Long time no see on the bloggity

First of all, I did survive GISHWHES, in case anyone was wondering. It was an amazing week, but since then, I've been so distracted by other things, I haven't bothered to write any of them down here. For the most part, I've been putting my strange thoughts into tumblr posts as they occur to me, rather than saving everything up for a big post here.

It is time, however, for a BIG POST HERE. So, uh...here it is, a big post.

I finally finished editing Torn, and wrote a query letter, and I'm making my list and checking it 93,572 times before sending out queries. Riiiiight. Finished-- as if there is such a thing as finishing when it comes to editing. It's more like resigning from the task after conceding detente. Continuing would lead to mutually assured destruction, so the manuscript and I shook hands and bought each other a few drinks. We'll spend the next few weeks glaring suspiciously at one another while we wait to hear back from agents.

In the meantime, there are other exciting things in the works. Things that are in their infancy. Things that are not yet identifiable as infants, but more as three-headed-demon-raptors, howling into the night from their nests in the rafters of the attic. We (in the nebulous, mysterious sense of the word "we" because there are other "people" involved in this endeavor. I won't name them yet for fear of drawing down the wrath of heaven upon us all for plotting such a diabolical... plot) are nursing them along on a steady diet of secret potions and the blood of innocents. All will be revealed in good time. *chuckles maliciously* In good time.

The next step is to start writing the next thing now. It is my most favorite, and also my least favorite, part of writing. The thrill of a new plotline and new characters, and the thrilling agony of research, the hesitating stop-start-stop of molding a new world into a sensible story, and hoping I can keep flinging myself forward to the end. I can already feel my heart racing. It might be a caffeine overdose, but I don't think so. I think it's ecstatic terror that grips me every time I start a new story.

So I'm off to stave off the inevitable heart attack by draining off the bad mojo through my fingertips. I'll be back with updates as soon as the demon raptors are weaned and ready to take flight. Until then, beware of strange screeching noises from the attic.

GISHWHES, That's All, Nothing Else

The time is almost upon us. It's the most wonderful time of the year. It's GISHWHES week!

This photograph is a highly accurate, scientific representation of GISHWHES, the Greatest International Scavenger Hunt the World Has Ever Seen. If you don't know what it is, if you've never heard of this gleeful insanity, go check out the website. (It's too late to register for this year, but maybe you'll want to consider it for next year, hmmm?)

While the hunt itself is a lot of fun, it's also a lot of hard work and creative dedication. I am participating this year, with my most excellent team, Team AngrySandwich.

Thanks to @mixeduppainter for the glorious (and highly accurate, scientific representation of our team).

The fifteen of us will be doing insane things for the next week.While you will get to mostly sit back and enjoy (or regret) our lapse into frantic madness, there may come a time when I or my fellow Sandwiches ask for a little help. Maybe you live near something we need a photograph of. Maybe you know how to build a seagull out of sanitary napkins and this is how you enjoy spending Tuesday evenings. Perhaps you have some other arcane skill that we might be able to put to good use, and the good humor enough to share your time and energy. Who knows, you might just have some fun.

I'll update our progress through the tweeties. There might be a LOT of tweeties, or not very many at all. GISHWHES isn't exactly something you can plan for in advance.

Feel free to ignore us. Feel free to ask for updates. Feel free to jump in and rebel against normalcy with us.

Just be warned, for the next week or so, for me, there really is nothing else. Hang on tight.

Long Vacations and GISHWHES

Wow, howdy! It's been a while, hasn't it?

Between finishing and editing the manuscript that's currently out with my CP's, and the craziness of summer, dividing my time between Tumblr (where I've been posting my "untweetworthy" snippets and other little observations, as well as exploring my current obsession with Supernatural) and Twitter (where I get quite silly sometimes).

Summer camp was sort of a bust this year. I lasted three days before The Plague made its way around camp. Of course my daughter was among the victims. And of course I'd spend the second half of the week dying of it, too.

Now that summer is drawing to a close, the next big deal for me is GISHWHES, or The Greatest International Scavenger Hunt the World Has Ever Seen. (at time of writing, you have 9 hours left to register if you want to join in!).

What is GISHWHES? Well, go check that link for details. It's a week-long festival of insanity created by Misha Collins to have some fun and do some good. The main goal (other than the fun) is to show people how easy it is to change someone else's life with a small act of kindness. It doesn't need to take a mountain of money or time to do something good for someone. It can be as simple as holding the door for someone who has their arms full. Basically, it's a reminder that what seems like a small thing to you might mean the world to someone else. KINDNESS RULES. Check out the charity, Random Acts, for more info there.

This year, I'm proud to be on Team AngrySandwich. From August 11-17, I might pop in here, twitter, tumblr, or even into your crawlspace. Wait, scratch that last one. I haven't mastered teleportation yet. Drat. Where was I? OH! Right. I might ask for a few favors.

DO NOT BE ALARMED. THESE FAVORS WILL BE EASY TO PERFORM! AND THEY MIGHT CAUSE YOUR HEART TO GROW A FEW SIZES TOO! Well, metaphorical heart growth. No physical hearts will be harmed in the making of this GISHWHES. I hope.

So the next update you see from me might be a strange request, or an odd picture, or a little slice of the crazy. Please to be enjoying.

