing conference, a phenonmenon known to husbands everywhere by it's true name "excuse to hang out with the girls" (or maybe that's just at my house). There may or may not have been some workshop skipping, hanging out moments (or hours). But the important thing is that while we were hanging out there was much discussion of books and authors and becoming book authors.

I actually did attend several workshops and learned a great deal of useful information. There were a variety of panelists ranging from best-selling authors to artists and even ghost hunters. Some highlights for me were listening to the podcast Writing Excuses by Brandon Sanderson, Dan Wells, Howard Taylor, and special guest James Dashner. It's a fifteen minute writing podcast that is entertaining AND useful (it reminded me of my husband, funny and useful). *Note to self: writing can be funny and useful, not just people.*

I also loved the keynote address. Brandon Sanderson was inspiring! I wish I could have recorded what he said, but Jenn did a great job of restating it on her blog, so I'll let you read it there. Suffice it to say that I got goosebumps a few times. It was like a big pep rally for writers of speculative fiction. So awesome. I felt like standing up afterward and turning to the audience and saying, "I love all of you people," and then turning to the attendee who was snorting and making other wet sounds behind me and pointing at him and saying, "even you." There was that much good feeling in the room. I am also that cheesy.

Another highlight was meeting the authors at book signings, readings, and just around the conference. I was so impressed with how generous they were with their time. I just have to put a plug in here for a couple of my favorite books.

The Maze Runner

by James Dashner (who was hilarious and so nice)

For the past several months I'd heard the buzz surrounding this book, but it wasn't until a few weeks ago that I got the chance to read it. I was not disappointed. In fact, I read it in one day, staying up until the early morning hours to finish. I had to know what was going to happen. I think this is because Dashner is a master at pacing and hooks. His book is a true page turner. At one point during the conference, after he had finished reading two chapters for the sequel, The Scorch Trials (aren't you jealous!), he mentioned that The Maze Runner is more than 100K words. We were all shocked. It just flew by. I think that speaks to the the authors story, but also to his technique, which he was kind enough to share elements of during the podcast. I highly suggest you listen to it.

I also highly suggest you buy the book. What are you waiting for? Go now.

Maybe I'll save my next book review until next week. I also want to talk about the aspiring authors I met who were so wonderful. I think this blog post is probably long enough, and I've decided to adopt the Writing Excuses podcast philosophy of keeping it short because, as they say, "You're in a hurry, and [I'm] not that smart."

Next week: Fablehaven (I may even draw)

Love - Beatnik Style

2010-02-03T05:12:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago Renee joked that she could imagine me reading something I wrote Beatnik style. So I thought, hmmm I can do Beatnik. I'll just write a rhythmic poem ending in death. (That may not be the actual, technical definition of Beatnik poetry. Also, actual Beatniks may or may not take their poetry writing more seriously than I do.) So without further ado I present to you LOVE, beatnik style (or more accurately, my perception of Beatnik)

Vision

Masterpiece

Perfect semblance of potential unrequited adoration

Unspoken obsession

Worshipping the notion of what could be

Reason, speaking softly doles out temperance

Blessed temperance

Cursed temperance

Longing builds to ecstasy when first met with hope

Self-doubt

Heightened need and hesitation

He loves me

He loves me not

Then the magnificent first declaration

Requited

The sun rises on our love

It flows across the sky

Warm

Brilliant perfection

Until sunset

Behind the mountain an explosion of scarlet and crimson

The color of love

The color of death*

*It should be noted that I take love seriously and do not actual equate it with death. However Valentine's Day (and month), or the time when the commercial world tells you that you are required to show your love, I cannot take seriously. Ever.

Have you ever lost that lovin' feeling?

2010-01-28T10:04:00.000-08:00

Love seems an appropriate subject as we go into February. I think I may stick with it for a few weeks. This week I'll address love lost and how to get it back.

As you may be able to tell by the image above, I'm talking about losing the book love (Neal, honey, you can breathe a sigh of relief). I think this past month or so I'd lost my way a bit in regards to writing. I am beginning to recognize a pattern in myself. And the pattern in this: I get close to finishing a manuscript and I stop writing. I haven't analyzed exactly why yet. Maybe it's burnout, or maybe subconsciously I don't want the project to be over because I worry it won't be good enough or worth all the hours and hours I put into it. Maybe I'm just a huge procrastinator. But whatever the reason I found the cure...again.

Why do I say again? Because every time this happens it seems I have to re-remind myself of what made me want to start writing in the first place. Reading. I Love books. I love reading. I love sitting on the floor between the dusty stacks of the library and looking at spines with names of authors I've never heard of and thinking I might just find a jewel among them. I wonder if my new favorite book is waiting to be discovered.

Over Christmas I decided to do some reading. I set aside my writing and picked up a few books. I started with Catching Fire (are you all gasping, no I had not read it yet). I LOVED it, as much or more as the Hunger Games. I just have to give a shout out to Susan Collins (though she'll never see this, I'm sure), Thank you for reminding me how awesome a book can be! It seems that the title of that first Christmas read was appropriate because my desire to read was rekindled. For months I'd only wanted to write, but that changed. For the last couple of weeks I've been reading three of four books a week and I am in heaven. Oh, reading how could I have neglected you so?

What's more, my reading motivates me. I want to write after reading a good book. For some reason it's just a natural progression for me. So, though I don't know why I get the end-of-book-writer's-block, I now know the cure. Find something to read, duh!

How do you rekindle your love of writing or reading?

A continuation of my "weekly" post

2010-01-22T07:23:00.000-08:00

First, I want to say thank you to Tiana for giving me the Happy Blog Award.

Tiana has a wonderful blog that I suggest you check out!

Secondly, I would like to encourage you to go enter Jessie's Cowpie contest! If you like talking about the end of the world and eating giant poo shaped chocolate than this contest is for you! Who doesn't love that kind of stuff?

In an effort to avoid writing the end of my book (I've been like two chapters from finishing for almost a month now), I decided that it was imperative I enter her one paragraph contest with a three hundred word story. Yes, I totally cheated, and know I probably cant win as a result, but the important thing is that I found something I "needed" to do more than finish my book. And since I only posted a semi-blog yesterday, I thought today I would post my contest entry. Only this version is a spell checked, unlike the comment version. I call it:

Dairy Apocolypse: The Tragic End of Cowpies and Chocolate

Barbie and Kenneth laid on their backs staring at the sky. The ash and smoke swirled above them in hues of russet and auburn. Barbie thought it looked like rows of giant cow pies melted together by the heat of the sun they blocked out.

Kenneth reached for her hand and interlaced his fingers between hers. “In a way it’s beautiful. Like a sky of molten chocolate.”

“Yeah,” she said, “that’s just what I was thinking. Except just there,” she pointed to a particularly swirly section of sky, “that one reminds me of cow pies on my grandpa’s ranch right before the war broke out, and all the cows were killed. I used to love the way the smell of manure hung in the air and mixed with the scent of cut hay…” The last word was muffled by the lump that rose in her throat.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Let it all out. Talking about your feelings is the first step to healing.”

