The Wit and Wisdom of Another Sarah

Bad, bad, bad. Plus books. And Harry. Yay!

2011-07-12T10:53:00.000-07:00

Bad me. Posting little teasers, promising more content, and then not fulfilling those promises. I'm a bad blogger...not on purpose! I have the best intentions. Life just gets in the way, sometimes. Especially now, this summer. I've been gardening, working, working at my other job, writing some, but not enough, and definitely not enough fiction...I've been trying to read more, trying to hang out with friends more. Something has to give, and I'm afraid it's usually this dear little blog, with all of you dear readers.

But. I digress.

One of my goals, as listed above, is to read more. I miss the act of reading, and I feel like I'll grow stale if I don't do something about it. So I decided to go into my mini library*** and just start at the very beginning. (A very good place to start.) I have my books alphabetical, so I grabbed the first one.

My thought was to review each book here for you, as I read it. But I didn't do that. I finished the first one, and just started the second one, which is a compilation of six books. And it's going to take me a while to go through it all. But I'll *try* to keep you all posted. :)

First up was "Things Fall Apart," by Chinua Achebe. We read it in high school, and I found it at our local library book sale (a fantastic, twice-a-year event). I wanted to read it again--it's set in Africa, and like the title suggests, things do not go well. I'd have a better review for you, if this wasn't such a random entry. But alas, I don't, and it is.

The next book, the compilation of six, is by Douglas Adams! That's right, I am finally reading (and loving) "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy"! Awesome, awesome book.

I think I have Louisa May Alcott next. We'll see.

In other news, Harry Potter Movie 7 part 2 is coming out!! And I'm going to be there at midnight-oh-one! I started reading Harry when he came out in the US, and I'm doing this for his sake, and for my own. So, enjoy sleeping, you muggles!

***Warning! I think I have a somewhat eclectic taste in books, movies, and music. That just may come out in these reviews. Consider yourself warned.

Oh, Community!

2011-05-13T20:32:00.000-07:00

Some of my favorite things, I started off severely disliking.

I don't know why, exactly. But it's true. Sort of like burning your tongue when you take a bite of something just out of the oven. It may be delicious later, but that first bit is more pain than pleasure.

That was the case for the TV show Community.

I saw the pilot episode, and I thought--wow, this looks stupid. And predictable. I don't think I'll watch this again.

I caught part of the epic paintball episode from Season 1, two episodes from the end, and suddenly, that was it--I was hooked. It's one of my favorite tv shows, now. And, this last Thursday, they showed a second part to a follow-up paintball episode for season 2.

This show has a lot of inside jokes, but a lot of it is funny if you haven't seen it before, either. Plus, it's just awesome, epic-y-ness. Not a jot of it, in my mind, is predictable. Not in the ways you'd expect. Seriously.

And who could hate something that so beautifully mixes paintball and Star Wars?

Go. Watch it.

Busy, busy, busy!

2011-04-26T20:26:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I just can't help but think of the magician on the TV special "Frosty the Snowman." And not because it's been off and on cold amidst the few, true spring days. It's because I just love the way he says he's busy. Seriously--we've all been there, right?

So, anyway...needless to say--I've been busy. Do I always start my blog posts off with that little excuse? I swear it's true. Easter, preparations, work, etc. A little writing--a little reading--a little cooking. (I just got a VitaMix--super expensive blender-times-five-thousand, but super-worth it!) Singing in church, playing bells (I'm just learning, so it's not the greatest. Trust me)...and a few other writing projects on the side.

I was so tired on Saturday, I almost couldn't will myself to take my contacts out and go to bed. I felt like I had passed out from exhaustion on my couch. Yech.

Tomorrow (or the next day, depending on how busy tomorrow is), I want to share one of the projects. But for now, I want to just relax. I'm watching "Meet the Robinsons," which I love (and haven't seen in ages), thinking about some of my short stories, and imagining what sort of smoothie I will attempt to make for breakfast. Maybe there will even be some time for Yoga! Oh, let's not get too wild and crazy, though. After all, it's been a busy day.

Vote for your favorite magic scene - I'm a finalist!

2011-03-30T10:39:00.000-07:00

My last post was about Laura and Tessa's blogfest--as it turns out, I am a finalist in the competition they had going on! I can hardly believe it--amidst so many wonderful and intricate magical scenes, I feel deeply honored by this!

So, go to either of their pages and vote--for whomever you like! (I think you can also vote for more than one.) And then, check out their blogs--both are pretty cool! I am glad I found them through this blogfest.

Happy Wednesday, and end of March! Here comes April...

Nature of Magic

2011-03-26T08:30:00.000-07:00

Tessa at Tessa's Blurb is co-hosting a Nature of Magic blogfest with Laura B Diamond. There was so much I wanted to share with you--we are limited to 250-1000 words (which is good, and keeps me from getting too verbose!), so I can share only a snippet.

This is from a short WIP I just started a few weeks ago, when I was battling laryngitis. I think it could use a little work, but I find that the nature of the magic here is similar to the nature of the magic I use in many of my stories. I hope you enjoy, and let me know if you have any comments! Oh, and check out the other bloggers. :)

Can one say Bon Apetit for others who are about to read? Because I'm going to, right now!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you live in the Cave of Miracles, it really doesn’t matter that you can’t see the sky. The Cave is made up of more rooms and caverns than you can fathom, and in one of the caverns, it’s always bright as day, and the stone shines in blues and grays. An illusion of the sun rotates around the ceiling, and clouds drift along the ground. Another cavern mirrors the darkness of night. Tiny, floating pinpricks of light form the constellations. If you can catch them, you can draw them closer, spin them around, examine them. When you let go, they flick back into place, as if they’d never gone.

There are other caverns, too. Rooms full of ice and snow, of colored lights, of healing ponds and waters of youth, of golden treasure, silver treasure, heirlooms so valuable and guarded that they have been forgotten even by myths.

The different rooms sometimes shift around, but even when they don’t, they form a maze that no man or woman could maneuver. Except for her. She was born there, in one of the caverns, somewhere near the center, amidst an array of purple, gold and red pillows. She had woken, conscious, clothed, and alone.

She grew up there, over many years’ time—more time, in fact, than made up the lifetime of some men. And she was on the cusp of leaving this childhood when the first one came. She didn’t see him arrive, but she heard him, every one of his steps echoing across the stone.

She found him standing in the fork of a long tunnel that she had never been in. He was not a part of her world; he smelled of sweat and metal. His body was covered in animal hides and golden plates, and he held a spear, which he thrust point-out toward her as she approached. When she stood fully in front of him, in the stony hall, he lowered his weapon, and chuckled.

“But you are a girl.” He spoke in the common language. “The stories tell of someone older.”

She raised her chin, annoyed, but responded in his familiar tongue. “Welcome here, sir, but do not tarry. What do you seek?” The words came smoothly and felt right.

He seemed all too at ease. “I seek great power, to rule my kingdom.”

When he said power, she understood exactly what he meant—his thoughts could not be contained in his own self, and the taste of gory battle, of utter violence pushed into her mind. She didn’t like the look of him. She thought of the many artifacts that could grant him what he longed for. They were as real in her world as they were in the world beyond the stone walls—much like the stars, and the tiny sun. But even if they were her own to give, she could not, to this man who smelled of war.

She felt a pushing, though, and she realized that she had to leave him with something. He had not happened upon her without reason.

“Come,” she said, and she pulled him through twists and turns she knew he would not remember.

She took him into the room that unfolded like a map of the world. It showed her everything and everyone she needed to see. She traced his path. “There is a tree near the high mountains of this land, which blooms in jewels. Half the tree blooms red in garnets and rubies. Half the tree blooms white, with diamonds and pearls. A two-day journey will get you there.” She could see the hunger growing in his eyes. “And guarding the tree is a dragon that never sleeps.” The dragon’s image formed and floated beneath her finger. “The dragon guards the tree as its treasure, and so it is protective. But one talon from its hand will make a fearsome weapon.”

This was not what power meant to her, but she could still feel his thoughts as he stared at the spot she showed him. They will never see me coming.

“The treasure is not for you,” she continued. “You must not touch the treasure.” Growing so close to the natural heat of the dragon, touching any of the gems would surely burn him alive.

He stared some more, than turned his gaze to her. “You must grant me a boon,” he said. “So I may slay the dragon.”

She did not like this idea. The dragon would certainly give a claw in exchange for something other than its life. Its claws would grow back. “You need not kill the dragon; just cut it from his hand.”

His thoughts were overpowering. “A boon.”

She took him back to where she found him. “Wait here.” There was an herb that would allow him to withstand fire for one minute, if he put it under his tongue; she brought it back to him. “Chew this, if it begins to flame. It will help for but a minute.”

He smiled, and nodded.

If I slay the dragon, I can take all of the claws. I will be invincible. And the jewels will be mine, too…

He wouldn’t listen. She sighed, and watched as his figure receded. She hadn’t liked him, and she hadn’t liked helping him. But somehow, she felt it was her role. There were reasons for everything, and her reason was her purpose here. To guide.

Still, she worried about the dragon. Though creatures like that had a way of returning themselves, even after death. In any case, she checked the room that mapped the world, every day, for ten days. In the end, the dragon was there, alive. She did not see any sign of the man, though she realized she did not know his name.

Nor did she care.

He was her first.

Drunk at first (second?) sight - part 2

2011-03-16T21:14:00.000-07:00

Last year, Jon Paul posted a Drunk-at-first-sight blog challenge. This is what I wrote. This year, he issues the challenge again. So here I am, once more writing. To me, this is one of the most difficult blogfests! But it is a lot of fun.

I wrote this just now, but I am feeling half-asleep, so beware of snaggy errors. Otherwise, please enjoy yourself--and the ride! Warning--it is fairly long, but it was hard to pick a selection. It all seemed so necessary. So read what you want and then skip on out to others. And remember that there is always time and opportunity to take part, yourself!

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You want another?” the barkeeper pointed a thick, stubby finger at Shane's glass.

He wasn’t even done with this one. He shouldn’t.

“It’s on me,” a man said. He had light brown hair, and a slight accent. Sort of German-sounding, Shane thought. He was wearing all black, except for a fake green carnation, which he had pinned to his shirt.

“Thanks, but I’m fine.” Shane held up his mug. It was light—he looked at it. It was empty.

“I’d say you’re fine. Fine and dandy.” The man was not old or young. He snorted. “You dandy.”

Shane didn’t really know what to say to that, so he accepted the drink. The barkeeper poured green liquid into his glass.

“None of that swill for me,” the man said. “Give me ale, real ale.”

“We don’t serve—”

“Check again.” The man pulled some large coins out of his pants pocket, and slid them across the table and directly into the man’s hands.

“Right, sir,” the barkeep said. He stared at the coins, then looked at them with big eyes. He came back with a pitcher of ale, which he poured out for the man, slowly.

“Bombs away,” the man said, and as Shane watched, he downed the entire amount. He put his cup down, coughed, and wiped some amber drops away from his mouth. “Thirsty, weren’t we?” he asked.

“You certainly were,” Shane replied.

“Both of us, I’d say.” The man nodded at Shane’s mug. Again. Empty.

“Another round,” he called out. “Shane’s treat.”

Shane tried to remember if he had told the man his name. Well, of course he must have. Otherwise, he wouldn’t know. It was as simple as that. Then he realized what the man had said.

“No thanks, I’m done. You can treat yourself.”

“I saved your life, Shane. You’d best repay me with a drink. It’d be rude, not to.”

Shane shook his head. “How did you save my life?”

“You needed more beer. And I got you some.” The man chuckled.

Shane stared at him, then beckoned to the barkeeper. The man hurried over, filled his cup again—this time, with ale as well. He refilled the man’s cup, too, and then walked away, staring at them intermittently. “I’m sorry, do I know your name?”

“No, of course not. It’s Tom.”

“Tom.” He nodded. “We haven’t ever met before?”

“I’m sure you’d remember, if we did.” Tom took a sip, and then sighed. “Perfect. Just perfect. Have a sip of yours.”

Shane did so, automatically. The ale bubbled over his tongue. It really did taste good.

Allie bobbed over. “Are you having fun?”

She was always pretty, but even prettier drunk. And she was. He glanced over his shoulder. Per was standing, guardedly, watching her. And him, probably. He was friends with Shane, but he served as her boyfriend (and bodyguard) first. She wouldn’t get into any trouble tonight, then. “Sure, I am. Good. Good, good.”

“Great!” she slurred. At least Shane wasn’t that drunk, yet. “I’m going to go.”

“Girl you want, mate?” Tom asked.

Shane blushed. “Lower your voice.” He paused. “Mate.” Maybe the accent was Australian, instead of German.

He kept talking in a normal tone. “I think she likes you, too, to leave her boyfriend in order to see if you were having a good time.”

“Well, she’s like that.” He took another sip of ale. Maybe he was starting to feel the buzz. He drank a little faster, and tried to change the conversation. “How did you come here?”

“I walked,” Tom said, and his eyes seemed to twinkle. “How did you come?”

Well, that was Allie, again. So insistent. Per couldn’t say no. Shane said no all the time—just not to her.

“You do like her, don’t you?” Tom finished his ale, but a few minutes later, his mug was filled again. The barkeeper stood to the side, looking increasingly suspicious as Shane sucked down more of his own, and held it out.

“No more until payment,” the barkeeper said.

“Pay the man, Shane,” Tom said.

Shane pulled out enough money for the three rounds from earlier, a few other drinks that he had enjoyed earlier, and for two more rounds. The barkeeper stood there and counted. “I need payment for one more round, for the two of you.”

“Tom said he’d get it.” Shane put his wallet back in his pocket.

“Pay it for me, Shane, and there’s a good man. For saving your life.”

Shane pulled his wallet out again, dug out the money, and handed it to the barkeeper, who immediately filled his mug and then scurried into the corner. He looked at Tom.

“Wait a minute. You didn’t save my life.” His brain was working slower, and his mouth felt mushy. He was getting drunk.

“Give a guy a break.” Tom looked off to the side, almost dreamy-like. “I used to work here, you know.”

“You’re getting me drunk,” Shane said. Or slurred. Maybe not yet.

“What do you think of the décor?” Tom asked, suddenly.

“What?”

“The décor. Think, man. You can’t be that wasted.”

Shane stared around. “It’s nice. Nice. Nicey-nice.” He stared. “Could use a few more crappy lep-er-kans, though.”

For a second, he thought he saw Tom’s eyes flash. Of course, he didn’t. But he imagined he might have.

“You may imagine a lot,” Tom said, but the voice was in his mind.

It seemed like gold coins rained down upon them, and a huge cry went up throughout the room. Music swelled, and Shane stayed where he was.

“Why did you come here?” Shane asked again.

“It was mine, once. I didn’t bog it down with this trash.” He fingered the foil shamrocks. “So I come back, every so often. Because I must.” He looked away. “Here comes your girl, again.”

He felt her hands touch his back before he turned and saw her. She was grinning, her hair falling at times across her face. “Hi, Shane.” She began to rub his shoulders, then his back, and then her hands were going everywhere. And he tried to mind, like a good friend. He tried to dislike it.

“Shenanigans going on, Shane?” Tom took a leisurely sip of his ale. “Ah. I don’t know why ale is always so rare to come by.”

Shane’s glass was empty, again, and the room felt like it was spinning. Then Allie was gone, and Tom was there, but he was poking him in the back, again and again.

Everything went black at some point, and he and Tom stood in the midst of a green plain. Tom was turning in circles, talking to himself. “There is treasure. I know there is treasure.”

“There is treasure,” he mumbled.

“Oh. You’re here.” Tom smiled, then walked over. He was shorter than Shane had realized. Tall enough.

“Where is here?” Shane asked.

“The edge, baby.” Tom motioned him to come closer, and he did.

Tom punched him. Hard. So that he fell to his knees. Shane felt the air whuf out of his body. He tried to catch his breath. And then Tom kicked him in the face. “Leprechauns aren’t crap, you son of a dog. Let that be your lesson.”

Something wet dripped down his face. He was bleeding. He wiped at it with his fingers, but that didn’t staunch the flow. “What the hell?”

Tom smiled, and patted Shane on his face. “I do like you, though. And you like the girl.” He looked around, then smiled even wider. “It will do. You will need to get me some coinage, though. Even from the old country, we desire coinage.” He laughed. “And ale. Not like these new upstarts.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The treasure, my boy!” It echoed, melted, and Tom was gone. The green faded into brown, into black.

He didn’t remember leaving, but when he woke up the next day, Shane wasn’t at the pub. He wasn’t at his apartment.

But he was holding Allie. She moved when he did, and pulled away. With some relief—mostly relief—he realized she was still dressed from the night before. So was he.

His face twinged.

“You got into a fight, didn’t you? With Per.” She was moving around, tucking strands of hair behind her ears. She was prettier when she was drunk, but she was at her most beautiful when she woke up in the morning.

“I don’t know,” he said, and he stretched, and rubbed his face. It was crusted over.

“I’m sure you crushed his face.” She gave him a friendly peck on the cheek. “I’m sure he deserved it.”

“How did I get here?”

“I don’t know.” She snuggled into his arms. “My head is killing me.”

His head hurt, too. But all he could think of was something from his dream, something about that Tom character.

Had he only been a character in his dream? It was hard to say. But now he placed his accent. It was actually quite obvious, and he had no idea how he had missed it.

It was Irish.

He smelled Allie’s hair as she began to snore gently beside him and wondered where he could find some coins.

Oh where, oh where did my poor voice go?

2011-03-09T19:41:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you all, but I'm having one heck of a winter. I keep getting sick. I got a stomach virus around Thanksgiving; I had a sinus infection at the beginning of last month; now this month, I have a cold which has left me with a sore throat and no voice.

Now, on the plus side, I otherwise feel pretty well. And, since I stayed home from work because of it, I did get to work on my writing (when I wasn't dozing or downing fluids). On the negative side, I am supposed to sing on Sunday in church. And I teach two fitness classes between now and then. Plus I am supposed to work Saturday.

Yes, this is not the best timing. We'll see what will happen.

In other news, since I did do a bit of writing, I want to mention that Eric Trant has been talking about this particular magazine that you can submit to, though March 15. It's called "An Honest Lie," and the theme for this year is Justifiable Hypocrisy.

I'm planning on entering, though I am not sure if the story I think I'm going with is the one I ought to. I have two that sort of fit the bill, but I just sort of think I want to use this one. Eric asked us to post a 330 word excerpt (no more!) from what we are considering using, so, what the heck. Here it is:

Annie wouldn’t leave him alone so easily, though. “What are you working on?” She tilted her head to the side and leaned over his shoulder, and he could smell something like cinnamon.

“A new case.”

“Oh.” She moved slightly, shifting the stack of papers in her arms. The movement pulled her shirt up a bit in the front, and he could see the lower part of her belly button. “What’s it about, anyway?”

“Normalcy,” he said shortly. He didn’t think it was proper to talk about his cases casually, and she definitely was asking casually. “More depravations of human nature.”

She wrinkled her nose, and even then, Emerson couldn’t help but think that she really didn’t look so young. More like she was twenty-nine than nineteen. “Everything leads back to depravation for you.”

“Such is the case with law.” He sat back, frowning, but pleased despite himself. “Keep this in mind, if you choose to continue in this line of work, Annie. Only we keep our clients from sinking into an abyss of grievances. It is our duty to remember that all delinquents may re-enter regular society. Whom would you rather have living next door? Whom would you rather work to keep off the streets? There may be comparative degrees of depravity, but there is no differentiation, in the end.”

She made a very attractive noise that emerged from the back of her long, slender throat. “So, that’s your excuse?”

He snapped his gaze up at her. “What?”

“Depravation—that’s why you think you put all those people away. When you’re actually really a workaholic.”

He stared at her through his glasses. “I choose to devote my time to justice. Some agendas must be accomplished. Some things are more important than going home when the hour is up, as you know.”

“I know.” She seemed to lean forward, though she didn’t move. “So, what’s the case about?”

“Murder,” he said in a voice that was intended to end the conversation.

Okay. In other news, blogger Jon Paul is actually hosting a second drunk at first sight/St. Patty's Day Blogfest! Not only should you sign up--you should read them. I'm taking part. I took part last year, too. This was one of the hardest blogfests I've ever taken part in! And it was tons of fun. So. Check that out, and keep your eyes peeled (not literally!) for my and other entries for this very fun fest.

There you are! My updates, not in a nutshell, but hopefully not painfully drawn out, either.

Library book sale

2011-03-04T10:54:00.000-08:00

Two times a year, our public library holds a book sale. Imagine: you walk into a room. There are tables lining the walls, running up and down the center of the room. Each table is covered by the lids of cardboard boxes. Inside each lid are books of all types and all varieties and all ages. Usually there are so many that they are in lids under the tables, that the books are refreshed at various times throughout the three-day sale. Children's and teen's books generally have their own room; last time, so did the mysteries. There are romance novels, science fiction, historical, language, and fiction and nonfiction labels popping up around the area. Cookbooks, too. And records, cassettes, DVDs and VHS (yes, the old technology is not completely gone), sheet music and magazines, all piling up on the floors, in bags, in people's arms.

It's warm, too--because of how tightly so many bodies are packed into the rooms. Craning over the spines of books, hunting for just the right ones.

Did I mention that these books are sold by the pound? $1 per pound for softcover, 50 cents a pound for hardcover (if I'm remembering right).

Now you know what it's like.

Each sale, my brother and I take off a few hours from work, and the Thursday morning (always the first day) of the sale, we go there. It starts at 7:00; by 8, I always have tons of books.

These are books from all over--discarded library copies, books people have donated that never sold at their garage sales, books people donated to the library, anyway. I've found the greatest things there, too; like a fairly complete set of Louisa May Alcott books, a box of Agatha Christie novels, The Castle in the Attic by Elizabeth Winthrop (and a special love of mine from way back), a gazillion copies of The Wind in the Willows, A Wrinkle in Time, and other classics from my childhood. Mary Poppins, for one. Not the movie version--the original book. (Read it, if you haven't.) My favorite spot is the children's room. I'm not above recommending my favorite books to children when I'm in there, either. I hate to see them sitting forlornly on the shelf. They must be read!!!

The sale was yesterday, and although there were definitely fewer books, and I spent the least amount I ever have, there (only $19! The money supports our library, though, so it's totally worth it), I still came away with a ton of treasures. Including a book of poetry that includes the Lady of Shalot! (I'm an Anne of Green Gables fan. I had to get it.)

On the way in, though, some of the ladies standing in line around me were chatting about e-readers. Now, I haven't made up my mind about e-readers--in some ways, I so want one! In other ways, I'm just so reticent--I love to hold a book, to see them on the shelf. (But not to move a library full of them. That's just no fun.) I thought it was such an odd contradiction, to discuss the most recent technology for reading while waiting for a sale that would allow you to pick through (often) dusty books from Beatrix Potter to copies of The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám to Tony Morrion's Beloved to Eragon to Isaac Asimov to French-, Spanish-, Latin-, German- and even Arabic-English dictionaries...well. You get the idea. (I have bought all of these examples at this sale, by the way.)

I'm still on the fence about the e-reader, but I think I've made it a goal to get one. In the meantime, though, and even after, I'm sure, I will always love my books. And I will remember the moment I had yesterday, when I grabbed a book from the box lid and thought, "Some day, maybe some of the bloggers and I will have something laying in these boxes. And maybe somebody will even recommend it to someone else."

It was enough to give me goosebumps.

Hey, hey, it's Valentine's Day!