Tweetgarble: everything I wanted to tweet today, but couldn't.

It has been a WEIRD day, folks. SO MANY THINGS happened that I wanted to share on twitter, but couldn't because I was stuck in the Hot Corner Grill for the duration of an interminable baseball game. Fifteen innings. We still lost. Ugh.

At any rate, here's the weird summation:

Lulu complained of feeling ill this morning. I had to get to work, and I worried about leaving a sick kid home alone. Helper Monkey was due home by 9, so if she was really sick, she could call and he'd go get her. She was, and he did. I felt like Mother of the Year.

I got to work by 8, and there were some film crews there getting shots of the stadium. I asked what they were filming, and they said they were studying broadcast journalism at Fort Meade (one was Army, the other Air Force), and were making a B roll for a class project about food service. Okey dokey. I wished them luck, and told them if they wanted to watch me count beer cups and french fry boats, they were welcome to observe the seedy underbelly of the food service industry. Heavens to Betsy, but about ten minutes later, there they were.

Before I knew what was happening, I'd been selected as the star of their film, forced to wear a microphone, and had two cameras on me for the first four innings of the game. I hope I didn't do anything inappropriate, since this video will ostensibly be viewed by other members of the U.S. Military. I honestly have no freaking idea what to make of this. It was surreal.

Me, in my classy spillproof work shirt and Mr. Microphone. Dang. I really wish I'd thrown on some lipstick. And what a great shot of my nostrils, too! Ugh.

On top of the game running 15 innings, about 5 hours, it was the last game of the homestand, which meant everything in our stand had to be disassembled, washed, and reassembled. It's...a really big job. Especially for six people. We usually have 14. So. We were there for A WHILE. Talk about dishpan hands.

I thought it would be nice to get something to cheer Lulu up, so I stopped at the grocery store. She loves blue Gatorade, so I got her some. I also got myself some gelato, because damn. My feet hurt. Which, obviously, translates to an extreme need for gelato.

When I finally dragged my carcass home, SURPRISE! Lulu was hanging out in our driveway with half the middle-schoolers in our neighborhood, having a regular little party. So much for being sick. Apparently a six hour nap and a shower is now a cure for illness so awful she had to come home from school early.

Helper Monkey agreed she looked awful this morning, so I can only assume a MIRACULOUS HEALING occurred while I was at work. At least she has some nice friends.

Helper Monkey was helpful today, and had done most of the laundry. He warned me, before I went into the bedroom, that it was awfully sparkly in there, and I thought, "OOH! DID HE CLEAN, TOO?!" Nope. Lulu accidentally knocked a jar of glitter into her laundry hamper, and when Monkey dumped it out to sort, GLITTERPOCALYPSE!

So my bedroom rug looks like a unicorn threw up all over it, but hey. Unicorns are magical.

So that brings us up to this moment. My ears are ringing, I feel dizzy and slightly sick. My feet hurt. My back is sore. I just want to curl up in a little ball and sleep for about 12 hours. I don't know if I can finish this draft tonight. I think I'm going to be kind to myself, and do it tomorrow. I'll have ALL DAY, and it's going to be Friday Write Club! Guaranteed finish tomorrow. Because other things are starting to pile up behind it (like EXCITING CP manuscripts that I can't wait to read!)

So there you go. My weird day.

My Introduction to Professional Wrestling

I volunteer (to earn money for Lulu's girl scout activities) at the local baseball stadium. During the off season, I've had an opportunity to also go down to the Patriot Center at George Mason University to sell beer for charity. I love that concept. Anyhoo, last Saturday I worked the last scheduled event there before baseball season starts up again. WWE RAW.

Let me preface this tale by saying I knew ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about professional wrestling. I'd heard of the top name stars, like John Cena and The Rock, but that's about it. I knew nothing of the fans, nor the level of devotion these people feel for "their man." I'm familiar with NASCAR, and the kind of crazy people get for their driver, but the WWE fans were over the top. There were a berjillion kids, even toddlers, all decked out head to toe in stuff covered in slogans and catch phrases that I couldn't decipher. It was eye-opening.

These fans came from every walk of life, all races, ages, ability levels, and every other categorization you can think of. And they were universally polite and kind, at least the ones I saw walk past my beer stand. I was shocked. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't the welcoming, friendly crowd I saw.

After the intermission when the stadium cut off alcohol sales, I counted out our cash drawer and headed off to the cash office to sign out for the night. I opened the door to the stairwell that went down into the bowels of the arena, and was confronted by two burly security guys asking if I needed to get through. Um, yeah, security guys, I need to get through. I was apparently the last person they allowed down that way, because there were three even larger, even burlier guys clad in black leather blocking the entire freaking hallway behind the security guards. I paid them no mind, other than noting that for guys who looked like a pornographic SWAT team, they smelled really nice.

I cashed out, signed the register, and tried to go back upstairs. I was told no. No going up those stairs again. Sigh. I had to run all the way around the arena to the opposite side's stairs, then all the way around the concourse upstairs to where my ride was waiting for me. I stopped at the ladies room, and when I came out, the three leather-clad guys were standing by the portal waiting to be announced to go in to wrestle. Suddenly their outfits made more sense. One of the guys made a funny face at me, stuck his tongue out, and I fumbled for my camera. I wanted to see if I could figure out who they were when I got home. He was announced and dashed off behind the curtains before I could get the camera app up. Dang it.

