My Life Is (In) A Zoo

New in the Badly Drawn Cartoon Series: Vending Machines

2011-12-20T10:26:00.000-08:00

My gift to you, my people. Click to embiggen:

Why you shouldn't be mad when an animal dies in a zoo

2011-11-28T20:43:00.000-08:00

I had to wait a few weeks to write this post. I was afraid it would come out wrong if I wrote it any sooner.

We've lost a couple of high-profile ("charismatic," in industry terms) animals at my work this year. Both losses were very sudden. When I worked at an aquarium, we lost a high-profile animal very suddenly there, too. So I'm no stranger to the backlash losing these animals comes with. But it's still frustrating to deal with the misguided anger out there.

The problem is, people do get mad when an animal they love dies in a zoo. People feel like it was their animal. How dare we let something happen to their animal! They would never let anything bad happen to them!

What they fail to remember is that we feel exactly the same way.

Those tears falling down your face? They were falling down ours, too, an hour ago. But we still have the other animals to take care of today, so we put on a brave face and go do our job. The sadness you feel inside? It's pouring out of every muscle we have into our work. It's all we can do to deal with it, because we don't want to risk letting it distract us and skip a feeding or mess up somewhere else.

As for not letting anything happen to them, well-- trust me. No one who works in a zoo, taking care of animals, EVER wants anything bad to happen to them. EVER. We wouldn't be here if we did. Zoos are guaranteed to be full of people who are passionate about what they do. People who love those animals just as much as you do, and, dare I say, more. We get to work with them every day. They know our faces, our voices, our quirks, just like we know theirs. When they leave us, they leave a hole shaped just like them that won't ever quite be filled with another.

If we could have avoided what happened, we would have. But we work with wild animals. We do the best we can, but none of us can predict the future, and while we always try to learn from tragedy, it's not always something we could have prevented, or even stopped from happening.

So when you come to a zoo shortly after an animal dies, and you ask an employee what happened, don't be angry. Respect them when they tell you the same short answer that you've heard from everyone else-- it's nothing personal. We don't know you. We don't want to talk about it at length four, forty, or four hundred times today. Sometimes, that short answer really is all the information we have. Sometimes, we just can't say anymore or we risk cracking the shell we've put over our own sadness.

If you read this, and learn from it, thank you.

Reason #2987987b I love my job

2011-09-23T21:47:00.000-07:00

I wanted to write this down so I never forget this day. Bear with me while I let loose the writer within.

It's a bit cloudy. They ripple across the sky in dangerous curls and huge banks, but the sun still shines down on us.

Cheetahs can run up to 65-70 miles an hour. Imagine driving down the freeway and watching a cheetah pass your car. When I get to work today, I know it's already going to be a good day because I'll get to watch a cheetah run as fast as it can go.

The first run is a bit sloppy. She almost catches the lure right out of the box, and it distracts her. While we wait for her to recover, I notice the clouds are starting to move in. A few sprinkles fall on my arm, but I reassure my guests that it's not going to rain hard. It will pass.

Even as I say that, thunder rumbles in the distance.

I love the sound of thunder. I love how it grabs you by the guts and fills the air with a spark.

They let the crowd know the cheetah will run a second time. My guests are pleased. This time, she runs straight and true out of the box. Her spine flexes up and down, her paws eat the ground in twenty-foot strides. Her sides heave in and out in great breaths. The turf rips up under her claws. But her eyes do not leave the lure, even when thunder rumbles again.

Six seconds later, it's over. So brief, but so amazing. She comes in to meet my guests, but the thunder is louder and the rain is starting to pick up. We have to cut it short. Animal safety and welfare is always first.

My guests file out. Some of them go over to the lions nearby, where curtains have been drawn over the acrylic windows so the lions can't see the cheetah, and vice versa. I scurry around cleaning up as it begins to pour. The thunder ripples through me every few seconds, it seems, and the rain pounds on me hard, soaking me through. At least it's a warm rain.

By the time I'm done, some guests have opened the curtains hiding the lions. I go over to pull them onto the poles and tie them down. As I'm working on the curtain next to the acrylic where the lions lie, a ripple of laughter runs through the crowd. I look up. Golden tawny eyes pierce into mine, inches from my face. One of our females finds what I'm doing very interesting, and she doesn't take her eyes off me the entire time I'm working. I've had interactions with her like this before, but this moment catches me completely off guard. I joke with a guest that she must think I look tasty, but inside I'm smiling for a different reason.

Soon, the rain stops and the guests disperse back into the park. I grab my things and make sure the last of my guests are taken care of before heading back on the long walk to my office. On the way, it starts to rain again-- hard. But I don't mind. I love the warm water streaming from the sky, and the thunder. Besides, I'm completely soaked by now, so what's a little more? All I can do at this point is laugh at myself, and I do.

Later, back in dry clothes and safely at home, I will try and describe my day to my husband. I can't quite capture why it was so special, but maybe I've done a better job of that here. It's a small snapshot of life working in a zoo, but it's something I want to remember forever. Never forget that the special moments often come out of nowhere, when you least expect them and aren't looking for them.

Free-Flight Macaws and Flutey Music

2011-08-04T21:11:00.000-07:00

Guys, I have a confession to make. I hope you'll still want to be friends after you find this out.

I... I apparently, like, CRY when macaws fly overhead to flutey-South-American-sounding music.

I'm on my last week of summer camp. On Thursdays, we go see a show at my work, which uses free-flight birds, including macaws. When the macaws fly overhead, they play this EXTREMELY cheesy flutey music to make it seem all tropical and South American.

Now, I've seen macaws flying overhead before. I didn't tear up. I've heard flutey music before. My eyes stayed dry.

I can only assume it's just a deadly combination for me.

The first time it happened, I thought it was a fluke. "Oh! It's beautiful! That's why my eyes are a little bit moist at the corners."

The second time, I thought I was just having one of those emotional days. "I must just be overjoyed at everything today. That's why I'm feeling teary."

Today, though, finally just drove the point home. "Oh... oh... goodness. Yes, a tear just DRIPPED DOWN MY FACE."

That's pretty much the point where I gave up and accepted it. Want to make me cry? Give me flying macaws and flutey music.

Zombieism is a very serious disease (With DRAWINGS!)

2011-07-08T22:33:00.000-07:00

So, the other day at work, I was walking back up to the office after a long day. The walk back is up a pretty steep switchback hill that already saps the soul out of me on a daily basis. Little did I know, today would be the day that things would get...

... a little bit worse.

I'm walking along, just trying to get up to the office, so I can put my stuff away and head home, when all of a sudden, something very-much-six-legged landed on my forehead. I felt the tiniest of pinches, almost indiscernible from the little buggy feet on my face.

Not shown: Me doing anything rage-inducing

Shown: Completely uncalled-for insect attack

Naturally, I had a mini-meltdown right there on the pathway. It was mostly internal, and over very quickly, but involved a lot of flailing at my face and trying to see if the insect that had ruthlessly tried to kill me was coming back for a second pass. I was the giant in ENDER'S GAME, and I feared that the little gnat of a warrior was going to figure out how to win.

Luckily, I made it back to our office unmolested, thanks to my superior ninja skills (not shown). It wasn't without a cost, though. Without having seen the insect responsible, I was pretty petrified.

See, I have a secret, guys.

I... I might be allergic to bees.

*cue loud gasp*

Okay, here's the thing. The last couple of times I have been stung, my reactions have been getting progressively worse. Last time, my whole arm swelled. I am pretty paranoid about being stung again (let's be honest: I'm pretty paranoid about every freaky way you can die), and you have to understand how unfair it was to be stung where I couldn't even see the bug responsible and figure out if I needed to be walking up the hill or, like, running.

So I get to the top, and I haven't, you know, keeled over dead. Yet. I go into the bathroom to see if I have an emergency or just a bad day, or both. And this is what awaits me:

Looking back, it really wasn't THIS bad

I did the walk of shame to my boss' office, where she promptly told me to go to the medic. Those words were like balm to my ravaged, panicky ears. A medic. Someone who could SAVE me, should my throat suddenly close up, and my brain explode. Despite the heat of the day, I made another walk back down the hill, knowing full well I would have to come back up it.

The medic was nice, but very dismissive. He obviously didn't understand that I could die AT ANY SECOND. But that was probably a good thing. He just told me to keep an eye on it and see my own doctor if I started "seeing the signs of an allergic reaction."

And then he asked me if I knew what those were. Of course I knew.

... didn't I?

"You want to watch for shortness of breath, swelling of the face, redness of the skin..."

Not shown: The clothes I was actually wearing at the time, I swear

And with that he sent me back up to the office. This trip, I wore my Don't-Mess-With-Me-Bug face, and it seemed to work. I made it back, trying to push the signs the medic had told me out of my head, and trying to ignore the occasional sharp pain from my forehead and the slight itchiness that had started there. I finished my stuff and clocked out, and got in my car, ready to make the 40-minute drive home.

Forty minutes is kind of a long drive. And when you're on the road for that long, you have a tendency to think. Within five minutes, it was like a record of the medic's voice playing over and over in my head. And let me tell you, folks, the symptoms of a mild panic attack? Kinda sorta similar to the signs of an allergic reaction.

By the time I got home, I was a quivering, nervous ball. WH managed to calm me down, as did the fact that I managed to reach my house without suddenly blowing up like Violet Beauregarde and dying on the freeway. I was safe. I had made it through another crisis alive, with only a slightly itchy bump to show for it.

That should have been good enough for a while, right? I mean, one unprovoked insect attack is enough excitement and paperwork for a girl for a week, right?

Well, the universe had other plans.

Today, I scraped my leg pretty hard on a metal bar at the bottom of a gate. You know, the unyielding kind that go into a hole in the concrete to hold the gate in place? Yeah, one of those. Right now, I'm sitting on the couch with an ace bandage wrapped around an ice pack, wrapped around my leg, trying NOT to go on one of those medical websites and see if there are any horrible ways you can die from bruising.

Any true hypochondriac knows exactly what this is like

It's not easy, let me tell you. I haven't had a bruise so bad it made my whole lower leg stiff in, I think, ever. I'm pretty convinced, though, that if I go onto that website and let myself do this, this will be the result:

Zombieism is a serious disease, folks. If I've got it, I don't want to know.

Pretending to be an artist

2011-06-16T13:53:00.001-07:00

Last week, my work had an Employee Art Fair. I saw the flier shortly after I got hired in March, and for some idiotic reason thought it sounded like a good idea to sign up.

Here's why it was idiotic: I'm not an artist. Yes, I'm a writer, and I happen to think I'm okay at that craft. And I can build things, as evidenced by my love of dioramas and Cindy Pon's SILVER PHOENIX books. But when it comes to drawing and painting and sculpting? Forget it.

So it was rather stupid of me to sign up for an ART fair. But I did anyway, because of the whole building/ hands-on thing, and I thought that the idea I had might even work out in my favor. My idea? Decorate bird eggs. Not chicken eggs. Duck, goose, and one ostrich egg.

So I signed up, and then started gathering supplies and ideas, and promptly waited until about one week before the art fair to actually start doing anything. Yeah. Told you I was a moron.