2011-02-13T21:46:00.000-08:00

Oh, my goodness. I love Valentine's Day. Any day that is dedicated to hearts, love, pinks and reds, glitter!, etc., has a soft spot in my heart. (Not to mention chocolate!) Now, is that great, or what?

Conversation hearts, rocking out on the blog.

V-Day (as I call it) is kind of an odd holiday. From what I've seen, it's sort of a combination of a Roman fertility festival (Io Lupercalia!--coming from lupus, wolf. And we all know how important that old wolf is to the Romans--at least I know some of you do. If you don't, read up on the Romulus and Remus legend here. But beware--it's not all roses and glitter. Kind of like the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm!) And yet, it is also named for several saints by name of Valentine. All of them were martyred.

And then we go and put Cupid (Eros) in charge of the holiday, when really, he has had very little to do with the date. Poor little love god. It's not like he was a baby in a diaper back in the Roman days. And we only really remember him on this day! How sad is that? He and his Greco-counterpart (Eros--similar to arrows--I'm *sure* this was something the Greeks did intentionally. Er. Anyway.) are actually quite interesting to me. Especially with the whole Psyche myth.

So, anywho. I love this day. Really, truly.

However, my brother absolutely hates Valentine's Day. In fact, I know lots of people who do. Because they have no one to celebrate it with, maybe, or because it's so commercialized. Seriously. (What holiday isn't, these days?) But you know what? I really don't think it should matter. The day is about love, you know? And yes, we focus on the Cupidy (I totally just made that into a proper adjective!)/lovey-dovey aspects of the day...but it's not all that. I like to just be with my family. To deck the house in hearts. To wear pink and red, preferably in dress form. To eat chocolate (though that might just be everyday).

What am I doing for this special day of days? Not really anything special, to be honest. But that doesn't matter. I am bringing valentines to work to exchange them, I am wearing my reds and pinks, and I am going to just enjoy that V-Day is here once again.

With much love to all my blogging friends,

Happy Valentine's Day!!!

Hello--I'm back.

2011-02-05T16:56:00.000-08:00

Hello. Excuse me while I dust my monitor and check for cobwebs on my keyboard.

Nope, everything's clean.

Apparently, my holiday season extended from December through today. And honestly, the only reason I'm writing now is because I am not feeling well, and am tuckered out from a day of normal activity. I made some soup (perfect for when you're not well, right?), I washed my dishes, and I thought about my current WIP (which is just getting off the ground, but I am very excited about it!). Actually, I spent the wee hours of the morning thinking about it, since I was up. Curses upon congested sinuses.

I do have a few resolutions. I'm resolving to form a (flexible) schedule, in which I can balance out my life a bit more. A bit of time staved off for reading--I get so busy, sometimes, I don't have time for such a simple act. That is so not good. Since Christmas, I've read the Percy Jackson series (as per my friend Amalia's recommendation). They totally rock. Seriously. I started a few others that I haven't finished. But. progress!

Another bit of time will be for writing! I need that creativity, and I deny it because of the other things that come up--work, housekeeping, sleep. You know.

I also want to make sure I'm on a good exercise schedule, and perhaps plan my menu more during the week. That is not really of interest to you, I'm sure, so we'll just glide over that little fact.

Here is a favorite commercial of mine. I hope you enjoy it. Totally awesome, especially for Star Wars fans.

Anyway. I'll try to schedule a bit more time to update this blog, now and again, too. Sometimes, schedules are helpful.

As long as I can stick to it!

So, farewell, for now, my readers!

Happy December!

2010-12-01T11:02:00.000-08:00

Happy December! How can it be that we're already near the end of yet another year? How can it be that we're on month 12? How? I really would like to know.

I have this theory that time speeds up the older we get. I think it's a pretty popular theory outside of this blog, too, but I digress. Anyway. It seems like it takes forever to go somewhere or do something when you're young. That's why kids need toys and books. Something to distract them when all that dreadful time comes between them and, say, Christmas. This month is *not* going to shoot by for an eight-year-old, for instance. And even longer than the month is that wait for opening presents!

The older you get, of course, as some of you or all of you already realize, the faster time goes. We have about three weeks till Christmas. In weekend-time, that's six days! Oh, my goodness. I don't even have my tree up yet! We need something so we can relax with all that stress. That is why adults need toys and books. And candy.

Of course, speed of time in adult-land turns inverse when you're sick. I discovered this last week, when I ended up getting a stomach virus. Ick. I don't recommend it.

So, Happy December! I'll see you around, but if my posts are infrequent, don't fear--it's just the Holidays.

Black Friday returns

2010-11-26T06:00:00.000-08:00

Happy Black Friday!

As much as I love Thanksgiving, part of the excitement is Black Friday...and what better slot to put it in than my Friday Favorite Things column!

The mass hordes of people will run rampant through the malls, today. And more retailers online will have a great weekend. Hoping for better than last year!

And I will be one of them. Probably after gifts for myself again, like I was last year. I've had many of my gifts for my family since...after last Christmas. I start my shopping early!

If you're one of the hordes, good luck...otherwise, see you online next week. I'm going to rest!

Peace, good will, and bargain shopping to you all. :)

Happy Thanksgiving!

2010-11-24T06:00:00.000-08:00

Hello, one and all.

So, Christmas has been in the air, of late. At least, here it has been. And as much as it annoys some people (read: my brother) to hear Christmas music before Thanksgiving, my parents and I have been enjoying the musical selections of the holiday season on one station of the radio. Every song, 24/7, is a Christmas song, and has been since Halloween. I heard it may be in protest of some group trying to ban Christmas music from the radio till after Thanksgiving. I don't really care--I love Christmas music. I love Christmas!

But I also love Thanksgiving, and all of its thousands of calories dishes. And I refuse to skip over it, even if I am in the Christmas spirit. Because really, I'm just in the holiday-let's-celebrate spirit. Besides, it's not the day's fault that there aren't any really catchy Thanksgiving songs out there. What would they even be? I'm Dreaming of a Chocolate Dinner Mint? How about Oh, Turkey-Bird instead of Oh, Tannenbaum? (Oh, Turkey-bird, oh, Turkey-bird--your legs and thighs are tasty. Oh, Turkey-bird, Oh, Turkey-bird--especially with gravy.) Or "Let us eat, let us eat, let us eat": Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the pie is so delightful--so since we've got snow and sleet--let us eat, let us eat, let us eat!

OK. See? This is why we don't have Thanksgiving songs.

But rest assured, I'm having a lovely, hearty, veggie-influenced (yum!) Thanksgiving this year--and I hope you are also enjoying the day, and giving thanks--I am, for friends, family, health, happiness, blessings, luck, and all that great food.

So, to put you into the Thanksgiving spirit, let me leave you with a few parting Thanksgiving thoughts.

Forever on Thanksgiving Day, The heart will find the pathway home. ~Wilbur D. Nesbit

You heard what Linus was saying out there. Those early Pilgrims were thankful for what had happened to them, and we should be thankful, too. We should just be thankful for being together. I think that's what they mean by 'Thanksgiving,' Charlie Brown.~Marcie in the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special

Family and friends
Give thanks and break bread.
Please pass the pumpkin pie.
~ Just Another Sarah :)

Thanksgiving, after all, is a word of action. ~W.J. Cameron

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

Favorite Things Fridays!

2010-11-19T06:00:00.000-08:00

Another favorite color for this week: Sea Foam Green. What a gorgeous color this is!

I use to search this crayon, and periwinkle, out of my brother's and my big crayon box. Grab a silver, and you have the perfect colors for the ocean--which I was somewhat obsessed with. It's just so different--I think that's part of its charm. Soft and gentle, and yet full of excitement...at least, that's what I feel building, when I see it.

FYI, I did a search on Google images for the color, and found about a million sea foam green guitars. Apparently, it's a popular color!

Have a great weekend!

Happy Blog Year!!!! + blogfest

2010-11-15T21:35:00.000-08:00

Hello, all! Today, three years after I started my blog, abandoned it, then rediscovered it, I have hit post 100! Today! With this post! Woo-hoo! And what better way to celebrate than to host a blogfest?

If you're new or not, come join the Blogfest: Retold! Even if it's just reading the entrants. Mr. Linky widget thing can be found below here, as well. Read everyone's...and enjoy!

Retellings are so interesting--even just a different POV can make things make more sense, or can put a different twist on things. I can think of so many awesome examples... like this poem, Penelope, by Dorothy Parker:

In the pathways of the sun,
In the footsteps of the breeze,
Where the world and sky are one,
He shall ride the silver seas,
He shall cut the glittering wave.
I shall sit at home, and rock;
Rise, to heed a neighbor's knock;
Brew my tea, and snip my thread;
Bleach the linen for my bed.
They will call him brave.

My dad used to tell me bedtime stories like this: we'd pick the story, then we'd pick the POV. I loved them. So, I decided to go with a fairy tale because of that reason. I think I want to take it and add more story and more details and more length, but I wanted to give you this much, at least. So here it is. And don't forget to check out the other participants below!

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The courts had warned Rose's family long ago about the dangers of annoying the Magic Ones. But of course, you couldn't really talk to her parents. She didn't know what they had done to deserve it--no one really talked about that. But she knew they did deserve the curse they had earned for her. Because they did so many things to deserve just that sort of mistrust. And they knew it, too.

The curse had hung over her head from the first step she ever took. Her nanny told her how the maids all gasped when she took her first step, and immediately, the ruling came down from the throne: Remove all spindles. Even remove all spinning wheels. Looms. Anything. Just in case.

Rose kept looking around the castle for the strange things--they were foreign to her, anyway. Of course, the faerie who chose that as her curse knew what she was doing. In a land that had won its riches from textile exportation, spindles were part of daily life. Necessary. For everyone but Rose. Even before she totally understood the concept of it, she often thought it was justice--that her parents were forced to choose between her and between money.

The thread still had to be turned out, though. And she should have known her parents would not choose her, a girl, for long. Especially after Sam was born. Rose loved Sam, how rosy he was. Her parents were much more cautious, this time--and all the Magic Ones brought only kind gifts and boons. A sweet disposition, a strong leader, a healthy boy. Rose helped to care for him. Even his skin was silken.

But soon, it was not enough. She went looking for Nanny, and overheard the discussion from the hallway. "Hide the girl," her father's best adviser cautioned. "Keep her hidden away."

"You can't hide her forever," Nanny argued.

"It wouldn't be forever, would it?" Her mother asked. "The curse must end at some time."

"Curses can go on until they are filled," Nanny said. "You never know what might happen."

"Sire." The adviser sniffed. "We lose money everyday, sire."

So at age ten, she was hidden away from her family. Her brother, only four then, cried when she went away, and she wanted to run back and tell him not to cry, but she had to face her expulsion like the princess she was. Like a sacrificial beast sent to the altar. Kept away from the rest of the world.

She lived with her nanny for the next six years in the woods near the palace. She grew used to Nanny's murmurs and blandishments against her family. She muttered them herself, when Nanny wasn't there--Nanny would still box her ears for her complaints.

When she turned sixteen, though, she felt like that was should be the end of it. And she told Nanny so.

"Well, I've been thinking that you ought to return to the castle every day since we came to this loathsome cottage," Nanny said.

Rose smiled indulgently. Their home was a dear one, to her, and she knew Nanny loved it as much as she did. But she missed Sam, her sweet-faced brother, and she missed her parents--even their coldness.

She decided to sneak back the first night, so it wouldn't be so much of a shock. A lot could change in six years, after all. And it had--the buildings were much closer to forest than she remembered, and ran up against the walls surrounding the palace. They crept up and down the streets, traveling the same route they had used when they left, years ago.

They slipped through the gate, some ways away from a sleepy guard, and then they were home. Rose breathed in and let out a slow breath, pleased with their progress forward.

But not Nanny. "Oh, my stars," she said, and then she cursed a bluer streak than Rose had ever heard.

Rose blinked at this reaction, but then she looked around, too. And in the yard, in front of the doors, stood two large statues. She could see two more near another door, far off into the night. They looked the same--sort of wavy, and pointed six feet up in the air, gleaming in the moonlight.

"That, my dear, is your parents' homage to a spindle." Rose could hear Nanny's teeth grinding at her agitation. "Obviously, they are doing well. Blessings upon us."

Rose nodded in agreement, but she couldn't keep her eyes off the strange gold structures, gleaming blue in the night. And she found herself wanting--hoping--stretching.

"Come, Princess." Nanny obviously hadn't noticed, and Rose didn't want to bring it to her attention. "Let's go inside."

Reminder

2010-11-14T06:00:00.000-08:00

Hey, all! Don't forget about the Blogfest I'm hosting on Nov. 16--post a retelling of a scene. Pick a scene, any scene. Read more and sign up here!

I hope the excitement is bubbling up within you! And the creative juices too, of course!

Favorite Things Fridays!

2010-11-12T06:00:00.000-08:00

I've mentioned it before; I have a list of favorite colors. I'm not even joking. And I think there is a shade or tint of nearly every basic color you can think of.

I really like almost all colors, even ones not on my list. And I find that I'm hesitant now to add some colors I totally dig. For example, I wear reds and blacks all the time...and yet neither are on the list. Perhaps because it's so long? Perhaps because part of me still doesn't believe that I really love those colors? I'm such a pink girl, after all. I don't know. But in any case, I guess I'll feature each color on its own--that's only fair, right?

Today's favorite color: gold. The color of fall, the color of fields of wheat. It's rich and yet sort of understated.I think every color sort of indicates a mood, and gold feels sort of comfortable, not quite cold, not quite warm, simple and yet showy. It's gold.

Veterans Day

2010-11-11T06:00:00.000-08:00

I don't feel like we really do enough to celebrate Veterans Day. It's not like it's Christmas or Thanksgiving, after all...but it's just as important. Spare a thought for our veterans, in every country. They do what I could not, and I am thankful for them all.

Here's a bit of history, which we sometimes forget about: this day marks the celebration of the ceasefire during "The Great War," World War I. That was back when there was only one "world" war. That was some time ago.

For more history, check this link out. Or catch a slice of the culture with this famous poem, written during WWI.

              In Flanders Field
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
      Between the crosses, row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
         In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
         In Flanders fields.

Children's Books

2010-11-09T06:00:00.000-08:00

I was on a crusade supporting children's picture books, but life and blogfests got in the way. So we'll just pick up where we left off for this week.

One of my favorite picture books of all times is a Sesame Street book. Maybe you've heard of it? It's so, so, so amazing. Grover warns readers that there is a *monster* at the end of the book. He cautions them not to read on, because he is afraid! He tries to tie the pages shut--he tries to put up a brick wall. Yet the reader continues to go forward through it all, pushing and pulling apart what he or she could never do on their own, simply by turning a page.

I can't sing the praises of this book enough. It's sort of meta, for a children's book. And it's funny. I suspect that it is cleverly enough done that it might help children who are afraid of monsters, get over it. L-O-V-E it!

This is a great read--if you have kids, go and get it, but if you don't, seriously. Find it. You will love it.

Favorite Things Fridays!

2010-11-05T06:00:00.000-07:00

I love butterflies. One year, when I was in college, my roommate had to "grow" monarch butterflies in our dorm room. We named them Lucy, Charlie and Pepe. Pepe was a girl, but you know, we named them when they were cocoons, so we did the best we could.

Having these darlings float around our room was pretty fantastic. One landed on my foot while I was studying, and hung out with me for about an hour--even when I got up to walk around.

We both missed them when we set them free.

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Don't forget to sign up for my Nov. 16 Blogfest: Retold! If you're interested. Sign up today!

Lazy Blogfest

2010-10-31T22:55:00.000-07:00

Today, I'm taking part in Summer's Lazy Blogfest. Check out the other entrants!

Basically, you're supposed to post about your writing space, preferably using a photo. Unfortunately, I was too lazy to actually take a picture of the space that I write in. Of course, I can describe to you where I write: I have this lovely golden couch in my living room, where I take my old black laptop and move around, trying to stay warm and comfortable. I scooch all over until an indent forms in the cushion...then I switch sides and find a new spot to move around.

However, there's also this: I don't think at the computer. My writing space is bigger than one might imagine...I find myself thinking about the whole process, and that involves plotting, fleshing out details, working out issues with characters and uncovering issues to bare in front of them. And for that, I find, just walking, preferably on a walking path or in a park, is just what I need. That becomes my thinking space, and heck, would probably be my writing space if it weren't for the fact that I can't see the screen of my laptop in the glare of the sunlight. (I'd write it out, but I just can't do that to myself. Besides, I apparently never learned how to correctly hold a pencil, so it's far more stressing on my hand than it might be, otherwise. Yep. I'm that talented. I still confuse the big and small hands on the clock, from time to time, too.

Back to my thinking space. I find that especially along this one pathway I take to work, my story changes--I walk through some pine trees. The trees are huge, and I am small, and I just realize things about my characters and their lives that I don't know if I would, otherwise. Of course, sometimes you almost get hit by cars if you wander around thinking of your book, your head in the clouds, you might have a few issues, so you want to watch that.

So, take part in the Lazy Blogfest! And that's about all I have to say right now.

Edit to add: Don't forget to sign up for my Blogfest: Retold, on Nov. 16!

Happy Halloween!

2010-10-30T06:00:00.000-07:00

I hope you are all having a wonderful, safe, happy Halloween! For those of you with families, enjoy trick-or-treating and candy. For those who don't, enjoy your other activities. I hope you get to dress up, or that you at least listen to the Monster Mash, watch Ghostbusters, and/or hear the Thriller song.

Or watch this video and see the choreography!

Or read some Edgar Allen Poe. :) Nothing quite like the tell-tale heart to raise goosebumps!

Enjoy the reason for celebration, and see you all in the coming week. :)

Favorite Things Friday!

2010-10-29T06:00:00.001-07:00

Halloween is coming! So what's a favorite of mine that fits right into the day? Why, Alfred Hitchcock, of course. We'll let him make a cameo on my blog, in a bigger way than the famous cameos he made in most of his films.

This is not to say that I love or even have seen all of his movies. And I attribute my fear of flocks of black birds to him. (Not that I have seen "The Birds," but trust me when I say I'm not seeing it anytime soon!)

Even if I don't love all of his films, I find that I admire something in all of them. He was somewhat demanding, I understand, and much like a puppetmaster--a bit different from other directors. But if it's by Alfred Hitchcock, including his television series and the publications of stories under his approval, I glom on. Because hey--it's Alfred Hitchcock. It has to be good in some way, right?

A few (but not all) of my favorites of his films include:

Lifeboat, Psycho, Stage Fright, Dial M for Murder, Rope, North by Northwest, Rear Window, Strangers on a Train, The 39 Steps an (earlier film), and The Lady Vanishes (another earlier film).

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Don't forget to sign up for my Nov. 16 Blogfest: Retold! If you're interested. Sign up today!

A Very Merry Halloweeny Blogfest

2010-10-25T22:37:00.000-07:00

Effervescent Mia is hosting this Very Merry Halloweeny Blogfest today! Check out the other entrants here, and have a read. This is very much a WIP, which I just came up with in the last hour and a half. I kept going back and changing things, but I very much love Phil, and I hope you do, too.

I apologize for length. Skim, if you'd like. Oh, and don't forget to join my Blogfest Retold, set for November 16!

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Phil didn’t hate Halloween, really. But he wasn’t especially partial to it. Why should he be? Smelly, terrible children running from house to house, begging for sweets and threatening tricks if they didn’t get them. The caricatures they drew of the unknown. The way they preened.

And they were coming. It was tradition, after all. Every year, residents of the M-wing of the Rehab center had to see children on Halloween—like it was a therapy of some sort, and not torture. He never trusted children. Even less than he trusted the Government. And look how that had turned out! Granted, some of the residents here had checked themselves in, but most had arrived after the Government mandate that they all register. Of course, Phil had been forced to enter after he was found in that last blood bank. But at least he wasn’t actually attacking people and sucking up their blood. Not that he could have. How many times did he tell them that his teeth were not like straws?

In any case, most of the other residents looked forward to Halloween. They enjoyed the parading around of costumes, the love of the dead, the obscene, the craziness. They picked out their clothes carefully, trying to find the best outfits to wear. The traditional clothes of their people, some of them said. It was a good excuse to be who they really were. To let their true characters out.

Phil didn’t dress differently. He didn’t need to advertise what he was. He certainly didn’t have to—Lewis Smithson, the burly guard who had been assigned to him, did that for him already. Phil had no doubt that Smithson would stay sitting on his chair, reading his newspaper, the entire time the children were there. He could already hear him calling out, “That’s the Vamp. Don’t get too close to him. He’ll suck your face.”

It was to be expected, though he hated it. Hated what had happened to his kind. He hated this hall, where he was always watched, even when he was on his own. He hated Smithson, at least sometimes, and the way he smelled. Phil had no choice but to do his time…but he didn’t need to take part in any show.

For a moment, in desperation, he considered staying with Crazy Wanda, who lived down the hall with about ten thousand cats. Her room smelled of their urine and treats.

“It’s not safe out there!” she cried, as he passed by, back from getting last-minute candy. The only thing left on the shelf in their store—black licorice. His favorite, though, because kids hated it, and the sticks were long enough that he could tuck the candy into their bags from a safe distance.

“Mrs. Weems,” he said, because he always addressed her as such to her face, “There’s nothing to fear. Halloween comes but once a year.” He grinned a little, though he guessed the rhyme was lost on her.

“You say that now,” she said. She held a gray cat, stroking it dolefully. “But you don’t know what it can be like.” She shuddered. “The children…”

He sighed. “I don’t want them here anymore than you do, but shouldn't you get ready?”

“I’m not home.”

He tilted his head. “I think they might know you are.”

“They won’t know.” She slammed her door shut. “Not if they know what’s good for them.” It was muffled through the door, and meaningless. They had taken her magic away. Part of her mind had gone with it. She was a lifer…a useless witch.

He continued onward, ignoring the décor the other residents had slipped into the hallway. Luckily, it was almost deserted. Only Aquina was across the hall, adjusting her mat. She was wrapped in thin green filaments of cloth, which were almost transparent, sequined with fish hooks, seashells and seahorse bones. “Phil!”

He raised a hand, and tried to make his escape.

“Phil! Phil Drakes! Phil!”

He cursed inwardly, but turned. “Ah, hi, Aquina.”

“They’re almost here!” She giggled, and it sounded like pouring water. He noticed a puddle around her feet. Well—now they were feet. Once they were fins. “Where’s your costume? Don’t you have a nice cape somewhere?”

“Oh, I’ve got to—to put it on,” he mumbled, and he quickly shut the door behind him.

As the time drew near, Phil poured black licorice into a basket and began pacing. The first knock sounded at 6:02. It was a girl, dressed as a princess in bright purple, with canine teeth more finely pronounced than his own.

“Happy Halloween,” he said. She smelled terrible. Her blood was too young.

“Are you the vampire?” She puffed up her cheeks and blew between her teeth.

“Don’t talk to him, honey,” the mother said. She laughed, nervously. She smelled much better than the girl.

Phil stared at her. “I won’t hurt her.” He was more concerned about the opposite.

The mother looked surreptitiously back at the guard.

“We keep ‘em locked up well,” Smithson assured her. “He can’t go out of the building, without one of us following him.”

“I wouldn’t even be here, but she begged me,” the mother said, almost apologetically.

“Yeah, well, it’s good for ‘em. To see normal.” He chuckled.

Phil hadn’t seen anything normal yet.

“Say it! Say it!” The girl grabbed his hand, and he recoiled. “Please, say it?”

“Elizabeth!” the mother scolded.