As soon as I got home, I looked up the WWE site, and immediately discovered who they were: Roman Reigns and The Shield. Okay, then. I still have no clue when it comes to the actual wrestling, but based on my little hallway encounter, and the tongue thing, I am now a Roman Reigns supporter. *fans self*

This is basically what I walked into.

In summary, I don't really understand wrestling. I don't know about the points, or the bouts, or anything. But I am impressed. The wrestlers seem to really care about their fans. From all the slogans on t-shirts I saw, a lot of them seem to promote values I can get behind, like honor, respect, and justice. They do this practically every day, somewhere around the country. It's insane. I can't even imagine that kind of life. But more power to them. Uh, and especially to The Shield. They can kick down my front door any day. *finger waves at porno SWAT guys*

A Grand Day Out

I've been trying to get to local author events and book signings lately, especially now that Lulu is beginning to explore the YA genre, which I read a lot of, and is also showing an interest in writing. *quiet, nonthreatening squeeing from me* *wouldn't want to frighten her out of the Writermobile*

When I learned that Maureen Johnson was coming to speak at the Bethesda Library, I knew Lulu would enjoy it. *and yes, I knew I would enjoy it too*

Thursday nights are Family Night around here, since it's Helper Monkey's only night off work. We try to do something together, as a family. I asked him if he'd mind if I took Lulu to this event, and he responded that he'd actually like to come with us. I was pleasantly surprised.

Helper Monkey grew up in Bethesda, and it's also where we met 17 years ago. It was a little trip down memory lane for us. As a bonus, a friend of his works at a great Lebanese restaurant just a few blocks from the library, and he's been asking us to come for dinner forever. The plan was for us to go to the event, and then have a nice dinner out.

I half expected him to simply tolerate the book event. He's not exactly the YA book target market. Sure, he'll read a Harry Potter, or a Percy Jackson, but that's about the extent of his forays into books for non-adults.

I am now 100% convinced that Maureen Johnson is contagious, or possibly emits some sort of radioactive mutation field. In the best possible way. Helper Monkey was absolutely delighted by her, and is now following her on Twitter. He's going to read Name of the Star when he's done with whatever it is he's reading now. My reaction:



So the family had a lovely time. Thanks to Maureen, the Bethesda Library, and Politics and Prose. :D

Once we were done, we went for Lebanese food at Bacchus. Oh. My. Commas. It was a feast. Let's just say I wished I'd worn a skirt with an elastic waistband. On the plus side, I ate a lot of tomato slices in cucumber sauce. Nom! I apologized for stealing all the tomatoes, claiming I was in the middle of a Tomato Jones. For the rest of the evening, the family referred to me as Tomato Jones, and suggested I write a series of detective novels starring this new character. Perhaps, Tomato Jones: Sliced and Diced.

There was this:

Then there was dessert. This custard was flavored with honey and rosewater. I would like to marry this dessert. I told Helper Monkey I was leaving him for it, and told Lulu she should learn to love her new father as much as I do.

Unfortunately, I ate it all, so I decided to stay with Helper Monkey. At least until next time...

There was also Turkish coffee and baklava. Noms.

I haven't eaten that well in...years, probably. All the noms.

All told, it was truly a grand day out.

Before the beginning, or the Sekrit Project

So I've written three novels in a series. I'd been querying the first of these, and had some positive responses along the way. Recently, I had the most interesting response I'd ever received, and it started me in an entirely new direction.

I'd been told there was too much backstory, too much world building that seemed to take place in the far distant past. I suppose it's one of the difficulties involved in writing a character that was  nearly two thousand years old. I wanted to set her stories in the modern world, a world that would be almost identical to the world we all live in. But how do you even begin to relate to a character who's that old, who has that much tragedy and loss in her past without digging a little deeper into the main events that shaped her into what she is now?

When I started writing the work that is now Running Down the Dragon, I compiled a massive amount of history. I knew Thalia's story from the day she was born until the day RDTD begins.

I recently received the most delightful rejection, in which disappointment was expressed that Thalia's origin story wasn't really included or fleshed out as well as the agent in question had hoped it would be. Well, I know her origin story inside out and backward. In a flash of insight, I realized I could take the defining moments of her early life and use them to illustrate the world she lives in today.

All that being said, I am now in the process of writing Thalia's first story, the first Major Turning Point in her life. It completely changed the way I look at her. And the writing isn't like anything I've ever done before.

I already know this story. I had to invent her entire history in order to be able to write RDTD. But now that I'm going back and writing it down, I get to fill in all the marvelous details that I'd never stopped to consider before. Since I've written three other novels based on her, novels that include flashbacks to events in her past, and references to people she'd known in the distant past, I've had to scour through three novels in order to make sure I referenced people, places, and events correctly. It's taken a lot more preparation than I expected, but I am FINALLY ready to write.

I am so thrilled! So far, what I've learned about writing a prequel is that it's a lot of work to prepare for, because consistency is so important. Once I got started, though, the words are running faster than anything else I've ever written. As a pantser, this is as close to an outline I've ever started a project with.