Anyway, since several people have asked, here are some pictures of the eggs I made. You can click on any of these pictures to make them larger.

Here is my table. It was HUGE.

And here are my eggs!

This egg is one of my favorites. The Twilight Egg-- it actually is lit from beneath with a portable, battery powered LED.

The Dragon Eggs: (Note: these came out COMPLETELY differently from what I'd planned, but then WH had the brilliant idea to call them Dragon Eggs. The man is a marketing genius! Or, well, an idea genius. Would have been a marketing genius if I'd actually sold any).

The Gnomish Dragon Egg

The Volcano Dragon Egg

The Blue Dragon Egg

The Red Dragon Egg

I made several rhinestone eggs. I wish I could take complete credit for these, but they were mostly just really awesome stickers that I cut and stuck to the eggs. Some of the gems I glued on by hand, but certainly not enough to feel comfortable taking full credit. Still, I love the way they came out.

This one refused to photograph. But it was the only one I sold!

The Fire and Ice Eggs

The back of the "Ice" egg

The back of the "Fire" egg

I only painted a couple eggs, because, as I said, I am not very good with painting. Here they are!

The Butterfly Garden egg

The "It's a Hoot" egg

This one is wrapped with acacia leaves, because at the zoo I work at, acacia is one of the browse plants we use for pretty much all of our herbivores. It's a good, well-rounded source of nutrition, plus it's tasty (at least to the herbivores). And everyone who works there has a certain fondness for this plant. So I thought an egg wrapped in acacia would appeal to a large amount of people. It did, just not enough for anyone to buy it, unfortunately.

And my magnum opus egg. This one is a real ostrich egg, cut in half. The top fits back on the base and is filled with cotton clouds and a golden sun.

So yeah. Was it fun? Absolutely. Was it what I thought it was going to be (an event where I sold all my eggs in the first ten minutes and made back every penny I spent on supplies, and then some)? No. But I guess one of the first lessons you learn when you create anything is that you need to have some patience, right?

GIRAFFES ARE AWESOME

2011-05-31T21:32:00.001-07:00

Okay. I'll be honest. I don't love giraffes as much as I love cheetahs. But they are still pretty cool. Here are some weird things you never wanted to know about giraffes:

Generally speaking, for every foot a giraffe is tall, its tongue will be one inch long. So an eighteen-foot-tall giraffe will have an eighteen-inch-long tongue.
Giraffes have black/ purple tongues. It's freaky. The theory is that it serves as sun protection, since they spend so much of their day eating!
Giraffe spit is extra sticky. It helps coat the thorns of their favorite food, the thorny acacia, which is a very cool looking green-barked tree, that's covered in 2-3" long thorns.
Giraffes have seven neck bones, just like humans. But theirs are all ten inches long, hence the six-foot-neck!
When a giraffe baby is born, Mama Giraffe doesn't lay down. She gives birth-- standing up! Baby has a six-foot fall ahead of him, which shocks him into taking a breath.

Who here likes giraffes? *raises hand*

CHEETAHS ARE AWESOME

2011-05-23T21:57:00.001-07:00

I love cheetahs. Here's why:

They totally purr. And it is ADORABLE. And LOUD. And ADORABLE.

They are the smallest of the big cats, and as such are actually rather skittish. They lack the confidence that lions and tigers have and are therefore relatively trainable. Many facilities that keep cheetahs (including the one I work for) allow for direct contact, which they will not do with other big cats. This means I get to see cheetahs walking around on leashes all the time. How freaking cool is that?

They can run up to 70 MPH! That's as fast as a car on the freeway. I know that seems obvious, but it still blows my mind to think about driving down the freeway and having a CAT keep up with me. Every time I bump it up to 75, I think, "Ha! Got away from THAT cheetah!" (Of course, they can only keep this speed up for about a minute. Sprinter, not marathoner. Still impressive. Can YOU run 70 MPH? I didn't think so).

At full speed, one stride can be up to 22 FEET long!

And last, but not least, it takes a cheetah about three strides to go from 0-60. That's about three seconds! Faster than just about any production car on the planet.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why cheetahs are awesome. What more do you need?

WHAT IS THIS I DON'T EVEN...

2011-05-19T21:11:00.000-07:00

So... yeah.

Rather than trying to explain, I will just say... hi!

I think most of you follow me on the Archives anyway. So it's not like I've disappeared. I just haven't been HERE. Sorry about that.

The good news? I've got a new, exciting job, and a new, exciting MS that I'm excited to talk about. And there's no shortage of stuff to share from those! So yay for things to blog about!

The well that had runneth dry now runneth over.

And I will start runneth-ing over very soon!

Home Improvement!

2011-02-22T11:24:00.000-08:00

Despite having one of THOSE days (the kind where I officially don't feel well and spend most of the day on the couch, sipping at liquids), I am ridiculously excited to share a couple changes we recently made around the house.

About two months ago, I got the brilliant idea to freshen up our bathrooms. As a real estate agent, I know that outdated baths and kitchens are often the first reason for undervalued home sales. And while I don't know for sure that the work we're doing will still be good-looking or in mode by the time we do decide to sell our home, at least it's prettier to look at and live in in the meantime.

Not to mention, hey, I like it.

My idea started out simple enough: paint the upper half of the walls and add wainscoting and chair rail molding to the lower half.

This was easily something WH and I could accomplish ourselves, and I have to admit to being super-psyched to start. I went and picked out paint colors. I bought the wainscoting and painted it. I picked out the molding.

And then logic started to set in. For instance: adding wainscoting meant taking out the toilet and vanity. That was messing with plumbing, which was not something either of us were comfortable doing on our own just yet. But some research online showed that it really wouldn't be that scary, so it was worth it to try.

Once we conquered the plumbing, I got another brilliant idea. Since we already had the toilet and vanity out, why not re-do the floors? When I suggested this, I didn't actually think WH would agree to it. But he did. And so somehow I wound up tiling my first-ever floor. Luckily it was a small one to start with!

The whole experience took way, way longer than we thought-- and we have only finished the smaller of the two baths. But at least it's done (except for one or two minor details) and ready to go!

So, without further ado, I present to you:

The Before:

The After:

(Click to embiggen)

If one of our wedding photos wasn't at the top of that picture I'm not sure I'd believe this bathroom is actually in our house!

A better picture of the floor that I tiled. (Can you tell I'm excited that I did this? I love working with my hands and discovering new skills, even things as mundane as tiling a floor. And I only screwed up a little!)

The awesome part is that the toilet and the vanity are both the old ones. We just got a new faucet, seat, and handle, and they cleaned up pretty spiffy! Our hall bath still has the glorious 80's/90's vanity from several owners ago, so we'll be replacing that one... but we won't start that bath for a couple weeks at least.

WH did such an amazing job with everything. There were several weekends where he practically did nothing but work on the bathroom, cutting the wainscoting and molding and measuring and re-cutting and filling holes in the drywall and fixing the toilet and etc. So thank you, to my amazing and awesome and wonderful husband for indulging my crazy project, which started out with him ideally just "helping" and wound up with him doing most of the work!

One more thing while I've got you here-- can't resist showing off our new dining room set!

As if you needed more evidence of his craftiness, WH built the banquette benches in the back by modifying cupboards from Ikea. Here's a slightly better view with bonus cat picture:

So yay home improvement! You have no idea how long I've been dying to show you guys these pictures. Can't wait to share the hall bath once we get that one done!

The Elegance of Post-Modernism Storytelling; or, HOLY CRAP I'M ACTUALLY LEARNING THIS SEMESTER

2011-02-19T22:12:00.001-08:00

Last night, WH and I sat down, turned off our mutual internets and watched INCEPTION. This was a big deal for us. Normally, no matter WHAT we're watching, we're both clicking away, him in a game and me on Twitter. But we had both heard so much about INCEPTION, and we were in a snuggly mood thanks to the rainy weather, so we decided to devote our full attention to a movie for once. And I'm so glad we did.

In my English class this semester, we just started learning about Post-Modernism, and I have to admit that at first I wasn't interested in learning about it. In case you're not familiar, the Modernist movement was what most of us are familiar with when we think of story-telling: neat tales that wrap up in tidy little packages, and follow a steady plot line. Post-Modernism is sort of the opposite; where Modernism is neat and tidy, Post-Modernism is chaos.

But the more my professor explained the differences between the two, the more I began to feel like donning a beret and some suspenders, and maybe even sipping an espresso with my pinkie up.

Don't get me wrong-- I'm a HUGE fan of Modernist story-telling. I love me some neat plot-lines and happy-ever-afters. But there's something so . . . appealing about Post-Modernism, too. Something raw. Something animal, that invites us think for ourselves. Normally, I don't like it when the neat lines aren't drawn for me. I don't like having to work out if something did or did not happen within the context of a story that I did not write. But my appreciation has been piqued by our in-class viewing of THE THIN BLUE LINE, a documentary that was filmed by accident and literally saved a man's life, and ever since then I've been finding Post-Modernist tidbits everywhere.

Perhaps this is just like the week I discovered that people in Britain pronounce "aluminum" differently, and therefore started hearing people with British accents saying "al-you-min-ee-um" all the time. Or perhaps it's just my mind expanding with learning. The world may never know. But my appreciation remains. And I find it fascinating that I discovered I've actually been a fan all along: Christopher Nolan, who wrote and directed INCEPTION, also directed THE PRESTIGE, which is one of my absolute all-time favorite movies (of all time), as well as MEMENTO.

There goes my neat and tidy story. But real life isn't neat and tidy, and I think that's what I appreciate about it so much.

I've come to realize that I wholeheartedly love this method of storytelling because the story winds up being so powerful. So what if there's too much detail? Who cares if the plot is hard to follow at times? The overall emotional connection you have with the story is there, and it grabs you.

It grabs me.

Someday, whether linear or chaotic, I hope to write a novel as brilliantly, darkly twisted and beautiful as those movies. One that brings readers to their emotional knees and stays with them long after they close the cover on the last page.

Snapshots #1-- The Call Center

2011-02-01T16:30:00.000-08:00

*Warning* Writing ahoy!

The call center I worked in during the spring of 2007 was a sparsely-populated cube farm devoted entirely to the wasteland of making sales. I only worked there for four months, but it seemed like an eternity.

My boss was a super-charismatic guy, dressed to the nines every day and with a twisted sense of humor. When he'd hired me, he told me that I was really young and didn't have the right experience, but he'd decided I was going to be his "experiment".

When I got to my first day of work, it turned out that not only was I the youngest, I was the only girl.

Still, the men I worked with were nice. I trained with five others, and we sat in an office easily built for fifty, making calls over and over. The bosses would regularly listen in on the phone lines, and as the youngest-- and only girl-- I got a bit more attention than the others. "Don't laugh so much." "Stop being so nice." "Don't let them hold you on the line for so long."

The very first call I made, the lady who answered the phone yelled at me for interrupting her dinner, called me a bitch, and hung up on me. I cried.

It was hard for me to twist my mind around "making sales". I'd never been the type of person to be pushy, or demanding, or rude, and I especially detested see-through sales tactics, which were all we were taught, along with a script we weren't allowed to deviate from. It also didn't help that we were peddling mortgages-- and I'd auspiciously started the job right when the first big banks started falling like dominoes. It was an uphill, losing battle, and I hated it. I went home everyday feeling stressed and slimy. At least I wasn't working on commission-- I'd found one of the rare salaried sales jobs.