She felt so lucky to have him. He was the only one she could talk to. Even if he hadn’t been the last man on earth she still would have chosen him as a confidant. She took a deep breath and continued.

“Now that cows are extinct…”

She let the implication hang between them. Kenneth gave her hand a squeeze. She knew he could hear the pain in her words. He felt it too, the loss of cows meant there would be no dairy for chocolate. The swirls in the sky would be the closest to cow pies or chocolate they ever came again.

A tear rolled down Barbie’s face. Kenneth pulled her to him and pressed her head against his chest.

“We’ll survive. We’ll adapt. We have each other. That’s all that matters.”

He was right. She was strong. They lay listening to the absence of sound around them. There were no crickets chirping, no grass rustling, only the wind. Then something broke the silence.

“Do you hear that?” Kenneth sat up so fast Barbie’s head hit the dry dirt with a thud.

“What is it?” she said sitting up and rubbing the back of her skull with one hand.

“Be quiet. Listen carefully.”

She held perfectly still and strained her ears. Then a faint noise was carried on the wind. It can’t be. But it was. Her heart soared they were saved, for amidst the dry desolation and absence of sounds of life could be heard the faintest reverberations of a, MOO…

If you want to enter to win what Barbie and Kenneth both longed for click here to go to Jessie's contest .

What's a picture worth? Depends on who's drawing it.

2010-01-21T06:59:00.000-08:00

They say a picture's worth a thousand words. I figure they're probably talking about the Monalisa. So by my estimation that means my picture should be worth a sentence or two. Last week I used my desk to illustrate the evolution of my day. This week I present to you my night stand. I think it's pretty self-explanatory. See you all next week

Evolution of a Desk : a graphic novelette

2010-01-13T13:11:00.000-08:00

This is really just a story with a few pictures, but graphic novelette sounded so much grander.

Candice was an aspiring author with a jovial disposition, supportive family, and writing habits of an irregular nature. One morning she woke up feeling fresh and full of hope, and thought to herself, perhaps I should tidy my work space today and provide my story a calm environment in which to grow.

She walked into her office and stood, hands on her hips like the champion of cleanliness she was about to become, and made a heroic statement.

"I shall clean my desk and office," she said.

Her eyes took on a valiant gleam as they passed over the dimensions of her adversarial foe. The small room, which since the beginning of her novel writing had mysteriously become the hub of the entire home, would not get the better of her today. For today was a day for victory!

No, nothing could discourage Candice from her goal of ultimate spotlessness, not the toys on the floor; not the unmade guest bed; not the fifty glass votives that her husband had unpacked and left on the bed because he "needed the box"; not the stacks of papers rising higher than a congressional health care bill; not the duffle bag full of unpacked clothes from Christmas; not the piles of laundry both dirty and clean; not the dirty dishes sitting on the printer cart; not the trash, over flowing with paper, that must be dragged down the stairs...

"I shall clean my desk!" she cried and let her eyes wander no further than the confines of the small wood and glass desk.

The muscle under her eye twitched once. Like a pro, she gave it a decisive jab with her index finger, and it was still. She went to work.

Fifteen minutes later she splayed her hands on the cool surface of the clean desktop which was held up by strangely fawn looking wooden legs. Her breath was coming slow and steady. The serenity of her bubble of cleanliness worked its magic, and her imagination was freed. She sighed and closed her eyes. Her characters were there, vivid in her mind. They made jokes and did heroic deeds at her command. She laughed out loud. For the first time in many a week it was an actual sound and not an acronym on a computer. It felt good to be living in the real world again, just her and her make believe friends.

The scene was set in her mind and at her desk. It was time to write. She focused on her computer screen through her one good eye and ignored the throbbing from the one she had blackened.

"Better black than twitchy." The motto was as familiar to her as the back of her twitch-poking finger.

Her hands poised above her keyboard. They flexed and stretched preparing for the marathon of brilliance that was about to be channeled through them. But something was amiss. The exertions of her ten minute cleaning had left her throat parched like the desserts of the Sahara after a millennial drought.

"Water," she choked through her nearly cracked lips. "These working conditions are insupportable. I must have a cold drink. Then the proverbial creative juices will flow in vats, when I am no longer dehydrated."

She walked down the stairs, getting in her exercise quota for the day, and searched for her lucky green cup. It lay in the sink under the cutting board used to prepare the chicken for the previous evening’s meal (another heroic achievement). She smiled. Then she frowned. Was it too dirty to use? People always talked about Salmonella like it was bad thing. Perhaps a blue cup could be lucky today. Yes! A blue cup for a new luck!

Back at her desk the great American novel beckoned to her from the depths of the blinking cursor. She would answer its call. But wait, there was a noise. A grumbling that couldn't be ignored. Clearly all the cleaning and exercise had awakened a monster within her. One that needed oatmeal.

She walked back down the stairs.

"At least I won't have to work out tomorrow," she said, ever the positive Pollyanna.

Preparing the instant oatmeal took precious minutes off her writing schedule. Perhaps she should just write the good American novel, she thought. Clearly the GREAT American novel required more time than her tight schedule allowed her.

On the way back to her den of sanity and cleanliness she passed her ipod. The battery was dead. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized how narrowly a tragedy had been avoided. The ipod needed to be charged and ready in case of a writing block emergency. How could she have started such a strenuous endeavor as writing the good American novel without her writer's first aid kit? She wondered what else she had forgotten.

Her phone! It was impossible to seek emergency validation without it. The internet was just too slow.

Now she was ready to sit and work at her nice, clean desk, as soon as she grabbed her notebook off the night stand and reviewed the midnight inspiration that had struck right before she’d fallen asleep. Putting the notebook next to her bed had been a stroke of genius. Now she would never again wake up and mourn the loss of a cleaver phrase or description of the variety that could only be thought up when her brain was too relaxed to hold it back.

She looked at the writing, ready to be amazed by her own intellect. What would it say? A single word sprawled three lines. AUM.

AUM? What could it mean? A name perhaps, or a place. A sound that would be bellowed by her hero at just the right moment. Maybe it was an abbreviation. What could it stand for? She pounded her fist on the notebook. Only something life-changingly brilliant could be this vague and forgettable. In desperation she typed it into her MS Word sidebar. A definition popped up. Success!

AUM- Another spelling of OM. Indian Religion Buddhism.

Could that be it, she wondered? Was she going to write about a monk? Maybe her next scene would take place in a monastery. She would have remembered that, wouldn’t she? In a final desperate attempt to trigger some sort of memory she opened Firefox and Googled the word. First result, Auburn University Montgomery—no. American Utility Management—no. Hindu symbol of absolute—no,no,no!!

Wait…American Utility Management. It all clicked into place.

“The gas bill,” she exclaimed and pounded her palm against her forehead. It was late and she’d almost forgotten to pay it again.