Smithson fidgeted with his paper. “Aw, he can do it. Go on, Vamp. Say it for the little girl.”

Phil narrowed his eyes. “One.” He swallowed. “One stick of licorice.”

“Laugh. Just like on Sesame Street!” She clung to him. He was starting to feel dizzy, with her scent so near.

“Get her away, please,” Phil said, and the mother, eyes wide, snatched her lilac-clad daughter and ran the other way.

It was going to be a long night.

Favorite Things Fridays!

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

Today's favorite is not a thing, but a person--someone near and dear to my heart. Fred Astaire.

I can't quite recall the first time I saw him in a movie. I think it was in Shall We Dance with Ginger Rogers--I'm fairly positive I was mesmerized by his dancing, in any case. I consider him to be an inspiration.

Born Frederick Austerlitz, he danced when he was little and when he was old. There was a certain joie de vivre in his steps, no matter his age, and he helped transform musicals, dancing and just general awesomeness.

Yes, I'm a Gene Kelly fan, too, but even he gave props to my darling Fred. (Gene, I'll feature you later!)

I'll be the first to admit it--Fred isn't the typical dreamboat of a movie star. He looks sort of small and awkward. But his personality and his dance, and even his singing which is enjoyable--not broadway or Glee-worthy by any means--make his on-screen character shine greatly. You go, Fred.

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Don't forget to sign up for my Nov. 16 Blogfest: Retold! If you're interested. Sign up today!

The first picture book? Perhaps!

2010-10-19T06:00:00.000-07:00

Last week, I discovered an article stating that picture books are a dying breed. Whether it's true or not...and hopefully, it's not...I decided to spend some time promoting and representing children's picture books. Every Tuesday this month, in fact.

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I did a tiny bit of research for this post, which is sort of unusual. It was by accident--I was looking for picture books online, trying to decide on the first one to feature. What I discovered was one of the first picture books: Orbis Pictus. Orbis Pictus is by Johann Comenius. Wikipedia tells me he published it in 1865. It was a textbook, published in Latin and German.

Go ahead--click on the link.

OK. I assume you've come back, or I'm typing into the vast unknown of the internet. Now, I know that you probably aren't fluent in Latin. I'll translate it for you. Luckily for you all, I am a Latin geek.

Chapter I. Invitation: The photo is of a teacher (magister) and a boy (puer).

The conversation follows:

T: Come boy! Speak wisely.

B: What is it, oh, wise one?

Okay--I'm not going to translate it all. But basically, the teacher is getting ready to teach the boy. And look at the woodcarving photo! Isn't it lovely?

I never thought of the history of picture books before. It always seems like they just morphed out one day, and we all reaped the benefits. Art and text, in one sweet package. Or, sometimes, just art. On pages. Have you ever read art?

I promise, I'm really going to set you up with a good picture book for today. Since I'm starting with, well, starting points, and since Maria from the Sound of Music said that it's the very first place to start, we had better begin with a picture book about the alphabet.

Chica Chica Boom Boom is a classic, and it shares the alphabet in a very unique way. I have to admit--I can't read this book out loud (or even quietly) without jamming out a bit to the beat of the words. I can't help but remember that the letters, as they scramble up the tree, will fall down...and that after they begin to untangle, the letter P will show with a black eye. This is an alphabet book that I can read over and over again. Highly recommended from this blogger--check it out. By Bill Martin, Jr. and illustrated by Lois Ehlert.

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Don't forget to sign up for my Nov. 16 Blogfest: Retold! If you're interested. Sign up today!

Purple cauliflower and other wonders

2010-10-18T10:21:00.000-07:00

I really enjoy food. And I love veggies. So it's been pretty exciting for me to see all of the different shades of produce this year. I mean it--it's really been a colorful bounty. Or maybe I'm just more aware of it? It's hard to say.

I was in my supermarket a few weeks ago when I discovered this: purple cauliflower. They also had orange, and green. Okay, seriously--green cauliflower looks like not-quite-ripe broccoli. Or like that spring green crayon color. So, it wasn't as exciting as these other colors. (They aren't genetically engineered, that I can tell, either...selective breeding. Much like what was done to carrots. No, they weren't always that lovely neon-orange shade. I'd like to find some yellow or purple ones, and eat those--that was once the color they were known to be!)

I went looking for some yesterday, and found the last purple cauliflower in the store. I hurried home and steamed it, with some broccoli. If you're into those sorts of veggies--mmmmm. The cauliflower doesn't taste that much different from regular--I'm not sure I could tell a difference in taste, at all. But, yummmmmmmm. I loved it! And I have plenty left for tonight.

Now, I've also discovered blue/purple potatoes, which are colored on the inside; yellow-y potatoes; purple broccoli; it's all so colorful and fantastic! And it makes me wonder what other vegetables and fruits are out there, or will be out there at some point soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Don't forget to sign up for my Nov. 16 Blogfest: Retold! Spread the word!

Favorite Things Fridays!

2010-10-15T06:00:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, two Great-Horned Owls decided to raise a family outside of my workplace. (I named the babies Jericho and Methuselah.) Everyone was excited about it--we all would go on our breaks and look for them. We watched them mature. I got to see them fly! They looked like giant cats sitting on tree limbs, from a distance. And for a while, I was an expert on all things Great-horned owl; I knew their eating habits, mating habits, habitat habits, gestation period, particular menu favorites, speed of flight. I don't remember much of it anymore, but I totally did know, once!

I'm not really a bird person. In fact, I find that I have an incredible fondness for the underdog--the poor earthworms that robins peck at throughout the year. Poor things. Robins can be vicious. But owls--at least, the Great Horned variety--are different. Sure, they eat small mammals, but they, at least the four I got to know and love, have one thing over other birds (specifically robins): They actually like me. I know it. I'm not sure this owl in the photo does, though.

Feeling the bookrage!

2010-10-12T10:05:00.000-07:00

I get this listserv email from Kathy's blog about Illustrating and Writing for children. It's kind of lovely, with tips and bits on writing, publishing, ups and downs, and once I even saw blogger Shannon Messenger featured on it--about how she got an agent. It's worth signing up for.

However, today, I opened it up, and what article is featured in it today? This, about the sad, slow death of picture books.

This is kind of depressing to me--first of all, if you read the article, that some parents are pushing their kids to read and not allowing them to look at picture books. All for the sake of learning? Pshaw. Pshaw, I say again! Why, what's wrong with instilling a love of reading first? And what are we saying when we insinuate at a very young age that only pushing kids to read books at higher reading levels will bring knowledge? If you haven't read this article yet, check out this quote from it:

“They’re 4 years old, and their parents are getting them ‘Stuart Little,’ ” said Dara La Porte, the manager of the children’s department at the Politics and Prose bookstore in Washington. “I see children pick up picture books, and then the parents say, ‘You can do better than this, you can do more than this.’ It’s a terrible pressure parents are feeling — that somehow, I shouldn’t let my child have this picture book because she won’t get into Harvard.”

Some of my favorite books are children's: middle grade, young adult and picture books. Last Christmas, my Mom picked up a gem I found, which I got wrapped under the tree--Mr. Willowby's Christmas Tree. Let me tell you, this book has it all--cute photos, clever rhyming text, an ironic twist! I encourage you all to check it out.

In fact, I encourage you all to post and share some of your favorites--new or old--that are picture books.

So for the rest of the month, on Tuesdays, I'm going to share classic picture books and authors. And I do hope you all go out and hunt them down. Even for yourself--I know I still do.

On an unrelated side note, be sure to sign up for my Blogfest: Retold! It should, hopefully, be a fantastic time.

Announcement: The blogfest, retold!

2010-10-11T06:00:00.000-07:00

Well, I went back and forth about it a bit, but I had almost completely decided on the theme of the blogfest I am hosting after after I wrote this post, hyping my fantastic record of writing 80 posts in close to three years.

You may or may not recall from the review I wrote on "The Thirteenth Princess," but I love retellings. That is, I love to hear things from more than one point of view. I think that's what gives us ideas, really. What gives us inspiration, often. It's how we explain things, sometimes to ourselves, sometimes to others. Because we all ought to know, there's never just one story. Right? There are reasons motivating every character, and their reasons can, and should, tell a completely different tale.

So, I welcome you to join "The Blogfest, Retold!" (trademarked with exclamation point) on November 16!

Yes, I want you to retell a scene from someone else's view point. Let us know, for example, what motivated that third little pig to build his house of brick...actually before his brothers turned into bacon. Or explain to me, in your lyrical prose, how the muses feel about singing to Vergil. Whether or not Herodotus actually saw a Unicorn. Why the Trojan war actually happened. How the ship Titantic felt about its name...to name a few examples. You can and are even encouraged to borrow your script from one of these fabulous sources:

Fairy tales
Mythology/legends
History!

You can also retell a story of your own making, but please, post your original scene, so we can see the difference.

Maybe limit your word count to about 500-750 words? I want to try to read them all, and that's difficult when there are a verbose plethora. Yes, I know, I'm one to talk...I always go overboard, myself. But this is just a scene, after all. You can write the fabulous book or short story it inspires afterward.

So, please sign up below...remember, this is for November 16th! You have lots of time. Hurray!

10-10-10!

2010-10-10T16:33:00.001-07:00

Happy triple-ten day! It's not every day we get to see such lovely symmetry. It's like a symphony!

OK. Maybe I'm a bit tired.

These are a few of my favorite things...Fridays!

2010-10-08T06:47:00.000-07:00

So, I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I've decided to start a (semi) regular post on Fridays. About my favorite things. Yes, this is a big shock, after reading the heading of my blog. Surprise!

So, I have many, many favorites. Of everything. Hugs. Hugs are my favorites. And dark chocolate. I have a list of favorite colors. But I want to feature all manner of things. So, to start with, I'm going to feature one of my favorite books when I was young.

Robert the Rose Horse is a masterful tale. The images are detailed line drawings in reds and blues. Get this--Robert, a horse, has allergies to roses! For a girl growing up with allergies, this book totally rocked. I mean, I totally got Robert--and he totally understood me! Even if we probably couldn't go too near to each other. I am allergic to fur, after all.

Totally love-love-love this book. So it, and Robert's journey from country horse to working horse, belongs in my long list of faves. By Joan Heilbroner, and by the way, fantastic for those without allergies, too. :)

So Happy Favorite Things Friday!

From the Post office, with love

2010-10-01T14:46:00.000-07:00

I received a little present from the post office, yesterday. I consider every bit of mail I get to be exciting, although granted, when it turns out to be junk mail, I am a little disappointed. And bills aren't all that exciting to pay...but there is some satisfaction in opening the envelope, knowing it's for you. I've received all sorts of varieties of things in my life, but yesterday's little gift was something I've never experienced--a summons to serve on a jury.

I know most people are severely disappointed to receive that sort of an item, but I'm new to the idea of juries, so I haven't made any impressions of the concept of serving on one, yet. And, you have to remember, that I have a love of mysteries, (some) court room dramas, and more. I am typing this, watching an Alfred Hitchcock film. (I've never seen the movie Suspicion before, but just found it at the library today. Oh, oh, oh--Cary Grant and Alfred Hitchcock. How fantastic is that? Cary Grant's shoulders are so dreamy. I wonder if anyone called him Cary? They must have--but I just don't think his first name alone holds all the punch his full name does. Anyway. I digress.) So I have to admit to a variety of feelings, which I'm sure will only increase as my time for possibly serving approaches. I'm kind of excited to be part of that atmosphere--to be part of the process. I'm a little bit proud--this is that civic duty sort of feeling. But I'm kind of nervous, too. I want to do a good job, but won't it be difficult? I mean, Heavens to Betsy, it takes me long enough to decide wear in the morning. How will I ever figure out who is innocent or guilty? I am taking this very seriously!

In any case, this could shape up to be an interesting month!

Siftings

2010-09-30T12:56:00.000-07:00

The last few days, I've been going through some old boxes of mine. It's kind of exciting--like opening a pack of trading cards when you're little. You kind of know what to expect, but not completely--will you get that special foil card? That really rare card? Or will you finish off a collection?

I found a treasure!

I think I should start out by admitting that I'm a pack-rat. It's a tendency I'm trying to overcome. But I'm so glad that I found these--old school papers from elementary school. The big, bulky, construction paper-enriched crafts. Math tests, math papers, social studies papers...and writing!

Oh, my gosh. What did you write like, when you were little? Or what did you write about?

I'm pretty sure we were given pictures and were told to write stories about them. I was hoping mine would be fantastic and show how I was a writer at a young age, but alas, they weren't. There were some misspellings--I was just freshly seven, having had my birthday right before school began. But they were such treasures. Interesting views into my mind, in fact. I wrote a lot about kittens and blond girls named Lisa (I wanted to be blond, though I'm definitely not, and I wanted my name to be Lisa, though I love it as is). I laughed, and laughed, and I'm so glad I found them, and I'm so proud of them, whether or not they are well-written. I packed them away, but drawing on my memory:

If I found a dinosaur outside of my house, I would: ask my Mom if I can keep him and then I would keep him and I would call him farad. (I think that was supposed to be Fred. It wasn't capitalized in my "story," either.)

In the summertime: We wear three types of clothes; skirts, shorts and swimsuits. If you are a boy, you can only wear two. If you are a girl, you can wear all three. And you can play with the garden hose.

One Christmas: Everyone forgot, except for a little girl named Lisa. But she didn't know anyone forgot, so she didn't tell anyone. She left him (Santa?) a gift on Christmas Eve. (I assume that's the only gift given, and if you really want to think into it, Santa forgot, too, so he didn't even get his present...but oh, well.)

Oh, sometimes it's annoying to get prompts, but sometimes it's a lot of fun. So, I challenge you to tell me your own stories--what happened in the summer? What happened one Christmas? And what would you do if you found a dinosaur outside your house?

Or, you know, just enjoy my sad "stories." I did. :)

Blogging it... for almost three years

2010-09-10T11:17:00.000-07:00

Well, readers, this is post number 80!

I've noticed my posts are getting higher in number. This makes me remember when I first started my blog. Many of you will remember when I started to pop up around the web site...but actually, though still somewhat of a newbie, I started blogging just about three years ago.

Here's the difference between then and now: I had no idea what I was doing.

You want proof? Here's my first-ever entry. With such a clever name...(insert eye roll here). (I still like to use dashes and ellipses, by the way.) I wrote one more entry that year, and then didn't write again until--March of 2009. Then another in May. My friend Amalia found out about my sad blog sometime around July, and since then, mostly because she keeps me in the blog circles, told me about some good blogs to read, first told me about blogfests, even mentioned me from time to time--because of all that, I am still here. With 80 posts under my belt!

Well, these 80 posts later, not a lot has changed, but at least I have a better idea of what I'm doing.

I'm sort of thinking, too, that maybe I should host a blogfest on my 100-post marker. Or something just for fun. Of course, many fantastic ideas have come and gone...so I'll have to try to be clever (which always works oh-so-well) and come up with something clever and fantastic of my own. And that means I'll have to figure out how to use that Mr. Linky form...and people will have to spread the word...

But then again, that's twenty posts from now! An eternity! Or so it seems.

Eh, but what the heck. I've just about decided. In fact, I have decided. This is a go.

Within the next few posts, I'll discern the theme. And then...on November 16--my three-year anniversary of joining, and if I'm lucky, sometime close to my 100 post-mark--I shall have a blogfest.

An emdash blogfest! No, totally joking. I wouldn't do that to you. We don't want too much of a good thing!

But we do want...something. (Ominous music in the background.) (Maybe with some flashes of lightning for dramatic effect.)

So...beware. It's coming....!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Review: Toy Story 3

2010-09-07T08:00:00.000-07:00

Okay, so maybe I was about the last person in the world to see this movie, marking it as a Toy Trilogy, by the way--and, may I add, one of the greatest trilogies since Star Wars (the original episodes) found their way into the world.

So, if you can't guess from that, this is going to be a glowing review.

I don't know how Pixar does it. How they tell a story so phenomenally three times in a row, with similar tendencies, similar problems, and yet make three completely different yet connected, fantastic films. Each one is sparkling and new. Each one is beautiful. Each one packs a message without walloping you over the head with it.

And this one made me cry.

Okay, so if you were to ask my brother, he'd say that's not very difficult. But it made my cousin cry, too. We saw it together. She and I loved it. I laughed and laughed--it was so stellar! So--Pixar!

My one complaint is that Bo is in this photo I found, but is not in the movie (although she's mentioned. Thanks, Pixar!)

The thing about this movie is, we've grown up. Andy has. His sister has. Most of the toys are gone. Have been, for a while. But the special ones are left. (Hey, I've still got Polly Pockets--the old-school type--and they're sticking with me. You know? I totally understood.) They were about to go into the attic--all but Woody, whom Andy was going to take with to college. But through a mistake, they end up going to a day care. And as usual, they have to fend for themselves, find their love, and live (as toys) again, somehow.

We meet some new toys and people, and mourn the loss of old ones. We laugh ourselves silly over Ken--oh, my gosh, KEN! So....good...you just have to watch it for his antics, alone. We feel our hearts break and mend, faster than you can pull dry play dough out of its tub. (I'm grasping at metaphors, here.)

One thing is for sure--Pixar knows quality, and they know how to take chances. I respect them, and their stories. They've made me fall in love with them, all over again.

Yes, Haiku--Part Two!

2010-09-04T06:39:00.000-07:00

The longer I participate in this Haiku ordeal, hosted by Stephanie Thornton, the cornier my jokes/blog headings are getting. But I love it. Who knew?

You can read my haikus from yesterday down below this post--and here are a few more, because, apparently, I can't get enough!

Starting with a more serious one:

When the air is crisp
Why doesn't it crumple? I
breathe; it stays intact.

Ok, that's enough of that. One I shared with a friend yesterday:

Sometimes, the in-laws
Are really more like out-laws.
It's good they aren't armed.

And now there's just no stopping me!

Spidey shoots web while
Superman flies. DC or Marvel:
Who best wears spandex?

When she learned the states
Stella just had to wonder
What did Delaware?

Pink slides and brown mules
Lie on the ground. He and she
Kiss in the tree!

Wind blasts the tall grass
Till it looks like verdant waves.
Where are the starfish?

Haiku! Don't you?

2010-09-03T10:12:00.000-07:00

I was quickly commenting on my friend Amalia T.'s blog, when I saw that she had posted a winning haiku in Stephanie Thornton's totally awesome Haiku blogfest! What the heck? How did I miss this! I'm not poet--not at all, though I wrote a totally awesome, rhyme-contrived poem for my dad one year, entitled "Mr. Fix-It." Don't expect it to ever hit this blog.

So, I entered my name just now, and came up with this.

I just shook your hand.
I wish I knew why I can't
kiss your palm, instead.

And suddenly was like, "Ooooh! Haikus are fun!"

So, I think I'm going to do a few more. Read what you want. Take part! Have fun, is all. And it's for two days! Score!

Haikus, I think, are
Sweet as thick, orange marmalade.
But beware! They bite!

Ich liebe dich, he sighed.
I gazed at him and whispered,
"I do not speak French."

She walked into wind
And fog, and snow, and ice, but
She danced in the rain.

She longed for a frog,
But soon found that a true friend
makes for a better prince.

Okay! I am done
For now, at least, with this fun
..Till I think of more.

Review: The Thirteenth Princess

2010-09-01T06:40:00.000-07:00

I love, love, love to read. I haven't read a new book front to end in a long time--I've just been too busy with other things, or I figure I ought to write instead, or--well, you know. But I saw this book, by Diane Zahler, and I was just taken by the cover and the premise; it is a retelling of the Twelve Dancing Princesses fairy tale.

Let me explain one thing right here. I love retellings. My Dad used to tell me fairy tales from various points of view of the other characters, and I think that might be part of the reason why. The wolf could speak for himself and was maybe an innocent bystander in Little Red Riding Hood, but oh! Let me tell you, that lumberjack had a good tale to tell, as well. And it wasn't just that one--the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson either rolled in their separate graves, or rose in spirit with the new life we breathed into those tales. I love how things are explained, how characters are developed, or how sense can be made of what we otherwise would not have understood, set down as they are. So, I love retellings. And fairy tales, in general.

Back to "The Thirteenth Princess." I found a commercial for this book, by the way, which you should watch--it's pretty terrible. It's overly dramatic, and does not at all make me want to read this book. I'm glad I didn't see it beforehand. I probably wouldn't have read it. It's definitely a middle reader, but does that really matter in the grand scheme of things? If a book is good, then it's good!

However, this book was average for me. Granted, I was up until 3am or so, reading it. On a weekday. When I had to work at 8 the next morning. Ouch. But that was because I had just hit the meat of the book. The really good parts. And where this book is good, the writing is crisp and descriptive, and you're sucked in. However, there's a bit too much that is not quite there, for me.

The story follows our red-haired protagonist, Zita. She is the thirteenth princess, born last to a queen of failing health (who then dies), and to a king who wanted a son, who spurns her, forces her to live with the servants, while her twelve Barbie-blond sisters live in splendor. Magic is banned here, but of course that is just a recipe for magic to occur. I'm not entirely convinced of the plausibility of magic being banned so easily, anyway, but maybe I'm not supposed to, so I am okay with this point.

Zita is supposed to live up to her red-haired description. In the beginning of the book, I do not think she does. She wheedles, she is baby-ish, she is never just strong, though she is told she is different--a Princess who can cook! Well, what else was she supposed to do? She was living in the kitchen, after all!

The sisters, too, often annoy me. They all have names beginning with "A", and they are all almost too perfect, though I respect that the oldest, accurately named Aurelia (Golden), wishes to find a husband who will accept her as Queen and not want to rule. (You go girl!) I just wish she had more backbone--or even that I could tell the other princesses apart. True, they are under an enchantment, but still.

I didn't get into the book until the sisters started to get sick, and Zita had to find out why. She starts to show a little bit more character in that part, as well. Yet I can't get over the fact that I knew who was casting the enchantment, a big mystery in the book, by the time she first realized someone actually was enchanting them, and began to wonder who it was. I had about four or five chapters on her. Nonetheless, Zahler pulled off the reveal with some interesting revelations I wouldn't have necessarily thought of, so I felt satiated by the way the pieces matched up.

Overall, I enjoyed this book, and I'm glad I read it. There was some very lovely writing here...but it was not a book I feel like I'll be raving over or even insisting that my friends read. It's worth a read, especially if you're into fairy tales, and it's quite fast to read...but I found some character traits wanting, and felt the action came a bit too late. So, from a self-proclaimed fairy tale aficionado--it wasn't bad. Just don't let that terrible "book preview" link I added above keep you from giving it a shot!

Blog-guilt

2010-08-31T10:17:00.000-07:00

So lately, I've been feeling guilty for neglecting my blog. So today, I'm going to brush it off, get the cobwebs out of dear Bloggy's ears, and add my few cents to the day.

It is cold here today. Well, not cold by cold's standards--upper sixties and lower seventies are heaven in January, in this region. Or February. March. Often just a dream by the time we reach April. Perhaps we'll get there, by the end of May. But this summer has actually been warm, with temps in the nineties to one-hundreds, and I have been able to melt off the outer layer of ice that the last two winters bore. And now, I fear it's coming back.

But in other news--well. It's officially the last day of August. It's been a busy month for me, though not in every way I'd like. No writing was accomplished throughout this whole month, pretty much--well, not fictionally-speaking, and obviously very little here, as well. When the blog suffers, you know that other things must be going on. I've been training in to teach a new class, keeping busy at work. Trying to become a healthier person, too, by getting into a more regular work out schedule. And preparing to run about 5 miles in a marathon relay that I'm totally going to be terrible at. (Another topic for the future!) And now that it's about to be September, all sorts of new things are about to jump out, grab me by the scruff of my neck, shake me up a bit and demand my attention. All those little things we volunteer or (sometimes) are forced into really add up, you know?

