The Best Laid Plans

Okie dokie, folks. Here's a great book recommendation for your weekend entertainment. Tamara Mataya, aka @FeakySnucker, aka my very first critique partner and the most effective Pants Kicker I've ever encountered, is officially PUBLISHED! *everyone stand up and celebrate with a brief sexy dance* *trust me, this is the most appropriate response*

The Best Laid Plans

So if the cover alone isn't enough to grab you, let me share my feelings.

I adore this story. Malcolm and Jayne each have their own motivations when they meet at an office party, but there's more to their instant chemistry than either of them realize. Malcolm knows exactly who Jayne is: the high school classmate who he feels was responsible for instigating years of bullying he suffered through. He thinks running in to her again might be the perfect opportunity for revenge. He intends to seduce her with the sole purpose of crushing her emotionally. Jayne, however, only knows him as the incredibly sexy successful musician he's become after leaving behind his old identity. She's trusting a little book of dating advice to give her the confidence to go out and snag herself a scorchingly good time, and thinks Malcolm might be the man for the job. Let the games begin!

Not only is this possibly the freaking hottest thing I've read all year, but the steaminess of their romance is just the beginning. It doesn't hurt that Malcolm is good enough to eat, or that Jayne is one smart cookie herself. Each of them starts off with their own secret and devious plan for the other, and as the title implies, things quickly go awry for both of them.

I am so tempted right now to just shake you by the shoulders and make you read it, because otherwise I'll start yelling incoherently and pointing in an effort to keep from squealing out all my favorite bits. I try to stay spoiler-free here. Tam would appreciate that. She hates spoilers. So just go read, dearies, and enjoy. I'll just be over here ready with the fan and a glass of ice water for when you get all hot and bothered.

GO BUY IT AT AMAZON RTFN!

Writing in a Bowling Alley

Business first. You may have seen that I redid my blog theme a few days ago, but I had to revert back to the old one. The gorgeous theme I chose needed too much html tweaking for my limited skills to handle, so I gave up. I'd rather be reading and writing than learning website design. If anyone knows how to make the comment replies work properly, or knows how to make a few other updates to a really old blogger template, please let me know if you'd like to help me fix it. I really loved that template! Thanks!

Second item of business, I retitled the blog. I thought Writing the Bad Things out was a good title when I started, but that's not all I do here anymore. So I just called it Mittens Writes. Most everyone online calls me (or at least knows me as) Mittens. I'm fine with that. And it's a much shorter name to remember. :D

On to the bowling!

Yes, folks, that's how I'll be spending my Friday night. I signed Lulu up to go bowling tonight with her girl scout troop. I thought it would be around dinner time, like most troop events, but nooooooo. It's fancy-schmancy Glow Bowling. Which apparently requires middle-of-the-night darkness, as opposed to regular dinner-time darkness.

I was so looking forward to a quiet house, a cup of tea, and snergling up in the comfy chair with my laptop to enjoy this manuscript. But instead, I will be AT A FREAKING BOWLING ALLEY UNTIL AFTER MIDNIGHT.

The things we do for our kids.

On the up side, I forgot today is the last day of the semester at school, so the teachers have three workdays next week. FIVE DAY WEEKEND, FTW!

So there is that.

If I've promised you a crit, I swear I haven't forgotten you. I have all your beautiful manuscripts waiting in line. But you'll forgive me if I'm a little distracted tonight. It's not so much the noise and hubbub of a bowling alley, but the sheer fact that I will have to wear pants that late into the night. At least they have a snack bar.

Imagine the noise. *shudders*

Untweetworthy, Part the Third

Once again, it's time for another installment of my semi-regular feature, Untweetworthy. Here I get to share some random thoughts that are either too long or too weird for Twitter (where I spend an inordinate amount of time as it is).

But first, I had a post up here on Friday night with my feelings about the atrocity of the Sandy Hook School shooting. All I'm going to say on that is something needs to be done. Mentally ill people are mostly non-violent, and I have enough trouble without having the label "Possible Mass Murderer" attached to me because I have a DSM code pinned to my shirt. Crazy didn't kill those children, a violent man with an assault rifle did.

Now that's out of the way, on to a little more pleasant stuffnfluff. Images courtesy of rage comics.

*Lulu was reading Tumblr over my shoulder the other day and suddenly spouted, "Hey, is that a rage comic? I love rage comics!" I replied, "You do?" "Oh yeah, they're funny." I see. (How can I make this event into a rage comic?)



*I took my laptop to a Girl Scout holiday event and hunkered down as far from the merriment as possible. Wrote 1500 words in an hour and a half. Sitting quietly alone at home, wrote 200 words in four hours

 

*I have now spent more time tracking holiday gift shipments than I spent purchasing those gifts in the first place.