She grabbed for her check book and scribbled out the necessary letters and numbers, congratulating herself on another catastrophe narrowly avoided in the dead of winter. Little did she know what lay ahead...For all of her heroics had eaten up the morning hours, the time of good cartoons. And just below her the four-year-old had become bored…

The demands and requests began:

“I’m hungry, so very really, hungry.”

"I miss Louie. He misses me too. He’s my own special dog that misses me. Mommy, will you please find a picture of him?”

“I have a tummy ache in my head. I need a dinosaur vitamin.”

“I cut my hair like daddy’s.”

“I’m hungry, hungry, HUNGRY!”

Perhaps today was not the day for even the good American novel. Candice knew she needed to be sensible. What could her brain realistically accomplish after half a day of heroics and disaster avoidance? A chapter, no. A poem, maybe a haiku. She laid her head down on the desk. The surface was soft, almost squishy. Inspiration struck swift and strong, like an arachnophobic woman with a fly swatter killing spiders in the jungle. When motivation had fled there was really only one answer. She had to find a way to get it back. She had to clear the chaos. The answer was staring her right in the face.

She stood, hands on her hips like the champion of cleanliness she was about to become, and made a heroic statement.

"I shall clean my desk and office," she said.

The Bullet, a token from my holiday season.

2010-01-07T05:57:00.000-08:00

Hi Everyone! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season. I know I did. I just returned from three weeks in Arizona, otherwise known as the land of eternal sunshine. I was so happy to escape the cold of Ohio that I didn't even mind not having a white Christmas. But now I'm back and the weather gods thought they would play a funny joke and send a storm my way. We're supposed to get four inches of snow today. The only bright side is that my husband may get sent home early from work to avoid the storm. Anyway... I ramble. Back to what we all love, writing.

I set a goal this month. Not a New Year's resolution, but a goal for January. I am about to finish my second book (Jaded, the one pictured in the post below), and I've decided that I'm ready to enter the world of querying in earnest before the month is out. To do that I'm going to finish the last couple chapters, re read my manuscript a couple more times, do some final fine tuning, and then send out my book to readers in ten days. Most of my beta readers are really, wonderfully fast and send me back edits within a week, so I'm planning on sending out queries before January is over. Wish me luck.

Soon I will be getting plenty of rejections and hopefully a few requests. I'm so lucky to have lots of friends who have gone through this process before me and shown me the way. Many of them are now represented and some even have publishing dates, but I know it took a lot of work and waiting to get there, so I'm expecting the same, but I'm hopeful.

In other unrelated news I would like to say that I left the the holiday season with a something I would rather not have, a new haircut. After six months of avoidance I decided I had to find someone to cut my hair, so to be safe I went to a nice salon and paid way to much for what I got. In fact I think the stylist should pay me remunerations for my pain and suffering. Frankly I could have done a better job with my own kitchen utensils.

If you want to know what it looks like imagine the melding of a bowl cut with a mullet. So attractive. I call it the Bullet.

I would show you an actual picture, but I don't want to burn your eyes.

Let's just say there's no dressing this thing up. If I wear blue to try and bring out the blue of my eyes, I just bring out the bowl of the bullet. If I wear a hat I bring out the mull. The bullet is like Niel Diamond and Broadway tunes it's a combination of two thing that should never have met, but once they do the result is unforgettable for all the wrong reasons.

Can you think of any other combinations that are so unnatural their unforgettable?

I can't believe I've never posted this before!

2009-12-16T06:26:00.001-08:00

The lovely and uber-talented Natalie Whipple did me the honor of drawing a scene from my book, Jaded. I felt like the luckiest writer around to get to see my characters come to life through her art. So without further ado, I present (for those of you who haven't already seen this) Jade and Jet...arguing. It's just what they do. :)

I highly suggest clicking on this to blow it up. I absolutely love the expressions on their faces.

Here's a little blurb about the book:

In the world Jade lives in, superheroes are all about the glory. When she agrees to take a job as an analyst with the International Bureau of Remarkable Genetic Assets (or IBRAG as she prefers to call it), she hopes to stay working behind the scenes and not directly with the Assets (she has a nickname for them too). But she’s smart, and her impeccable mission plans quickly get her noticed. Before long she finds herself promoted to the coveted position of field agent, and despite her reluctance, she’s sent on a mission with a dozen of the world’s hot-headed, self-important superheroes.

Between Deja View’s constant need to tell her, her five minute future, “The” Hawk’s efforts to perpetually paint her as a damsel in distress, and the appearance of an old flame, Jade begins to regret ever agreeing to head up the mission to save the world. Then she meets Jet. Some supers wear super suits, some wear Armani, but Jet is the first one she’s met who wears faded t-shirts and threadbare jeans. From the top of his sun-bleached head to the flip flops on his feet, Jet looks more like a surf bum than he does a super-sonic hero

Seven Things.

2009-12-11T07:52:00.000-08:00

Kasie gave me a blog award that entails revealing seven things about yourself others may not know. She challenged me to come up with something she didn't know about me too. Considering she's my best friend and knows a lot, that may be hard, but I'll give it my best shot.

1. I absolutely LOVE terrible 80's love songs. The cheesier the better, and if they have a bad video to go along with the song I love them even more. But probably my favorite all time eighties love song/video is actually not from the 80s. It's from the movie, Music and Lyrics. I'll share...

2. At my grad night I made my own music video with friends to Vanilla Ice's, Ice Ice Baby.

3. I hitchhiked in Mexico. (I don't recommend hitchhiking ever. It was really stupid. Aren't you glad you didn't know that before mom?)

4. I've been stung by a scorpion.

5. I once salsa danced with a member of the Mexican mafia in Mexico City. (Okay, sorry again, mom. But I didn't actually know he was mafia at the time.)

6. I participated in some very embarrassing fashion trends in my childhood, like the fan bangs coupled with a bad perm and the wearing of overalls half undone. My favorite overalls were pink and purple flowers. (I feel like I need to apologize to my mom again.)

7. In college my fashion sense improve marginally. Most of the time I looked like this.

But then I would end up looking like this:

Which one time led to this:

The frown on my face is not so much for the broken arm as it is for the fact that my husband had to fix my hair for eight weeks. It was almost enough to cause a fight (I say almost because we had only been married a few months and were still blissfully unaware of each other's faults).

So there are my seven things. I hereby pass this award along to Voidwalker and Shannon, two of my favorite new blog reads.

update:

I recieved an award from Laurel that also has me list things about myself. The timing is very convenient. :) Thank you for your thoughtfulness Laurel.

A time for reaching out.

2009-12-03T10:51:00.000-08:00

I love this Christmas picture. It reminds me of the simple joy of Christmas children experience. It also makes me think about how my own Christmas experience has changed throughout my life. I love this time of year. The smell of cinnamon pine cones fills my kitchen and a beautiful red and gold wreath greets all who enter my house. I find that I'm focused on family and anticipating my long visit home. I read Benjamin a little storybook about the birth of Jesus at night and we sing Christmas Carols instead of Lullabies. It's just a warm and fuzzy month full of yummy smells and hope and joy and the people I love. My life is blessed.