I'll periodically blog about any weird observations I have during this process over the next few weeks of drafting. I have a feeling this is going to be a real doozy! In the best of all possible ways!

Meeting (and flailing at) Authors, Jodi Meadows

I love meeting Authors (big A, you know, the published, the people I admire, whose writing I love). Unfortunately, they are the people I tend to lose my marbles around quickest. I mean, I can hold it together just fine in front of TV stars, famous athletes, etc., but I absolutely puddle for writers.

I met Clive Barker once, and I couldn't get two coherent words out of my mouth. Helper Monkey had to tell him my name to have him sign my book. That was about 17 years ago, though, so I hoped I'd become a little less of a dork. Thursday night I realized that I might not be a mumbling incoherent dork anymore, but that's only because I learned to be louder.

***Cutting across my own post to remind everyone that when you go to an author event hosted by a bookstore, PLEASE do your best to buy the book at the store. Or at least buy SOMETHING at the store if you already own the book. The stores get nothing from hosting, other than the hopeful possibility of sales. If events don't generate sales, they have less incentive to bring awesome authors in for you to meet. But I'm sure you already knew that, because you are awesome people.***

I took Lulu to an author event with four lovely authors. To be fair, I went to meet the wonderful Jodi Meadows who not only writes fantastic books (Incarnate, and the sequel Asunder, which I'm reading now), but who spins her own yarn! I mean, really, literally, spins yarn! Out of wool and silk and stuff! How cool is that? *side note, I crochet, so I am fascinated by soft and fluffy things, like yarn. your mileage may vary. But if the yarn doesn't do it for you, she has ferrets, too.*

Okay, I have to mention the books for a second. Incarnate is about a girl born into a society where every other person is a reincarnated soul who takes the memories of each lifetime to their next lifetime. The same souls had been born over and over again, until Ana came along instead of the soul everyone expected her to be. Hilarity ensues. Well, not hilarity. But Lots of Things ensue. Especially Sam. You will want to know about Sam.

I couldn't wait to get my hands on Asunder, and I'm not going to give you spoilers. Once you see the cover, you'll want to read them anyway.

See? Pretty, right?

When I looked up the details of the event, hosted by Hooray for Books in Alexandria, Virginia, I was intrigued by the other three authors participating. I hadn't read their books yet, and after meeting them, I put all three of their books on top of my TBR list.

The only picture I was able to take before my phone battery died.

From left to right, they are Jodi Meadows, The Megans (as Lulu called them), Megan Spooner, author of Skylark (in a society under a dome where she's never seen the sky, Lark discovers she might be something out of legend when it was her turn to give up her innate magic to power the dome), and Megan Shepherd, author of The Madman's Daughter (which is a really interesting take on the Island of Doctor Moreau told from the POV of the doctor's daughter, so you know I want to read this as a HUGE Wells fan), and Lenore Appelhans, author of Level 2 (an unusual look at an afterlife where memories are currency. More memories means more wealth).

The audience was lovely. I was not. Lulu wanted to suggest a page number for Jodi to read, but I'd already decided on one, and I SHOUTED DOWN MY OWN KID. But it gets better (worse). Jodi asked one question from Incarnate, with the prize of a pair of incredible hand-made Jodi Mitts. I did raise my hand, and Lulu didn't, but she swears she knew the answer too. I know she did, but she's not a hand raiser. You snooze, you lose, kiddo. And I didn't even answer the question 100% correctly, but still won the mitts. Sure, I am Mittens. Mittens needs mitts. But I promised to share them 50-50 with Lulu.

Precious Mitts! They are SOOOOOO soft.

I also wanted to tell Jodi a silly story that took place shortly after Incarnate was released. I believe it was the Authoress who tweeted that Jodi was giving away Fluff Ponies, and to contact her if you wanted one. So I did. I hadn't read Incarnate yet, but how can you not after receiving a Fluff Pony with Super Magical Powers?

This is the content of that email. If that doesn't make you a fan, then I don't need to know you:


Congratulations! Your request for a fluff pony has been APPROVED. Welcome to your new life with your fluff pony.

Your fluff pony is fully loaded and ready for battle. Note the laser bracelets and cuffs; those are weapons. Note the pointy horn; that is a weapon. See the wings? Those aren't weapons. Those are for getting you to the doorstep of your enemy so you can DESTROY. (Or away from your enemy, if necessary.) The glasses are to allow your fluff pony to SEE THROUGH WALLS so you can attack while your enemy is showering or otherwise vulnerable.

You are awesome. You deserve nothing but the best fluff pony available.

Now you have it.

Jodi

I named him George. Every once in a while, when I really need to feel like I could arrive at the doorstep of my enemy and be prepared to destroy said enemy, I have a little visit with George.

But when it was our turn to have our copy of Asunder signed? I babbled incoherently for about 10 seconds and then ran for the hills. No cute story about the fluff pony. No reminding her that I said hi on twitter a few times, including the day before the event. Total incoherence.

So there you have it, my Thursday, wherein I proved I can simultaneously be a nincompoop and a cool mom. Lulu loved the event, even when I couldn't figure out which street you could turn left onto Washington Street from. *shakes fist at Northern Virginia traffic planning*

Thanks to all the authors and Hooray for Books. We had a great time.