But I promise, my dears--I hope it's okay with you all if I call you that? I'm running on just a few hours of sleep, here--I promise to be back. Because I have two reviews I'd like to share with you, one a book and one a movie. And because Bloggy is just purring so happily, now that I've allowed her to stretch out and get back into the social network.

Happy end of August to you. Enjoy the Kalends of September, which are soon to be upon us.

Yay, birthday!

2010-08-09T15:34:00.000-07:00

This unicorn is wishing me a happy birthday!

So, today is my birthday, and I feel obligated to post something. Something quick and short.

I am a quarter of a century. I feel very old, although everyone scoffs at that idea. But today has been fantastic--so fantastic that I completely forgot I aged today!

What I did today:

*Took off work
*Slept in (but not too late--only till about 8:30)
*Exercised!
*Went out to eat with Mom, ate back what I worked off, I'm sure, with one fudge-topped, delicious Sundae. Which was free.
*Went shopping with Mom
*Had a fruit smoothie at McDonald's, because I've been thinking it actually looks good. (Shocking!) It really was!
*Came home and responded to the almost a hundred emails/facebook shout-outs.

Today has been great!

Of course, aside from my birth, August 9th has great historical significance. Not for good reasons, necessarily. I know it is the day the US dropped the Atomic bomb on Nagasaki. (Really, really sorry!)

A few other historical events, according to Historyorb.com and brainyhistory.com:
48 BC - Caesar's civil war: Battle of Pharsalus - Julius Caesar decisively defeats Pompey at Pharsalus and Pompey flees to Egypt. (Though this date may be off...)
1173 - Construction of the Tower of Pisa begins, and it takes two centuries to complete. (Sweet!)
1483 - Opening of the Sistine Chapel (Also sweet!)

1726 - Netherlands signs Covenant of Hannover
1854 Henry David Thoreau publishes "Walden"
1930 Betty Boop debuts in Max Fleischer's animated cartoon Dizzy Dishes
1950 Lusty Song wins Hambletonian (At first, I thought this was a song. I don't know much about horses.)
1964 1st Rolling Stones concert in Netherlands (Apparently, the Netherlands love August 9!)
1973 - USSR launches Mars 7
1992 - "Streetcar Named Desire" closes at Ethel Barrymore NYC after 137 performances

OK, so that's enough. Yeah, well, you get the point.

So, go have a piece of cake, or better yet (and my favorite), ice cream. It's for my birthday. And birthday calories don't count, you know?

PS--I love unicorns.

The meaning of success

2010-08-03T20:01:00.000-07:00

I know this is dumb, but sometimes I just feel like I am unsuccessful. Maybe I hear about a friend who is going to be travelling; maybe I hear about this great job that just fits in with everything some other friend wants to do. I see other people socializing and having fun in other places...and I'm just back in my old neighborhood. Working on short stories I've barely even tried to publish. (I know, I need to work on that.)

OK. I know I shouldn't whine. I have many reasons to feel successful, and many reasons to feel lucky. Here are a few:

*I work in a museum (which is totally awesome, by the way).
*I am not traveling currently, but that doesn't mean I can't travel in the future.
*I have some wonderful friends, who are very supportive of me--even if they aren't right by.
*I have awesome friends who support my writing.
*I have been able to do some part time writing and editing, both of which are my passions.

When I graduated from high school, a friend of our family gave me a plaque with that whole bit entitled "Success." It's less of a poem and more of a guideline; but then, it's attributed to Emerson, but doesn't seem to necessarily have been written by him. Here's another site. (Is that irony, rearing its twisted head?) In any case--for those who may be feeling the unsuccessful blues--this is for you.

To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded.

Harmonica.

2010-08-02T21:18:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I just wish I could play the harmonica like this guy. Or do something analagous--like write a best-selling book. Whatever.

This is totally awesome.

The wonderful world of technology

2010-07-22T10:41:00.000-07:00

To be honest, sometimes I hate technology.

I was just having a conversation about this with my coworker. How we're always working to improve, to do better, make things easier. OK. I get it. I love indoor plumbing as much as the next person. I am attached to my computer at the hip. I love IM, and even though I don't text (I know, shocking, right? Especially since I am in the age and era to do so), I totally have my cell on me at all times.

That's like, plus-5,000 points for technology. Woo-hoo!

But then I start to notice--like, how many kids stay inside to play video games instead of allowing their imagination to take over? Nothing against video games or rpgs (my bro is addicted to an rpg, and I'm in love with Rock Band. Best game ever made!)--just, what about bicycles and baseball, legos and tree houses? My favorite games from when I was little were imagined. My brother and I used to play "shipwrecked." I swear, I was obsessed with shipwrecks! Probably because I'm land-locked. Anyway, we had this old inflatable mattress that we blew up when company came. Afterward, bro and I would load it up with blankets and whatever else was handy. It became a raft in the ocean. Bro would be the captain, I would be the doctor, and we would look for land, weather storms, call for help. It was the *best.* Sometimes our cousins played along, and we would all sail those seas together. In fact, it was practically the only game that bro would play with us, if they were there.

I made mud cakes and watched bro dig holes in the ground, which we'd fill up with water and then take turns jumping into for, basically, mud baths. We played spy games, "parachuted" our cabbage patch dolls down the stairs using plastic bags. We traveled through time when we played, no matter what we played with. Bro knew everything, and I followed his lead.

It was awesome. Maybe that's partly why I am into the things I am.

I know I get reminiscent, sort of dreamy. I believe in saving traditions. I long for the sweet-tasting, sun-swept summers of my youth.

And I work at a museum.

Now, we are learning to record oral histories. We've been doing this for years, but the technology keeps changing. First it was only written, then with photo copies, then cassette tapes. We moved to video, then DVDs and CDs. And now, I'm learning to interview people across the country with Skype.

It is super-cool, and I'm so very excited about it--I'm over the moon!

I love that technology can be used to trap a piece of the past, to give to the future. I love that.

Yes, technology can be great. And it can be overrated. It's simpler by far to do things without. Some people say it's character-building. Hey, I'm the first to admit that I hope to never use an outhouse. Ever. Ever. I love that we work constantly to better ourselves. I love the great inventions that we use everyday, that we will use everyday in the future.

But sometimes, I feel torn.

Hello, out there!

2010-07-15T11:34:00.000-07:00

I know, I know. It's been eons since I last wrote. I've got an excuse! I really do! Since my hard drive crashed (backupyourcomputers), I haven't quite gotten back into the swing of things--though let me mention that I now have Windows 7, which is *sooo* much better than Windows Vista!

I have been busy here and there with other items, trying to set up some of the writing I lost (thank Heavens for the blogfests. Most of my newest writing got partial bits posted, because of it!) But I've been busy with other stuff, too--my job, my other job teaching fitness a few fitness classes locally, running back and forth to weddings...I went to two weddings in the last two weeks, and am going to another one this Saturday. (Yay, dances!) I am hoping to make at least one of the three I'm invited to in August. I have more upcoming.

But I did just want to share this news article, which just struck me as funny. Up in my neck of the woods, there are quite a few giant animal statues. Yes. And now, one has been named. Hooray!

Now, if only we could get ourselves our very own carhenge...

I don't suppose any of you have been there? ;) I have. I know, you're jealous.

So, anywho. Hello, and for now, goodbye.

Edit: Pictures of the buffalo. If you read the facts, note that #3 is no longer correct. :)

New background!

2010-06-11T20:35:00.000-07:00

Oooh, oooh, ooh. More colors and designs for me to choose from!

I'm talking, of course, about my blog's background.

It's difficult to find just the right background, isn't it? Or maybe it's just me. I have a hard time picking a favorite color, much less a pattern. But oooh...isn't this exciting?

Well, maybe that's also just me.

I have a new background, in any case. It's pink! I like pink. But not too overwhelmingly pink, I hope, so as not to scare off anyone.

At least it doesn't have any birds on it. I have a thing about birds. Especially robins. They stare down their beaks at me. I once saw a robin play with its food, a poor, innocent worm. It's so cruel! No, I have not and will not ever watch the Birds.

So. I'm still out here, surviving on my computer. I have a new hard drive, a new operating system (Windows 7), and a few ideas for new stories. Even if I am lacking the oomph to write, right now. The newness of everything is exciting, if a bit daunting. But that's a good thing, right?

Hard Drives, and why they are important.

2010-06-05T07:38:00.000-07:00

I assume everyone knows how important hard drives are. Especially if you are on here. After all, hard drives store everything--the entire life of your computer, and all of the files you add on. That's why it's so important to back things up. Heard that before? I have. And I've meant to.

You know, I can be awfully lazy about things like that. Who isn't, really? I think, to be perfectly honest, that the last time I backed up my computer was about 2 years ago. Maybe even a bit more. Since then, I've added stories, video, music and photos, all of which are terribly, terribly important to me.

I'm going to find out how long ago I backed up my computer today. Why? Because last Thursday, my hard drive failed.

I was watching TV on my computer, in part because I don't have cable and my television set barely gets two channels at the moment. Suddenly, I heard a clicking noise, repeating. "Click-click-click-click-click." And then my computer rebooted, because it was unable to read anything. And it rebooted again, and again, and again.

I freaked out a bit right there, but overall, I've been fairly calm. Not much else I can do, really. Thank Heavens that I emailed a few things to both myself and to my writing bud Amalia T. (It occurs to me that I missed out on her dream sequence blogfest. I just saw it was on Friday, yesterday. Good gravy. I've been out for a while, and it's not been easy. Sorry, Amalia!) And thank Heavens that I took part in as many blogfests as I did. I have some tidbits here and there, a few things saved other places. I'm not as lost as I could be.

But--I still lost a lot. And trust me, I've looked into file retrieval. It's not looking pretty.

So, I'm still here, dear readers and followers. Barely. But please, learn from me--back up your hard drive. Or at least the files that are most important to you. Because if you lose everything, you will feel lost, too.

Feeling Lost, but learning from it (Watch out for spoilers, about midway down)

2010-05-26T11:05:00.000-07:00

This isn't a unique feeling or post, I'm sure, and the title is a bit cheesy, I think, but seriously. Seriously!

OK. So, I started watching the TV Show "Lost" about three weeks ago. I wanted to figure out what was going on before the finale, so I could watch the finale. I just wanted to know about the hype. Yes, I got sucked into some stuff, though I had no clue what was going on with some other stuff. Thanks to Wikipedia, Hulu and my cousin, I felt pretty ready for the finale.

I almost cried the entire time! Some of my predictions came true, some had no legs to stand on, anyway. But, oh, my gosh.

Then I started to think about the parallels between the pilot and the finale. If you haven't seen it yet, but want to, maybe you shouldn't read past this point. If you don't care one way or the other, keep on reading.

Jack Shepherd, one of the main cast, starts out the entire show when he wakes up, after the plane has crashed on the island (you all knew that anyway, right?). It starts, as I recall, with the zoomed in close-up of his eyes opening. Vincent the dog finds him in the field, and then Jack's racing for the beach, starting to try to save everyone's life. The plane is in flames, and people are screaming. Locke is discovering he can walk. (He was in a wheelchair.) I think still in the pilot, there is the ubiquitous reference to black and white, good and evil.

What about the finale, then? Jack again is racing to save everyone, only this time, with his last breath. There's a subdued yet rushed feeling to his last walk through the bamboo. He has given his life to save the world this time, without thinking--much like his gut reaction in the pilot. Whatever he may have done in the meantime, he is what he is--he could not escape it. He was caught in that trap from the first episode. At the end, he sank down, fell down, and watched as the last few people escaped the island--Sawyer (once, his competition), Kate (his love), Claire (his half-sister), the pilot, Miles, and Richard. He sort of smiles. Vincent the dog finds him where he has fallen, in the bamboo patch. He's wounded again, as he was in the pilot, but this time, there's nothing he can do about it. There's a zoom-in, and he dies--with the last scene showing us his eye closing.

It's hauntingly beautiful, in a way. That his life has echoed itself, that he has done what he has to do, he has accepted it. It tears you apart--at least, it tore me apart. The parallel, and all of the meat in-between--his character development, the way he said goodbye to his loved one(s), and the sacrifice--all the death, to be completed by one last death. It's like literary fiction!

Yeah, sure, there are alternate time lines and alternate universes and alternate existences--in fact, in the finale you learn that the people from the flight made a place together, a (loosely-termed) purgatory of sorts, where they can meet each other again, remember, and then move on to the next plane together. (Not airplane, guys!) Yes, there's a lot of goofy other stuff going on--polar bears and such, and time travel, some group of people under an initiative that no one seems to know anything about. Think past all that. It's not so important as the basic story, which I believe lies in the first and last season (although this could be just me, as those are the only full seasons I watched). It's the struggle of life, death; it's the turmoil of emotions and relations, of friends, family, strangers, love, hate, the wild vs. civilization, good and evil. Opposites, that are so magnetized to each other that they cannot be one without the other, in many theories, in many instances.

These parallels are, in my humble opinion, beautiful ways to frame stories. The overarching themes that carry through, the true-to-character actions, the parallels, the meat in-between.

And though I didn't understand everything that went down in the finale--I think, after I've, ahem, gone through my grieving process--that it brings this show a bit of closure, and provides some lessons we can all learn from. And that, even if I don't understand, even if I am torn apart, I can respect, admire and even enjoy the framing of the story, and the story itself.

RIP, Lost.

Blogfest: Let's Talk

2010-05-17T21:26:00.000-07:00

Well, I guess I missed a few blogfests. What can I say? Next time I'll catch 'em.

But today is the "Let's talk" blogfest, so talk we shall. I just did some very light revisions on this piece, and trust me, I'm sure I missed great gobs of stuff. So comment away, okay? (Did you notice that rhymed? Yeah, I'm tired.) It's long, so stop reading whenever you want.

And check out the other partakers here. Oh, and thanks to Roni, our host!
~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, what’s your name?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“I asked what your name is.”

This wasn’t at all going the way she wanted it too. This wasn’t how she imagined intruders. This wasn’t how she imagined anyone. “What’s yours?”

He grinned. “Okay, then. You can call me John.”

“John what?” she asked. She crossed her arms.

“There is no last name. You can call me John.”

“You have to have a last name.”

“I do, but I don’t want you to call me by it. Now, aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

“It doesn’t matter what my name is,” she said. “However, since this is my place, and not yours, and I don’t know you and I doubt very much that you are friends with my roommate, who, by the way, will be home very soon, it matters very much what your name is.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

They stared at each other while he ate the sandwich.

“So, your roommate’s coming?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, hoping he couldn’t tell she was lying.

“He’s your boyfriend?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, he is,” she said. “And he won’t take kindly to you, I can tell you.”

John smiled, and stepped forward. He dropped his voice. “He must make love to you every night, and thank his lucky stars that he’s with you as he does,” he said.

“Excuse me?” She flushed again, and stepped back into the refrigerator.

“And he must really like the color pink, too,” he said. “Because it’s everywhere in here.” He tipped his head, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “But you don’t seem like a pink sort of girl.”

Did he see everything? No, she didn’t like pink as much as Jenna. Jenna was the reason behind the pink.

“You don’t have a boyfriend coming home,” he said. “I doubt that you have a boyfriend.”

She looked up at him, embarrassed and angry. “You don’t know anything.”

“I don’t know about that.” He laughed.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

He ignored her question. “You don’t have a boyfriend. You’re buttoned up to here,” he said, pointing at her neck. She reached up and fingered the offending button. “You’re bursting to be loved, to be that object. And you’re afraid. Not just of me. You’re afraid.”

“And you,” she said, her cheeks burning. She was angry. Angry that he could see things. She fingered the top button of her shirt again. “You’re hiding out. You’re afraid. You expect me to believe you, and you come in here and tell me about my awful existence, and stand as close as you can, and you know what you’re doing—you know…”

He grinned, and she stood up.

“You need to go now.”

“I don’t want to go,” he said. “I like you, you know.”

“No, I don’t, and I don’t like you.”

“You tend to get to read people well, when you have to,” he said.

“You didn’t even tell me your real name.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I did.” He smiled. “You ought to have a boyfriend. Someone to love you.”

“Who are you hiding from?” she asked him.

He sighed. “From the police,” he said. “You should have figured that out by now.”

“I had.” She glared at him.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he said.

“Then what did you do, and why are you here?” she asked. “I’m tired of asking.”

“Then it’s a good time to stop,” he said. “And speaking of that, maybe we should go back to the other room—you don’t look comfortable, up against the refrigerator like that.” He smiled. “Nice, but not comfortable.”

**Some notes: Jenna is her roommate; he is escaped from prison and ended up at her and Jenna's apartment on a weekend in which she (unnamed character) is all alone.

Blog-tag!

2010-05-11T19:50:00.000-07:00

I loved playing tag when I was little. I played Merry-Go-Round Tag one day, and injured myself.

You know how kids don't have merry-go-rounds at school anymore? Well, I'm one of the reasons why. Statistically speaking. I hurt myself playing that game!

I wonder if you know how it goes? One person is it; they stand in the middle, their eyes closed; then kids move around the outside of the Merry-Go-Round, trying to get away. Oh, yeah--and the Merry-Go-Round is moving. As fast as you want.

I have a little scar on my leg that has faded over time; it marks where my kneecap used to be when I was about ten. As I've grown up, it's grown down. a white, cock-eyed circular thing that marks where I slipped off the Merry-Go-Round and cut a very large, bloody and pebble-filled gash into my poor little leg. Trust me, it was painful. And I wasn't even it!

Blog-tag is not so painful. Or, at least, hopefully it isn't. I know lately, it's seemed like I've done nothing but blogfest, but I really am here, with other things to tell you. Amalia T., my lovely blogging/writing/other buddy, tagged me with some other lovely people, all who are delightful. Check her out, check out her links, and then, don't forget to return and check out my answers to this exciting literary sport of blog-tag. Five questions with five different(-ish) answers...oh, the thrill of it all!

Question 1 - Where were you five years ago?

It's hard to believe now, but I was in college. Where did the time go?
I was just getting into Ballroom Dance.
In a very cold dorm room.
In crush with some guy.
In a good and happy place.

Question 2 - Where would you like to be in five years?

Published. (Amalia, I'm keeping this one.)
Home, after traveling the world.
Living the dream!
Among loved ones.
Dancing with Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly....? (Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?)

Question 3 - What is on your to-do list today? (Or, in this case, tomorrow.)

Work. It's not exactly 9 to 5, though--it's more 8 to 4:30 with a lunch break.
Choir. Last one of the season! I have to go.
I should be doing some writing. It's not too exciting--but it's historical, it is sometimes fun, and I get paid for it.
Finally cooking that chicken tikka masala. (Thanks, Jamie!) And then doing the dishes. Shucks.
Well...practicing for that Fitness class I'll be teaching...but I'm sure we all know that's not going to happen...

Question 4 - What snacks do you enjoy?

Ice cream. Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream! Chocolate's my favorite.
Peanut butter. Straight.
Fruit. This is a category of its own. Almost anything goes! Strawberries, bananas, apples, fresh peaches, cherries, blueberries and raspberries top the list.
I really like cold baked beans. This is not so much of a snack as a side, but oh, well.
I also really like cold sweet potatoes. Nothing on them! (See 4!)

Question 5 - What five things would you do if you were a billionaire?

Pay off my house and other such loans.
Travel around the world.
Diversify! Invest in my future, a few stocks, and let some collect in the bank. And donate some to charity.
Buy something nice, and big, for my parents. Like a new house.
Open up a dance hall in my non-dancing town.

Amalia says that the rules are to tag five bloggers I admire. This is totally unfair, because she tagged some I would have. And I suppose she'll say no tag-backs. What's a girl to do? :P But there are still many awesome followers to choose from. This is difficult! And to limit it to five? Well, here goes.

Roland at Writing in the Crosshairs
Charity at My Writing Journey
Eric Trant at Digging with the Worms
Jon Paul at Where Sky Meets Ground
Laura Canon at Pray for Rain

So, check them out, y'all! (I totally love to say y'all. Does that make me a wannabe southerner? I'm from the northern half of the country!) And then come back--I'm sure there's a blogfest coming up somewhere that I signed up for and forgot about.

Bad Girl Blogfest

2010-05-06T23:13:00.000-07:00

Oi. This caught me off-guard--how did the May blogfests sneak up on me so easily? I had a lot of work-related writing to do tonight, and so this, which is from a story I started but never finished, is the best I can do. I'm about to pass out from exhaustion, now. Maybe I'll try and make edits tomorrow.

I probably won't, though.

I think I may have to finish this one, too. We'll see.

Oh, and do read other entrants here. Thanks, Iapetus999, for hosting!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Do you hear something?” Jared hissed.

“Shut up. She won’t even notice we’ve been here. The girl is totally loaded. Her family must be those guys who own—”

“I don’t care what she owns!” He could hear it again, he thought. Maybe not, though…it could be in his imagination, after all. Couldn’t it?

“You aren’t helping, Dude. You aren’t going to get anything for your share. I'm doing all the work.”

“I don’t want it!” He ducked around Phil and peered out the window. He could just see Candace—Candy. That was what she said to call her—as she had been the night before. Soft short-shorts, so that the definition of her legs was visible. She had beautiful legs. “I don’t want it!” He wanted her, not her possessions. He was in love.

“I’m telling you, she won’t even know.” Phil almost sounded like he was going to giggle.

“How can she not? These look like heirlooms.”

“You know about the rash of burglaries. We’ll blame it on that.”

“But—”

There was a soft sound, and he stopped. This time, Phil heard it, too. He could tell. They stared at each other, and crept forward.

“We need to get out of here,” Phil said.

It was too late. “Hello?” Candy was standing in the door. Jared froze.

She was wearing all black, and Jared noticed that first. Even her shorts were black. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her in that. She looked hot. And mad.

His stomach dropped into the nether region of his feet. “C-Candy.”

“Hi, boys. What are you doing here?” Her forehead furrowed, and he wanted to kiss her. He shoved that thought down. He had to do some damage control.

“We—we—“ he couldn’t ever talk around her, could he?

“We thought we heard the burglar in your room, Candace,” Phil said. His eyes were round, his face white—he actually looked believable, Jared thought. He glanced back at Candy.

“So, you two were just trying to protect me,” she said, her tone hard. “How sweet.” She stepped into the dark room.

“Phil—” Jared didn’t know what to do.

“That’s it exactly, Candy.” He could hear Phil’s thoughts; he was saying, Shut up, Jared. I’ve got this covered.

Candy seemed to trip over her couch, and she landed behind Phil. She grabbed him from behind, twisted his head and brought him to his knees, his scream piercing Jared’s ears. Run, Jared. Get out of here.

Candy hit Phil’s head against her coffee table, and he dropped belly-down to the floor. She yanked his head up by his hair. “You know what your mistake was, boys?”

Phil wasn't saying anything. He wasn't making any sound. Run, Jared. “Wh-What?’ he stuttered.

“You don’t know your enemy.” She laughed, short and low, and pulled something out of the pocket of her shorts.

“I don’t understand,” Jared said.

Candy grinned, and her face looked feral. “I mean, it’s hard for me to get robbed by that burglar…when I’m the burglar.” She unfolded the metal with one hand, and held the small, sharp blade up against Jared’s throat. “And you read about the other jobs--you know what they say about me.”