And then there was one family in Tennessee. They sounded so relieved when I called. The man who answered the phone couldn't give me his info fast enough. And I felt like I was truly doing something more noble than sales when I called to give him a pre-approval, and he choked up and told me I was going to save his house.

Three days later, I had to call him back and tell him I had lied. Our underwriter had been unable to get approval after all.

That, more than anything, broke me. More than the rude people. More than the not-entirely-unexpected announcement that due to our inability to actually make any sales, we were now working on commission only. More than the lonely old men who kept me on the phone for hours at a time, completely not intending to buy anything, just to have someone to talk to. More than the creepy guy who told me I had a great phone voice and he might have an opportunity for me if I would give him a call when I wasn't working. (Part of me still wonders what that opportunity was, exactly, but the other part is pretty sure I don't want to know).

No, hearing that man from Tennessee choke up with tears of joy and then break down a week later, and feeling completely powerless to help him, is what made me hate that job. I stuck it out for a few more weeks before deciding that some things just aren't worth the doing.

My bosses and everyone I worked with were really, really nice, but the people in the office weren't important compared to the people out in the world, the ones whose throats I was supposed to be jamming mortgages down.

I think we all learn harsh lessons in our youth. This was one of mine.

Now THAT's customer service-- or why you really should consider joining Twitter

2011-01-25T10:19:00.000-08:00

For those of you who don't know me via Twitter, WH and I are currently working on remodeling our bathrooms. It appeals to me because a.) new bathrooms, woo hoo! and b.) it's like a crafting project, but on a much larger scale. It appeals to WH because a.) new bathrooms, woo hoo! and b.) he gets to use all sorts of tools and be manly and rip things out of walls and such.

Somehow, he gets all the destructive fun and I wound up being the painter and tiler (yeah, the last one is kind of a mystery to me, too, maybe because I said I'd helped my dad do a floor once?)

So last week, I was on one of many, MANY trips-- that day-- to a local home improvement center, and when I actually needed help in the lumber department, it was like everyone wearing an apron disappeared. And I mean that in an "am I on TV?" kind of way. I watched two guys watch me approach, take OFF their aprons and walk in the other direction. I watched another guy turn the corner away from me before I could say anything. I saw two more people at the end of aisles in front of me but they all managed to disappear before I could get their attention.

Then I got frustrated and just wandered up and down the aisles of the lumber department for ten minutes, encumbered by the giant cart of wood paneling I had to take everywhere with me, walking through a wasteland of customer service. Apparently everyone who'd disappeared was fleeing lumber. Part of me started to wonder if I should leave, too. If maybe a t-rex was about to come start pulling things down from the top shelves to do a re-stock or something. I like t-rexes, especially gainfully employed ones, but they're not exactly careful, ya know? And they're kind of loud. All stomp-y and yell-y.

So in my frustration, I did what any sensible person would do and whipped out my phone to tweet.

"[Home Improvement Center] employees must have a sixth sense. They're literally everywhere until you actually need them. #poof #gone #HELP"

And then, only a few minutes later, I randomly got an email that "[Home Improvement Center] is now following you on Twitter."

At first I laughed. By this time I was knee-deep in having just given up and gone to a register to ask for help, which somehow still managed to involve me wheeling that darn cart all over the front of the store to various counters for various reasons, but at last the problem was solved. It wasn't until later that night, at home, that I saw that I had a new mention from someone at Home Improvement Center, apologizing for the problem and asking if I managed to find everything I needed.

That, right there, floored me. That a nationwide chain has people monitoring their keywords on freaking TWITTER and asking people in real-time if they can help them is stunning to me. In a good way. It completely replaced all the frustration I'd built up in the store, even though I seriously doubted the guy would have been able to help me if I told him I was looking for such and such at a particular store. The fact that someone cared enough to notice I had a problem and then actually talk to me about it helped way more than I ever thought it could.

Now, I've been in customer service for a long time, myself. I know that this is one of the first rules of customer service: even if you can't solve their problem, acknowledging that they have one is just as important. So it's not like this was a new trick or anything. What's mind-blowing is that a chain of this size must have literally thousands of mentions on Twitter in any given day, and yet they still have people read through them all and offer help where needed. That's devotion to that rule, right there. And it means that where that experience may have shaped me in a way to avoid that store in the future (even though it really wasn't anyone's fault, just bad timing and a bad mood on my part), it actually made me like them better. Willingness to shop there= up.

I will say, every experience I've had there since then has been beyond positive. And believe me, I'm practically living at that store right now, what with all the "oops forgot we need that" going on around here.

I have to say, even though I spend way too much time on there, and way too much time off of there trying to think of clever things to say in less than 140 characters, I still don't really fully get Twitter. But this experience made me think more about it in other terms. It really is a useful tool for connecting, even between two things as big as a nationwide chain store and as small as a single customer. I already knew it was great for networking between individuals (and cyber-stalking my favorite writers and agents), but between entities was something I hadn't really considered yet.

No matter what, my experience that day would have been far different if I hadn't tweeted my frustrations. I would have gone home, probably without buying what I'd come there for, complained about the whole thing to WH and then avoided going there again for as long as I could (which wouldn't have been long, but yeah). Instead, I was impressed by their devotion to customer service and have continued to be with the positive experiences since then.

So yeah. Join Twitter, because it's really pretty cool. And you never know who might start following you!

Writer's Beginning Guide to Horses: Let's Talk Feet

2011-01-20T11:38:00.000-08:00

This is another big one. I'm thinking a lot about feet right now because I can't find anyone to take care of my horse's and she is now way overdue. That will all make sense by the end of this post.

To start off on the most basic level, the foot of the horse is called a hoof. It's a keratinous structure, like fingernails and hair, surrounding a bone. There is a membrane inside that acts like a sponge, pumping blood through the hoof. At the bottom of the hoof is a V-shaped piece of soft tissue (soft only in that it's not bone or hoof) called the frog. The frog is made of what feels like hard calloused skin, but can still be easily cut or damaged.

There are channels that lie on either side of the frog and these must be cleaned out with a hoof pick regularly to ensure that no rocks or other debris is stuck in there. A rock stuck in the hoof can cause sole bruising, which can be very painful and make the horse lame. If the frog is cut too deep, it will bleed and the horse will limp. The horse also must be cared for to ensure that there is no chance of infection.

For your reference, here is a picture of the sole of a horse's foot:

Source

The horse pictured above is unshod, meaning, it has no horseshoes on.

Horseshoes are used for horses who travel long distances on trail or on concrete or asphalt, to give the horse extra grip and prevent their hoof from wearing down too quickly. They are used for corrective shoeing, which means that they help correct hoof shape or angle or one of the many other myriad things that can make a horse go lame. The most common type of horseshoe rims the edge of the hoof with the exception of the frog, and is nailed into the hoof wall, so while the hammering can cause some discomfort, it's not painful for the horse to be shod. There are other special types used for corrective shoeing, but I won't go into those here.

I will also say that horseshoeing is a highly contested area of horse ownership. This is my knowledge, and I'm trying to make it as general as possible, but it is quite possible you will hear other opinions. This area tends to fall more under what you believe than anything else, though I personally am of the school of trying whatever you need to until something works.

The hoof is the most important part of the horse. In the wild, horses run or walk about constantly. Their hooves grow and are worn down by the consistent movement and rough terrain. Domestic horses don't necessarily move that much and must have their feet trimmed every six to eight weeks by a professional, called a farrier or a shoer. Most farriers are also blacksmiths-- they have portable forges and will shape and heat shoes on site for the particular horse they're working on.

But if one foot is hurt, injured, or tender, the horse will be crippled. Most horses weigh upwards of 1,000 lbs. Imagine that much force even on four feet, and carrying that much weight on an injured leg equals some serious pain. Since horses are herding, prey animals, if they cannot run away from a predator, they are as good as dead.

You might think this isn't true in domestication, but horses were built to stand-- they only lie down briefly to rest or sun, or for longer periods of time if something is wrong (a horse lying down is often the first sign of illness, injury, or impending birth). Their rib cage isn't built to support long periods of time lying down, and can have compromising effects on their digestion and respiration. So a lame horse, even a domesticated one, is in serious trouble. Especially if they go lame far from home.

Lameness from the hoof can be caused by any number of factors: the above mentioned rock in the sole, diet, bad hoof care, and so on. There are also any number of other reasons a horse might go lame unrelated to the hoof: stretching or injuring a tendon or muscle, etc.

A lame horse should generally not be moved more than necessary if it has a hoof injury. And they definitely should not be ridden, or asked to do work of any kind. These can greatly aggravate an injury and turn it from something minor to something major rather quickly. Not to mention, it's just mean.

So there you have it. Hopefully you understand now why I'm upset that I can't get a farrier to do my horse's feet! If you have any particular questions or want something cleared up, leave it in the comments!

Etymology Day: Apartment

2011-01-17T17:07:00.000-08:00

WHOA it's been a long time since I did one of these. But you know what? I'm doing one today. And it's a doozy. Are you ready for this?

According to www.etymonline.com, the origin of the word apartment is as follows:

"1640s, "private rooms for the use of one person within a house," from Fr. appartement (16c.), from It. appartimento, lit. "a separated place," from appartere "to separate," from a "to" (see ad-) + parte "side, place," from L. partem (see part). Sense of "set of private rooms in a building entirely of these" (the U.S. equivalent of British flat) is first attested 1874."

So now when someone pulls that old joke about "Why do they call them apartments when they're all stuck together?" you can answer with your new smarts. "Actually, the word apartment dates back to . . . "

You're welcome.

Broken apart and stitched back together-- or, the writing of a novel

2011-01-04T15:45:00.000-08:00

Such a large part of writing is lonely. I know loneliness all too well right now. Four hours of my day (at least during the week) is full of the companionship of new marriage, and that's often the best, most peaceful four hours I have. But then he has to go to bed, and I'm still not tired, and then I'm alone again. As much as I wish they did, the cats don't really count for company. No matter how much I talk to them it's always a one-way conversation.

I find myself more and more often following him to bed anyway, unable to sleep but unwilling to stay up by myself any longer, content to let the characters roll around in my head and talk amongst themselves until they at last let me go and I can drift away.

Such a large part of writing is lonely. And the definition of crazy, I might add: people in my head, talking to me at all hours of the day. People no one else can hear, or see, or even imagine, at least not until I set my fingers to the keyboard and tap out their lives. I must be mad.

A mad and vengeful god. I torment those people to within an inch of their lives and sometimes beyond, and I bring them back for more, and I yank them and twist them and shatter them until I feel that they've had enough, all for the sake of my own imagination, and another, even more mythical creature: the Reader.

And then I lament. I type "The End" and I go back over the whole thing and writhe in agony that no, no, that whole bit is just WRONG and I fix it and I wish I were a better writer and I obsess over several uses of the same word, even while the characters STILL won't let me sleep at a decent hour.

When I finally both can bear it and can't take it any longer, I let other people into my sad, sick little world, and I wait. And those people-- the real people-- they become that mythical creature: the Reader. And they read what I've written while I practice wearing grooves in hardwood floors and eating large quantities of sugar.