Mehpocalypse, and other fun

So we all survived the Mayan Apocalypse. Well, I assume if you're reading this you survived, too. The worst thing that happened all day, at least near my house, was a bit of light snow. Meh.




I finished wrapping Christmas presents, so at least the world won't come to an end for a lack of appropriate gift giving next week. At least not on my part. I hope y'all upheld your gift-giving duties.

I also realized that for the first time, I might be tempted to tweet about Christmas morning. There might even be pictures. Then I realized how crappy the rest of my living room looked, and figured I should tidy up a bit. It was a good thing I did. I found some interesting (read: appallingly embarrassing) things while going through the junk that's built up on the coffee table. Here's a partial list:

• A bag of Dr. Pepper Jelly Bellies that Lulu bought in Savannah. In July. Jelly Bellies don't go bad, do they?
• A gift certificate to Baskin Robbins she got for making the honor roll at school. Time to go get ice cream!
• An Irish penny
• The original notes that sparked the idea for my Untweetworthy posts (which in turn inspired this list).
• A Jack Skellington foam ball thing for the top of the car antenna. I bought it at Disney in 2010. Maybe I should actually put it on the car, huh?
• The last two car insurance cards I got for my truck. That's a year's worth of proof-of-insurance. Maybe I should put those in the truck. That would probably be a good idea.
• The unopened copy of Rachel Ray Everyday magazine from October 2011. That's not a typo. 2011.

So that was most of my day. Now that we're past the Solstice and the days are getting longer again, I feel excited about finishing my WIP. I'm finally past the painful sticky-spot that I'd been unable to get through for so long. We're tumbling ever closer to 2013, and I'm tumbling ever closer to a full first draft. Things are looking up.

Or, they will be. I have more exciting critiquing work to do before I go back to writing. So here's the last of my #ApocalypseConfessions. There's nothing more exciting then doing an emergency critique. Think about that. An emergency-level read-through. It always precedes exciting things, you know? So off I go. I hope y'all have something just as exciting to tackle this weekend. You know. Now that we're sure there will be a weekend at all.

Stupid Mehpocalypse.

The Art of Compromise

Right. So I've known my husband, the Helper Monkey, for nearly 17 years now. We've been married for 15. And every once in a while, I learn something completely shocking about him. Sometimes it leads to snort-drooling laughter.

 

I decided to make pasta for dinner tonight, since I forgot to make up a shopping list for Helper Monkey to get the ingredients for @Fizzygrrl's crock pot curry recipe. This sort of mental lapse is typical. We eat a lot of pasta as a result.

So, I ask the Monkey and Lulu what kind of sauce they want. I have two jars, one regular marinara type sauce, and one of vodka sauce. Vodka sauce is one of my favorites, by the way, so I consider it a treat whenever I make it. I was personally leaning toward it, and had convinced Lulu it was the option to choose. Helper Monkey did not agree.

For the last seventeen years, I've made vodka sauce countless times. I knew it wasn't his favorite, but he always ate it with minimal grumbling. I don't know why tonight was any different, but The Truth has finally come out. Turns out, Helper Monkey equates vodka sauce with vomit. Lulu promptly renamed it Vomit Sauce, and hilarity ensued.

I laughed at his response, but then realized he was completely serious. This made me laugh harder. I was stomping around the living room with the reviled sauce, wondering how anyone could repeatedly eat something that they equated with puke. I have no idea why I found this so entertaining, but I was literally floored. I fell to my knees, laughing so hard I was drooling, all the while berating the Monkey for keeping his vitriolic hatred a secret so long. The mind boggles. Truly, if someone served me something I didn't like once, I'd probably eat it and be polite. I might mention that it wasn't exactly to my taste if they suggested they make it again. If they tried to foist such horror on me a third time, I'd put my foot down. There is no way in hell I'd repeatedly eat something I detested for seventeen years without opening my fat yap and screaming. No. Way. In. Hell.

The Monkey knows I like it, so he never said anything before now. O_o

Hello, people?! Compromise isn't about torturing yourself to make someone else happy. It's about having your needs met while also meeting the needs of others. Sure, I eat foods that aren't my favorite, but I do not eat foods I hate. I feel like I should bake the Monkey a cake. He's apparently suffered greatly in my culinary equivalent of Guantanamo. I'm pretty sure he likes chocolate cake, but I think I'll ask first, just to make sure...

I'll say one thing for sure, I am now eternally convinced of the Monkey's love. He suffered in silence all this time for me. Granted, I'd rather he'd have told me, but shoot. I can't be mad about it. He did it for love. :D

 

How far would you go to keep your dearest love happy? Would any of y'all really go this far? What's the nuttiest thing you've ever done for love? Or, if you're one of my writerly friends, what have you made your characters do for love? I'd love to know.

Post-Sandy

We have been incredibly lucky. Despite living in a veritable forest, we don't seem to have lost any trees. There are branches, leaves, and other debris everywhere, but a walk through the neighborhood showed no significant damage. The neighbors we ran into were equally pleased and puzzled.

Spot the deer! She was herding her two kids up the street this morning. We've watched the babies grow up all summer, so I'm glad to see they made it through the storm.