“Y-yes,” Jared said. “No-n-no-no…”

She licked her lips. “That’s right. No survivors.”

Primal Scream!

2010-05-04T20:01:00.000-07:00

OK. It's time for another blogfest, and I'm not even done with the last two. (Thanks for the reminder, Roland!) Sometimes I feel like I just keep blogging by the skin of my teeth, you know?

Anyway, this is the Primal Scream 'fest, hosted by Raquel Byrnes. (With more to come--even this week, yet!) And I'm not completely sure what all I was supposed to do in this blogfest, except post a scene that may include a primal-ish scream. Self-explanatory, huh?

Well, I'm not so fond of this, for this scene, and I don't think I did the best with it, but it's from my WIP, and looking at it sure has been helpful. Pulling bits out really make you look hard at what you have, you know?

Here are a few bits of explanation, this time:
-Herrick wants the Stone
-Sallie knows how to use the Stone, and Herrick wants to know how
-they are not at this time known to Sallie, but she can hear them. Whoever they are.

So, anyway, I hope you enjoy it, at least some. Check out Raquel's page to see more, okay? Thanks!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Herrick thrust the Stone into her hands. “Take it.” He folded his hands around hers, forcing her to curl her hands around the rock. “Think.” He snarled, his face inches away from hers. “Think,” he said again.

She felt like he had inserted a knife down her spine, into her vertebrae. Her mind turned white-hot, smoking, and she could see a pile of brown and ash, the ruins of her house on the Outside. She could see Trina, staring in horror at her, backing away, crying, babbling something. She could see Herrick, standing in front of her, bending over her. His mouth moved. Think. Think. She had to think, she had to do something. She was there, and she was here. She saw almost everything separately, then at the same time, then darkness, stars, fire, heat.

Pain, pain, hot, searing—

Circle, sphere, black, white, red-orange-red—

A long spire, a horse with wings of flame, a horse that was not a horse, but moved more gracefully, with fire in its eyes, brown, black—

“Don’t force it,” Amity saying, over and over. “Don’t force it. Don’t force it.”

She was screaming, she hurt, she screamed more.

“Let go,” they said, “let go!”

“No!” a woman screamed, and something whizzed past Sallie’s ear, and it was a knife, and it hit the man who was with her, the man who was Herrick.

She felt something fall away, and she dropped to her knees, to her palms. She pressed her forehead on the marble of the tomb and closed her eyes.

“Get the hell away from my daughter,” her mother said.

Two 'fests a-blogging

2010-04-30T20:06:00.000-07:00

Hello!

Did you know that May 1 is the deadline for *two* blogests? Charity Bradford's baking one is the first one I heard of, so that one gets to be put here above the other. Check out her blog; she's got some cool stuff to say. And hey, she's a marathon runner! Way to go!

Read the other entries and enjoy!

Then second is Lilah Pierce's last lines blogfest...a toughie! I love last lines, but how can I just give them away? I think I have a few, some rather nebulous (which is often how I like 'em), even more so because I am not going to offer much explanation.

Check out the other entrants, and again, enjoy!

~~Baking Blogfest~~

She cracked the eggs open so hard, the white spattered onto her hand, and the yolk broke before it left the shell. She didn’t care. Nor did she care that a piece had broken off the shell. It wouldn’t kill him.

She stirred and scraped, turning up the heat, turning it down, turning it up again. She watched as the eggs scrambled, the white blending with the yellow. As they began to turn brown.

She swore, and pulled the pan off the burner, almost dropping it—she swore again, under her breath, so he wouldn’t hear her. Damn him. That she still cared she might wake him, when she was busy trying to serve him.

The eggs were done. She popped some bread into a toaster, and bit her thumb as she waited. It popped, and she gathered the slices, burning her hand. She slathered butter on, and the first piece split in half. The second was more sturdy, and she continued on, toasting more, buttering them.

She dumped the eggs into a bowl, put two rows of toast out on a plate, put it all on a tray. She looked at the clock. It was eight. In the morning. On a weekend.

She hated him.

She carried the tray upstairs. Had it been before, she would have picked out fresh flowers in a vase. The eggs would have been creamy and delicious.

But that had been before, and this was now. So she marched down to where he was, sleeping in the bedroom. She cleared her throat loudly. He didn’t move.

“Wake up!”

He jumped, and she stood over him, threatening, the tray firm in her hands.

“I was sleeping.” And now he was whining.

“I was, too.” The tray was heavy. Didn’t he understand?

He looked like he was about to roll over. "I didn’t tell you to get up.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sit up.”

"Yes, sir."

"I didn't tell you to talk."

He chuckled a little. She dumped his food down in front of him, burnt eggs, bits of breaded butter, a sad little empty cup she had forgotten to fill with orange juice.

“Happy Anniversary. Now eat your damn breakfast.”

~~~~~~Last lines-1~~~~~~~~~~

There was a lot to say, but Sallie didn’t, and neither did he. They sat, mere inches away, and stared at the sky, and breathed together.

For just a few minutes.

~~~~~~~2~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, there was still no bread or eggs in the house, and Liz told Derek that she was breaking up with him. She didn’t give him a reason, and he didn’t ask for one. He packed up his belongings, whistling as he did so, and he moved out the next day.

Liz wondered what it was like to be in love and to have someone be in love with you.

It was Monday.

She was the other woman.

Body Language blogfest

2010-04-23T21:48:00.000-07:00

A quick draft of a short story I thought up years ago..this gave me a chance to work a bit on something new! Anyway--here it is, rough and tumble, and ready for Harley D. Palmer's body language blogfest! Go check out the other entrants!

(Update to add link!)

__________________________________________

Amy had been talking to someone, but she turned, her skirt swirling, and then she saw him. She stared, and he did, too.

She cocked an eyebrow, tilted her head in that way he used to like. Like she was issuing a challenge.

Okay, so maybe he had stared too long. He nodded, and took a step toward her. Maybe he should say something. Or not. It was all so awkward. He lifted his hand in a sort of wave, then let it drop back.

She looked amused. She twisted back and forth, crossing her arms behind her back, gripping her elbows. Just like always.

An elder woman pushed past Tyler, shoving him further even more. He glanced over at Amy; she grinned, and stepped forward as well, opening her mouth.

A wrinkly-faced man interceded, and she turned toward him, dropped her hands, and twitched her skirt back and forth.

“Hey, Ty?” No one called him Ty. He glanced at her; the girl, her cousin’s daughter’s friend’s whatever who was patiently serving her term as attendant, chuckled nervously. “Lana said to forget the sandwich, she’s not hungry anymore. Too nervous.” He nodded mutely.

"She wants you to go and fix the flowers on the pews, though. She’s very nervous about them, I guess. She hasn’t stopped talking about them yet!”

“I got ‘em. Tell her not to worry.” The girl smiled, and he took three steps back, then entered the sanctuary—away from Amy.

These are a few of my favorite things...

2010-04-20T11:23:00.000-07:00

I was reading Jon Paul's blog yesterday, about famous author's favorite books, and started to post an essay in response to his question: What are your favorite books?

As I told him, I have a list of favorite colors, and I keep adding to it--so there's no way that I could choose just one favorite book!!! No way! But the question has come up before, and there are a few I remember, off the top of my head, that I almost always think of, when I think of favorites. Some are best categorized by author, some are not. But here are some of my faves.

"To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee--I don't know what it is about this book, but I think it has me in its spell, even though it's been years since I read it. I loved it then, and without remembering why, I love it now.

"Harry Potter" series, by J.K. Rowling--I've loved Harry Potter for a long time. I think sometimes that she has given me inspiration, actually.

"Stardust," by Neil Gaiman, and incidentally, "The Graveyard Book" ... oh, and let's just toss in "Anansi Boys." Probably my very favorite ones of his many books, though I enjoy and love everything he's written. Talk about inspiration!

Agatha Christie--she is pretty much the only mystery writer I read. She's so prolific, too! I have loved everything of hers that I've read. Especially the stand-alones--those are really my favorites, of hers.

O. Henry--the first story I read of his was "The Gift of the Magi," and as much as I like that one, I think it gets overdone. He is a really fun writer, though, and I love all of his short story collections.

Isaac Asimov--let me clarify this by saying, not everything! But I do enjoy his short stories--and have you read the Norby the Robot series? *Love* that!

"Mary Poppins" by P.L. Travers, and "Mr. Popper's Penguins" by Richard and Florence Atwater, are books that my dad used to read to me at night, and have always been really special to me. On the same note, he also read all three of the original trilogy of Star Wars books (based on the movies, of course, with pictures from the movie). While I can't claim them as favorites, they were also special.

"Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh" by Robert C. O'Brien. OK--have you read this book? Seriously. Read it. It won a newberry award in the 70s. I should preface this with a statement that I was in love with mice when I was little. But even if you aren't, this is absolutely fantastic.

"Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad--So, I like a wide variety of books. Have you ever seen Apocalypse Now? I haven't, but from what I understand, this is what it was based on. Most of my classmates hated reading this book, and I can't say I blame them...but the symbolism was so exciting, and the ideas so dark and twisted, that I spent a lot of time enjoying it. Go figure.

"The Most Dangerous Game," by Richard Connell. What a twisted concept! But I love these off the wall ideas that make it in literature. This deserves its spot here.

Which leads me into works by Shirley Jackson. (The Lottery among them.) My aunt thought these were twisted, as well--and they are. But such strange ideas! At least they're only words, here.

There are more--ones I'm not remembering off hand--but these are the first ones that pop into my head when trying to make that "favorite" determination.

So, what about you? What are your favorite stories/authors/books?

Sweet, sweet sunshine!

2010-04-19T10:15:00.000-07:00

It's a deliciously beautiful day, today. I want so badly to go running outside--literally, with my arms wide open and my head tilted back to feel the sun, like I did when I was little, alone in our backyard. It would be so bright that, with my eyes closed, I could see dark red, no black, and I could see spots when I opened my eyes.

I want to go out right now, but I am a working gal, now. (Four jobs, technically, though three are part time. Oh, and I tutor Latin once a week, as well.) And tonight, I teach a class at our local YMCA, so that will cut into the evening hours, as well.

I love to be doing things, and to be busy, but it's days like this that make me want to play hooky. I looked ahead at the weather for the week, and lined up everything I'm doing alongside the schedule. When can I go ride my bike again? (I took it for a spin the other day, and even got to ring the bell! I love my bike.) When will I have time to go for that once-a-week jog I'm trying to make myself keep up with?

It cuts into writing time, too, when you get so busy. That's what happens to me, every so often. Then I wish I didn't have to work; that I could spend every day doing what I want, reading, studying languages, writing, jogging, dancing, gardening, cooking, and I suppose even some deep cleaning, because *someone* would have to...

That sounds busy, too, doesn't it? And then I remember--but wait! What about choir? And what about--

Some people have gambling problems. Perhaps I have a busy-ness problem. But I seriously have a hard time imagining not doing much for more than a day at a time...if that much. Even with the sun shining.

I can still run around outside over my break, I suppose. I can still find time to enjoy the sun. Even if it means sitting on my front step to eat my supper.

Jamie love

2010-04-14T22:01:00.000-07:00

It's official. I'm in love with Jamie Oliver.

Yes, the Food Revolution guy. Here are my main reasons as to why:

He's British, and so has one of the most fantastic accents in the world. IMO.
He's British, and he calls the girls on the show "Sweetheart" and "Love" and all sorts of terms of endearment.
He's British, and so when he calls the guys "Brother," it sounds like he's saying "Brotha."
Have I mentioned that he's British?
He can cook, and thanks to his cookbooks, I am becoming a slight/light/working at it gourmand. I think.

So, I have two of his cookbooks, and I'm so impressed. Never before would I have dreamed of touching fish with my bare hands. Fresh(ish) fish. And rubbing anything into the flesh was a no no. Nor would I have thought of putting broccoli or cauliflower into my mac and cheese (made with feta and cheddar, and rice noodles). Nor would I have thought of making lemon dressing, and mixing and matching salad toppings.

Jamie, you totally rock.

I think that when the baking blogfest rears its head, I will have to dedicate it to Jamie.

Edit: Picture added to appease Amalia.

Bar scene blogfest

2010-04-10T22:03:00.000-07:00

OK, I don't do a lot of writing about bars, but this is from a WIP I happened to have sitting around, where I happened to actually write about a bar. There's a bit in the middle (where the ellipsis is) where I cut part of a scene, but the whole bit in the bar is there. If that makes sense.

I got my two scenes for the 10th up really late, so take a look at them, too, if you're interested--Murder 'Fest and First Kiss Blogfest, yesterday. This one, I wanted to make sure to get up ASAP! Then check out Tara's page for links to more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bar was like a trip back in time; it had a Hawaiian theme, and apparently it was “Fifties night,” part of the bar’s special. Lindsey rolled her eyes at him and grinned, as if to say, “Isn’t this all chintzy and cheap? But for a free beer, may as well take part,” and he felt again like she was someone a little different, this time, someone he could maybe talk to and think about safely.

Together, they separated from the rest of the group and sat down at the bar. There was a sad-looking paper palm tree wilting on the countertop next to a display of three empty, fake coconut cups. Austen drummed his knuckles on the counter while Lindsey made small talk, played with her hair, and brushed against his arm four or five times.

When the barkeeper came over, “Sex on the Rocks, please,” Lindsey said, and she giggled.

The man nodded. His arms were thicker than his neck, and he had “Mom” tattooed on his arm. He looked at Austen expectantly.

“I’ll have the special,” he said.

He turned around and started filling cups as others took up the stools and tables around them. Austen thought it seemed awfully full for 5:30 on a Tuesday at a crappy little bar full of fake pineapples, but then, he didn’t know what the norm was.

“I hope this doesn’t sound stupid,” Lindsey said. “I was just wondering if you’d mind telling me a bit about yourself. I mean, I know we work together—”

“But we don’t know each other?” he said, and he smiled.

“Yes, exactly,” she said.

“Not much to say, really,” he said. “Grew up near here. Went to school near here. Now I work here.”

“Are your parents still living nearby?” she asked. “My parents are miles away. It can be nice, but sometimes it’s nicer to have them close.”

The barkeeper turned back, then, with her drink and a beer for him, and slipped the glasses toward them, before moving down the bar to customers more interested in heavier drinks.

“Actually,” he said, “My parents both passed on when I was young.”

She paused, her cup halfway to her lips, and she looked over at him uncertainly. “They both died?”

He shrugged.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. Then, apparently at a loss for words, she took a big gulp of her drink.

...

They sat at the bar in an awkward silence, each sipping from their cup. His beer tasted sweet, too sweet, and he felt it trickle down into his stomach. He didn’t much like beer. He didn’t much like this bar.

He drained his glass, and looked over at Lindsey, who was taking small sips and looking very uncomfortable.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked.

Eep! Murder scene blogfest/first kiss blogfest!

2010-04-10T18:27:00.000-07:00

So, not realizing what day it was, I only just now got onto the blog. Checked to make sure that murder scene day was tomorrow.

I discovered it was today. My reaction?

"Nooooooo!" Fall to my knees shock! Hands outstretched, in the classic Hero-desperation mode! How did I lose track of days? And how did April pass me by so quickly?

So, today is murder scene day. And that means it's also First Kiss blogfest day. And I still have--well--a *little* bit of time.

*Murder Scene*
So, this is a WIP that I posted a teensy bit of, the other day. I want to give a bit of background; the mc is a lawyer involved with a murder trial. His POV changes, but this is his re-imagining of the ordeal--he becoming the murderer, himself. It's the only thing I have prepared to toss your way, at the moment, although it needs some work. And, it's actually quite short! Here it is.

In his mind, he saw Mrs. Haroldson. This time, she was wearing a red dress. He saw her with the neighbor, the two of them sitting together on a couch, her neck bent back in laughter at something funny he had said. The ringing noise in his ears screamed at him. He knew what to do. He went to his house, got a gun, and returned. The neighbor was afraid of him, but Emerson didn’t hear a thing. He shot him five times, though he was dead after three. Mrs. Haroldson looked, then. She screamed at him, but he couldn’t hear. He squeezed his eyes shut. He could see it. He could feel it. White, smooth skin, and this time, it was cold.

Justice.

OK, now go read the other entries at Anne Riley's page--she's the one who started that 'fest.

*First Kiss*
Again, a little background.When I write stories, I usually feel like the major players are receiving the first kisses (or at least the first ones that count). In this case, this is the first kiss that counts, to the mc. And, it's with an escaped convict. So that should fit in with both 'fests, right? I hope this will satisfy (and be short):

“I’m not changing the rules,” he said. He took a step toward her. “I can’t.”

“Just stay back, okay?” she said.

“You still don’t believe me,” he said, and she thought he seemed insulted.

“I don’t believe you,” she said. She leaned back. “I think you’re going to kill me.”

He stepped toward her, and she stiffened against the refrigerator. He stood and stared at her for a moment, and then he grabbed her arms, pulled her forward, gently tipped her head back, and he kissed her.

He tasted of peanut butter and bitterness, of iron and of steel. He kissed her, and she knew, she knew, that he needed something, and it wasn’t to kill her.

He stepped away, then, and she stared at him, all too aware that her breathing was shallow and that her shirt was all wrinkled.

“I didn’t do it,” he said. “What they want me for.” She stared at him, and flinched, and knocked one of the magnets against the floor. She was sweaty all over, she realized. She was too hot.

And now, go read others at Melissa's blog. And see you tomorrow for some bar-hopping stories....hopefully...

And oh, once writ...

2010-04-07T21:43:00.000-07:00

So, hello, there!

I feel like it's been some time since I've posted anything other than a blogfest entry. I am really sorry. Honest! I've been busy outside of blogdom. Not that that's as important as you all, of course...but the deadlines are more pressing.

So, when did I hit 42 followers? I can't believe I've come this far, or that that many of you actually think I'm follow-worthy! It's an honor to watch that number rise, however fast or slow.

So, I just thought I'd pop on, and say hello. Let you know about more upcoming blogfests. I'm starting to worry that I'm going to forget them! Charity Bradford is doing a baking one; Melissa @ The Guardian is doing a First Kiss one (on the same day as murder blogfest day, so that could be interesting); there's one I just signed up for today, through Harley Palmer, in which MCs use body language instead of actually talking. I totally just signed up for a Deleted Scenes blogfest through My Literary Jam and Toast (tres exciting--Amalia T., this one's for you!) Oh, I'm addicted to blogfests, and it seems that even more of them are popping up all month! Am I missing any?

Oh, which reminds me--thanks to everyone who gave their advice and their opinion for the first page blogfest, hosted by Kelly--you all helped me so much. I got great feedback. I'm still going through and reading other posts for that blogfest, actually. Hopefully I'll get a little further tomorrow.

So anyway, I guess I just wanted to write this post for a specific reason, which I'm sort of hemming and hawing about. One of my goals this year was not to try and publish my novel--no, that needs way more work--but to try and submit a short story (or more than one) to literary magazines, to see if I could get it published. So, I did. And I haven't heard back, and I'm not expecting anything...but...I did it. Hey, it's worth a shot, right? And it's a step forward toward a goal. So, I'll try to keep you all up to date with that. I almost don't care what happens (but I do, totally)--I'm just proud I took this step.

Which reminds me of one last thing: my truths and lies. You were supposed to guess--four of each. I never quite did tell you which were true, did I? No. Check out the original post here.

Answers:

1. We traveled a lot when I was younger, and so I have been to 48 of the United States, as well as several other countries. FALSE--but sneakily so. We've been to 47 states.
2. One of the states I haven't been to is Louisiana. Another is Hawaii. TRUE! And the third is Alaska.
3. I am allergic to fur, but I have had some very interesting pets...among them, a snake, several frogs (Hoppy, Junior, Carla and Sadie), at least a dozen goldfish, and now I have a pet pig, Wilbur. I know, kind of unimaginative, but he really looked like a Wilbur! FALSE--I do want to have a pet pig, though. But I'd probably name him Hammie. Or her Porcia. I am allergic, though, and we did have a tarantula...but that's another story.
4. If I could, I would ballroom dance professionally for the rest of my life. I teach some, though I'm by no means like the professionals. I briefly considered trying to get on a soap opera so ABC would contact me to go on Dancing With the Stars. True, but when I say briefly considered, don't take me too seriously--I just wished I could.
5. When people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I didn't know for sure, usually. I had several ideas throughout my life: I wanted to be an angel, a Barbie doll, a mermaid, an artist, a marine biologist (for about a week), and then by the time I turned 13, I knew I wanted to write. Who knows which of these is most attainable. Ha. True. I did want to be all of those things. Even the Barbie Doll!
6. I love to color--especially with crayons. The look of the wax, they way they smell, the way they write on paper--it's magical! FALSE! I kind of feel mean. I love to color...with markers. I can't stand crayons most of the time. I only use them if they're Crayola, actually. Then it's...okay. But they've got nothing on the markers!
7. Kirsten Dunst walked right by me at work one day, and though I smiled at her and saw her, I had no idea it was her until later, when one of my coworkers started to talk about how nice she was. True! I almost died when I found out. Seriously. Couldn't someone have told me?
8. I have a twin brother. We're really close, and finish each other's sentences and all that behavior people think is typical of twins (it's not always). But we don't look anything alike, so most people get really confused when we're around, and we always have to convince them that we're related. Oh, well. False. I have an older brother, and though we are close, we are complete opposites, people say, and absolutely not like that. And we are both glad for it.

So, that's that. Peace out, and sweet dreams till morrow...or, if it's morrow, sweet daydreams till night.

First page...sigh

2010-04-02T07:02:00.000-07:00

Well, I've mentioned before that I can't seem to refuse a challenge, but today's blogfest, brought to us by Kelly @ Kelly's Compositions, is a challenge I really believe I need to take part in. Because, as so many people do, I hate the first chapter of my WIP. I can't seem to get it right. This is the latest incarnation of probably at the very least, twelve different versions...yikes. So, if you enjoy ripping apart people's work, rip away...I'll take any and all comments.

Thanks for hosting, Kelly--and please, readers, be sure to check out the other posters.

And if you're here for yesterday's Alternate Version blogfest, well, look at the post directly below this one!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sallie Kingston sank down onto her knees in the dirt, and put her fingers over the words, to feel the engraving as she had when she was younger. Helena, 1851. Death knows life’s secrets.

It was one of the few markers in the graveyard still inscribed with a name, one of the fewer marked by a date; it was engraved so deeply that, centuries later, Helena still lived on. At least for Sallie.

She folded herself against the stone to read it over again, one last time before going home, before her mother started to wonder, and then she stood. Yellow leaves fell from her lap like rain. Her knees were sodden, and she tried to wipe them down, but only made it look worse. She looked out beyond the front of the graveyard, to the small house she shared with her mother; it was a bit less than a mile away, but there was nothing in the way, and she could see it clearly, the windows lighting up as the sky darkened. As long as her mother wasn’t waiting for her at the door, Sallie could clean herself up, and she wouldn’t know.

Unless she asked. Sallie wasn’t exactly the world's greatest liar.

She should have gone straight home, probably, but sometimes she stayed after to study, so her mother would probably assume that’s where she was now. Maybe she would have been, too. But that had been before Trina Smithson had tormented her at school, before she had gotten in trouble in one of her classes for dozing off. Before the others had whispered about her as she walked through the halls. She was tired out, and now she was waiting for—well, just waiting to forget, a little. To not think about the day—but more to forget about the night.

Nights had never been easy, but they were mostly manageable. Her mother was overly concerned when something like this came up, and it made Sallie uncomfortable. It wasn’t anything, really. Sometimes, she just worried. Or her dreams woke her, sometimes—something just wasn’t right about them. They were nonsensical and gray.