Yet, I realize that this is not a happy time for all. My husband is often on call, and recently that means more time away from home dealing with tragedy and emergencies. He's a psychologist and this time of year is busy season. Why? Because it's also the time of year that tragedies in our lives can seem overwhelming. Stress can become almost unbearable for those who have lost jobs and are struggling to hold onto homes or just feed their families. It's also a time when we feel the loss of loved ones the most. This will be my first year home without my grandparents and it's hard for me to imagine the holidays without them. Yet, I feel fortunate because I know that there are many who will spend their first Christmas without fathers and mothers, siblings and children. I hope that they will receive an outpouring of love and hope from those around them. I hope that I will be one of those people to help lift the burden of my neighbor in some small way.

It seems to me that the last few years have been trying ones for many Americans. Unemployment is at it's highest level in almost three decades. We've experienced terrorism on our own soil and we're fighting two wars abroad. People are hurting. But through it all we are being refined. On a national level, I've watched with tears in my eyes as stories of heroism and generosity beyond what I could imagine have been displayed in the news. I love seeing those stories. But more than that I love seeing the little things that happen everyday and that seem even more abundant during the holidays. I've seen the true character of so many people I love and respect emerge through their trials this year. I've seen people I know are suffering reach out to those around them and forget themselves in service. I've seen generosity from those who have very little. I've seen dear friends battling sickness and loneliness with renewed faith and hope. I am in awe of the human spirit. I'm overcome with the capacity of men and women everywhere to love and give when times are tough. To me that is what Christmas is truly about. I believe giving to each other is a small token we can each pass along to acknowledge our gratitude for the gift of love we all received that first Christmas.

Every year I get older it seems that Christmas changes just a little bit. The anticipation of receiving gifts gives way to the anticipation of watching a child's eyes light up. The pleasure of holiday meals and sweets begins to pale in comparison with the gratitude for physical and mental health. I find that my eyes wander more often to the nativity than they do the Santa countdown clock. And the excitement of shopping and parties and Christmas skiing trips can't hold a candle to the simple joy of going home. Perhaps the biggest change is that giving thanks has become less of reflex and more a true expression of my gratitude for life, even the difficult parts of life that refine us, bring us together, and in the end add to the depth of our ability to feel joy and love.

***I realize this is two serious posts in a row. What can I say, I'm cyclical. I'm sure I'll be back to nonsense in no time.

Why Write?

2009-11-29T07:04:00.000-08:00

I've been out of town this weekend (my first trip to Canada, WooHoo), so I'm a little late on the Happy Thanksgiving wishes to all of my online friends. So happy belated Thanksgiving everyone. I hope your day was wonderful!

I have a lot to be thankful for this year, not the least of which is getting to know so many of you. Forgive me for getting a bit personal on a writing blog, but on this Thanksgiving I want to say what writing has meant to me personally over the past couple of years.

In January of 2007 I was a stay at home mom with one two-year-old little boy and the wife of a graduate student. I was active in my church and community and had several good friends. I had quit my career about a year before we adopted our son . I LOVED being a stay at home mom. I had no desire to go back to work and leave my beautiful child alone during the day. I loved my life, and I was grateful for it. Yet, I felt the desire to do something personal, to set a difficult goal and accomplish it, to prove that I still had a brain capable of tackling things other than impossible stains on my son's clothes or trying to figure out how to make dinner without ever cooking. I was craving mental stimulation.

I didn't want my college education to feel like nothing more than a certificate printed on nice paper. Unfortunately, my college brain... mush (it happens after sustained periods without adult conversation, I learned). I wondered what to do.

Then one day as I was jotting down random thoughts in one of my notebooks about characters I was imagining I realized the answer was staring me in the face. I had always loved writing, but I guess I'd never considered that I could actually do anything with it. But with more alone time on my hands (my husband working and going to school and my son still young and napping) I decided that rather than watch Oprah or the like in the afternoon, I would apply myself and write a novel. What could it hurt?

At first I was very private, even a bit embarrassed about what I was doing. After all, who was I to write a novel? I was no expert in law or medicine. I didn't have epic or tragic life circumstances. I was just a simple stay at home mom with lots of random characters and places floating around in my head in a sort of mishmashed, chaotic way. But then I was talking to my wonderful and supportive best friend, Kasie, and she mentioned that she was writing a book (I think she had already written a couple by that time), and I told her I was writing one too. After that we began holding weekly writing groups with just the two of us. We would discuss what we had read and what we thought about what we had read. We discussed our own work and read each other's drafts. We read agent blogs and decided to start our own.

Looking back that was the best decision we made along the way. A new world of information and friendship opened up to us. We also joined a local writing group that met twice a month. We connected with writers of various genres and experience. In short, we immersed ourselves in the writing world and culture.

Since that time some wonderful things have happened. I've had the opportunity to get to know some of the most creative, most fun and most wonderful people around. I've gotten to meet several of you in person (Jenn, Michelle, Natalie, Jenni, Linda, Tricia) and found that you are every bit as wonderful, intelligent and full of life as your blogs would suggest (I just have to put a plug in here for Renee too, because, thought I haven't met her, I feel like I have!). Many of my blogging friends (including Kasie) have finished multiple books, signed with agents, sold books and had personal successes, or overcome personal obstacles. Every time something wonderful happens in your life, I sit and my computer and cheer for you. I love seeing dreams come true on a regular basis.

You have all taught me so much about writing, friendship, balancing life's demands, and believing in yourself. You've taught me that I don't have to have extraordinary qualifications to be a writer, but I do have to work hard and persevere.

About a week ago I told my husband that I worried that writing had become too big a part of my life. I worried that it took up time during the day that I should be doing other things (like cleaning for instance). I said something like, "Maybe I should just walk away from it all." He said to me, "Only you can decide what's right for you, but I just have one thing to say, The Candi who writes is much happier than the Candi who didn't write. I don't think twenty years from now our children will remember how clean the house was, but I do think they'll remember that their mother was happy and that she pursued her goals. It seems to me that's a lot more important than a clean kitchen." (I know, isn't he the best!)

So this year, I'm thankful for supportive friends, family (all of my wonderfully supportive siblings and parents), a loving husband, a totally impatient son (what else could be expected from a four-year-old), and the joy of writing in my life, and you!

Abracadabra

2009-11-18T21:28:00.000-08:00

Yes, I'm falling behind on my NaHoCleMo. Let's just get that out of the way. It's a bit embarrassing, but I do have three good excuses. 1) I've been sick. 2) I was out of town for three days 3) I don't like cleaning the house.