I know many people, especially to the north and east, didn't fare so well. Our thoughts are with you as you rebuild, recover, and get back to normal. Hopefully you're all intact, out there. We've been following the reports on tv in shock and horror. I wish I had better words of comfort for you, but I know what you're going through. I'm right there with you, in spirit.

During the worst part of the storm last night, Lulu hunkered down in our room. She fled her boring parents about 1 am when she realized we had no plans to turn the tv off. So now we know we're worse company than howling wind. I knew this day would come. Life with an almost-teenager is certainly rewarding.

The picture above is from the bottom of my driveway to the lake waaaaaay down below. It's hard to tell from this angle, but that floating dock off to the right? It's not floating. It was marooned up on land when the water crested last night. And that tree in the lake? It wasn't there yesterday. Someone lost a tree somewhere. We found it!

During the worst of the storm, that manhole and those gray rocks (which are part of the drainage system in the neighborhood) were covered with water. O.O

Someone's been busy! Even without the for sale sign out front, it isn't hard to guess which house is on the market. It's the one with NO LEAVES ON THE GROUND ANYWHERE INCLUDING THE STREET. We thought this was weird. The rest of the street is paved with leaves and branches.

And we actually got mail! Sure, it's completely soaked, but it's here! Sorry you're all wrinkly and sodden, Oriental Trading Kid. It's kind of nice to know the USPS still takes that "neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night" stuff seriously.

We're still getting a little drizzle, and the rivers haven't crested yet, so likely there will be more flooding, but the worst is done for us. Nothing has been more helpful than the care and support shown on Twitter. Y'all are amazing people out there. We got off easy here, but it's still good to know everyone else did, too. Not to mention some of the amazing heroic tales I've heard.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who put themselves in harm's way so the rest of us could stay safe. We owe you all. You're heroes in my book. And I do mean that quite literally. I can't thank any of you enough.

For Ever, Love Frankie

Hey guys and dolls, how's it going? 

Don't look so startled - I don't bite. 

My name's Frankie. And I'm just a regular guy. 

Well, except for the whole ghost thing, I guess. 

You’re probably wondering what I'm doing here. Well,
it’s pretty simple actually. Something is coming for my best friend Ever - something
I alone cannot protect her from. Regardless of how much I love her how hard I try. 

So I have to spread the word.

And I need your help to do it.

I've been a bystander for far too long, trapped in
this ghostly shell for the past two years. I've decided it’s time to make myself known and set
some things into motion. See, I've hijacked Amazon, Curiosity Quills Press, and blogs all over the internet to make my move. 

You're probably wondering why, right? 

Well allow me to be a bit more specific. Something isn't just coming for Ever; her actual soul is in danger. So I've decided to stay silent no longer. Word needs to spread. People need to know. 

Evil lurks in the shadows.  

To give Ever more time to figure things out and try to protect herself from the trouble that awaits her, I'm upping the publication date of our story. 

 I'm sure you can understand. I mean, souls are on the line here. 

So, with that said, EVER IS NOW AVAILABLE. Yes, you read that right. NOW. I couldn't wait any longer, so I did what I had to do to protect that stubborn girl I love my best friend, Ever. 

I had to do it. Some things are too important to wait for, and Ever is one of those things for me.

Now as you’re spreading the word about this new development,
take heed this one warning:

Evil lurks in the shadows. And not just any evil. 

It’s disguised as that slick talking, good-looking bastard, Toby James ... the new kid next door. 

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Ahoy! Tis my anniversARRy today!

Yes. I got married on International Talk Like a Pirate Day. This was unintentional. I swear.

No, our wedding wasn't pirate themed. We got married in 1997, and September 19 wasn't declared International Talk Like a Pirate Day until 2002. So. No pirate-themed wedding. But wouldn't that have been completely AWESOME?!

As it is, I am deliriously happy to have been married to the wonderful Helper Monkey for the last fifteen years. Without even realizing it, I honor September 19th all over my left hand. See?

Yes, that is Captain Jack Sparrow next to my wedding rings.

I've got pirates and my wedding all over the place. I never take those rings off (unless I'm making meatballs, or scrubbing toilets, or, you know, stuff like that. You know how hard it is to pick cookie dough out of Captain Jack's beard? Eww).

In preparation for this evening's festivities, Helper Monkey and I went out to run a few errands. We tried to get the truck washed, but the car wash place was closed. So we went on up to the grocery store for junk food instead. Now we have a celebratory pecan pie for dessert tonight, so that was definitely worth the drive.

We also went to the liquor store for something special to drink. While there, I saw some strange things. This included:

Donut and buttered popcorn flavored vodka. This strikes me as jarringly wrong. There were other alcoholic atrocities going on at the store, but this was the most...disturbing. I mean, donut sounds pretty good, but buttered popcorn? To drink? Ugh. What the hell do you mix it with?

So we got some normal Sam Adams Octoberfest beer. No weirdo dessert vodka for us.

One other strange tidbit before I sign off. I've had some suncatchers up on my front porch glass door since we moved here, about 6 1/2 years ago. Lulu made them when she was like 5 or something. For the last week or so, there's been one crazy hummingbird that comes and checks out the flower-shaped one nearly every day. I have seen him multiple times bumping his little beak up against the window, as if the flower were real and full of yummy nectar. Poor little guy. He's too quick to get a picture of, but I'll keep trying.