It was much easier to forget, here and now, in her sanctuary.

Alternate Version Blogfest--Happy April Fools Day!

2010-03-31T21:01:00.000-07:00

So, it's been some time. I've left my poor followers hanging out there in blogdom. I can see you were all busy...I was, too. But it kept me away from the blog.

However, Blogfests always pull me back, whether I'm prepared for them or not. Today, very last-minute, I signed up for two more, bringing the total of April 'fests I'm taking part in up to four--Tara @ Secret Story's bar scene blogfest (Eep, I have no idea what to share, for that); Anne Riley's murder scene blogfest! (Is saying hurray acceptable? I do know what I want to post for this, I think); and Kelly @ Kelly's Compositions' First Page blogfest (ugh...I hate my first pages!); and at last, tomorrow's, the Alternate Version Blogfest, hosted by Livia Blackburne, in which she tells us to write a small scene in a different style. OK. As usual, I'm not prepared, but not about to be left behind...so below it the beginning of a short story I wrote which I realize needs some work, and the alternate form(s) it has taken. Really a lot of fun, though mine are sort of off the wall...I feel like I cheated, really.

Happy April Fools Day, everyone!

*The original version*

Skin. That was all he could see. A wide expanse of skin, smooth and creamy and untouched. He imagined himself reaching out, pressing his warmth to the cold. It was so white.

Emerson Talbot Fredericks, Esq. looked away and turned back to his work as she flitted around. She knew what she was doing, he was sure. She dressed just the right way, wearing clothes that curved where she did. He shook his head. “Annie, can you leave or stay quiet? I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Sorry,” she said, turning. The expanse of skin was covered as she straightened. He tried not to stare at her lip while she bit it. “I didn’t think I was making that much noise.”

The *Rulebook* version

To improve interoffice relationships, please be mindful of your coworkers.
*Men/women must wear non-distracting, office dress.
*Men/women should respect each other in regards to how they wish to be treated.
*Men/women must maintain appropriate noise levels in office.
*Men/women must not solicit each other.

And, for good measure, the *Zombie version* (FYI, I know little to nothing about Zombies. Feel free to point out errors!)

Skin. That was all he could see. A wide expanse of skin, smooth and creamy and untouched. He imagined himself reaching out, pressing his warmth to the cold. It was so white. And he was so hungry.

Emerson Talbot Fredericks, Esq., tried to look away. He fought against himself. He turned back to his work, trying to remember that he had liked her once, had known her once, before he became what he was now. They had walked the streets together, carrying their axes, ready to swing them into the others.

But now, she was under his possession, and he freshly changed, freshly bitten himself. Now, she looked like a meal, and her bare skin didn't help. He shook his head. “Annie, can you leave?”

“Sorry,” she said, turning. The expanse of skin was covered as she straightened. He tried not to stare at her lip while she bit it. Beauty and brains, and all he wanted was...braaains. She would make a lot of noise.

Drunk at first sight blogfest

2010-03-16T21:45:00.000-07:00

Hello, again! Two days after Simon's PG/MG blogfest challenge, (you can read mine here if you're looking for that), it's time for another blogfest--this one, Drunk at first sight.

I have to admit, I found this to be more of a challenge for me than the previous one. You see...I don't really have much that fits for this, pre-written. drink alcoholic beverages. I did have one story, but it's not ready, and the scene I could have used was too *short*, if you can believe that. Also, I tend not to really write about drinking. I tend not to drink! And so I feel a bit like a fish out of water.

So I thought I'd write something new for Jon Paul's challenge (check out the other entrants!)...and instead I feel like, right now, it's an endless scene of nothing. But I think I love the characters. The only other thing is that it's horribly long. I'm sorry about that. You have my permission to skim (if you needed it).

So, here it is: my post about alcohol and relationships and such. Thanks for reading...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Green foil shamrocks were everywhere—cropping out of the corners, growing up the walls, hanging from the ceilings. It was a good thing the lights were dimmed, because if they had been on full, the green glare would have run everyone out of the bar. Except that the place was so packed, the light wouldn’t have been able to get far enough to bounce back.

Dan sat at a corner table, where he was able to view the crowd, but was still close enough to the bar to catch the bartender’s attention, if he needed another drink. He sipped his beer—his regular, pale and golden, and definitely not green. He never could force himself to down any green beer, even if it was St. Patrick’s Day—and he watched the bodies moving. Forward, backward, colliding with each other, pulling apart. Dancing. One girl spilled her drink all over her shirt, cheered, and then pulled it off; she was wearing a little tank top underneath, so tight it showed everything. Someone covered her with a sweater and steered her out of his view, while two men followed. She was drunk. Happy and drunk.

He took another sip.

It was hard to see anything, hard to hear anything. He wondered why he had come. Why he came every year. Why it was so important to him to see humanity rolling and reeling. Maybe because of Karen—his Karen. Because she had enjoyed it, and now she was gone.

"There’s nothing like watching people.” Hard lemonade was her favorite, but on St. Patrick’s Day, she always had a glass of green beer on the side. She had a sip of it, asked him to try it. When he refused, she pushed it aside, and they both forgot it until the end of the evening. “Except for talking to them.”

“Not always.” He could feel the smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

She wore a triumphant look on her face--she knew she had him. “No. Always. Even the crazies. The crazier, the better.”

“Maybe not.” He leaned forward here, took her hand.

"You know, maybe we’re the crazy ones,” she said. She was starting to get tipsy. “Crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy—”

He was bumped from behind, knocked out of his reverie. A girl with short blonde hair fell into the chair beside him. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

"It’s okay.” He kept his tone short, so that she’d get the hint and leave him alone.

She didn’t. Instead, she settled herself down. “I’m knocking into everyone, tonight.”

"It happens.” He tried to create some distance between them, while he tried to get back into his head. Back to Karen. He took a sip of his beer. It wasn’t even all that good.

“Do you mind if I sit here? I mean, since I’m here already?” She had a shot in her hand—one of the night’s specials. Small, and green. He grunted.

“Thanks, so much. It’s a mad house.” She set it down. “Oh, I’m so ready for this to be over.”
“For what to be over?”

She smiled, and lifted the drink. “It’s my first time.”

“Oh?” She looked older than 21. Still young. Too young. He glanced around, and wished vainly that he had dyed the gray out of his hair.

Not gray. White. He had to realize that by his age, hair couldn’t be called distinguished or gray—only white.

She didn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that she was sitting with the oldest man in the room. “My first time getting drunk, I mean. I really didn’t want to, unless it was worth it.”

Now he was interested. Karen would have wanted to know. “You found something that made it worth it?”

“Yeah, no, I didn’t. Not one thing.” She smiled at him. “A bunch. My family. I have a horrible family, you know? Just awful. And my boyfriend. He’s an idiot. And I think I’m about to be laid off. Company’s trying to save some money.” She lifted the drink. “Cheers!”

He tapped his beer cautiously against her small glass, and then watched as she drained it. She sucked in her cheeks as she set it down, and leaned back.

“Well?”

“Terrible. Just wretched. And it did nothing for me.” She frowned. “How many do you think I’ll have to have?”

“More than one,” he said. “Obviously. How many have you had?”

She looked up toward the ceiling, obviously counting in her mind. “Like, five. Two shots, a martini, a glass of wine and a margarita.”

He took another sip. “Either you’re drunk already, or this is the reason you’ve never been drunk before.”

She sighed. “I guess I’ll just get a beer. Green, maybe. So at least I’ll get that awful dye into my system. Maybe that’ll do something. I just felt like being a little destructive, you know?” She began to dig through her purse. “Do you want one?”

He shook his head, and watched as she waved the barkeeper over. He brought her a clear mug of green liquid, foaming over. She thanked him, paid him. “This is my last one,” she told him.

“That might be a good idea,” Dan said, as the barkeeper walked away. “Getting drunk isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Ides of March! - Middle Reader love scene blogfest

2010-03-14T21:17:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the Ides of March! Today is the day Simon C. Larter picked to host his Middle reader love scene. You can read more about this and see rules and who all signed up here; in the meantime, I wrote this scene (just now, as per my usual), and I'm just going to post it right now, because I'm too anxious about it. (I've still got a bit of time, but oh, well.) So skip down to below the line to read it, if you are in a hurry.

But if not, for those of you who don't know anything about the Ides of March, here's a fun little fact.

In the days of the ancient Romans, calendar dates were could be told by three set dates in a month. The Kalends were the first of the month, the Nones were the 5th, and the the Ides fall on...the 13th.

Are you asking yourself, what happened to the 15th of March?

Well, in March, May, July and October, the Nones and Ides fall on different dates. The Nones fall on the 7th day of the month, and the Ides fall on the 15th...and thank goodness, too. Because now we have a way of remembering that July is one of those special months that takes the Ides on a different day. And if we read something that says the Ides of a different month, say, August or January, is the 15th, we can revel in the fact that we know better.

Good ol' Romans. If you're interested in more of this, I found this article that seems to be pretty informative.

Without further ado: here is my entry for the blogfest!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their parents had to work late, and Dustin and his brother Craig were on their own. But that night, Craig had a friend over. A girl. She wasn’t like the girls in Dustin’s class. She was what their father would have called “over the top,” which seemed to be just the way Craig liked girls. She had long dangly earrings and very curly, long hair, and she smiled at Dustin when she walked in the door.

“Hi, Champ.”

No one ever called Dustin anything but his full name. Not even his parents.

She was wearing a plaid jacket with fur around the collar, zipped tightly over her chest. She had on a short skirt over plaid leggings.

“Stop staring, Dustin,” Craig hissed.

The girl heard. “Craig, it’s fine. Really.” She smiled at Dustin, and his stomach felt funny. “It’s okay, Champ.” She leaned over and whispered loudly. “I like plaid.”

Her name was Erica, and she stayed for dinner, which Craig took care of—they ordered pizza, because that was easiest, he said, and fastest. Erica giggled.

After dinner, Craig told Dustin that they would be up in his room for a while, studying, and that afterward, he would take care of “the dishes.” He made bunny ears with both hands when he said it, and Erica laughed again, but Dustin just rolled his eyes. There were no dishes—just the pizza box. And Dustin was pretty sure he’d end up having to throw that out himself.

“Stay here, Dustin,” Craig said.

They went up the stairs, and Dustin stayed at the kitchen table. He had a little math to do, but that was it. He pulled it out, finished the problems in his text book. He threw away the pizza box, as he had thought would happen. Craig and Erica were still upstairs.

She looked nothing like the girls in his class. He liked the way she called him Champ. And he liked her hair. The curls looked light and fluffy. He wondered, if he had been older, would she have come over to see him, instead? What if she were still sitting at the table, with Dustin, while Craig was wondering what was going on?

It was quiet. Their parents wouldn’t be home for another few hours, probably. Dustin went upstairs, to his own bedroom.

The door to Craig’s room was partially closed, but he could hear something, like a snuffling. He looked in, quietly.

Craig and Erica were on Craig’s bed, under the sheets. Her curls were everywhere, spilling over them both. It was awkward, and both of them were moving in strange ways, all legs and arms.

Dustin couldn’t look away at first. Then he realized that there were plaid leggings and a plaid vest on the floor, mixed in with his brother’s blue jeans.

The funny feeling in his stomach grew, and he walked away, to his room, and carefully closed the door. He sat down on the edge of his bed. He couldn’t hear them, anymore. But he could hear her.

“It’s okay, Champ.”

Fulfilling a promise: rewards before blogfest week

2010-03-14T16:53:00.000-07:00

Hey! I'm here! I really am!

I promised in my last post, before I had a fairly long break, that I would give awards, tell some truths, and tell some lies. I didn't lie! Almost, but not quite! Because, of course, tomorrow is Simon C. Larter's PG Love scene blogfest. And if that had been my next post, then I wouldn't have done all of this. And then I would have lied. But since I didn't, no lies were spoken.

Do you follow? I hope so.

OK, so to start it off, all of my awards are on the side, or will be soon. If they aren't on the side, then they're in the previous few posts. First of all, I want to open up the Circle of Friends reward to all of my followers--I really am just so excited at the number of people who have added me to their reading list, and it's just so awesome...you are all lovely and friendly, and deserve it!

I actually have been stressing about who and how I want to award the rest to, so I want to give a shout out and re-award the other four ribbons (Creative Writer award, Sugar Doll award, One Lovely Blog award and Lesa's ~~Bald Faced Liar~~ Creative Writer award) first of all to the four lovely people who gave them to me--whichever you so choose to take, gals, because I think you're all wonderful, talented and fun to follow:

Elle Straus
Amalia T.
Karen Amanda Hooper and
Stephanie Thornton

Sorry that I don't have more to hand out--I'd love to give back more, but I'm afraid I only have the five for you to gather and choose from, although I think you mostly all have all of them.

Then, I want to also especially *hug* and hand out the Sugar Doll award to some especially sweet blogging buddies. This goes to Jon Paul, who made me smile with his comments, Tricia @ Tailspinning, who is so wonderful and welcoming in her blogging ways, Shannon Messenger, who was one of the first to add me, and who makes me laugh with her Shannon shame, and Laura Canon, whose blog has a quiet quality, but is interesting.

Now, as for my truths/lies, the only thing I remember I'm supposed to do. I've sort of shortened it, because I need all the time I can get to prepare for the two upcoming blogfests this week (one hosted by Jon Paul on St. Patty's Day, when I perform the Highland Fling at work): here are my four lies and four truths. Which is which?

1. We traveled a lot when I was younger, and so I have been to 48 of the United States, as well as several other countries.
2. One of the states I haven't been to is Louisiana. Another is Hawaii.
3. I am allergic to fur, but I have had some very interesting pets...among them, a snake, several frogs (Hoppy, Junior, Carla and Sadie), at least a dozen goldfish, and now I have a pet pig, Wilbur. I know, kind of unimaginative, but he really looked like a Wilbur!
4. If I could, I would ballroom dance professionally for the rest of my life. I teach some, though I'm by no means like the professionals. I briefly considered trying to get on a soap opera so ABC would contact me to go on Dancing With the Stars.
5. When people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I didn't know for sure, usually. I had several ideas throughout my life: I wanted to be an angel, a Barbie doll, a mermaid, an artist, a marine biologist (for about a week), and then by the time I turned 13, I knew I wanted to write. Who knows which of these is most attainable.
6. I love to color--especially with crayons. The look of the wax, they way they smell, the way they write on paper--it's magical!
7. Kirsten Dunst walked right by me at work one day, and though I smiled at her and saw her, I had no idea it was her until later, when one of my coworkers started to talk about how nice she was.
8. I have a twin brother. We're really close, and finish each other's sentences and all that behavior people think is typical of twins (it's not always). But we don't look anything alike, so most people get really confused when we're around, and we always have to convince them that we're related. Oh, well.

So! Which is true, and which is false? There are four of each. Have fun....

A few loose ends, which aren't completely tied

2010-03-02T10:58:00.000-08:00

Hello! It's been a while!

I think everyone has been posting such lovely exciting stuff. Contests, like Elle Strauss' new agent contest (congrats!), Amber Murphy hosting a B-Day giveaway (Happy Birthday!), and Sara McClung's March Madness thing-a-ma-bob (Hooray?)! (I think this is all of the ongoing ones I know of, right now.) Tons of award-giving and lying and truth telling. Lots of discussion. And many upcoming Blogfests!

And I haven't even thanked the very sweet Stephanie Thornton @ Hatshepsut for giving me such a tres awesome award:

Thanks, ever so! I can't tell you how excited I was to receive this! Really! It made my day. :)

And, I still haven't passed on any of my awards...not one. I'm starting to feel guilty. I think, gosh, everyone already has one!

So...in my next post...I will go through and gift all of my awards. All five, I should say. And too bad if you already have it! I'm giving it again. :) And I'll do some lies and some truths and will try to remember other such things. So stay tuned for that.

In the meantime, one little shout-out to a pretty interesting blog post I read today: Amalia T.'s post is on heroes. And it's awesome. And I want to talk about heroes till I'm blue in the face right now, because I get all worked up about the whole concept, the idea of them, how they work in narrative and all that. Yep. I believe the term is geek out?

So check everything out...and have fun in blogland. (Blogdom?)

Happy Tuesday, all.

The Fling! And yet another blogfest!

2010-02-23T19:50:00.000-08:00

Well, I took part in the Whoops! Blogfest, hosted by Laurel, and I think that it was a lot of fun! I enjoyed reading the other entries and also (quickly) writing my own.

And now, I have yet another blogfest to admit to have joining! (I sure hope I remember all of the ones I've signed up for, now.) Jon Paul is hosting a Drunk at First Sight Blogfest! And I signed up! And, of course, I have nothing to enter...

From his blog, here are suggestions for taking part.
2) Write a new scene or short story, or dust off an old one, about a love/relationship situation that also includes one or more of the following elements:
     ---St. Paddy's Day as important event or setting
     ---Use of Ireland or anything Irish as a setting or prop
     ---An alcohol related event (party, hangover, cocktails, AA meeting, etc.)

You know, I just had a thought of something I could use a scene from...

Anyway, the other big news in my life right now is that I will be learning part of the Highland Fling. Seriously. Via Youtube. Oh, dear.

You see, it started because a gal at work and a guy at work made a deal with each other that one would do the Fling if the other would play the bagpipes...and I got sucked right in. Because they know it's easy to suck me in, I guess. And because I love to dance. And to learn new dances, thank heavens! Because I certainly don't know how to do any Flinging, other than of my arms up into the air and sometimes, of small, harmless objects at other people. Only occasionally, mind you.

But hey--if I can belly dance, ballroom dance, and teach a hip-hop exercise class (though it's been a while, and I had some help with the choreography), I can totally learn to do a Highland Fling...right?

So, I guess we are all set up to do a SCOTTISH Highland Fling for St. Patrick's Day!

Whoops-blogfest, or "Poor little MCs"

2010-02-21T23:33:00.000-08:00

Well, I signed up at the last hour for Laurel's Whoops! blogfest...and totally had nothing. My characters may do dumb things, but like their creator, they just roll with the punches. Except, they sometimes roll with the punches better than I do. For this reason, my story is based on true events. It's not too, too, too funny for this 2-22 blogfest...by the way, 2 is my favorite number! But it's pretty sad, awkward, and at least a tiny bit true.

And yes, I did just write this... in the last twenty minutes or so, here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do you ever get into a sort of stupor, you're thinking so hard? That's how it felt for Sierra. She was completely lost in thought, to that point, and that's when it all began. The whole episode, which she would so rather just forget.

It's just that she was so confused as to what to do about him... she just had to walk. So put on her favorite sandals, and she grabbed her keys, and she ran out the door. The air was still cool, and her toes turned numb almost instantly, and she began to walk faster, thinking that would take care of their numbness. She thought about her toes, about the number of steps she took in a sidewalk block, and then about him. Always, it came back to him. And then she started to obsess, because she was such an idiot around him, when all she wanted was to be cool.

She didn't notice it at the first step, or maybe even the second. But she definitely noticed it by the third. She wasn't moving well, for some reason. She looked down.

She was walking through a large block of freshly-laid, wet cement.

At that revelation, she stopped, confused, and sank a little more. She repressed the urge to swear.

Ahead of her, the block was dry. She could see, now that she was paying attention, that it looked solid. She just had to get on it. She swung her leg out, and her foot escaped from her favorite sandal. She looked at it and sighed--it was half-buried in the gray muck. And her feet were a little bit gray. And the cement was still cold, too, of course. Wonderful.

She was still half-way stuck, her legs sprawled, so she carefully lifted her other foot out of the gunk. The sandal stayed on, this time, but her foot had submerged beneath the cement more than the other foot had. She reached back, and pulled it out, sending curses toward the men who had poured the cement. Surely they could have put up that stupid yellow tape in time, so she wouldn't make such a complete fool of herself?

She reached back out and grabbed the sandal, pulled at the strap...but it was stuck worse than she had realized, and it threw her off-balance. She slipped, and fell back in, submerging her jeans, too, this time. She sighed, thankful that she was alone, and dreading what the men who had poured this cement would say, after they noticed her handy work. If they noticed. Oh, what if they didn't notice? What would she do? She'd never be able to show her face again, and Brian--

"Hey--Sierra? Are you okay?"

Oh, God. She didn't need to turn to see his face. To know it was him. She felt her cheeks turn red as she twisted back, and pasted a fake grin on her face. She turned to face him, slipped once. Brian was looking at her, kind of in shock, like he didn't know what to do.

She burbled, when she spoke. "Oh, yeah. Totally. Hi!"

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and hoped she didn't just rub more cement into it. Really cool.

Things I'm thankful for

2010-02-21T06:18:00.000-08:00

I know it's not Thanksgiving right now, but I find that I am suddenly thankful for many things. So, I made a list for your viewing enjoyment.

1. First of all, I am thankful for the fact that I have some (several) things to post about! First of all is a great big thanks to Karen Amanda Hooper for giving me two, count 'em, two awards (with some other swell bloggers). Squee! I felt all warm and toasty inside.

Thanks, Karen! Which means I will have to pass them on. And I haven't passed on any awards, yet, because I just haven't been sure to whom and how I want to do so! Especially so new to the blogging world, really. I know, if you look at my blog, you'll see it was established in 2007 or so...but sincerely, I blogged three times and decided to give up. And then I just changed my mind. So really, I am new. Thanks to you--and to all my followers. And yes, I'll pass these awards on soon...I swear!

2. I am very thankful that Simon C. Larter got himself into the situation where he is ever so slightly grudgingly hosting a PG love scene blogfest! To air March 15. Because, as he said, that worked well for Caesar. I'm a little bit concerned as to how he thinks this blogfest will turn out, comparatively.

3. I am thankful he pointed me to Laurel's upcoming Whoops! Blogfest. Whoops! I have to find something to post for it ASAP!

4. I am thankful for Peanut Butter, unless I eat too much of it, which has happened in the past. It's just so good! Especially the Smuckers variety.

5. I am thankful for...my friends...and family...and other things one would normally be thankful for.

6. I am thankful to join a community of writers online!

7. Finally, I am thankful that it is starting to be springtime, and that soon I can wear skirts and not worry about freezing my legs off!

That's my list. I'm thankful about many other things as well, but of course, those are the main things.

What are you all thankful for?

Odi et amo

2010-02-20T12:42:00.000-08:00

Odi et amo. I hate and I love.

If you haven't read Catullus in the original Latin before, you should. At least, you should read this little couplet he penned back when time was BC. So many penned isn't the most accurate of words...anyway. It's a great little poem.

"Odi et amo. quare id faciam, fortasse requiris?
nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior."

It's well-constructed, is simple yet complex. Seriously. It's very common, actually. A well-known piece of his work. It means, "I hate and I love. Perhaps you ask, why I do it? I don't know, but I feel it happening and it is excruciating to me." (Not all of that is an exact translation over, but that's it, basically.)

Now, Catullus wrote this to his girlfriend Lesbia. I am writing this to my computer. Specifically, to the internet.

Internet, how I love and hate thee! Why do you distract me when I should be busy? Why do you allow me to access such web sites as Hulu.com, Farmville.com, Facebook.com, all of my email accounts, and youtube, when I should be writing, cleaning, and living in the real world? Why do I feel my addiction? Perhaps I should have given you up for Lent, after all!

Except, dear internet, that you connect me to everyone; you keep me up to date on the news (and on my TV shows); you allow me to write alongside others.

Internet, I love and hate you!

A V-Day and Fat Tuesday Par-tay!