I was trying to figure out what I wanted to post about today and nothing really came to mind. I think I've been too caught up with finishing yet another edit on my book (which is done, YAY!). But then I remembered this book I saw when my husband and I were wandering the book store on our last date. Which, by the way, we totally saw the guy who plays the PC on the Mac commercials. He was doing a reading from his book (hilarious). Apparently, he was a professional literary agent, turned journalist, turned book writer, turned Mac commercial dude. Anyway... I digress. As we were wandering the bookstore together, because it was a date, I passed into the "New Age" section on the way to the "Philosophy" section (it was where my husband wanted to go and we were taking turns, otherwise you would never find me in "Philosophy" while there were still novels left to be read). I discovered that there are just as many if not MORE books about vampires and witches and "mythical creatures" (I use quotes because this was a non-fiction part of the store) in the New Age sections as there are in the YA section. And in the middle of them all was a HUGE shiny book of spells.

These were real spells, people. I looked. Like potions and chants and symbols. Now I'm not one to buy into the mystical arts (at least not in the self-help/non-fiction sort of way), but if I were, I would probably try and figure out the right combination of things to say and do to magically create the perfect book. It would definitely take some trial and error, but since I did a rewrite this week that I'm rather happy with, I might start with a few key ingredients from the last seven days and go from there. My spell would include the following elements:

1. A trip to see someoneI adore. I took a trip to attend my VERY (sorry Jenny) pregnant sister's baby shower.

She's going to kill me for posting this, but it's part of the spell. I had to do it. And Jenny, lets face it, you're a babe! Besides pregnant is totally in right now.

2. Dayquil and a whole lotta germs. I got sick on the way home and completely grossed out the passengers who were required to share my air for six hours. Every spell requires something disgusting. Consider this my proverbial rat's tail.

Dude, What's your problem?

3. Mood Music. I just downloaded a new Sarah McLachlan and Michael Buble song.

I love my shiny, blue box of musical wonder.

4. Writer's brew. Some of you may disagree on the choice, but really there's only one place with 60,000 combinations.

Seriously, Sonic should start compensating me for all the free publicity I give them. I would accept limeades as payment.

5. And last but certainly not least, a Coven. Otherwise known as Betas.

Don't be offended. You guys are WAY hotter. This is just the expression I imagine when you're reading my first drafts.

What would be your magical book-writing potion ingredient?

Juxtapose this!

2009-11-12T04:18:00.000-08:00

First I want to say thank you to two lovely ladies who gave me the lovely blog award this week, Natalie Murphy, and Mary. Two lovely blog awards, I must admit I'm flattered and surprised considering I drew stick figures of horrible death last week. But I will accept them thankfully and, in part, because I like the juxtaposition of pink roses and delicate teacups next to death and horror and my frightful lack of drawing talent. Thanks ladies!

Now on to the business of today's word rant. (In case you haven't noticed, I like words. I'm guessing a lot of you like them too since you're writers.)

Juxtapose: to place two or more items side by side, especially in order to suggest a link between them or emphasize the contrast between them.

Unlike last week's word, literally (I shudder just to type it again), I actually love the word Juxtapose. For starters, it's just a cool word. How could it not be with both an x and a j in it? How rare is that? Jinx, Jax, Jukebox... It's like one of four words in the English language (yeah, that's a total guess) with that combination. And as we all know, rarity equals high points in scrabble, one of life's staples of entertainment (also the only game I can ever beat my husband at).

Cool fact about the word, Juxtapose: If you could somehow link two other words together and use all of your seven tiles in scrabble to spell it, it would be worth 73 points (assuming the letters you linked were a and o because those only count for one point). That's 23 points for the word and 50 points for using all your tiles. If you were on a triple word score, it would be 219 points, and if your x was on a double letter score it would be 243. Wow, you just won the whole game with one word. How many words do you know that can offer you that? Not literally(it's worth a lame 11 points).

Juxtapose is for sure the only cool word in scrabble.

Then there's the matter of the way it sounds. If you didn't know what it meant, it could be almost anything, like an awesome invention:

"Have you seen the juxtapostion I just bought for the laboratory?"

Or maybe a deadly ninjitsu move:

"Surrender or you're going to feel the wrath of my roundhouse juxtaposition!"

It also works as a slang.

"Dude, don't be such a Juxta-Poser."

If you're willing to ignore it's meaning, the list of uses could be endless. And it's non discriminatory. Did you notice how I used it for geek speak, tough-guy talk, and colloquial gangsta'?

In conclusion, Juxtapose, only a word, but if used decisively, may win you friends, influence people and unite geeks and gangsters.

***After reading the draft of today's post my husband said, "Next time someone asks you what you write you should say, Juxta-prose." I love a clever man. ***

Of pets and peeves: Illustrating my point...literally.

2009-11-05T05:51:00.000-08:00

Here's a little ground work for my stick figure rant today.

Literally–adverb

1. in the literal or strict sense: What does the word mean literally?

2. in a literal manner; word for word: to translate literally.

3. actually; without exaggeration or inaccuracy: The city was literally destroyed.

4. in effect; in substance; very nearly; virtually.

Usage note:

Since the early 20th century, literally has been widely used as an intensifier meaning “in effect, virtually,” a sense that contradicts the earlier meaning “actually, without exaggeration”: The senator was literally buried alive in the Iowa primaries. The parties were literally trading horses in an effort to reach a compromise. The use is often criticized; nevertheless, it appears in all but the most carefully edited writing.

Confession time. The misuse of the word literally drives me crazy!! How can a word that means one thing have a usage that means the exact opposite? It doesn't make any sense. So often people say literally when they actually mean figuratively, but I can't get the image of what they've said out of my head. And usually it's not pleasant.

I'm going to illustrate my point here. I literally am. Here are a few examples, and I know you've all heard these before.

Someone says, "I literally fell to pieces when it happened."

I think, really, you literally fell to pieces? And this images pops into my head.

Thanks a lot random person. Now I have to walk around with a scene from Mississippi Chainsaw Massacre in my head all day.

Or how about these?

"I literally died when I heard the news."

Great now I'm thinking about The Ring!

"I'm literally going to kill myself if he doesn't call."

What horror movie doesn't have a terrifying phone call?

"I literally had a heart attack when it happened."
"My heart literally burst from excitement."

There's just no way any of this ends well.

See? Literally and horrible death go hand in hand. You say literally, and I see this:

Sorry if this is morbid, but it's not pleasant for me either. So lets just agree that you won't ever misuse the word literally. Or maybe you shouldn't use the word at all. I rarely do even when it might be considered appropriate. Like today. I would like to say that misuse of the word literally is literally a pet peeve of mine, but if I did this is what would come to mind.

You guessed it, as soon as my pet, Peeve drinks the water... Gremlins.

It's official.

2009-11-03T06:25:00.000-08:00

I'm a once a week blogger. It was already the case, but now I'm making it official. I blog on Thursdays from here on out. I've been thinking a lot about the time balance in my life and what I need to focus on, and blogging is one of those things that, though I do sporadically, I still feel is a time drain and pressure that could be eliminated. But I enjoy it and I love staying connected with all of you, so I've decided to blog once a week. And I'm excited about it. My posts will be much better, I think, because I'll actually want to do it.