And that is when writing isn't lonely anymore. Suddenly, my world is populated with other minds. Other minds who know my characters. Other minds who grapple with their desires and their fears. Other minds who get. it.

That is why I write.

Very Merry

2010-12-23T00:12:00.001-08:00

This has been quite the week! I've been confined to the couch for most of it for various reasons-- the cold WH brought home from work, the repercussions of a small accident in the garage, and the torrential rains being the primary ones-- and therefore have been a pretty productive writer.

Tomorrow my mom is coming over and we're going to spend the day making Christmas cookies. You know you're a writer when something as awesome as making Christmas cookies bums you out because you know it would be rude to be tapping away on your laptop while your mother is rolling out dough and shaking out sprinkles in YOUR kitchen.

So since I am deep in plotting land, and now the Christmas frenzy begins, I don't have much to say. But I wanted to wish each and every one of you a very merry holiday, and remind you all to stay safe and warm and have plenty of hot chocolate (with Kahlua) or egg nog (with brandy). Ahem.

I'm excited for the new year! Looking forward to launching some great ideas here at the Q:P and the Archives, and maybe even announcing the return of . . . FEATURES. *Gasp!*

Stay safe, my lovelies. Write on.

Writer's Beginning Guide to Horses: Gaits

2010-12-08T20:27:00.000-08:00

So, a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I said I was going to start a feature here at the Q:P about horses, called the Writer's Beginning Guide to Horses. The goal of this feature can be found in detail with the first entry here, along with my background, but in a nutshell, I wanted to compile a resource for writers who want to put horses into their novels. A simple, easily-categorized resource to answer common misconceptions and questions.

So finally, eight months later, I am writing the second installment. Today's installment is about the gaits of horses, or, the different "gears" they have, if you will.

The most common breeds of horses have four major gaits. There are horses that have more than four gaits, but they are admittedly one place where my knowledge is lacking. You can read more about these horses, called gaited horses, here.

The first gait is the walk. This is the standard gait, and is the easiest to understand-- it's a walk. It's quite obviously the slowest of the gaits, and is what's called a four-beat gait, meaning that each of the hooves hit the ground independently of each other. The horse has three feet on the ground at a time during the walk. As far as a rider is concerned, the walk is the easiest gait to ride.

The next gait up is the trot. The trot is a two-beat gait, meaning that the feet move in pairs, with two feet on the ground and two feet in the air at the same time. The pairs of feet are on diagonals, meaning that the front right and rear left will be off the ground at the same time, and so forth.

For the beginning rider, the trot is usually the hardest to ride physically. An experienced rider can sit the trot, meaning they match the motion of their hips to the motion of the horse and do not bounce up and down in the saddle. Alternatively, in English disciplines (and more and more common everywhere regardless of discipline), the rider can post, which means to rise up and down in the saddle with the rhythm of the horse, taking most of the jarring out of the trot.

The next gaits are technically the same gait, only at increased speed and with a difference in beat count. The first stage over the trot is called the canter (in English disciplines) or the lope (in Western). The canter or lope is a three-beat gait, which is rather much harder to explain in this brief overview, and therefore I will re-direct you to this resource which explains it in detail if you care to research further. If your characters are just on a romp through the countryside, chances are they are moving at a walk, trot, or canter/ lope.

The faster version of the canter/ lope, and fourth gait, is the gallop. The gallop is the fastest gait, and you've seen it before if you've ever seen a horse race. It is a four-beat gait, like the trot, but the pattern of footfall is different and there is a moment of suspension where all four feet are off the ground at the same time. If your characters are running away from someone on horseback, chances are they are galloping.

Some special concerns with the gallop though: most horses can't keep this gait up for more than a few miles. For novels set in periods where horses were working animals, this might be increased slightly because they would naturally be in better shape. For a horse living a cushy modern life, however, it's probably only a mile or two.

For the rider: the canter is probably, aside from the walk, the easiest gait to ride. The horse's back takes on a swaying, rocking-horse motion that is spaced out much more than the trot and allows the rider to sit it much more easily. The gallop is similarly easy for an experienced rider, however, for a beginner it's probably the most difficult psychologically due to the speed-- up to 35/40 mph depending on the breed and physical condition of the horse. A rider may also have to hollow their back, or lean forward and sit up out of the saddle to ride the gallop rather than being seated normally.

There you have it! Any questions?

This is what happens when I have this much free time on my hands... and really, really want to win a contest.

2010-11-30T21:45:00.000-08:00

If you haven't already heard, Cindy Pon is having a contest for an ARC of FURY OF THE PHOENIX, the sequel to SILVER PHOENIX. I had the pleasure of meeting Cindy at one of Kiersten White's signings, and also managed to finally track down (and buy) a copy of SILVER PHOENIX for my very own that night, which Cindy was awesome enough to sign for me as well.

Cindy asked her followers to enter the contest by telling her what they loved about SILVER PHOENIX in a creative way. I've been thinking about the contest and how I could be creative about this pretty much since she announced it on her blog, and only came up empty. I knew what I loved about SILVER PHOENIX, but I'm not an artistic person, so drawing, etc., was out. But just writing about it didn't seem like enough.

And then I got my brilliant (read: crazy) idea. I just spent the last nine months handcrafting everything imaginable for our wedding-- why not show Cindy what I loved about her book the same way?

Yeah, I made something to show what I loved about SILVER PHOENIX. But it's probably not what you'd expect.

What I loved about SILVER PHOENIX was, at the most basic level, the introduction (for me) to Asian mythology. This is an area that I feel is under-explored in Western culture. Sure, most of us are familiar with-- and fond of-- the Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians, but I will be the first to admit that there is a gaping hole in my knowledge of the East-- one that I would love to fill. Cindy does a marvelous job not only bringing this mythology to a place where it's accessible, but making it come to life with vivid imagery and a beautiful story.

When I was thinking of what to make, I tried to think of the place in the book that most summed this up for me My immediate answer also happened to be one of my favorite parts. Ai Ling (the main character), Chen Yong (her romantic foil), and Li Rong (Chen Yong's brother) climb on the back of a dragon and fly up to a mysterious mountain top where the gods await them. This was what I decided to portray.

Ladies and gentlemen, and Cindy! I give you--

The Gardens of the Golden Palace

I decided to represent the early part of the garden, including the five trees mentioned, because I loved them, and the detail that went into describing them. Here are my versions.

The Love Lost Tree (those red things are supposed to be human hearts):

The Eternal Berry Tree:

The Tree of Immortality:

A (horrible) close up of the panther. I unfortunately do not have the sculpting skills to have included all nine heads.

The Observant Tree:

And last but not least, the Tree of Life:

And here's some more views of the garden as a whole:

Outtakes:

The murky mess in the back of the pagoda is supposed to be the scarlet river but it came out decidedly less scarlet than I'd hoped. I also didn't have time to build the rosewood table that's supposed to go inside. And I've just realized after a fiftieth re-read that the gates are supposed to be cinnabar, not gold. Ah well.

You can read about the gardens of the Golden Palace and the context behind my little diorama starting on page 155 of SILVER PHOENIX!

O Christmas Tree 2010

2010-11-28T15:55:00.000-08:00

I love this time of year. It doesn't matter which holiday you celebrate, or even none at all, there's something about November and December that just permeates through you. Unless you're feeling miserly, in which case, bah humbug to you as well.

WH and I got our Christmas tree today. Last year, the tiny hellcats decided it was AWESOME of us to provide them such a complicated toy and proceeded to destroy our faithful fake tree between its raising shortly after Thanksgiving, and actual Christmas day. And by destroy, I mean that they bent ALL the branches, so the tree looked like a giant version of Charlie Brown's Christmas tree, pulled all of the ornaments off, and stripped the fake plastic needles from the branches with an efficiency I'm sure would make us millions if we could refine and find an application for it.

This made me sad. In fact, a couple days before last Christmas I tried to convince WH to replace the fake tree with a real one. "They can't bend those branches," I argued. I even went to a lot and looked around, deciding on a Douglas Fir because they have really dense, thin branches that I was convinced our cats couldn't climb up into because their weight wouldn't be supported. But WH firmly brought me back to earth, saying that with such a short time to go until Christmas, we'd be better off just waiting until next (this) year.

So I waited. And waited. I may or may not have forgotten about the tree with the whole engagement-wedding thing that happened this year, but you KNOW I remembered as soon as I started seeing Christmas decorations out in the stores.

I started pestering WH to get this year's tree a few weeks ago, still convinced we could handle getting it earlier this year because the cats wouldn't be able to achieve the level of destruction they did last year. He staunchly believes that Christmas anything before Thanksgiving is wrong, so I tried to be patient. My patience failed on Thanksgiving morning. I decided we would go get the tree on Sunday, but that was as long as I was going to wait.

This morning arrived, and we picked out our tree at the local Home Depot. We got it home, and set it up, and poured water in the stand. I went and got the tree skirt I'd been saving for a few weeks and after we swept up needles four or five times, laid it out around the base of the tree.

The cats so far seemed respectful, but that was a lie. As soon as we stopped immediately touching the tree, they moved in. Sniffing, at first, then batting at the branches and watching the resulting swaying, then chewing on the needles, then chasing each other around the base and dislodging the tree skirt, and then-- oh, then-- the dreaded jumping.

I was in the kitchen, making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch, when I saw the tree shaking in a velociraptor-enclosure-in-Jurassic-Park kind of way. A quick search through the branches doing the most shaking revealed a familiar gray, stripey face peering out at me from about my waist level. I wish I'd gotten a picture of this, but I know I'm not the first person ever to have a cat crawl in a Christmas tree, so please use your imaginations.

It's only been a few hours, but the tree is still standing tall, if leaning ever-so-slightly. We are holding off on the decorations, though, until the novelty wears off, which it hopefully will. Soon. I've also given up on the tree skirt as it's a pain to put on and they just keep ripping it off every five minutes.

At least they've tired themselves out somewhat. Maybe we won't wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of the tree crashing to the floor? Maybe? Ah well. I can hope, right?

Here's a picture of the tree climber, taking his much-earned rest after a hard day's destruction. Don't let the soft innocence and adorable stripes fool you.

Merry happy holiday season everyone. It has officially begun!

An interesting breakfast and a review: Gary Corby's THE PERICLES COMMISSION is on sale at major booksellers today!

2010-11-09T10:29:00.000-08:00

Gary Corby's debut novel, THE PERICLES COMMISSION, comes out at the major booksellers today (heretofore only available at a few indie bookstores).

In honor of Gary's book, I have braved the depths of the gift that Gary brought me from his homeland down under, which you may remember from this post: Vegemite. What is Vegemite, you may ask? Well, on the tube I have, it says "Concentrated Barley Extract." Sounds delicious, no?

Supposedly, there is a whole continent of people who actually like this stuff. I'm not entirely convinced that it's not just a prank they play on foreigners. I've had it once before, a long, long time ago, and that was enough to scar me for life. But for Gary, an all-around awesome guy, I chanced it again.

First though, I had to make sure that the tube was free of demons. I did this by letting the cats smell it.

This may not have been the best test, because they'll smell anything.