And no Progress-O-Meter for the last few days, because I've been wrapped up in CP heaven, reading the final draft of a brilliant R&R. Tomorrow it's back to work for me! In the mean time, hoist yer grog before I make ye walk the plank, ya scurvy cur! :D

It's Disasteversary Day

I almost said "Happy Disasteversary," but that just sounds wrong. There's not really much happy about a disasteversary. Especially a double.

August 23 is a day filled with interesting memories for me. Twenty years ago today, I was battening down the hatches for Hurricane Andrew. One year ago today, I thought my house was sliding down the hill when the DC earthquake scared the bejeebers out of me.

I survived the hurricane, though most everything I owned before I was 19 did not. So much of my childhood disappeared overnight. Photos, toys, and clothes I would have passed on to my own daughter washed away in the storm surge or were irreparably damaged by the layer of mildew that grows over everything after it's been soaked in seawater for days on end. And that doesn't even describe the horror of living through the storm itself. A tornado spawned by the storm took out nearly every tree in our yard. The wind howled all night, broke the window in my mom's car, and then the air pressure made the horn honk in a solid blast until the battery died. It took hours. Can you say spooky? We had no power for nine days afterward. And we were a good thirty miles north of Homestead, where the worst of the storm hit and leveled entire communities. My mom's house wasn't so lucky.

Twenty years later I still relive bits of that day like it was yesterday. I wouldn't wish that kind of thing on anyone. It weirds me out that there's a "hurricane booth" at our local mall where you pay a few dollars, step inside, and experience hurricane force winds for a minute or two. I have no desire to ever experience it again. Enough said.

Exactly one year ago today, the earth moved. I'd experienced a mild earthquake before, but that was in Los Angeles, where you kind of expect earthquakes. I live 35 miles from Washington DC. We don't get earthquakes here. Except that one.

I was sitting out on the back porch with my laptop, writing. Lulu was at a friend's house. Helper Monkey had just gone to bed. At first, I thought they were blasting somewhere nearby. They were building a house down the street from me, and several times they had to blast through the bedrock in order to pour concrete for the foundation. But the shaking didn't stop, it got worse. My second thought was that my house had finally broken loose from the aforementioned bedrock and was sliding down the hill toward the lake. It felt like the ground had turned to jello, and wave after wave pulsed through the deck below me. I was too freaked out to stand up.

When the shaking stopped, I ran downstairs to ask Helper Monkey if he felt it, too. My third thought was that I was having some sort of psychotic break, and I'd hallucinated the whole event. He'd been drifting off to sleep, and his first thought was that I was moving the bed. When I called to make sure everything was okay at her friend's house, I learned that Lulu missed the whole thing. She was in her friend's swimming pool and they thought the waves were of their own making.

We were lucky. We escaped without any real damage. They are still repairing buildings downtown, though. The National Cathedral won't be fully fixed for at least 10 years. The Washington Monument is still not fully stabilized. Union Station still has netting up to protect passengers from falling things.

So that's what I'm thinking about today. And I'll kindly ask that if any further disasters are planned for wherever I happen to be living either now or in the future, could you kindly pick another date? This one is already full.

Call Me Paula Bunyan, Or, I Defeat the Log of Feelings

I have a fallen white oak tree in my back yard. It came crashing down last summer, and for over a year, it's been blocking the path from our back porch to the driveway. We've been climbing over it for a year. Leaving it there wasn't entirely an act of laziness.

The day the tree fell, I went out back with my axe and a saw. I was determined to move the log out of the way. Unfortunately, the log defeated me. It's a huge freaking white oak. What did I expect? Instant capitulation? Hah! But I did have a new favorite pastime.

We dubbed the tree "The Log of Feelings." Over the last year, when I would get particularly frustrated or upset, I'd grab the axe and go a'hacking.

The tree started it. It originally landed on my roof, but we sawed through the little nub that kept it from hitting the ground.

Today, I went a'hacking. After a few whacks, I realized just how soft and squishy the log had become recently. We've had a lot of rain and hot weather, which isn't good for wood, but it's fantastic for wood you want to pulverize into mulch. I knew this would be the day. I would reclaim our walkway.

It took a while, and I have a blister on my hand from wielding the axe, but you can now walk from my back porch all the way to the driveway without having an advanced degree in monkeying your way up trees.

The part of the tree still stuck blocking my yard. It's WAY too big to move.

That big chunk of wood in the background is the piece I hacked off. The white thing off to the left is the Rubbermaid deck box I used to store yard stuff in. The Log of Feelings smooshed it flat when it fell last year.

You can once again see the stepping stones. You can once again USE those stepping stones, without having to climb over the waist-high tree, or tiptoe through the smashed Rubbermaid box full of slug bait and pruning shears.

For perspective, those stepping stones are 12" squares. The bit of log over to the right, under the main log, fell off the underside of the main log when it snapped. And this log is LESS THAN A THIRD of the whole tree, the rest of which still stands in my yard, serving as a squirrel habitat.