I know that it may seem that nothing is really changing, but making this once a week blogging thing official relieves the self-imposed pressure I feel to do more. Now I won't be thinking everyday that I'm failing at being a blogger. I'll be thinking, WOW I'm the most consistent blogger around! And you all will know what to expect. For me it's the perfect solution to how I spend my writing time (lets face it, blogging was never going to be my thing).

I just want to give a shout out to Lady Glam here. She is so honest and thoughtful and the very personal post she just wrote really made me think about what I really want. Thanks, Michelle!

So starting this week, I'll see you all on Thursdays!

I finally did it!

2009-10-29T06:38:00.000-07:00

This is my own personal version of Natalie's Saturday Sketch, Renee's Photoshop Friday and Kasie's Maddeningly unhelpful advice Monday. Let's call it Stick Figure Thursday. What, there's no alliteration in that? Well let's just say that the quality of the drawing is represented by the totally sub-par title. (And no, don't expect a reoccurring column. Come on people, this is me we're talking about.)

So without further ado, here it is, my creation. Tada!

In honor of Natalie, I drew it myself; in honor Renee, I added captions; and in honor of Kasie, it will in no way help your life. Oh yeah, and in honor of Carrie, it makes me snarf! If the rest of you all want honors then you must start a reoccurring series that somehow relates to the themes I write about (good luck figuring out what those are).

So why the extra blog effort today? I finished my first book...again. For the third time. This time for real, maybe. And this is a big deal, not because I think I'm going to get an agent with my first book (I mean I guess it could happen, but what are the chance really? ), but because it means that it is no longer hanging over me. I can now focus whole-heartedly on my two other books (one which is almost done) without feeling like a loser/quitter/ non-committer. I feel free and happy and light as a feather! And in the coming weeks I will be experiencing the joy of beta readers who for once have a whole book to tear apart instead of just tearing pieces of a book into even tinier shreds. I can't wait!

Me, the awesome blog buddy: An exercise in shameless self-promotion

2009-10-27T11:40:00.000-07:00

I think you should like me. I'm biased really, but why should that matter? In case you disagree I would like to layout a few reasons why I believe you might want to be my blog buddy.

1. I like YOU! It's true, I really do. Even if I haven't met you, I like you. I think my blog buddies are the best. All the ones I've met (Kasie, Jenn, Michelle, Natalie, Linda, Tricia, and Jenni) I just adore. And the ones I haven't met--I just know you're awesome.

2. I'm a low maintenance blog buddy. You will hardly ever have to comment on my blog. I know a few of you may be thinking, that's because I'm lazy, and while that might be true, I really don't see how that hurts you. Less of my posts=less of your time reading and commenting on my posts. I on the other hand will visit and adore your blog how ever often you choose to update it. See? There's no downside.

3. My third and final reason for stating that I'm an awesome blog buddy is that I have switched my blog to Blogspot! It's about time, you're saying. Yes, I know, but I just felt so loyal to Wordpress. It treated me well over the last year and gave me multiple pages all on the same site. But alas it was cumbersome for commenting on other blogs, and I couldn't customize it and make it my own (I shamelessly stole that phrase from American Idol). So now it's even easier to be my blog buddy. What are you waiting for??

A partial recounting of the last few weeks, interuppted by my laziness in writing about it. Also, a reference to salacious material, but not actual salacious material.

2009-10-19T21:27:00.000-07:00

Warning: If you didn't like, As I Lay Dying or other such stream of consciousness works, you may not want to read this post, because I am about to go with whatever comes to my mind.

Soooooo, I've been MIA the last couple of weeks since my mother-in-law was in town and we were busy doing stuff. Fun stuff (hi mom 2, I miss you!).   Some of that stuff included going to Chicago. I've decided that I love Chicago. Enough to pay $60 dollars to park there for a day. Not everyday. Just A day. As in one day. Seriously though, the city is BEAUTIFUL. Architecturally stunning and so clean. It's far different than I imagined. Everyone was nice, even the homeless people. We kept running into one guy, who my mother-in-law gave money to, in various parts of the city. He was so friendly (I wonder why). We saw him on the street. We saw him outside Cheesecake Factory, we saw him at the park where we let my four-yr-old run around for a bit. He was like our own personal homeless person for the day.

There was however one blemish on our trip. Our cab ride to dinner (yes, I know I paid sixty dollars for parking, but we still had to take a cab). I was absolutely sure that we were going to die, if not from the driving than from the gang of Turkish mafia that would have dumped our bodies in Lake Michigan undoubtedly. Now you may be asking yourselves, Why would the Turkish mafia want to kill Candice and her family?   And that would be a reasonable question to ask. So, I'll tell you why. My husband got in a fight with the cab driver (who informed us he was Turkish). No, not a fist fight (thank goodness for the plexiglass divider), but they were both quite upset. Here's what happened.

We walked out of our hotel, which was in the financial district and hence quite deserted on a Saturday night (but we had a stunning view of the opera house, so I got over that). There was nowhere to eat since everything was closed, so we decided to grab a cab and head over to the waterfront. I was a little nervous about it simply because I hate not having my son in a car seat, but we didn't really have a lot of option if we wanted to eat. So, we get into the cab, give the driver directions and then proceed to clutch the seat as he weaves through downtown traffic. About halfway through our drive, a couple of teenagers in a fancy SUV (who are driving even crazier than the cabby) Flip off our driver and yell a few unrepeatbles to him. So what does our cab driver do? He rolls down his window sticks out his head and at the top of his lungs says the single most foul string of suggestions I have ever heard.

Now I know you all think you can imagine what he said, but I'm here to tell you that you can't! And least you think I'm naive let me remind you that I worked for the California Department of Corrections as a teacher for several years. I not only thought I'd heard everything there was to hear, I'd heard it as threat or personal suggestion by a student who wasn't happy with me. But THIS--this shocked even me. And really, that's hard to do.

So imagine now my husband. My clean cut, well mannered, Air Force Officer of a husband (who also happens to not be shy [though he is a very nice guy] and over six two and two hundred lbs.)    Also imagine that my husband is sitting with his mother on his right, his wife on his left, and his four-yr-old son on his lap. Yeah, it wasn't pretty. It involved my husband "suggesting" what the cab driver could do with his own mouth (especially when there were children in the car) and the cab driver letting him know that he didn't need to hear what my husband had to say because he had grandchildren (like that somehow made it better? Does he make the same suggestions about their mothers that he made to those teenagers?). Anyway, lets just say that it went on for quite a while, and I was quite afraid we were going to turn into a dark alley at any moment a meet a few of this guys friends. But we didn't, so maybe the Turkish mafia has more important things to worry about than teaching a couple of tourists a lesson.

And now I could proceed to tell you about our many adventures in high buildings and elevators that go up a hundred stories in a matter of seconds, but really I'm tired of writing this post.   Just the memory of that night sent me into a near panic attack, so I'll just end the stream of consciousness recounting here for a now and say, I missed you all over the past few weeks, and I'm glad to be back!

That's so cliché

2009-09-29T20:53:00.000-07:00

I've been pondering a question lately, and the question is this: When is it okay to create a cliché character? Here are three answers I've come up with. Ranging from the obvious to the controversial.