*Morgan the cat seems to have figured out which present I labeled "To Lulu, From Morgan" and has taken it upon himself to sit only upon that gift under the tree. He might be trying to hatch it like an egg. He also removed the bow for more convenient cat butt placement. Also, he now knows that some of the ornaments on the tree are indeed breakable, and that breaking one causes terror when I come screaming and stomping into the room.



*I have been to the grocery store three times in the last five days. Once for the BIG SHOP. Once more for items forgotten on the big shop. And again for items forgotten during the first two shops. I still have a list with four items that I forgot to buy on ALL THESE TRIPS COMBINED. I should have made a list the first time around...or at least the second time. Definitely by the third.



*So MANY friends got new agents this week! All the joy, cheers, and happiness to Tamara Mataya and Marisa Cleveland, as well as Kelsey Macke and Jessica Sinsheimer on all the agenty collaboration! You know what this means, right? MOAR GOOD BOOKS IN OUR FUTURE, LOVELIES!!!





 This brings us to the end of another edition of Untweetworthy. I hope you found it edifying, somehow.

Pitch Wars and Critique Partners

On this, the eve of Pitch Wars mentor announcements, I've been thinking a lot about what the real purpose of this contest has been. Sure, it's fun and immeasurably helpful to get help from an agented author. It's also helpful to get your query and novel polished to perfection (or as close to perfection as any novel can get). But what is the real benefit here? Learning about critiquing.

When I first started writing, this was my biggest stumbling block. I read sites that advised you share your work with your "writer friends." Hah! What writer friends? I didn't have any, and I was darn sure I wouldn't have any until I was a Successfully Published Writer. Where the heck could I meet all these potential writer friends, when I was a complete nobody who never wrote anything?




Turns out, lots of places.

I met writers online, through other contests, through their blogs (and eventually through this one right here), through Twitter, and even through Facebook. There are always writers who are in the same place in the process that you are. You just have to know where to look for them. Pitch Wars has been a great way to connect with many new writers who are in the query trenches, too. Make nice, and they might read for you if you read for them.

 

Initially, the thought of sharing my writing with others, and asking for their honest opinion and critique, was a little intimidating. Even more intimidating was asking to read their writing and offer my own opinions. What the heck did I know about critiquing? The idea of making with the judgy on someone else's writing gave me the cold sweats. Who was I to tell them they didn't need that comma there (BONUS COMMAS, as I call them now), or that they shouldn't use the same word three times in two sentences, or that their phrasing at a critical moment in their beloved story came across as clunky and jarring instead of inspiring and enlightening? I was terrified of saying the wrong thing, of coming across like an ass, and of not doing a good job.

To be honest, the first time I ever critiqued something, I got lucky. I wasn't the first person to edit the manuscript, and there wasn't all that much to do to make it shiny. It was a gentle introduction to the fine art of being a merciless nitpicker. Also, as I've since been informed, as long as it's done with love, merciless nitpicking is actually a valued trait in a CP.

Not only have I benefited from the opinions and ideas of a wonderful group of people who read my writing and offered advice, but my writing has improved through helping others, too. It's all good for you.

And on that note, I want to sincerely thank all the mentors in Pitch Wars, and all the writers who've jumped at the chance to earn such an experienced CP. Just remember, your fellow Pitch Warriors would also make fine CP's. Even if we don't end up with a shiny new mentor, we still have each other. Extend a hand to a fellow writer, and be patient and understand as you learn the ropes of this valuable skill together. We all have it in us to be great mentors to each other.

 

And now, back to the fantastic manuscript I'm helping to add a spit-shine to. Because this one deserves all the polish it can get.

**NOTE: There's a great new website, CPseek.com, set up by @Fizzygrrl's talented husband. It's a great place to connect to other writers seeking a CP (as the title should make quite clear!). Go check it out!

Voodoo as a Legitimate Response to Querying

I haven't written here in a while. At least it feels that way. I've been sucked under by my glamorous whirlwind of a life. At least I've been making time for writing.

So today I spent the morning helping the Girl Scouts unload and deliver a mega-crapton of  mums and pansies. When you're the lady who owns a monster truck, you get picked to help out with delivery-ish things.

A small portion (very small) of the mega-crapton of flowers.

At least all the flowers made me feel all autumny. I love this time of year. In fact, the only thing Lulu wants to do this weekend is go out for a pumpkin spice latte. I can't argue with that.