2010-02-16T16:40:00.000-08:00

Happy Fat Tuesday, everyone!

I am sort of suffering from a sugar headache after pigging out a bit at our Valentine-oriented party celebrating our volunteers at work. My friend and I made paper heart chains, and I folded up paper origami frogs (the kind with two legs, that actually hop!), and we made little heart puddles with lily pads on them. Needless to say, the decor rocked. :) At least, that's what we said. I think some of our volunteers were confused by the frogs, but our boss (bless him) went around and showed all the little old ladies how to make them hop.

Oh, there was other stuff, too. But nothing quite like our paper decorations. (If I told you how much time we spent making it...good gravy! But totally worth it.)

So, today is Fat Tuesday. I can't believe it's already here. Tomorrow, I am giving up most forms of sugar (kind of a blessing, after today), so I partook today without guilt. Not without consequences, though! I had homemade ice cream, and candy-coated popcorn, and more ice cream, and punch with ice cream...there was chocolate, too, which I am pleased to say I avoided very well. And then there were cheese and meat trays, fruits, so much more--punch, made with sherbet--oh. We know how to throw a party.

Speaking of partying, welcome to my new readers! I'm pleased to have you all following me. I was grinning ear to ear after I saw my new followers count. Yay! Welcome, welcome. Thanks for the comments, and thanks for those who read my new entry and my old one. (I'm apparently horrible at using Mr. Linky. I keep linking people to my Kissing Day post.)

OK. So now I have just barely taken part in four blogfests:

Kissing Day
Almost-Kissing Day
Fight Scene Day
Love at First Sight Day

Yeah, I really need to work on shorter posts, for these.

We do seem to have a bit of a thing going, eh? We're all giant romantics, or something. Who enjoy a good fight.

Anywho...I'm off to crash after my sugar rush. Until next time--good luck with the writing, friends!

Love at First Sight Blogfest

2010-02-13T23:34:00.000-08:00

Oh, my goodness! Where did the time go? I thought that I would have several posts written in the meantime since my last one and this one, but...I didn't.

So...here is my quickly pumped out love-at-first-sight entry for this Valentine's Day Blogfest! Sorry--it's a bit long. And sorry--I finished this scene just minutes ago. Seriously. I have been busier than I expected I'd be!

Happy Valentine's Day!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Although he was 69, if he hunched over, he could make himself look 84. Put on the reading glasses he carried with him, smudged as they were, round his back, slow his walk. He could change himself completely, could put on a personality as easily as he could put on another shirt.

It was an art he had perfected over the years—changing who he was. It was the Game, the Big Game, the only Game he knew. How to survive. And he was the best at it.

Oh, there were others who played. Granted, they were not without their victories. He knew plenty, in fact; they frequented the same bars and restaurants and hotels that he did. They passed on the street, from time to time. The regulars. The others called him Con. It came partly from his name, which was Ray Conners, and it came partly from what he did.

“Hey, Con, what’d you get, this time?” they said, their greed for his success glowing in their eyes.

It was always something—whatever he wanted. His touch was light, his fortune fair; his memory for numbers and names served him well, and he could pick and pluck whatever he wanted.

After all, he was the Robin Hood of his realm. That’s what he figured. He took from the rich, the well-off. Most of the time. The middle class, occasionally. Only if they deserved it. If they gave off attitude, had a smug glance that proved they needed to be taken down a notch.

You had to be an observer to play Con’s game, and that is exactly what Con was. He took the time to get to know his next move. That was why he enjoyed his walks so much. He liked to walk downtown, along the busy fronts of the offices and stores. He liked to watch people interact with each other. They were awful, mostly; yelling and swearing, trying to get ahead of each other by standing on each other’s shoulders, grinding them into the floor.

It was especially good near holidays.

Con watched people, and he judged people. Who was an easy mark, and how, and why. How he could make his mark count. He was always on the lookout, and he paid attention to every detail.

That was just what he was doing on this particular Wednesday. He was noticing, allowing all movement, all noise, all facets of this new area to dissolve and assimilate into his mind.

That was when Con spied the young boy. The boy had a different look to him; his face was scrunched up in concentration, his baseball cap shoved on his head, his backpack dirty and thin. He was about 12, pushing between some people at a bus stop.

Typical latch-key kid. He looked off—like he had been cared for carefully, but yet like he was neglected. That he didn’t want to be noticed was obvious. Con paused, pretended to be interested in some flower arrangement in barrels that someone had thought would look interesting on the corners of the streets of this particular city. He looked down, and peered across the street.

Someone elbowed the boy—apologized by raising his eyebrows, his suit coat stretched tightly across the breadth of his shoulders and the bulk of his person.

The boy didn’t say anything, and Con squinted. He was confused—had he just seen what he thought he saw?

Then the boy glanced up, and looked at him, and Con smiled jauntily, pretending to be a bumbling old 84-year-old, nonthreatening and non-existent. He walked on, around the corner, continued, rounded the corner again, walked some more, and suddenly walked into someone.

The boy.

He was a soft little thing, and he glanced up at Con and walked around him.

Con felt in his pockets immediately—and smiled. He turned to follow; the little boy hurried forward. As he walked, he reached up, pulled off the cap, and wispy blond shoulder-length hair fell down against his neck. He pulled his backpack off, and he looked like he could blend into the wall. He stopped slouching, and ducked into an empty alley.

Con, whistling, followed. And stopped.

A girl, a plain girl, but her eyes sparkling, a smile playing upon her lips, leaned against a wall. The boy’s backpack was on the ground, and she had set her foot on top of it. She looked like she was about 20. They stared at each other, for a moment. Then she reached into her pocket and held out a dilapidated old wallet—Con’s wallet.

“You’re the great Con.” She wasn’t asking so much as she was telling.

He felt his chest swell, his breath catch. His mind worked. And though he was 69, he realized that he was in love. Truly, dumb-struck, turned around in love. He had never felt it before, and it hurt, just as much it intoxicated him.

Drunken with emotion, he leaned forward, took the wallet from her soft white hand.

“Yes,” he said, standing straight and dropping all pretense. “I’m Con.”

Yikes! It's fight scene day!

2010-02-02T17:06:00.000-08:00

Thanks to my friend Amalia T., who always updates me on these exciting and wondrous days, I discovered just before the end of it that today is Fight Scene Day. So, I decided to pick out one of the fight scenes in my WIP...one that was there from the first ideas that were laid out in this never-ending piece of work.

You know, I really do have trouble with fight scenes. And now that I'm thinking of it, this book is full of them. So totally let me know if something is off.

Yay for themed days! I hope you get some enjoyment out of it...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What is it, Sallie?” Amity asked, and Sallie could hear the nervousness in her voice.

She couldn’t explain it, but she knew it was true: “Something’s wrong,” Sallie said. She glanced down at Amity.

“What do you mean?” Amity asked, her eyes round. This unnerved Sallie. She didn’t know how she knew—she could feel it, across her neck and back and shoulders. She noticed Amity tensed, and pulled out a knife.

Evan stopped walking, and he put his hand on the hilt of his dagger.

They all glanced around. Sallie awkwardly pulled her leg over Ramey’s back and slid down, falling onto the ground. The horse whinnied, this time, nervously, and she thought of the vines from the day before. She looked up at the trees, but they didn’t look or sound like the trees from the day before.

And then suddenly, a large creature leapt out of the darkness in front of them. It was blacker than the sky and tall as a tree. It was covered in fur, thick as a building, and blacker than its black eyes. She was reminded of a bear…but something about its head didn’t seem right, to be a bear…

Ramey screamed and cantered back, and they all traveled with him, yelling and screaming as well.

The thing raised its arm and lumbered forward toward Sallie, and she watched, helpless, as its arm descended toward her. She felt a tugging at the back of her trousers, and moved backward as Amity pulled her behind a large boulder.

The thing moved toward Amity, faster than its size showed. “Watch out!” Sallie cried, but Amity already had hurled her knife at it.

The knife stuck fast in its side, and it roared, and swiped at them with long claws.

Evan leaped in front of them, his dagger out and in his hand. “You two stay back,” Evan yelled over his shoulder to the girls.

“And let you get killed?” Amity yelled. She grabbed a stick the size of a bat and ran toward the creature.

“Amity, get out of here!” Evan yelled. He ran after her. Amity glanced back, and swung with her whole body. The stick connected with its arm and broke in two. The creature hardly seemed to notice, but Sallie held her breath.

Amity ran back and clutched her hand, but now that she was safe, Sallie wasn’t paying any attention to her. She watched as Evan thrust and parried with the short blade.

The creature grunted, and raised its hand to swipe at Evan. He deflected it with his dagger, and it roared and reared, dripping tar.

“Stay focused!” Amity called. Her voice was shrill in Sallie’s ear. “He might hit you!”

“Oh, yes, I’m trying to get killed,” Evan shouted back, all attention on the beast. “Thanks for that!”

The beast snarled and advanced.

“Quick, get something to throw at it,” Amity said, and she released Sallie’s hand and scrabbled around on the ground.

Sallie fell to the dirt and ducked behind a boulder, trying to think around her headache. Trying to come up with something, to think of something she could do.

Her hands fell upon a thick and heavy branch, and she lifted it and threw it as far as possible. It just missed Evan, to which he swore, and bounced against the thing. It snarled and rumbled as a much more effective barrage of pebbles assaulted it from Amity’s cover.

“Great, guys, make it mad,” Evan said.

“It’s already mad,” Amity yelled. “You’re the one with the dagger, you get rid of it!”

“I’m working on it!” Sallie watched in horror as he flung a rock into the creature’s face. The thing reared, and Evan rushed forward, his dagger extended, but it easily knocked Evan out of the way with one balled-up fist. Out of the corner of her eye, Sallie saw Amity leave her and race forward.

He tried to stand, but tripped, but then Amity was there, and she grabbed his dagger and heaved it at the thing, already covered with sticky black.

She could hear Evan yelling something, but her mind was too numb to understand.

The thing seemed to grow as it swept its hand across the way, and it hit both Amity and Evan. Evan fell to the ground and stayed there. Amity and the dagger flew across the clearing and into a clump of trees, then fell to the ground. Sallie could hear the sickening thunk from her spot behind the boulder.

“No!” Sallie screamed. And she didn’t think, this time, but barreled forward, her bare hands extended.

The creature, bellowing in pain, reached out and suddenly she was plowing through the dirt. She slowed to a stop in a clump of trees, and rolled over. The trees began to make the hissing, slithering noises she knew all too well, now, and she felt the beginnings of vines as they crawled up her legs. She stared at the thing, her mind somehow clear through the pounding in her head and in her chest.

It came closer, huffing heavily as it approached.

And then, the creature’s rumble began to make sense. “Sah…llleee…”

Sallie felt all the blood drain from her face. “Evan…” she whispered, rooted to her spot.

The sun was glinting off the tarry muck that was the creature, and her head felt like it might explode…

It was reaching for her, and she could smell its disgusting smell, could feel the tar burning her skin…she clenched her teeth at the hurt…

She was sitting by a river. The trees moved gently in time to the soft wind that came across the body of water in the summer. The gentle breeze played with her hair, gently moving it, whispering secrets she couldn’t quite hear. Sallie giggled, dipping her feet into the water. The wind caressed some flowers near her, and their sweet scents rose into the air. The wind continued in its journey, rustling the leaves on the trees around her.

She didn’t even notice it, at first.

Then the wind howled around Sallie, tearing the chains of brown vine from her body. The trees bent in the fierce gale, and their tendrils wrapped around the thing. It was leaking a darker tar, and she watched as the branches tore at its breast, ripped it open, and smoky tendrils of black tore away from its body.

The wind tore clumps of dust from the ground and buffeted the trees and the creature. It roared, ripping at the branches that surrounded it, but the wind was relentless.

Sallie was standing tall in the fierce wind. Now, she stepped toward the beast. She was in charge, now. The wind blew harder, ruffling the entire Forest. She wanted to kill this beast, she wanted the wind to kill this thing, and she watched as it fell onto his back and began to dissolve into a tarry smoke, carried away in the wind. In the meantime, the broken brown vines were snatched about and torn apart, breaking into stunted sticks. She was focused, unmoving…

“Sallie!” Evan shouted. He was beside her, bent against the gale, his short hair flying in the wind, but his eyes focused and golden and burning.

“Your ankle,” she said.

“It’s fine,” he assured her. He was staring at her.

The wind blew, but she did not feel its force, and yet, she was too tired to understand, too suddenly exhausted. “Where’s Amity?”

Behind them, Ramey whinnied. Amity was sitting up near the horse, leaning against a rock, gingerly reaching toward her leg. The air swirled around them, swirled vines and smoke and dirt and dust.

“I can’t stand,” Amity said, looking up at them. Evan hurried to her side, limping slightly. He looked worried.

“We have to get out of here,” Sallie said. The wind faltered.

“We have to get out of here now,” Evan agreed. He picked up Amity carefully and stood.

Sallie moved forward, and her foot connected with something hard. It was Evan’s dagger, covered in tarry guck. She picked it up.

Then together, they stepped through the stubs that had been vines, through the flattened trees, out of the clearing and into the thick of the forest. Writhing, withering trees formed a dark, cloudy wave outside her vision, and she closed her eyes as they left the clearing in the dark forest behind them.

Sad face

2010-02-01T17:30:00.000-08:00

I couldn't teach my exercise class tonight, and I accomplished very little today. Why? Because I have achieved my first-ever sprain, that I know of, anyway. Well, it was a sprain/strain, I guess. I went to the doctor and everything. Had it X-rayed. Showed my very, very swollen ankle (last night, it was like three times the size of the other one. The bones looked bulbous. It was so gross!). Now I'm following the rules of RICE, as everyone keeps telling me to: Rest, Ice (when I remember), Compress and Elevate.

I know in part it's probably from navigating over the snow and ice and general clutter of winter; but in part, it's because I'm a bit dumb about some things. Do you ever find that you think things just won't happen to you? Without any reason to think things like that? So, here is the major reason I think I hurt myself: I was teaching exercise classes while wearing running shoes when I should have worn cross trainers. I'm not even kidding. I mean, it was the other stuff, too. But it was because I figured, heck, why have a different sort of shoe when I already have one? What could happen? And then I taught in those running shoes, three days in a row, jumping forward and back and side to side and turning.

I should have guessed it when they didn't give me any leeway during that Zumba class I took.

So, it seems that I am forced to take a break from my regular schedule. Including teaching some of my classes. So now I'm just sitting at home, like a lump on a log. And it's just about killing me.

Awards (thanks!) and challenges

2010-01-28T11:15:00.000-08:00

OK. So. A few things to discuss, today.

First is a great big thank you to Elle Strauss for giving me this lovely Circle of Friends award! She said it would warm me up, and though my fingers are cold, she is so totally right. Her blog is pretty interesting, by the way, and would be fun to check out, if you haven't, yet. She has lots of great thoughts about writing.

So, I suppose I should pass this along...along with the award that Amalia T. gave to me a while (Lovely Blog Award).Which I will do...eventually. So many people deserve these awards, and I'm just so touched to be included in the giving. I just can't decide who to give them to! So. That will come eventually.

Secondly, I want to discuss writing challenges, and challenges in general.

I was looking at Kate from The Neverending Shelf's blog today, and she is starting a mini challenge. I keep getting excited over these challenges--the Kiss blogfest, the No-Kiss blogfest, an upcoming Love-at-First-Sight blogfest that I signed up for...somewhere. (I can't remember! But I do remember it's on the 14th of February. Perfect for V-Day, right?)

Here's a link to this new mini challenge: Read a bunch of books, and then clear out the ones you won't be reading again. Clear the Clutter! Perfect for me and my library of books, which, as much as I love them, are sort of also my bane. Seriously. Do you know how heavy it is to move boxes and boxes of books?

I have to sift through and decide which ones I want to read, but I will be posting that soon...and then...hopefully...sticking to the challenge. Which I have some time for--two months, I think?

I love this challenge especially, because it's coming at the beginning of the year, and I feel that this fits into my goals for the New Year--to downsize, to simplify, to create peace. It feels lovely just to think about it!

Anyway. That's all, for now--break's over. Back to work.

Hey, Baby, it's C-O-L-D outside.

2010-01-26T17:08:00.000-08:00

I'm cold.

I am always cold, but I am especially cold right now. Why? Because it is winter. Because I live in a cold part of the US. Because we just had a storm go through (not as bad here as elsewhere), because the temperatures dipped, and now, because of all of this, I'm huddled up on my couch, wrapped up in my fuzzy robe, thinking warm thoughts.

Or trying to.

I would just like to state right now that yes, I understand that some people like the cold. Yes, I've heard many times that it's easier to solve being cold (so, putting more clothes/blankets/covers on) than it is to solve being warm (how many layers can you decently remove?). But you know what? When you get chilled to the bone, it really doesn't matter anymore. After a while, you just can't layer up anymore.

When I was in college, I lived in dorms where the heaters kicked on when the higher powers that were turned them on...i.e., we didn't have control to the (small) heaters in our rooms. One day, in the dreadful winter, I came back to my room to discover that there was frost on the inside of the windows, a draft coming in, and that the room was about 50 degrees. Probably less.

Having just returned from the arctic that was outside, I was still in my coat. Thinking quickly, I did the only thing I could possibly do--I threw my robe on over my winter coat, made sure the curtains were closed against the frosty draft, and climbed up into my loft and under my covers.

I don't recall if my roommate at that time thought I was crazy--all of my roommates have been warmer than me at all times--but even if she did, at least I was able to stave off the cold somewhat, for a little. Though I couldn't really move my fingers.

Much like right now.

But seriously, today's cold, though uncomfortable, is nothing, compared to that. I don't have drafts blowing in on me. It's not negative five thousand outside. (Only slight hyperbole, believe me.) The wind isn't even that bad, today.

I suppose if it gets really bad, I could always go get my fingerless gloves and find a few warm blankets to toss across my lap. After all, what's another layer, now?

People are going to start thinking my skin consists of fleece.

Sore!

2010-01-21T19:57:00.000-08:00

I have just spent the majority of this week being sore.

I think I slept wrong on Tuesday--I couldn't move my head much to look over my right shoulder. And then on Wednesday, it got worse--a different sort of sore kept my left shoulder pretty stationary.

Between that and the cold snowy blustery yech that it is outside--I didn't do much last night. I played Farmville (which I should quit. But I've been saying that for the past few months), and I finally wrote a blog post again, and that's about it. That's about all I could fit in--though I had time.

Oh, and I almost fell asleep on my couch. It was pretty close. Instead, I went to bed early!! Shocking!! Well, like 11-ish.

Somehow or other, though, I've been just feeling lazy and have had no inspiration. I don't know if it's because I'm sore, or because it's deeply January and the weather played a trick on me, or if it's because I've been so busy with the rest of my life--teaching at the YMCA, my regular job, my writing of articles (which I've gotten somewhat lax with)--that I don't want to do anything else, or what, exactly--but I do feel lazy. Which makes me unhappy. I pull up my short stories and think, "I'm going to revise this!" But instead, I'm having my own personal Psych marathon (I love that show. I love James Roday. Oh, my.), and I'm wasting time as possible, and I'm not really working on what I want to...

I just have to trust that I'll get myself back in the game, I guess. And in the meantime, I'll just take the little things in, things that may end up inspiring me later.

Oh, and maybe I'll reread the lovely letter I got from a dear, longtime friend, today--actual mail. Oh, how I love mail!

By the silvery light of the moon...

2010-01-20T18:21:00.000-08:00

First, an apology; I haven't been able to post anything for a while, since I've been busy busy. Sorry! Now, a question.

Do you love the moon as much as I do?

When I was little, I was obsessed with the night sky. I still am particularly fond of it--the way it just presses on forever, presses down on you, yet stays so open. The way the stars form shapes that have so many stories in so many traditions. It seems so secretive and delicious, and I've always felt looking at it, being out under it--it's just prime for getting ideas.

I made up a poem about the moon, one which I don't recall right now and could probably only find if I dug for it. So mysterious and so far away, there's so much to think about it. Luna. Moon.

OK, so today at work, this article was sent out to us (because, being in an archives/museum, we have gotten a lot of questions about moon stones, lately). It's about moon stones, and how so many states and countries were given some...yet, now, many of those stones are missing.

It's pretty darn interesting. And sort of sad, too. Something so historical that was so lost to us? Though now, as always happens, we are interested in where the history has gone. Better late than never, right?

Sherlock Holmes, the movie

2010-01-13T17:31:00.000-08:00

I was going to write a post about dreams last Friday, which is sadly when I last updated my blog or practically even came up here. Because dreams are so interesting, and mine are so chaotic--like an action movie.

But you know what? I'm not actually going to write about dreams today. I'll save that for another day, preferably a day when I can remember all the twists and nuances of my dreams the previous night. Then I'll share some of the crazy dreams I've had in the past.

So, let's segue into an action movie: Sherlock Holmes.

I saw this movie last night, which, considering how skittish I can be, probably wasn't the best idea. Seeing it at night, that is. Let's just say that I have a strong imagination when it gets dark. That when I finished reading Coraline at home, in bed, around the stroke of 1 or 2 in the morning, I was too scared to do anything other than shiver under my blankets and hope that the scary button-eyed monster wouldn't try to get me to climb down any rabbit holes.

Maybe this is partly why my dreams are so vivid?

In any case, Sherlock Holmes wasn't really scary--for most people. For most of the movie. But the voo-doo and black magic that it showcased, though of course perfunctorily and logically disbanded by Holmes, played very well (in the vein of this movie) by Robert Downey Jr., spooked me. Even when I knew it had to be logical. Because I couldn't explain away all of the logic!

Plus, there was quite a bit of getting-cut-open-ness that I wasn't so keen on watching.

But overall, I have to say that this was a pretty good movie. The acting was--really well done. Jude Law was attractive, yes, but even more so believable! I believed in his character, and if he wasn't Watson, I didn't care--he was Holmes' companion, the only man to keep him as he should be. The filming of the movie itself was interesting--the flashbacks, the way Holmes thought (if you don't know what I'm talking about, you should see the movie. I don't want to spill all the beans!), the coloring, the deductive reasoning at play, keeping the audience engaged--very interesting, very cool. In my humble opinion. There was humor, clever word play, creative characters, and an engaging plot.

More than a few explosions, too.

However, if you like Sherlock Holmes books--love them--live by them--I don't think you'll like this movie.

In fact, if you don't like action movies, if you hate them and cringe when you see a commercial for them, you might want to think two or three or maybe even four times, before you decide to go and see it.

But if you want a twist on tradition--this may be the film for you.

I'll tell you that even with all the flinching, I found many points of interest and laughed a few times throughout. Oh, yeah--and I also fell a bit for Holmes.

And Watson. Much better than Watson from the book.

Of course, I was never Arthur Conan Doyle's biggest fan, so what do I know?

DOLL HOUSE! No spoilers, but lots of exclamations.

2010-01-08T19:20:00.000-08:00

I don't know if anyone out there is in to Doll House. Well, yes, I know my pal Amalia T. is, but otherwise, I don't know. Because, apparently, this show has been cancelled? And it is just like Pushing Daisies all over again. Or, for those of you who are so inclined, that other show by Joss Whedon--Firefly. Don't know what I'm talking about? Did you see Serenity? Well, that's the TV show that launched the movie.

So.

OK. First of all, when I was finally introduced to Firefly/Serenity, a few years later, I have to admit that I liked it. It could be because of the stellar cast (including Nathan Fillion. He seems to sparkle in everything he's in. And no, I don't mean like Edward Cullen. Sorry Twilight fans.), it could be because of the story line, it could be because of anything. But man--Joss Whedon knows how to tell a story.