But they seemed to like it. Nyxie even licked it and didn't immediately keel over, so I decided it was safe for me to try.

So, I got out the necessary ingredients, according to my Australian author-friend Gary: toast, butter, and of course, the Vegemite.

He advised a very thin layer. It came out kind of watery at first and then like toothpaste the color of the pits of hell. I did my best, but... stupid bagels and their stupid nooks and crannies. There were little Vegemite mines all over it.

It took me a full five minutes to work up the courage to actually put that in my mouth. I of course filled this time by cleaning up, repeatedly.

Note the look of fear already on my face (and sorry these next couple pics are so dark):

And the reaction shot:

Time for a cure! I grabbed a glass of water but even that could not tame the saltiness.

So I reached for one of these, and whaddya know-- it worked!

Mmmm, cookies!

So that, my friends, is Vegemite. I've survived (long enough) to write this blog post, and I have to admit that it wasn't AWFUL. Just, you know, horrible. Kidding! Okay, it was... interesting. Let's put it that way. If you like salt, you'll love Vegemite. (And Gary, I am grateful for the gift, as you should know. There are ALL sorts of things I can do with the rest! Mostly pranks involving my husband and the sort of close friends who won't never speak to me again, but it will get used, don't worry!)

And now, on to something we can all love: Gary's book.

I'll keep this review short and sweet because a.) I think book reviews can be terribly dull and b.) you really should just go buy it and read it for yourself. But here goes, my (un)professional opinion.

In brief, a summary:

Nicolaos, the son of a sculptor in Athens at the very roots of democracy, must investigate the murder of Ephialtes, an important politician, and protect his new-found love interest, Diotima, from a fate worse than death: marriage to a jerk. Yeah, I said jerk. I know, I know, but it's not like I'm Booklist or Publisher's Weekly. Anyway, back to the story. Nicolaos (Nico) is commissioned to investigate the murder by Pericles, another up-and-coming politician, who promises to tutor the young man out of his sculptor roots and into politics if he catches the killer.

What I loved about it:

For a history buff like me, this is the easiest part: the history. Gary does a fantastic job of putting you smack dab in Athens in the fifth century B.C.E. I loved this book because it is like no other out there right now. There are other historical mysteries, but none quite like this. Not only do you feel and experience the world of Classical Athens (and despite being a city, Athens really was a whole world back then), but you are there right at the birth of democracy. It feels like a history-buff's dream-- going back in time to watch as something important unfolds. Gary makes a promise to his readers that he will treat the story and the history diligently, and he doesn't disappoint.

I also loved how the story kept me guessing about the killer even after I was assured by the narrator that I knew the answer. This is a masterful tactic and one that I've rarely seen employed in modern mysteries; it recalls to me the likes of Agatha Christie novels, which are the mysteries I was teethed on.

What I didn't like about it:

Not much of anything. In fact, the only thing I can really think of is that there were so many story lines coming together at the end that it did get a little confusing, especially because there were two pivotal characters with the same name, which often made it difficult to tell which was which. This, however, did not ruin the book for me or take me out of the story, but rather just made me have to read an eensy bit more carefully, which in a book full of intellectualism, isn't exactly a bad thing.

Overall, I wholeheartedly recommend THE PERICLES COMMISSION to everyone who loves history and a good who-dun-it. I can't wait for books two and three (and beyond)! And I must mean it since I'm still saying it after the man tried to kill me with Vegemite.

I'm cheating and cross-posting this at the Archives, but that's because it's November 1st and I am BACK

2010-11-01T09:35:00.000-07:00

So, while I was gone, several things occurred. One of them was rather large and amazing, one of them was rather large and sucky, the rest ranged from spectacular to average, but all in all, I'd have to say that it was a pretty good 2-3 months. Rather than trying to remember all these events, I've decided instead to answer some lingering questions you're all sure to have:

Q: Did you get married?

A: Why, yes I did! Here we are, looking hot and loving and adorable and all that:

(Photo by the amazing Kate Williams of Chasing Daylight Photography)

My wedding was a dream come true. I couldn't be happier with my new husband, and boy is it nice to have time for other things! (Like blogging, and writing, and breathing. Always nice, that). Whether you care or not, I will probably be posting some pictures and a mini-recap in the near future-- unless that ever-loving mistress of the procrastinators, laziness, prevents me from doing so-- when I get more pictures, and get them organized, and all that.

Speaking of having more free time:

Q: Are you still working?

A: Um . . . no, actually. Yeah. That's the pretty major thing that's happened that sucks. It's fairly recent, and through no fault of my own, and hopefully we'll be okay. But still. Suckage.

Still, I am optimistic. And trying not to view this "Oh hey! I'll finally have real writing time!" Because making money so we can eat, and our furry babies can eat, is more important than all-the-time-I-could-ever-want-to-write. Right?

Moving on.

Q: Did you find an agent?

A: No, no I did not. For a very simple reason: you have to query agents in order to risk that they might sign you, and I haven't been querying. Rest assured, despite my assertions above, SOME of my new-found free time will be spent querying. Just not, you know, most of it.

Q: Did you get to meet any fabulous authors?

A: I did! While I didn't get any pictures, I did meet Kiersten White and Cindy Pon (both at Kiersten's signing, interestingly enough). Then, last week, I got to play native guide to Gary Corby, who is just as cool and full of fascinating historical info in person as he is online. WH and I had a fabulous time at his signing, where we also met P.L. Gaus, who writes Amish murder mysteries. We then spent Saturday showing Gary around our famous San Diego zoo (during which Gary, Scott and I had a long discussion about the possibility of owning a wallaby, and the ways someone could die by various animals) and topped off the evening by getting the only food I can think of that screams "San Diego"-- fish tacos, from a bar on the beach, by the pier. I hope Gary had as much fun with us as we did with him. Here we are at his signing:

We all look much happier in the picture on his blog. We were having a good time, I swear.

And while I neglected to take any pictures of Gary at the zoo (especially near the World's Largest Rodent [a capybara]), I did take a picture of the souvenir Gary brought me from Australia:

Thanks, Gary. I'm still working up the nerve to try it.

Aaaaaand I got to buy and then therefore read his book! Here I am, reading it:

There will be a review up here soon!

Q: Did you get any writing done?

A: Well, yes, actually. Not nearly as much as I'd have liked, but I did. I have a 43K "first draft" of my mystery done and, thanks to Gary, am moving ahead full force to start really querying my second novel, V. And this time I mean it. Sorry, where did that come from?

Q: So, uh, did anything else happen while you were gone?

A: Aside from all that I mentioned above, not really. All in all, I'm glad I decided to take the break because I honestly would have been too busy and too stressed out to be a good blogger. But on the same hand, I am SO glad to be back amongst my writer friends and catch up on everyone's lives. And while I can't guarantee that I'm back with gusto, I'm going to try to post at least twice a week, and you'll see me commenting again.

So now here's a question for you:

How have you been?

Gone but not forever

2010-08-23T09:37:00.000-07:00

Well hey there. I remember you. You may or may not remember me.

Just popping in to say that I am now officially unofficially on hiatus. Wedding planning + school +volunteering has sucked me dry! I'll be back November 1st. Til then, mon amis!

Thanks for sticking around!

-L.T.

THE BEES

2010-07-01T09:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was an interesting ride. I was late to work in the morning because I went outside and noticed that my pumpkins, which had been flowering, had been flowering. . . more. Like, a lot more. I've been worried that they would flower and then not pollinate ( which means no pumpkins) because I haven't seen very many bees around our yard lately, and I made an idle hope-- against the rest of myself, speaking as one who has been getting progressively worse and worse reactions to bee stings over the last few years-- that more bees would come visit our yard and pollinate my vines. Then I got a stick and scraped pollen off the male flowers and rubbed it around inside the female flowers, hoping that some bees would visit and do the job properly during the day. This is probably the silliest reason I've ever been late to work but these pumpkins have consumed me. I am determined to have beautiful, plump, orange and white pumpkins (that I grew myself) at our wedding.

The rest of the day didn't get much better after I was late. I had family stress (resolved), wedding stress (also eventually resolved), work stress (who doesn't?), and road-rage stress. Some guy nearly rear-ended me on the way home during a sudden stop in traffic, and then proceeded to tail-gate me while I was slamming on my brakes AND trying to give him more room to stop and avoid an accident. Once the tangle cleared up he then came around and cut me off-- on purpose. Luckily, I think I made him more mad than he made me, and I managed to avoid an accident, but, seriously, dude?

And then I got home, which is usually my sanctuary.

I did my usual I'm-home routine, which involves parking the car in the garage, going inside, greeting the cats, checking for things they've destroyed, cleaning up said destruction, putting the mess on the back porch, and then going to check on my bunny and water my plants. I've been letting the bunny run around in the backyard while I water lately, so I got her out and went to go put on her harness and leash (bright pink, so I can find her, and long, so I can catch her when she doesn't want to be caught). I was snuggling and baby-talking her just by her cage and idly looking out the back window when I noticed something rather terrifying just outside.

Does anyone else remember those made-for-TV movies from the late 90's or so about killer bees?

Yeah. I was in my early teens at the time, and my mom has this weird fascination with bees, so we watched all of them. There was more than one, or maybe the same one several times, I don't remember. All I know is that I've been unreasonably terrified of any situation involving bees + houses since then. And it looked like our back porch was filled with them.

They can't have been there long. Either that or I am really that oblivious, as only a few minutes before I had put a towel out on the back porch and had not been stung, swarmed, or killed. But now it seemed like there were hundreds, swarming around the gutter just a few feet from the back door.

Once I got WF safely inside on his arrival home, we assessed the situation. It appeared we were in some trouble: they were not just passing through. I've been through swarms before, and these bees weren't acting like they were just hanging out. They were acting like they were moving in.

I sat by the back window and watched them for a good while. They kept coming and hitting the glass, trying to get to me and the cats, which led me to believe that they may be of the more aggressive variety, and cemented my resolve to not go anywhere near them. I fretted a little about not being able to water my beautiful pumpkin vines and check on the few strawberries I have growing. But I fretted more about the bees, and therefore stayed indoors.

I put tape over the tiny pressure-flap we have in our back window and checked the cracks around our doors out of sheer paranoia-- and thanked my stars we don't have an attic. Those movies have made me less than rational when it comes to bees. Turbo, of course (gray cat), immediately un-taped the window in his attempts at catching one of the Fun Bugs that kept hitting the glass. Now I know who not to trust in the event of a zombie apocalypse. (Though to be fair, Turbo was already my first choice. He just totally seems like the one that would let them in the house, you know?)

This morning WF managed to sneak outside and water for me while the hive/ swarm was still asleep. He said it was eerie because he only noticed when he was coming back INTO the house that the back walls had sleeping bees all over them, too.

We called a bee service, and they are coming out in an hour or so to give us an estimate, and I'm hoping it will be rather painless.

Part of me wants to be able to water my plants and exercise my bunny, and part of me is just sad that the bees came when I asked them to, just. . . not in the right place. Sorry, bees. And Universe, please don't take me so literally next time.