On the way home from flower duty, I saw something odd in the road. It was a black rat snake sunning itself on the pavement, coiled up and taking bites at cars as they carefully drove around it. I slammed on my brakes, parked, and fetched a stick out of the roadside ditch. I went over, Steve Irwin style, and moved the little (hah, like 6' long) snakey from the road. A lady pulled up behind me and put her hazard lights on, blocking the road so I wouldn't get squished by speeding rednecks. Hopefully the snake had the common sense to stay out of traffic. I'm now all nervous about driving that way again and seeing him smeared all over the street.

For those who don't know, I live in a rural area. Most of the roads are narrow country lanes between fields dotted with cows and corn, soybeans and goats. My entire neighborhood is one lane roads on steep hills and sharp curves. This still doesn't stop some people from driving forty miles an hour, or a lot faster out on the wide and spacious country lanes where I found snakey.

Anyway, I've also been battling technology for the last few days. I've dropped my phone twice today, once the second I got out of bed, and again at the post office. I've suffered two power outages that lasted just long enough to reset everything in the house and reboot my computer. Let this stand as your BACK UP YOUR WRITING reminder for the day.

And finally, the reason I was at the post office. After a conversation with my CP, the fabulous @FeakySnucker, I decided I needed to make an Agent Love Voodoo Doll.  I mailed the prototype to her. The idea is that when you're waiting for a response on a full manuscript submission, you pin the novel's title to the doll in a heart, causing the agent in question to fall deeply in love with it and take you on as a client. The logic might be shaky, but it's based on centuries of Voodoo tradition. And if you're rejected, you can just stick pins through the doll's naughty bits. If I actually gave the doll any naughty bits.

Keep in mind that this is a rudimentary prototype. Next time I make one, I promise to use pins, and draw a better pattern. This one took all of five minutes to make, which is why his arms and legs are so wonky:

Mutant Agent Love Voodoo Doll

Have y'all ever resorted to anything this drastic? Would anyone else be interested in an Agent Love Voodoo Doll? Would it help if I swore to make sure its head turned out round instead of pointy? Do you think I need to spend less time on social media dreaming up this sort of lunacy?

Oh, and the Progress-o-Meter

Words: 55,373
Pages:172
Edit Page: 98

Food, Kitchens, and Cooking

Okay, I understand that I talk about food all too often. I can't help it. Helper Monkey works at a grocery store, and we talk about groceries at least three times a day. I assume most people do. For some reason, today was particularly food-centric for me. Here I attempt to rehash the most relevant moments of foodiness from today.


Saturday, Sunday, and Monday I worked baseball games, and the guilt of not being home for dinner three nights in a row was starting to get to me. My poor family had to get by on pizza, breakfast-for-dinner, and the like. Last night I cooked. It was nice for me, too. I'd been living on french fries and chicken fingers at the park.

Today Helper Monkey and I watched Hell's Kitchen, thus starting the food fuss. It all went downhill from there.

Before dinner, I exchanged an increasingly dyspeptic series of emails with Fabulous Crit Partner, Feaky Snucker, about disgusting foods. This chat centered around beets, in particular, and why we both think they are The Devil's Food. Now that I'm settled in with a therapeutic bowl of ice cream, I can discuss beets without feeling the need to hurl. It was not the best topic for pre-meal conversation, though.

Also, while making dinner, and yet again being blinded by steam fogging up my glasses, I wondered if there were any professional chefs who wear glasses. I wonder how they manage. I mean, I really only cook one meal a day, and it drives me bonkers to be periodically blinded while handling boiling hot things. It leads to a fair degree of physical injury.

While I cooked, we discussed the fact that one of the chefs on Hell's Kitchen professed a dislike of cilantro. Helper Monkey hates the stuff. I tried to convince him that it had a respectable place in cooking. Let's just say the conversation devolved comically to the point where Lulu chimed in that we were acting in a fashion unbecoming parents. I think it was my "OH NO YOU DIDN'T" comment that pushed her over the edge.

I asked the Monkey what Pad Thai (a dish he loves) would be without a little cilantro. He answered, "Better." "OH NO YOU DIDN'T!", to which he replied, "UH UH GIRLFRIEND!" etc. etc.

The conversation went downhill from there, to the point we were quoting Geoff Peterson and doing the Secretariat dance. Lulu observed like we were an exhibit at the zoo. She's our own personal Jane Goodall. Someday I'm sure we'll be the subject of an academic paper. Or therapy.

Luckily, I can go back to editing now. I think part of my problem is lack of sleep. I was up until 1:30 last night revising, and then up at 6 am today. Food (and caffeine) is about the only thing keeping me from slipping into a coma right now. And on that happy note, back to editing.

This little snippet of my fascinating life has been brought to you by the versatile herb, cilantro. Suck it up, Helper Monkey!