Last year, I gave this show a chance. I had just lost Pushing Daisies, a wonderful show that had been cancelled, and I now knew who this Joss Whedon character was--yeah, I'm not so good on directors and such--so I gave it a chance.

And I fell in love. Seriously. I mean, all you have to do is see Victor or Paul Ballard (below, in order)

And, that's it. But the story! The intricacies! Sure, it started off slow--but it was so phenomenal!

Maybe I'm just showing my inner geek?

But seriously, it's like--spy and high tech and romance and all of this, wrapped up into one. Oh, I almost forgot one of my very very favorite characters (aside from Victor)--Topher!

OK. So, enough of that.

But the story! The story!

And now it's being cancelled. And I thought tonight's episode was the last. But I sincerely hope not. Because I may just FREAK OUT if it is. Because of everything that happened.

OK. So not what I planned to write about...but AWESOME EPISODE. I was hysterical when it ended. Simply hysterical. I think I still am. Eep!

*Photo images not mine and not intended as a copyright infringement.

Old maids and all that

2010-01-06T18:08:00.000-08:00

Did you know that in my neck of the woods, the average marriageable age of women is around 21 or 22? And probably a year or two older, for guys. But still.

OK, I don't have any hard and fast stats on the subject. I'm just going off my friends and their engagements--what I see in the papers--and who I see standing outside the occasional churches, posing for pictures.

I understand this isn't the case with everyone, or everywhere. But let me tell you--it's quite an odd feeling, knowing that people my age are married, some expecting. Makes me feel--well--old maiden-ish.

Roman women married between 14 and 16, usually, back in the day. I'm totally past my prime, on that account. (Thank Heavens!)

So...a link to a story about a way one guy sought someone out for marriage in the wilds of ND. What verve!

Sweating Bullets--update--and award!

2010-01-05T18:55:00.000-08:00

Hello!

This post is to serve two parts. One, to thank Amalia T. for granting me an award! I am so honored! The other to update you on yesterday's uneventful post.

Let's start with the first.

Amalia T., my wonderful friend and fellow-blogger, and writing buddy, gave me this award, today: One Lovely Blog! I am so honored. Amalia and I have known each other for some time, and have been writing buddies for some time, too. She has helped me with my writing, and has been encouraging to me with everything. But more than that, she is a wonderful friend, and I am lucky to count her as one!

And now for the second: the update.

Yesterday's class was... interesting. I couldn't get one of the microphones to work, and then at the beginning of class, the microphone's pouch (like a fanny pack) fell off! And I had to try and fix it (the strap unwound from the snap) right in the middle of everything.

But...it was okay.

Really! I mean, sure, it could have gone better...but--not just through the power of positive thinking!--it was seriously not bad. I had about 50, 55 people--a huge class! Almost too many. But they had fun--I had people smiling, sweating and jumping. And it was awesome! I felt so good when the class was done!

So, it has to be uphill from here, right?

Sweating bullets...

2010-01-04T16:49:00.000-08:00

So, here I am, ready to teach a new class for the first time tonight--of the fitness variety--and I'm figuratively sweating bullets. What if they hate the class? What if they don't get a good workout? What if?

Sometimes, I think it's good when we're thrust into things like this. We're forced to do something outside of the box. Like writing--writing is like that, for sure. But that doesn't make it less scary.

I shouldn't be so nervous about this. But I'm just afraid that in half an hour, I'll be standing in front of 40 unhappy faces, trying to make jokes they won't laugh at. Yikes!

I just need to think positively!

Procrastination, again

2010-01-03T18:08:00.000-08:00

Well, here I am, procrastinating again.

Oh, and welcome to my blog, all you new followers! I'm so excited to have more people to be connected to. It's quite thrilling.

OK. So, I am sitting here, on my couch, thinking about everything I should be doing.

*Writing this story about Yoga and Pilates, which is due tomorrow.
*Writing some Datebooks, probably by tomorrow.
*Clean house, organize, and unpack more things (I just moved. Well, not just), which is...um...a lifetime project.
*Practice to teach a new exercise class, which is starting, oh, tomorrow.
*OH! Shoot. I'm supposed to send out an email about Sunday School by today...so I should do that.

This is what I'm doing:

*Looking at my story about Yoga and Pilates, but not really working on it.
*Looking at some of my old short stories. But not doing anything with them.
*Watching Psych, Season 3. One of my favorite television shows.
*Thinking about everything I should be doing.
*Blogging! Ever so slightly. Oh, gosh, I wish we had some sort of writing challenge every week. I enjoy posting and reading scenes. And I've met so many people, now!

So. Yes. Good job. I am now procrastinating.

I better go write that email. Wow, what an exciting entry *this* was.

No Kiss Blogfest smidgen

2010-01-01T22:07:00.000-08:00

I just want to say—I cheated a little. There is a kissing scene mixed in with this no kissing scene. And it's a first draft. Enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~

The last time she saw them together happened by chance. Liz was going to do some work at home again, but Derek never worked from the comfort of her apartment—it was by choice, he said.

He was quiet that morning, as usual; he smiled at her, kissed her cheek, and then left. He was gone for a handful of minutes by the time she realized that they were out of bread and eggs and a few other necessities. She didn't want to really start her next project right that minute anyway, so instead of calling his cell phone, she decided to run out herself.

She wouldn't have normally gone that way, but on leaving, she saw one of her neighbors, the talkative one, standing a few steps away from the door, drinking coffee from a silver mug, talking to a plump woman in a plaid coat. She didn't have time for him today. She turned, to go the longer route around.

That was when she saw Derek, waiting at the bus stop. She almost didn't recognized him first from his straight-backed stiffness, but then she saw his profile, his face stoically turned to the side. Then she saw what—who—he was so carefully avoiding. Claire, standing just as uncomfortably to his left, staring off in that direction.

She slowed, and turned, and walked behind them, quickly, looking down. She spied the little tree that had been planted a few feet away, next to the stump of the old tree that the city had cut down, and she crouched down there. She was still close enough to see them, to hear them, but they would not see her, not unless they were really looking. And, she guessed, they wouldn't.

She watched them. For seven and a half minutes, she looked at them, then her watch, then at them, then her watch.

Finally, Claire turned to Derek. Liz was so intent, she could tell every small movement that was being made. She watched as Liz glanced in the direction of Derek's neck, then up at his ear. Liz read her lips, but she could hear every word. “Hey.”

He turned, nodded with his chin, and his eyes were tracing every inch of Claire’s face.

“We have to keep meeting like this,” Claire said, putting her hands out in a dumb mock pose, pretending to smile. She laughed a little, a hee-hee-hee laugh that was nervous and annoying in one, which she seemed to realize, as she stopped almost as soon as she started.

Derek barely moved. “Yeah.”

“Look, I’m sorry about the last time. I keep saying dumb things. So many dumb things. I don’t know how to stop saying dumb things.” Claire laughed again, the same laugh, but shorter, and breathier, and when she stopped, she frowned. “I’m just dumb. Really. Ask my friends.” She looked away.

"You’re not dumb.”

She turned back, and Liz knew why; she could feel it in his voice. The timber of it pulled her, even from where she sat, several feet away.

Liz watched as Claire turned slowly to face Derek. She watched them both, watched as they both rotated on the spot. A woman with short blond hair brushed by them, pushing them even closer together, and Liz clenched her fists, and swallowed hard.

She thought about the most romantic moment she had had with Derek. It was not hard to remember, though it had been a long time ago. She had been handling some business from home. He returned from work, had removed his shoes, marched across the floor to where she was sitting. He said something to her, something unimportant, now. Then he turned her, smiling, and massaged her shoulders while facing her—massaging her while staring at her. His hands had moved so carefully and so gently, gliding toward her neck, where he brushed her chin, raised her face to his, and kissed her, soundly, so that she almost forgot what she was doing.

She grabbed onto that thought, that memory, and she returned to it, as she watched them look at each other. As she looked down at her watch. Up at them. She thought about that moment, when she had fallen so in love with him. She thought of that moment as she watched the two of them, standing there, staring at each other, so unaware of anything around them. By this point, they were completely turned toward each other, their elbows barely touching, each uncertain, neither of them looking away.

The bus came, and the woman with the short blond hair glanced at the two of them. Liz watched as the woman raised her eyebrows, and climbed up through the sliding door of the bus. She vanished, and so did a woman with a small child, a man with a newspaper, and an older man, who walked with a cane.

Then there was movement. The bus door closed with a clang. At the same time, Derek reached out, almost to touch Claire’s face, almost to brush some hair away from her face. But he didn't. Instead, he lowered his hand, his goal unrealized.

The bus moved away. The two figures were left alone, along with a trail of blue exhaust that swept over them. One of them jumped as the smell of diesel swept over them, and they were so close, Liz couldn't tell who it was, who interrupted the moment. They broke apart, then. They broke apart, if that’s what you could call it, when they were barely touching. And they turned away from each other. Claire was biting her lip, and smiling and frowning. Derek’s face was blank, and then he shook his head, and then it went blank again. They waited twelve minutes more for the next bus. Liz waited with them.

No Kiss Blogfest coming tomorrow...

2010-01-01T01:32:00.000-08:00

I should so be in bed right now. But I'm not. Why? Because I'm writing. I'm writing a short story, one of my favorite things to write, and I'm writing parts of it as quickly as possible for my upcoming readers who will be excitedly reading through posts and posts of No Kissing, a blogging event hosted by Frankie Writes. Yes, I'm excited. I'm hoping for lots of readers! Perhaps some who will consider staying to follow me! But I'm also just hoping for some reviews. Good, bad, and the like.

Why should you read my bit of no-kiss-high-tension storyline? Because I am anxious for feedback; because it is freshly taken from my imagination; because, I hope, it is different; because I need to know.

So--look for that tomorrow. Peace out.

I just really like to say that.

Oh, and Happy New Year!

INTERNET!

2009-12-30T19:51:00.000-08:00

Do you know how difficult it is to live without internet?

It's so easy to be so completely addicted to it. Especially in this world, where we are so used to instant communication, to downloading whatever we need. Information overload!

And now, I finally have it again. I didn't have it for so long, and that was difficult. Now, I'm back in the world wide web network! I am in, like Flynn! I'm back, baby! And all that jazz!

So, thrilled to be able to finally focus on my writing, as the internet is surely able to do, being as it can do anything--or at the least, ready to do whatever I need to do as it comes up, and hopefully save myself time--what do I do?

I start writing...and end up watching Glee. Wow.

You know, I totally did miss almost every episode of theirs!

Thank Heavens for the Internet...

Kissing Day in Blogland...

2009-12-21T09:21:00.000-08:00

Apparently, and thanks to my pal Amalia T. for letting me know, today is Kissing Day! I have to take part...how fantastic!

A kissing scene for you all, from my first novel. I hope you enjoy!!!!

Then Evan was pulling Sallie forward, again. “Oh, Sallie.”

But she was past the point of reason. She was talking, and she realized what she was saying, over and over: “Dead! Dead!”

“Calm down, Sallie.” He swore again, and touched her shoulder. “We need to get you out of here.”

She stopped, and looked at him, her focus sudden. “You need to get everyone out of here.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “But mostly you.”

He’s still here. The voices, chorusing together.

“Not me.” She stopped, and slipped her arm from his grip.

“Sallie, this is not the time!” he said again.

“Clear out,” she said. “Clear out everyone. But leave me.”

“Stop with the sacrificial nonsense. Do you have any idea of what it was like, knowing you were in here?” Evan demanded. “It was like a million explosions going off. We had to fight our way in. I had to make way for Claudia and Leonie, and I couldn’t even follow.” He was bleeding faintly from the wounds on his chest, the wounds from yesterday. “Knowing you could be killed at any second? Unable to see you, to—” he shook his head—“To protect you?”

He’s still here.

“Get Amity outside,” she said. “And get Tom. You have to protect him. He’s not from here.”

“Tom, of course, get Tom,” he said. “I’ll bloody get Tom after I get you out of here!”

“No! You have to save everyone else!”

“I have to save you!”

“Herrick killed Brenna!” She could see the statement hit him, and she felt horrible. She could see the pain fill his eyes. Perhaps he would listen, then. “He’s killed everyone who’s helped me, and I can’t let him escape.”

“He couldn’t have killed my mother.” Evan shook his head. “She would be safe.”

“He told me himself. You have to leave, Evan. You need to take care of your family. You have to take care of everyone.”

“He’s a liar. He didn’t kill her.” But she could see that he didn’t believe it. “What about Lon?”

She shrugged. “He must still be alive. You have to find him. Save everyone. Be like the Guard he talked about. Be his hero.”

“You’ll always be the hero, Sallie.” Even though death was looming, as bright as the day—when had it become full daylight?—she couldn’t feel it. “And I can’t leave you. Someone needs to keep an eye on you.” He put his hand on her cheek.

She stared at him for a precious second. Hurry! Hurry! The voices were clamoring, ringing, and she knew she had to listen to them, help them, and that they could help her. And she threw her arms around him again, but this time, she pulled him close and kissed him, hard. She could taste blood and sweat and every emotion they each felt. And he anxiously leaned into her, and she could feel his anguish and hers in the adrenaline of the battle.

It was her first kiss, and she never wanted to kiss another person but him again.

They broke apart, and she gasped for air. It had been a mistake, of course. Now she knew he wouldn’t leave her. She shouldn’t have kissed him. “I didn’t mean to do that,” she whispered.

He stared at her, and moved his hand from her face. She hadn’t even noticed he was still touching her. “No.”

“Go!” she screamed. “I don’t want you here! Go!” And she found the wind, in her anger, and she felt a storm, and she reached, and stretched, and she brought it right on top of them.

She turned away, and ran, so he could not follow her in the strength of the gale, so she could not see the look in his eyes. She felt him scrambling to follow her, and she did the right thing, the only thing, and pushed him back with the wind.

New blog

2009-12-17T07:38:00.000-08:00

So, I started a new blog. I don't know why. I guess just because I can. And, because I'm obsessed with Christmas trees.

O, Christmas Tree (Because Oh, Christmas Tree as a domain was already taken!)--and I'm using it to post pictures, and more, I suppose, eventually, on Christmas Trees! So check it out, if you'd like! I'd be down with that. :)

If only...

2009-12-16T07:31:00.000-08:00

Do you ever wish that life were a musical? :) That something like this might happen in your own home town?

Did you watch that video? How utterly cool, right?

I've wanted to live in a musical for a long time. And I think I kind of do. It's not too difficult--dance a little in public, sing a little in public, have a constant soundtrack in your head. (I took a quiz once that told my my life's theme song is I'm Walking on Sunshine by Katarina and the Waves.) But seeing something like this made me feel a little wistful that I'm apparently the only cast member in my own personal musical.

It's okay, really--it's just that lately, I've started to remember just how much I love those song-and-dance routines. I guess I'd been away from them for a bit too long. Maybe the real reason for this is because it's Christmas, and despite all barriers, I'm always sentimental at Christmas time. Seriously. Even for decades I didn't live through.

What do you all think about this? I guess, in the words of Colin Firth in "Love Actually," it's Christmas, and I just wanted to...check.

Another few adorable links

2009-12-11T11:50:00.000-08:00

Not that I mean to inundate with links, but I have a few today.

First two are for fans of the Muppets. Gonzo and the chickens are fantastic, of course; and then there's this *fantastic* beast of a song, also done by the Muppets.

OK, and if you're a comments reader, you'll note Christmas is coming up quite a bit. So, last but not least, one of the funniest videos I have seen this season...the silent monks sing a song for Christmas.

You know, Youtube can be addicting. But I just get so excited when I find something on there that actually seems worthwhile. I think that Muppets and Silent Monks are just perfect harbingers of the Christmas Season! Or any other season, for that matter.

Nothing to do with Christmas--owls!

2009-12-10T11:09:00.001-08:00

This is a link I found through one of the emails that come to my inbox. It reminds me of the sweet little owls that grew up around here at the beginning of the year! I miss them--I named the babies Methuselah and Jericho.

How can you not want these darlings????

Merry Christmas, 2009

2009-12-08T11:47:00.000-08:00

Dear friends and family,

I’m learning with every passing day just why my parents were always ready to stick a few extra days into the season of Advent, before Christmas came. There’s so much to do, to prepare for the holidays. Gifts to buy, goodies to bake, surprises to make, songs to sing, concerts to prepare for…and with the addition of snow to shovel, and all the other winterizing processes one must do in a house, I can easily see why they might have wanted more time.

At this point, I should add that I am now the proud owner of a house. An exciting move! And a busy one.

It’s easy to get distracted during this time of year—during any time of year. In the course of my job, I found an article that perhaps illustrates this best of all. Out of Grand Rapids, Michigan, and reported in the Bismarck Tribune, this story was printed on Dec. 22, 1936:

Mrs. Louis H. Hake, who had just finished baking some cakes for the holidays, discovered that she had somehow misplaced a quarter-inch bolt from her electric mixer. She searched for it frantically, and came to the conclusion that, horror of horrors for any Christmas baker, she had misplaced it directly into one of the cakes she had just finished making.

The only way poor Mrs. Hake could figure on locating this bolt—as she couldn’t tell which cake it was in—was to ask a local doctor to x-ray them. You can imagine her duress; so close to Christmas, all that work accomplished, to find something gone horribly awry. Their phone conversation was interesting; she asked him, “How would you like to x-ray a dozen cakes?”

“I’ll try anything once,” Dr. Stonehouse replied.

The doctor did so, and luckily for Mrs. Hake, he found the bolt in the third cake. And he earned himself a cake as payment, declining any other fees. One hopes that nothing else was baked into her cakes.

But it’s completely understandable, right? It’s easy to lose your head amidst the hustle and bustle.

Not that that’s what Christmas is all about. Baking, decorating, buying—it’s nice, but it’s not the spirit of the season. That’s being with family, and friends; spending time together; and that all-important Love. A man selling his watch to buy combs for his wife’s hair, when she sells her hair to buy him a watch chain. Mr. Edwards bringing Laura Ingalls and her sisters some treats from Santa. An editor reassuring a young girl that there is a Santa Claus. A baby, lying in a manger. I believe there is a song—“Love came down at Christmas time.”

So anyway, I wish you all the best in this season and the New Year. And if you lose a spoon while doing the holiday baking—well, you may just want to check those cakes!

With love,

Sarah

Christmas letter?

2009-12-07T15:06:00.000-08:00

So, because I'm running late, I'm thinking I may just post my Christmas letter here. And direct people here. Hm. I can save paper! Except I have the cards already...I just don't have the time. Or the funds to cover tons of postage.

Is it taking something personal and making it less personal? I usually enclose a personal note with my form letter, so saying that a typical Christmas letter is already impersonal isn't going to work, this time. I just am not sure.

But right now, I'm 90 percent sure I'm going to post my letter here! Maybe tomorrow, for that extra post.

As the kids say (I think): Peace out. Or maybe I just picked that up from a Sesame Street Christmas special that I saw part of, yesterday.

New Tree!

2009-12-04T14:53:00.000-08:00

Well, as I had foreseen, it has been busy, this month, so far--and it's only, what, Dec. 4? But I do want to share something exciting. I have a Christmas tree!

A Christmas tree, you ask? Why wouldn't you have a tree?

Besides being slightly cheap and having no room? No reason at all, I guess. I had a little tiny tree for some time. But now, my new home is also sporting a little Christmas cheer--a 6.5 foot Christmas Tree, found in one of the offices at work and donated to anyone who claimed it. Free! I jumped on top of that!

We (my family and I) could never have a real tree, and I don't think we'd want it, either--too much of a hassle, too many needles falling off, too much of a fire hazard. (Speaking of, read this for a quirky, perhaps twisted story of Christmas and Santa and fire hazards. No one got hurt too much, I swear.) But I digress from my point.

My tree is set up, now. It was nestled amidst tinsel and popcorn strings of some bygone era (the popcorn didn't look as bad as I might have guessed, to be honest), which has mostly been pulled away from it; and now, just to decorate it, and make it really sparkle.

Of course, I will need to get more lights, as I have just a 50-light string, and, as my brother pointed out, that will barely cover the base. Or the top. In fact, it's lit like a tree from Charlie Brown's Christmas, right now.

But it's my tree, and I love it.

December is tomorrow!

2009-11-30T11:18:00.000-08:00

December is tomorrow! And there's so much left to do!

I can hardly believe that in 25 days, it will be that time of the year again. I love Christmas, and everything about it--the traditions, the sweets, the foods, the sharing and caring (that *should* go on throughout the year), the stories, the gifts of the magi (thank you, O. Henry!), and everything else that you can think of. Music, concerts. Little tots with their eyes all aglow.

Oh, but there's so much to do! Twenty-five days doesn't give me nearly enough time. I have to bake my cookies, decorate my home, prepare presents, write two (yes--two) separate Christmas letters, send off everything else, *and* stay on top of my normal duties.

Can I do it? That's the big question of the day. I just have to remember to breathe deeply! It won't be difficult, if the scent of gingerbread and popcorn and other goodies is still in the air...

The Wit and Wisdom of Another Sarah

Bad, bad, bad. Plus books. And Harry. Yay!

Oh, Community!

Busy, busy, busy!

Vote for your favorite magic scene - I'm a finalist!

Nature of Magic

Drunk at first (second?) sight - part 2

Oh where, oh where did my poor voice go?

Library book sale

Hey, hey, it's Valentine's Day!

Hello--I'm back.

Happy December!

Black Friday returns

Happy Thanksgiving!

Favorite Things Fridays!

Happy Blog Year!!!! + blogfest

Reminder

Favorite Things Fridays!

Veterans Day

Children's Books

Favorite Things Fridays!

Lazy Blogfest

Happy Halloween!

Favorite Things Friday!

A Very Merry Halloweeny Blogfest

Favorite Things Fridays!

The first picture book? Perhaps!

Purple cauliflower and other wonders

Favorite Things Fridays!

Feeling the bookrage!

Announcement: The blogfest, retold!

10-10-10!

These are a few of my favorite things...Fridays!

From the Post office, with love

Siftings

Blogging it... for almost three years

Review: Toy Story 3

Yes, Haiku--Part Two!

Haiku! Don't you?

Review: The Thirteenth Princess

Blog-guilt

Yay, birthday!

The meaning of success

Harmonica.

The wonderful world of technology

Hello, out there!

New background!

Hard Drives, and why they are important.

Feeling Lost, but learning from it (Watch out for spoilers, about midway down)

Blogfest: Let's Talk

Blog-tag!

Bad Girl Blogfest

Primal Scream!

Two 'fests a-blogging

Body Language blogfest

These are a few of my favorite things...

Sweet, sweet sunshine!

Jamie love

Bar scene blogfest

Eep! Murder scene blogfest/first kiss blogfest!

And oh, once writ...

First page...*sigh*

Alternate Version Blogfest--Happy April Fools Day!

Drunk at first sight blogfest

Ides of March! - Middle Reader love scene blogfest

Fulfilling a promise: rewards before blogfest week

A few loose ends, which aren't completely tied

The Fling! And yet another blogfest!

Whoops-blogfest, or "Poor little MCs"

Things I'm thankful for

Odi et amo

A V-Day and Fat Tuesday Par-tay!

Love at First Sight Blogfest

Yikes! It's fight scene day!

Sad face

Awards (thanks!) and challenges

Hey, Baby, it's C-O-L-D outside.

Sore!

By the silvery light of the moon...

Sherlock Holmes, the movie

First page...sigh