When I finally defeated my nemesis, I celebrated joyfully. I danced, pointed, and mocked the Log of Feelings. Then I realized I didn't have a nemesis anymore. I was sad. I couldn't explain it, but without the Log of Feelings, I was worried I'd resort to inappropriate displays next time I felt overly burdened with emotions.

But all is not lost. Nay, the Log of Feelings is still the Log of Feelings. Until it is finally reduced to a composted soil-like substance, I will still have my favorite pressure-release valve. There's nothing like brute physical destruction to cure frustration.

When I write, if the story hits a pothole, I like to know I can go outside and do something purely physical with immediately visible results. That pile of mulch? Yeah, I made that. And it's good for the garden, too! It beats the heck out of smashing the computer.

While I'm thrilled to death that I can carry the recycling bins out without risking life and limb (har de har), I'll almost miss our temporary roadblock. At least I can finally throw out all the ruined stuff that was squished in the collapsed deck box.

Am I the only writer that relies on this sort of physical barbarism to work out plot holes and characters who won't do my bidding? I'm planning ahead for the day when the Log of Feelings disintegrates. I'd love to know what everyone else does to relieve stress. Hell, the Log of Feelings has also been my main source of exercise for the last while! I need to think of my health, here!

What's your favorite thing to do while working through the tangly bits in your writing?

New Writing/Editing Achievement Unlocked

For those who don't already know, I've finally been working with a GEN-YOU-WINE crit partner who is overflowing with remarkably spot-on advice. It has been an eye-opening journey from what I mistakenly believed was a well-edited manuscript to what is rapidly becoming an actually-well-edited manuscript.

BUT HOLD YOUR HORSES, PEOPLE! It took a while, but I finally unlocked the most awesome writing achievement that has hit me so far. Chapter 22 is my new "favorite thing I ever wrote." No, I don't think it's the most crucial bit of dialogue, or the most evocative of character development, or even the most moving, or savvy, or intellectual. It is, however, the first chapter we sailed straight through without making a single change.

It's probably not perfect. For all I know, it's the chapter that will receive the most slashy red markings from a future editor. But for one glorious moment, I held my head high. I wrote something that my excellent and insightful crit partner left intact.

She pointed out to me that as we go along, we become better at writing. And yes, the farther into the book we get, the fewer corrections there have been overall. But this, a whole chapter that could stand as-is, made my day.

Achievement Unlocked!

Love and chocolates for everyone! I'm dancing through my day today. Feel free to picture that in whatever way makes you laugh hardest.

And a happy Sunday, and Happy Canada Day, eh? For me, it's Happy Chapter 22 Day!

I saw this, and it changed my life.

Three words for you: Cowboy. Monkey. Rodeo.

Yes, those are monkeys riding border collies. Yes, they are herding sheep. They did a remarkable job of it. The best part is, they really like it.

Second best part: Last night was Helper Monkey's birthday. He was in the stands. You can kind of pick him out in the second row all the way at the far left of the picture. He's one of the blurry blobs in a white shirt. Trust me, Helper Monkey enjoyed the show. Full article on the insanity here.

Sunburned Feet and the Insidious Blisters (my next band name)

I've had a full day to recover from Girl Scouts Rock the Mall, and all I have left are blisters. The sunburn on the tops of my feet (I changed into flip flops when my shoes started hurting, but forgot to sunscreen my feet) is fading. The bruises on my right hand from repeatedly putting on and taking off a heavy backpack are fading. Just the blisters remain. Unfortunately they are on the BOTTOMS of my feet, right up by my toes. How does this even happen? My feet are so callused I can use them as a pin cushion, but I still manage to get blisters?

Firemen hosing us off to keep us cool. They kept this up for hours. Note: Lincoln Memorial and WWII memorial in background. I love this city.

A closer-in shot:

And me, post-drenching:

And a small (incredibly tiny) part of the crowd:

Frankly, the best part of the whole event was running under the fire hoses. There were two guys at the top of the bucket truck all afternoon, and they delighted in soaking us with a misting hose, and then surprising us with a blast from the cold fire hose set to full blast. Well, probably not full blast, but you know, really strong compared to the misting. I tried to get a shot of their faces, but I couldn't get close enough without soaking my camera, so I wanted to make sure everyone knew I don't think they stopped grinning all afternoon. Thanks, DCFD!

We're also officially part of a Guinness World Record, for largest sing-along. We had over 250,000 people all singing at once. It's probably the only thing I could have managed to do to get into the Guinness Book, since I can't fit a berjillion straws in my mouth, or shoot milk out my eye for distance, or anything else cool like that. Which is probably a good thing.

Anyhoo, I've been hobbling around the house for the last two days, avoiding touching my feet at all for fear they'll explode like two little bombs. That's how they feel, anyway. But things are looking up. I have to put shoes on in a few minutes to drive Lulu to a friend's house for a sleepover. This is both good, and bad, and good again.

Good, because she's going to be away so I'll have a lot of time to write tonight. Bad because putting on shoes sounds like torture. And good, because I promised to take her and her friend out for ice cream. Mainly so I'd have a good enough reason to put shoes on. Ice cream is good enough today.

So, out to ice cream, and de-kid-ification, and then back home to write! Whoo hoo!

I hope it's a good writing night.