1. In a parody or satire. Though I think it is acceptable to use cliché characters in these, I don't thinks it's necessary. A certain Merpire from Carrie's blog comes to mind.

2. When you're trying to use the character as a contrast to a more non-traditional character. Perhaps this one is controversial because, just because a character does something expected does mean their persona is cliché. At the same time you can find a slew of characters (especially in sitcoms) that fit a very specific mold, the lazy one, the dumb one, the uptight,nerdy one. Often they're in the story for the MC to play off of.

3. When you're writing for very young audiences. Again, not necessary, but acceptable. Like when you're reading a child a story like, BEDTIME BATTLE (yes, this is a favorite at our house). The children exhibit very typical bedtime behavior. My son finds this very amusing because he can relate to it!

What do you guys think? You are all so much better at this writing analysis stuff than I am. I just happen to have a cliché character in one of my books (at least I think he might be cliché) and I'm wondering if it's okay. Maybe it would be better to make a list of when it's not okay to use cliché characters, but I'm just sure at least one of you would put a single word on that list: never! :)

My fingers have a mind of their own.

2009-09-15T23:14:00.000-07:00

Last night I sent Kasie an email in which I said, "chat for a minute." NO, I'm not putting that in quotation marks because it's what I said. I'm putting it in quotes because I put it in quotes in the email. And no, there was absolutely no reason to put it in quotes. None. Somehow they just ended up in there. I didn't even realize that I had done it until after I sent the email. Imagine my confusion when I saw it. (If you need help here's the visual: messy, after-shower, bed head, glasses, pjs, consternated expression, scratching my head.) On second thought, don't imagine it.

So I had to wonder, why did I do it? Was it because I spend so much time typing quotation marks all day that my fingers have a random quotation twitch? Or was it caused by a subconscious, histrionic need to illustrate the habit Nathan Bransford wrote about in his post on improper use of quotation marks? Maybe it was the result of a split personality, one side of me that knows the rules of quotations and the other that clearly doesn't. It's possible. After all, I wouldn't really know if I had a split personality, would I?

As I started thinking about all these serious possibilities, another, more likely explanation came to the forefront of my mind: my fingers are possessed by a poltergeist finger spirit. Everything started making sense once I embraced this realization. And I'm not just talking about the fact that my fingers like to write "candi" instead of "can". I'm talking about everything in my life!

The added weight I can never get off, clearly the result of poltergeist-finger candybar grabbing. My cluttered office, poltergeist-finger aversion to cleaning. You see where I'm going with this. I'll spare you a comprehensive list, but suffice it to say that there is clearly a problem that needs to be dealt with. I'm going to get right on it.

In the meantime, if any of you get comments, emails, or twitter updates from me that say "your" in place of "you're" or just plain don't make sense, you'll know who to blame.

Sink or Swim, Live or Die

2009-09-10T21:27:00.000-07:00

I’m awake at 6:30 this morning, saying good bye to my husband as he heads to work on the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, and I can’t help but think back eight years. It was a typical morning. I was working as a teacher. My husband was working as the assistant city planner of our quiet community. We had just bought our first home. It was an adorable fixer-upper with plaster walls and thick wood floors that needed to be refinished.

The alarm had already gone off once which turned the radio on in our room. As usual, I was still asleep waiting for my own personal alarm (Neal) to wake me up when I really couldn’t spare another minute of sleep.

Like every other morning I felt his hand on my shoulder, “Candi, wake up.” I grunted, probably unintelligibly. Then his shaking was more insistent, “Candi. Wake. Up. Our country has been attacked.”

Those were words I had never expected to hear. I rolled over quickly and sat up. “What!?” I said as he turned off the radio and flipped on the TV in our room, searching for the news.

“Two planes were flown into the Twin Towers,” he said. I was about to ask him more, but then I stopped. We both stared at the screen at the image we all know so well.

Live camera crews were on the ground filming the disaster. They were talking about the mass chaos, speculating on what had happened. You could hear the shock in everyone’s voice as they watched the scene in front of them. Then the first tower fell.   It happened so fast and a thick, black cloud of dust and debris rolled like a wave through the streets. I remember so clearly the horrible recognition of what had just happened, how many people had died in an instant. Then it happened again. Then the third plane hit the Pentagon. My sister lived in Washington DC. Then the fourth plane crashed. I remember thinking, how long is this going to go on? When will it stop? How many more people are going to die?

Above us we could hear the afterburners of the F-14s taking off from the Air National Guard Base that was just a few miles from our home. That was to become a common sound in the coming months as they continually patrolled the coast. It always shook the old windows of our little house.

We learned in the weeks that followed that the worst terrorist attack in U.S. history had taken the lives of 2,974 innocent victims and 19 hijackers. A national tragedy gripped the nation. It’s was as if all of us had been affected. For weeks all I could do when I get home at night was turn on the news and stare.

Fast forward eight years. Last week I get a call from my sister. One of her friends has been killed in Afghanistan, leaving behind a young wife. She expresses feelings of frustration at news media and politicians who are effusive at times and silent at others. Their concern over the troops seems to be closely correlated with how much it will help or hurt their agenda to talk about them. A young man dying in Mesa, AZ is not a national tragedy, but it is completely devastating to one family. I realize that the September 11^th death toll is still rising. More than 5,000 U.S. troops have died in the war on terror and countless other innocent civilians and foreign troops.

I had a realization as I was walking through the commissary a few days ago. I saw a young veteran at the end of the line where I stood. He had three prosthetic limbs and one stump.   He had lost all four limbs for his country. I almost didn’t want to look. It made me feel ashamed of my own weaknesses and selfish tendencies. It made me feel ashamed of the fact that I’m scared to be away from my husband for a matter of a few months. In that moment I realized that for the majority of Americans freedom is cheap, even free. There is no personal cost. All it takes is a few of their tax dollars. Big deal. But for a very few Americans freedom costs an unimaginable price: their lives, their limbs, their loved ones, the precious moments watching their children grow up.

One of my neighbor’s husbands has been deployed for the fifth time. She has four children. Another of my neighbor's children listen to their dad’s voice on CD each night say recited prayers and read their favorite stories. She said that the first year of their marriage her husband was gone 260 days. To them freedom is not cheap. But it has not cost them yet more than they are willing to pay. They know it’s true worth.

One of the most amazing things to me is that those who have paid the highest price for freedom are those who will tell you that it is worth the cost. My husband sees injured and scarred soldiers whose only desire is to get back and keep fighting.

I can’t help but think about a time when every person in our country knew and understood the cost of freedom. Almost every family had a father or brother or son that had fought for that freedom.   I don’t wish to go back to those days. We are incredibly blessed that so many do not have to suffer the horrors of war, but I do wish to share a thought from those who knew what Freedom truly cost and how much it was worth paying the price for.