Community Service, or, why I hate myself

2010-06-23T08:59:00.000-07:00

To be fair, the title's misleading. I don't *really* hate myself. I just enjoy making it look like I do. And I'm not doing court-ordered community service, either. Just the usual hey, look, I'm not busy enough already planning my less-than-four-month away wedding so hows about I go and volunteer at not one, not two, but THREE new places?

Yeah, I'm insane.

Plus a friend of mine is looking to buy her first house, so I've been busy with that. (I am one of those slimy real estate agents, in case you didn't know-- but I just carry the card, I don't work at it for a living).

Then of course there's all the stuff that five months ago sounded like great ideas to make myself for the wedding that now seem like ideas from Hades itself to actually do.

And last of all is the writing. And last last of all is the blogging.

I'm so close to knocking out a first draft of the mystery I'm working on that it's insane, and yet, I'm spinning my wheels. Mostly because I dread the ginormous amount of work I'll have to do after the first draft is done-- adding subplots and expanding sections-- but I'm looking forward to it, too. I just know how much work it's going to be, and I'm thinking, do I really want to start THAT right now?

So what does this mean? It means I am going to be a whiny, sporadic blogger (here, at least) at best-- until after the wedding. I love you guys (*sniff), and I wouldn't be here, doing this, if it weren't for you. Don't think I don't care-- I Just. Don't. Have. The. Time. And since I don't have any exciting news to share, I don't have much to say either. However, buck up, chums-- you can still find me at the Archives every Monday, and maybe I'll share some of my other, un-writerly-related adventures here in the meantime.

Also also: to everyone-- I am READING all of your posts, my apologies if I am not commenting on all of them.

Bear with me. You know I'll be back, with a vengeance! :)

Compelled

2010-06-11T09:08:00.000-07:00

I've officially reached an internal milestone, and I'm proud to share it. No, I didn't get an agent. Still workin' on that. Hence the "internal," but I wanted to clear that up up front.

This isn't one of those milestones that you can point to and say, then--right then-- is when it happened. It's more a cumulative one that I've just realized was there.

I figured out why I want to write.

See, before, I just felt this drive--this urge-- this need to write. It made no sense and gave me no reasons. I just had stories in my head and I wanted them on paper.

Or did I?

Once my first novel was done, I was excited to start querying. I, like so many others before and after me, was self-assured that *I* was different. That my first query might land me an agent because isn't that the way it's supposed to happen?

But even when the rejections started pouring in, and then as I realized that that story probably wasn't going anywhere, and then got the idea for and started writing my second novel, I didn't really get why I was doing any of this. What was I expecting to get from this, anyway?

And you know, I didn't figure it out until very recently. I was thinking about, you know, everything and started to ask myself those questions. Why? Was it money? No. My immediate and firm reaction was that I didn't care about the money. Was it fame? No. Not likely to happen anyway, and it's not what's driving me-- at least not the paparazzi kind of fame.

I realized, what it is, is that I want to walk into a bookstore and see my book on the shelf. I want to hear people talk about my book and how it's touched them and how they've grown or learned from it. I want my stories to be out there, for people to share with their friends and family. MY words, preserved in time, touching people. I want my books to last.

So yes, I DO want to be published. But it's not for money or fame. Personally, I don't care if people remember my name, so long as they remember my stories.

Have you figured out why you write?

Short Stories

2010-06-03T15:31:00.000-07:00

(How has it been over a week since I blogged last? WHOA. Sorry about that, folks).

So I guess you could say that I've ventured into new territory as a writer.

Not that this is unusual, you understand. Since I really started trying to write a little over a year-and-a-half ago, I have written (or am still working on) projects in:

Fantasy
Commercial Fiction
Urban/Contemporary Fantasy
Cozy Mystery

And now I am adding "horror" to that list. I just finished a short horror story, and while it originally came to me as the impetus for a novel, I immediately stopped that firmly in its tracks, and for good reason-- I'm currently still writing two other novels. No need to add a third. And this one was PUSHY. Kept writing itself in my head while I was trying to go to sleep. So I decided to turn it into a short story-- something I could finish quickly and get the story out of my head so it wasn't running circles around my other projects.

And so my evil child short story was born, drafted, and done at about 4,700 words. A little long for a short story, but the anthology press I have my eye on takes up to 7,500.

Anyway, moving on-- my point for today (and possibly this whole week, as you scan your eyes over the barren desert of my blog) is that I don't think in terms of limits for myself as a writer. If I get an idea, I write it. And you know what? It's been incredibly liberating to do so. If you'd asked me a year ago if I could write a story about a black guy that turns white, the answer was no. In June or July when I got the idea, the answer was still no. But when it pestered me until I wrote it out, it was easier than I thought. And it helped me grow so much as a writer. Now, I wouldn't give that story back for anything, even though I originally thought "wouldn't that be great for someone else to write one day."

What writing V taught me though, is that I CAN write things that I think I can't. And the same thing goes for horror. I never would have thought to touch a story like this last year. Now, it's done-- and it creeped me out to write it, but I kinda like it.

In some ways, being an un-agented, un-published author is an advantage. I don't have a name built up as a YA writer, or a high fantasy writer, and therefore an agent, editor, and rabid fans awaiting my next release in that category, and only that category. I'm still just a writer, and I can write whatever I want, whenever I want.

I'm going to embrace my freedom for now and write what takes my fancy.

Have you ever written something that you thought you weren't capable of, or outside your comfort range? Do you stick to one genre?

Fire, Fire

2010-05-24T09:00:00.000-07:00

We bought a grill yesterday. My sister and her husband were coming over for dinner, and so my fiance got it set up while I was out at my writer's critique group.

He was so eager to show it to me as soon as I got out of the car. He asked me to come over and help him move it, then turned one of the knobs and showed me how it lit up, exclaiming "FIRE" in that deep man-voice guys always do.

A half-hour later, we were desperately cleaning the house, and I asked him for the shed key so I could put something away out there. He walked me out and we stood in the backyard for a second talking about something insignificant. Our back fence is just a few trees and some dry brush away from a freeway on/ off ramp, so the sirens we heard pull up and stop behind our house were not unusual or even really noticeable.

What stopped our conversation was the crackling sound I heard from beyond our fence. My fiance saw the smoke, and we both came to the same conclusion at the same time.

Fire.

When you live in SoCal, you don't mess around with fire.

He ran for the hose and I ran for the pets; it only took me ten minutes to coax one cat out from under the bed. By that time, the alarm had settled from oh-no-not-this-again to oh-hey-those-nice-firefighters-have-almost-put-it-out.

Time flashes in those moments. What do you grab? Can you even find the most important things to take? Life first. Always life first. But beyond life, what?

Suffice to say, this isn't the first time fire has chased me into action, but it is the first time that I didn't have any warning whatsoever. The fiance and I spent a good half-hour after our hearts stopped racing talking over a plan for when--not if, but when-- it happens again; something we hadn't done yet. But the truth is that there is never any guarantee that there will be time to make those choices. There's a different set of priorities if you have three days or three minutes to prepare, and you can never know which it will be.

A couple hours later, we struck up our domesticated fires again and bent them toward cooking dinner, and all was right in the world. It's amazing the difference between control and chaos. One can be a tool, the other adrenaline and change.

This won't be the last brush we have with fire living here, but it is the first time it's so literally struck close to home. And a little PSA: don't be a jerk and throw cigarette butts out of your car window, ESPECIALLY into dry brush. I mean come on. That's just ridiculous.

You never know whose life you might irrevocably change by something so small and thoughtless. If it weren't for the amazing fire department in our city responding before we even knew there was a problem, I don't like to think about how the day would have ended.

What would you take with you if you had three days or three minutes?

The Cat Burfler

2010-05-13T11:39:00.000-07:00

*This post is about cat vomit. If you are offended by cat vomit, do not read on.*

She comes in the night, or during the day while we're at work.

She knows us-- too well, it would seem, because she knows when we're most likely to not be home, or not paying attention.

She bides her time, waiting until the perfect moment, and then burfles on our bed.

It was imperceptible at first; just a tiny puddle on the comforter. But as she learned our limits, she began to push them. Soon, it was several times a night. From the comforter to the under blanket, to one day-- when she was bravest of all-- our sheets.

Her stealth is unparalleled; she is the whisper of a ghost. One moment there, the next gone, leaving only her calling card and a load of laundry for the next day.

I wash our sheets daily with bitter tears.

I can feel her greediness increasing with each incident. Like a grasping demon she claws for the next big score, and I know what the ultimate prize is-- our pillows. I dread the day I come home--or wake up-- to find my worst fears are true. There are some things that cannot be taken back, no matter how good the return policy.

So I write this post out of respect for our cat burfler, that she may be appeased and leave us to a restful night's sleep without the unpleasant discovery of the shattering of our dreams.

Oh-- we believe we may have pictorial evidence of the culprit. If you squint really hard in this picture, we feel she may be the dark, soul-sucking shadow over our other cat. If anyone sees this cat burfler, do not approach. Please just leave a comment here letting me know and we will contact the appropriate authorities.

Edit: Picture was broken, should be fixed (if a little smaller) now.

WHOOPSIE

2010-05-11T10:09:00.000-07:00

A belated (whoopsie) thank you to Amalia Td for gifting all of us at the Archives with an award. This is my public self-flagellation for somehow not knowing that I didn't follow your blog, Amalia. My very serious bad.

To anyone else who has given me an award, if I miss saying thank you for it... well... please always feel free to smack me. It's not like I don't care, I am just gifted with the memory of a flatworm*.

*No offense to any flatworms. I mean, everyone knows flatworms are smarter than nightcrawlers**, right?

**No offense to nightcrawlers. You guys totally have it over the woolly caterpillars***.

***No offense to woolly caterpillars. But seriously, you guys are just dumb. Come on... crossing the road by the hundreds at feet per hour? Not a very good way to keep the species goin'. I'm just sayin'.

Etymology day-- Daisy

2010-05-07T11:14:00.000-07:00

I've got wedding flowers on the brain, hurray for you! Today's word is daisy, etymology again from here.

"O.E. dægesege, from dæges eage "day's eye," because the petals open at dawn and close at dusk. In M.L. it was solis oculus "sun's eye." Daisy-cutter first attested 1791, originally of horses that trotted with low steps; later of cricket (1889) and baseball hits that skim along the ground. Daisy-chain in the "group sex" sense is attested from 1941. Pushing up daisies "dead" is attested from 1918, but variant with the same meaning go back to 1842."

One of the things that fascinates me the most about Old English, Latin, and the Romantic/ Latin-derived languages is how we can still see their influence/ roots in today's spoken word. It's easy to see how "day's eye" became daisy.

Since I have the maturity level of a seventh grader, I find it interesting that "daisy-chain" as a sexual, er, thing, goes as far back as 1941. Shocking!

In which I have something similar to what might be called an angsty rant. But not really.

2010-05-06T08:58:00.000-07:00

Criticism is an unavoidable part of life as a writer. Even if nearly everyone likes your work, there will still be someone who doesn't.

There is a difference between critique and criticism, but it's narrow. I see a critique as something you offer yourself up for; criticism is unsolicited. Also, critiques tend to be nicer and more constructive.

For the purposes of this post, I'll lump them both under "crit."

Right now, I have a piece in a contest, and all the writers who have also entered the contest have to critique other entries.

The comments on my piece have been mostly positive, but there is one commenter that I feel just doesn't get it. And this, right here, is the most frustrating part of being a writer-- no matter how careful or explicit you are, you can't control "it." IT is intangible, and impossible to grasp. You either get IT, or, you don't.

Likewise, I can't control the other writers and whether they get my writing or not based on the sample offered. And it's hard to not be able to argue back. Even when we have IRL (in real life) critique groups, it's hard for me not to defend myself, because I do put incessant amounts of thought into every word that goes on my pages, and wrestle with every decision to do something out of the ordinary, or in style.

Now, I probably sound like a spoiled brat, so I'll back up and say that I don't usually have this reaction to every crit I receive. Even if something is hard to swallow, I'm pretty good about taking the crits that resonate with me. If it really will make my writing better, why would I want to ignore that?

What I have a hard time with is people who "don't get it." And I don't fault them for not getting my work, because not everyone will. It's so hard to not respond, though, and correct misconceptions. Yes, I intentionally capitalized that letter. No, "fiction novel" is okay if it's part of the genre (at least last I heard).

But I won't respond, at least not there, because a.) as per my post at the Archives on Monday, I will remain professional online, and b.) it's not a habit I want to get into. If I'm serious about being published, I have to understand that there is going to be criticism of my work. And I can't track down every person who doesn't get it and correct them, can I? Likewise, I don't want to be *that* person. *That* author who has a public meltdown over a bad review and ruins their rep forever. If I'm going to have to take it from a lot more people someday, I may as well learn in the small scale now.

What's hard about criticism for you?

In which I say nothing of consequence but point you to other people who do and a place where I did

2010-05-03T09:42:00.000-07:00

Confused yet?

Good. That's how we like things here at Confuse-An-Author, Ltd.

(Bonus points if you catch the reference).

Anyway, I'm over at the Archives today, and Taryn Tyler has an idea of sheer brilliance-- seriously, go check it out.

Epiphany

2010-04-30T16:25:00.000-07:00

I've had an amorphous blob.

I mean, an epiphany.

I don't know how to write.

Hold on! Come back, there's more.

See, it all started with the author blog chain going on today. I'll link to Tawna Fenske because she started it, and has links to the other five participating authors in there.

The point of these posts was for these six authors to explain their writing processes. Which is, I'll admit, like crack to me. I love following/stalking/ admiring authors from a distance. Not only is it really wonderful to get to know them, I love seeing the process through their eyes, and I love being happy for them as things happen. I'll also admit to loving letting my imagination go wild with the someday-when-that-happens-to-mes.

But today, reading each and every one of their blogs, and seeing how all of their writing processes were so alike and yet so different from mine got me thinking that I don't know how to write. If I were to write a post detailing my writing process, well, frankly, it would resemble each of theirs in turn to some degree. But there's no one way I can pin down and say, hey, this is how I write.

Sometimes, I become full-bore obsessed with a project and churn it out like a stomach flu I can't seem to shake. (Lovely image, I know. Sorry).

Other times, I let the idea simmer as the plot and characters run around in my head and get to know each other.

Yet other times I plan everything out (albeit in my head) and write from an outline I carry with me everywhere I go.

And sometimes I do all of the above in alternating phases.

What's the point? I think my point isn't new, but it certainly struck me upside the head today: there is no one "real" way to go about writing. No one place to turn to and have the same results as, say, The King (by which I mean Stephen). If that were the case; if it were really that easy, we'd all be writing the same story.

And maybe we are all writing the same story, on some lower level. But we are each doing it in our own ways and with our own approaches to life, and therefore, even if you did write like Stephen King, you would probably never write what Stephen King has written. (Assuming a vacuum/ bubble and laboratory control, for all you science-y types).

So I guess my point is that while I still fully intend to stalk/follow/admire writers, and I still intend to love doing so, I'm going to stop seeking out my method of writing as a reason why I haven't been agented/published yet. Just because I don't outline, or do, or get it out all in a month, or take a year to write something, doesn't mean it's not worth the effort. I'll continue to take what I can from author posts and work hard to improve my own writing in the ways that matter. Someday maybe I'll have a set method (for example: when I'm under deadline), but for right now I'm fine writing my way. I'll re-evaluate when it's time-- whether I need a more disciplined method due to a deadline, or just a different method because nothing's happening for me.

Do you have a set method, or does your writing morph as you need it to?

The Sarcasm Font, or, my attempt at feeling better about the world at large

2010-04-29T10:28:00.000-07:00

I'm hoping to shear two sheep with one hand here. (Yes, I'm aware that's not really the metaphor typically used. I'm also aware it doesn't make sense. But I don't advocate killing animals when I can help it, so go with the mad hatter version, kay?)

U kNo ThE pEePuL oN TeH iNtErNeT wHo WrAiTe LeIk ThIs?

Well, that's one problem.

And then there's the problem of sarcasm on the internet. See, sarcasm is a silent social killer-- undetectable to the naked stranger's eye (whoa naked stranger!), it can kill a conversation faster than bringing up Charles Manson. Unless you're already talking about Charles Manson.

See, the thing about people is that a lot of us (especially 'round these parts) connect to people that we don't already know by using humor. And sarcasm, though some call it the lowest form of humor. . . chumps. . . is one of the ways that people escape the social awkwardness of a new meeting and connect with the person they're talking to. But it's a risk, especially in type, because it can look totally serious when you tell them that Charles Manson is your hero. For reals. If the person doesn't understand or know that you tend to be a sarcastic person, they may turn and run. Screaming.

What's an internet-savvy person to do? Well, I suppose the easiest way is just to not use sarcasm with someone you just met. But who wants to do that?

Therefore, and heretowith, I propose a sarcasm font. I propose that when writing in sarcastics, one should aLtErNaTeLy CaPiTaLiZe every other letter of each word. Ideally, this will catch on and HTML text editors and word processing programs will have an sS next to the i, b, and u they already have for the other font effects, so you don't have to actually type like that. Hopefully within six months to a year, depending on the power of the movement.

The other benefit, which is also an assessed risk, is that everyone else who already types on the internet like this will eventually be automatically assumed to be sarcastic. Thus rescuing my faith in humanity because SERIOUSLY WHO DOES THAT ALL THE TIME AND WHY WOULD YOU IT TOOK ME LIKE TEN TIMES LONGER THAN NORMAL TO TYPE THE PARTS WHERE I DID THAT IN THIS POST NO WONDER YOUR SPELLING AND GRAMMAR ARE SO ATROCIOUS.

Okay. I feel better now.

Animals as MCs

2010-04-26T09:08:00.000-07:00

Come check me out today at the Archives, too.

Shannon O'Donnell asked in the comments of my post about my specialty for ideas for a picture book animal MC that hasn't been overdone.

This is a great question. To be fair, I'm not 100% up-to-date on picture books, but I can throw out some unusual ones, and hopefully they haven't been done yet. Story is, of course, up to you! (Note: I tend to lean towards predators, only because I think they're AWESOME, but I'm not sure how this would go over for kid's books. Wouldn't want Jr. to walk up to a bear and go, "Oh! It's Bubba the Bear!" and get eaten. That would be bad. However, I'm assuming you know all about it, and I'll try to include some animals that wouldn't, you know, eat your readers if they met in an empty field).

-Shark
-Jellyfish
-Snake
-Gazelle
-Giraffe
-Puffin
-Manticore (kidding! Just seeing if you're paying attention)
-Zebra
-Tapir
-Snow Leopard
-Rhinoceros
-Wallaby
-Gorilla or other monkey/ primate
-Tyrannosaurus Rex (no Velociraptors, though)

Any good ideas in there? I hope so. Let me know if not, I can rattle off a few more.

Interstitial Horses

2010-04-22T08:34:00.000-07:00

Thank you to everyone for your kind words on my post on Tuesday.

I know I said I'd go in order of the comments/ questions for my animal posts, but I thought I'd take a break every now and then and post about horses, because I have SO MUCH information on them.

Horses are kind of my bread and butter. I love them; have ever since my dad promised my sister and me that we would get one when I was eight. We even met the horse and named him (Zeus), but alas, we moved into the city shortly thereafter, and Zeus found another home.

I therefore begged my parents at every opportunity (birthdays, Christmas, Easter, Halloween, Arbor Day, Columbus Day, and occasional fourth of Julys) to get me a horse. Finally, in the seventh grade, my mom caved and got me riding lessons. I suppose she was hoping I would figure out I didn't really like them, or get it out of my system and leave them alone.

Nope. Also, no ponies under the Christmas tree. Finally, after several summers of working my way into riding lessons at various ranches around the county, I found a place to stay the summer after my senior year, and that's where I met my first (and eventual second) horse. I bought both of them with my own money, albeit five years apart, and continued to pay for them on my own.

Having my own horse(s) has taught me more about horses than anything else I've done. And I now fact-check horses EVERYWHERE. In movies, and in books, and anywhere else they might show up. It's a habit. And when I find mistakes, I tend to correct them, as any of my crit partners can tell you. So I thought I'd start with a Writer's Beginning Guide to Horses today, and get some basic terms and concepts out of the way.

(All of the following pictures come from statelinetack.com).

We'll start with accoutrements, commonly called tack. This includes just about anything a horse would wear for riding/ being ridden. I'll start with this because I find that tack is the thing most often messed up in fiction related to horses. That and gaits, but we'll get to those another time.

Halter: A halter is usually leather, rope, or nylon webbing with metal rings. It fits around the horse's face and throat, applying pressure on the nose and behind the ears (the poll). A halter is used to lead a horse.

Source

I apologize this picture is so absolutely tiny. You get the gist, though, right?

Anyway, halters are most often confused with the bridle. The bridle is what's typically used for riding a horse, is made of leather, and has a bit, which is a metal piece that goes into the horse's mouth. The bit is used to control the direction and speed of the horse, though not exclusively. (As with anything about animals, there's a lot else I could go into here. We'll assume any riders in your books are going to be doing things the traditional way, and if you ever have any questions about advanced techniques or the what-ifs, feel free to email me). The bit is attached to reins, usually also leather, but can be nylon or rope, which the rider holds in their hands and pulls on in one direction or another to get the horse to turn, or both together to get the horse to slow down or stop.

This is a western bridle:

Source

Make sure your tack matches. If you're writing a cowboy or wild west novel set in the States, or a ranch novel, well, you probably know enough about horses that you don't need to read this. But, those novels would likely use Western tack. If you're setting it in England or Europe, or the East coast of the States, you'll likely need English tack.

Western and English bridles are very similar, they mostly make different uses of pressure (an English bridle often has a band that wraps around the nose, like a halter, whereas a Western bridle can have a curb strap that passes under the chin) and different bits. I won't go into bits today. Again, if you really need to know, email me.

Saddles: There are three primary types of saddles in use today. There's the Western, which is commonly used for long trail rides and working cattle. It's more of a "comfort" saddle, and has built-in features to help keep the rider on the horse:

Source

English saddles are used for English riding, which most famously includes the "high disciplines" like dressage (horse dancing, if you will-- means training in French), and jumping. They put you closer to the horse and allow them to feel your movements more effectively, but it can require more balance on the part of the rider, at least on a beginning level:

Source

And the Australian stock saddle, which is sort of a combination of the two. It allows for the same close contact with the horse as the English saddle while giving the comfort and stability of the Western saddle:

Source

Australian stock saddles have only become popular in the United States in the last 10-15 years or so, at least to my knowledge. But it's a design that's likely very similar to some historical saddles, which are a whole other ballgame.