The following speech is attributed to John Adams:

Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote…

I know the uncertainty of human affairs, but I see, I see clearly, through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may rue it. We may not live to the time when this Declaration shall be made good. We may die ; die, colonists ; die, slaves ; die, it may be, ignominiously and on the scaffold. Be it so ; be it so ! If it be the pleasure of heaven that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour may. But, while I do live, let me have a country, or at least, the hope of a country, and that a free country.

But whatever may be our fate, be assured; be assured that this Declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood, but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both. Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the future, as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our children will honor it. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires and illuminations. On its annual return, they will shed tears, copious, gushing tears, not of subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude and of joy.

Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope, in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it. And I leave off as I began, that, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the Declaration. It is my living sentiment, and by the blessing of God it shall be my dying sentiment, Independence now, and INDEPENDENCE FOREVER !

Freedom may not cost us personally, but my hope and prayer is that it is never cheap in our hearts. I believe whole- heartedly that for the vast majority of Americans who will never have to see war or it's effects, all that freedom requires is for them to remember and appreciate. And that is a very small price to pay.

WOOHOO for Natalie!!

2009-09-01T09:46:00.000-07:00

I just want to give a huge CONGRATULATIONS to the lovely and uber-talented Natalie Whipple who just landed an agent. And who might her agent be you are all, I'm sure, asking... the ever coveted Nathan Bransford!

So head on over to her blog if you haven't already and offer up your congratulations. Then look for her books on the best seller shelf in a few years. She is so so creative and hardworking I know they're going to be there. YAY NATALIE!!!!!!!

The story of how my life was changed forever.

2009-08-27T20:42:00.000-07:00

Also known as the story of how I told many stories in a single post (mostly parenthetically).

Yesterday my life was transformed by a very small thing that will affect me in a very big way. Let me tell you a story.

My husband, the wonderful and amazing Neal (he's a life changing story in and of himself), loves to go to the movies. We are not one of those couples that gets all creative on our date nights. We go to dinner and a movie. It's very predictable, but also quite relaxing and the best place for people of the movie-popcorn-loving persuasion (also another interesting story, consisting of the fact that Neal would pay movie popcorn prices to have movie popcorn to watch a video rental at home. Okay, that's pretty much the whole story.).

Anyway, I digress. Here's the point. I spend a lot of time at movies. This means that I spend a lot of time in movie bathrooms. It's embarassing to admit, but it's true. The four or five glasses of water I drink at dinner always have an effect on me (sometime more than once, my record is five times in the same movie). It's bizarre, but I have the world's smallest bladder. You would think I would learn not to drink so much at dinner, but it's kind of a compulsion, and I don't realize I'm doing it (dang, addictive, restaurant tap water!).

The result of all this is that I inevitable miss the life-changing, gut-wrenching, tear-jerking, climax of the movie, or worse, I miss the kiss! It's very annoying and it makes me want the $10.50 (well $8.50 now that we're in the military) back that I paid to use the movie theater bathrooms and see all the slow parts of their movies. It's so not worth the money.

Well, anyone who has spent any amount of time with me knows how much money I spend for the privilege of using a movie theater bathroom while they actually watch a movie. This is the case with my dear friend Kasieand her husband Jared. Neal and I have seen more movies with those two than anyone else on the face of the planet. They know the routine: sit near the isle on the side with a door, laugh at Candi every time she has to go in and out of the theater, etc, etc.

So the other day Jared, being the thoughtful guy that he is (and never one to miss the opportunity to make himself laugh) gives me the address to this revolutionary internet site he's discovered, www. runpee.com

No, I discovered, this is not a joke. It is a real site (complete with yellow headings and letters that dance). But the point is it tells you when to go to the bathroom and what you're going to miss! And it's always a boring part and sometimes it has multiple options and if you have an i-phone you can set a timer and it alerts you with a beep that it's time to go!! LIFE. CHANGING.

So that's the story of how my life was forever changed. I didn't say it would be a good one. Now excuse me please... I need to use the WC.

The joy of creating

2009-08-19T22:24:00.000-07:00

I’ve noticed that every writer classifies their writing a bit differently. It may be a job, an academic pursuit, a hobby, an artistic outlet, or any combination of these things. For me writing is still a somewhat relaxing activity, though as I become more dedicated and set higher standards for myself it is becoming more work.

That’s not necessarily a bad thing. There is a lot of satisfaction that comes from working hard and seeing your efforts rewarded in the form of a thick manuscript. But I do find that I still need a secondary hobby, something that is purely for the love of doing it. For me that that is often flower arranging. I usually just make arrangement for my home or my friends and family. Occasionally I help out with events (like my sister's wedding) but I try not to make it a job.

I love flowers. They’re so… organic. Even pictures of them make me happy (except when they're on wallpaper). I just love cutting them from the garden (especially if it’s my garden). I love taking them in their thorny, twisty, wild state and creating order out of the chaos. I love using things that are not typically associated with bouquets and throwing them into the mix.

  It’s a bit like writing in that there are base core materials and principles for good flower arranging, but how you use them for any given arrangement will vary from person to person. And even if you use the same elements no two bouquets ever look the exactly the same. The flowers and hands that craft them are too unique.

I think it’s a good idea to have sources of enjoyment and relaxation outside of writing.   I personally need other artistic outlets. I know may of you enjoy photography, drawing, painting, music and any number of other pursuits. So I’m curious do you consider writing a hobby, a job, a source of enjoyment? And what do you consider your other pursuits? Do they help you relax? Are they your job and writing is your hobby? Is writing your job? Can it be both a hobby and a job?

Bad Sun!

2009-08-13T08:31:00.000-07:00

I'm not feeling too hot after a day at the pool. The sun is not generally my friend. So to combat a headache and a mild case of the blues I sent my husband to Buffalo Wild Wings on the recommendation of a local (I've never tried their food). I'm growing concerned that food is replacing friends (see my last post for further proof of my theory). Blaaaaaaaahhhhhh!! I just felt like saying that.

I had a break through! Thanks Meijers

2009-08-11T23:46:00.000-07:00

For those of you who live on the west coast you may not have heard of Meijers. I know I hadn't until I moved out here to Ohio. It's a Walmartesque store, but a bit nicer if you ask me. Anyway there's one right down the road from me, and I recently discovered it has the best store-brand ice cream! Their mint moose tracks is inspirational! (Right now I have the desire to say that it is LITERALLY inspirational, but since one of my pet peeves is the incorrect use of the word literally, I will refrain.)

So my second book is coming along swimmingly at about forty-thousand words (after two months of not writing that is quite good for me). I've also felt inspired with a new idea that I love! I want so badly to write it, but with one book in a never ending edit and another two-thirds done, it really wouldn't be a good idea to do more than outline it for now.

When the time actually does come to sit down and pound it out, you can be sure there will be a red plastic cup full of mint moose tracks next to me. I have no doubt it will be the fastest book I've ever written, and I'll only have to gain twenty or so pounds to do it. (I'm estimating, of course. It would be silly to claim that I could actually know how much I might gain during a set sedentary period full of mass consumptions of delicious dairy treats.)