So that's pretty much it for my most basic of basics beginning guide to tack. Any questions?

Remembering something I'd long ago forgotten

2010-04-20T13:02:00.000-07:00

Janet Reid's blog today reminded me of something that I've forgotten about myself.

Well, forgotten isn't a fair word. I guess I should say that I've moved on. It's no longer something that I think about often, if at all. Every now and then a loud, sudden noise will startle me, and I'll think back to it. But I'm still here, which is a lot more than some kids got.

Today is the eleventh anniversary of the Columbine shooting. On March 22, 2001, there was also a shooting at my high school, Granite Hills.

Luckily, no one died. There had been a shooting at another school (Santana High) in our same district only two weeks prior, and as a result, we had an on-campus officer (hero) named Rich Agundez. He stopped our shooter before anyone was seriously hurt.

But the fear-- the fear of dying, the fear of not knowing what was happening, the fear of wondering if anyone you knew was dead while huddled in a small chem supply room with 100 other students-- the fear stays, and takes time to fade.

The what-ifs can consume you, too, if you let them. What if he had gotten there ten or fifteen minutes earlier, like he intended, when the whole school was still at lunch? What if the shooting at Santana hadn't just happened, and there was no on-campus officer?

Obviously these are questions I can't answer, and I won't try. For something so horribly wrong, things just went right that day. Right on the path of living, right on the path of luck.

At first, there was doubt. It sounded like someone dropping one of the many voluminous metal trash cans lining the buildings on the concrete hallway outside. But there was a quality to the sound that made everyone in my chemistry class freeze. We'd all just sat down and written our names on a test, and I was deep in thought about question number two when I heard the first bang. I felt my heart slide down my spine, but I was a panicky kid, and didn't think much of it. Then it happened again, and someone asked if it was a gun shot.

By this time we were all watching our teacher, except the kids in the back row, who were watching out the windows. Someone said they saw people running.

Our teacher sprang up and ordered us to move into the supply room that annexed four classrooms in the building. The other classes came pouring in, and finally the teachers closed and locked the doors and turned off the lights. We sat in the dark, and waited.

I had no idea what was going on. No one did. Some kids were talking about opening the doors to the hallway outside and seeing if they could see anything. The rest of us quickly vetoed them.

It felt like years passed in that tiny, cramped room. Some kids were crying, including me.

At long last, something happened. I can't remember if someone went out and checked, or if they came in and got us, but the SWAT team was there. We all filed out of the room one by one, hands in the air. Uniformed masks with high-powered rifles aimed at us lined the halls as we walked out and across the street to a neighboring park, to wait for our parents to come get us. No one knew what happened.

A lot of kids whipped out their cell phones and called their parents. My mom was already on her way. The rest of the afternoon passed in a flash, and all I remember after is my mom running across the street to wrap me in her arms when she finally found me.

So, my experience with a school shooting ended better than most. There were some rather minor injuries (not mine) and a lot of trauma, but no lost friends. No place I couldn't come back from.

I know it's not March 22nd. It is, in fact, Columbine's day of remembrance. But on this day, I remembered something I'd forgotten-- what it was like. And remembering what it was like made me want to tell everyone who was at Columbine, and any other schools where terrible things have happened like this, that I understand. I understand, but I can never know. I can only imagine what it would have been like if things hadn't gone right that day.

And to Rich Agundez, wherever you are, thank you, again. Thank you a thousand times.

I've taken the fall...

2010-04-19T09:07:00.000-07:00

And joined Twitter. *Sigh*. Come find me here, if you're also on Twitter. Otherwise, come check out WHY I would DO such a thing at the Archives-- it's my day today!

Thanks, guys. Today's topic: the WOLF IN YOUR HOUSE RIGHT NOW OMG LOOK BEHIND YOU!!! Just kidding.

2010-04-16T12:06:00.000-07:00

No, really, thanks-- for all the great suggestions! Now I don't know where to begin. Thanks for that, too.

With that in mind, I think I'll just start in the order I received them-- which means, Susan, you're up. Excuse me while I channel The Dog Whisperer here, and bear with me!

This is a hard question to answer over the internet, without meeting or seeing your dog engage in this behavior, but I'll do my best. And I do mean my best-- I'm not a pro dog trainer, not by a long shot. But I do have a really good understanding of dogs, and where their behavior stems from.

I'll start with wolves.

Wait! Come back! It makes sense, I swear!

See, wolves are the best and purest example of the domestic dogs we know and love-- and share our homes with. Wolves are distilled dogs, and once you understand them, you can understand yours.

Wolves have EXTREME pack hierarchy. Not "EXTREME!!!!!" as in, you know, 720's on a snowboard (though how awesome would that be!), but extreme as in dramatic. Wolf pack hierarchy is structured like this: there is a male and female alpha, each in charge of their respective genders and the pack as a whole, and more dominant than the rest. The other wolves show their respect for the alpha by allowing them to feed first, rolling on the ground and showing them their belly, or licking their chin. The alpha will bring uppity members into check by biting their snout. If an alpha falls ill, gets injured, or starts to show weakness or age, the rest of the pack will test their dominance.

There is a beta, gamma, etc., for purposes of human thought. Most of the time, once a wolf has established its place in the pack, the pack remains quiet and in order. There are occasional spars and testing between lower-level members, but the order remains. However, if an alpha is lost, or a new loner alpha attempts to join the pack, it can throw their social order into chaos.

Wolves, like people, are always looking for opportunities to improve their status in life. And this is where wolf interaction with humans comes in, and where I start to get back to your dog, Susan. I once got to observe wolves interacting with humans as a volunteer at a local organization for wolf conservation and breeding.

Wolves (like most animals) don't really know what to make of humans. We aren't like them, but we are dominant. But because it is in a wolf's nature to test the dominance of another creature, particularly a creature it doesn't understand, a wolf will test your dominance every time it greets you. So, when one of the wolf keepers would go into the enclosure of the "habituated" (read: safe to interact with, sort of wolf ambassadors) wolves, the wolves would react with tests of dominance each and every time; generally by jumping on the person. It didn't matter that this was the same person each day. To a wolf, hierarchy is all there is, socially.

So, how does this help your problem, Susan? Well, it doesn't, specifically, but what it does demonstrate is the basic cause of all domestic canine misbehavior-- dominance. Your dog, when it barks for people food, is saying, "Hey! You're supposed to give me food when I do this, because I'm in charge around here! Why are you eating without me? I'm the alpha!"

So, what can you do about this? Well, again, it's hard to say without knowing your dog specifically, or the other kinds of behaviors they exhibit-- do you have trouble with them in any other areas? Do they pull on the leash, or jump on you when you get home, or bark for attention at other times? All I can really suggest is to watch for other situations where your dog may be getting validation that they are, in fact, in charge (not even intentionally)-- do you pick them up or scratch them or even yell at them when they jump on you? Any attention is good attention, with most animals. If you can find other places where they may be getting attention for bad behavior and eliminate those, you may find your dog will respect YOUR dominance and stop barking for food, too.

This was long, if you made it this far you deserve an e-cookie. I hope it helps at all!

My Specialty

2010-04-14T09:37:00.000-07:00

Some of my favorite blogs to read around the . . . blogosphere are those that have a specialty. Of course, most (if not all) of the blogs that I read are about writing to some degree, but there are a few that do more. Some of my favorites, off the top of my head, are my fellow Alliterati Bane of Anubis, with his acerbic wit, Matt Delman, who talks about Victorian-era technology and steampunk, and Stephanie Thornton, who is not only our Supreme Dictator, but also a veritable font of information about the Ancient Egyptians (and a history teacher to boot!). There's Gary Corby, with all things Classical/ Hellenistic Greece (and Gary, correct me if you're not really Classical so much as Hellenistic or vice versa), and Kiersten White, with her modern-day, good-old-fashioned mom and household humor. There's K. Marie Criddle with her drawgs, Shannon O'Donnell and her quotes, Elana Johnson and her awesome query and blog advice, and my friend Taryn Tyler with her unique voice and insightful views on everything.

(Please note that if I didn't mention you here it doesn't mean I don't read or love your blog. If anyone really wants to see a complete list of my favorites, just check out who I follow-- each and every single one of you are a joy to read).

I've been noticing this lately, that is, that my favorite blogs to read have something else to them. I've also been thinking about what MY specialty could possibly be. History? Well, Stephanie and Gary and Matt pretty much have the three eras I know anything about covered. Music? Hm, my knowledge isn't deep enough there to write about it reliably. My wedding? Sure, if I want to bore all of you to absolute tears. Mad Libs? I really *really* don't want that to be my specialty, much though I enjoy them.

The easy answer is something I've been doing all my life, something I've done professionally and personally, and have a deep love for in all forms: animals. Specifically marine animals, horses, dogs, cats, and some domestic and wild birds. Most animals in general. My qualifications? I was an educator at a local, large marine animal park for a year and a half, after which I was a penguin and alcid (bird) keeper for a year. I've been working with horses since I was twelve (regularly) and have owned and trained my own for almost eight years now. I know bunnies are cute (and also a lot about them otherwise). Also, I am well-versed in wild cat behavior because I have two VERY wild cats at home. Ahem. My focuses are on animal physiology and behavior with an emphasis on pack/herd/flock hierarchy and interactions with humans.

So, now that I've figured out what my specialty is, this is the part where you come in-- what kinds of animals, or what about animals would you be interested in learning more about? Feel free to also ask any specific questions. I'd be more than happy to share, because this is what I know. And darnit, it's about time I embrace and share it.

Moonlighting

2010-04-12T10:26:00.000-07:00

Come find me over at the Secret Archives of the Alliterati today, my sweets, and tell me all about your blog commenting strategies!

What's in a Character?

2010-04-09T11:01:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd introduce a new semi-regular feature over here: exploring the etymology (history and previous uses and meanings) of words important to writers. I thought I'd kick this off by doing a tie-in-- we are sans guest post today at the Archives again, so please do go visit and tell us about your favorite character that you've written and why!

As such, my first word is "character". I found this lovely little resource on etymology and that is where I'm pulling my definitions from.

According to etymonline.com, the word "character" can be traced back to:

"early 14c., from O.Fr. caractere (13c., Mod.Fr. caractère), from L. character, from Gk. kharakter "engraved mark," also "symbol or imprint on the soul," from kharassein "to engrave," from kharax "pointed stake," from PIE base *gher- "to scrape, scratch." Meaning extended by metaphor to "a defining quality."

"You remember Eponina, who kept her husband alive in an underground cavern so devotedly and heroically? The force of character she showed in keeping up his spirits would have been used to hide a lover from her husband if they had been living quietly in Rome. Strong characters need strong nourishment." [Stendhal, "De l'Amour" 1822]

Sense of "person in a play or novel" is first attested 1660s, in reference to the "defining qualities" he or she is given by the author. The Latin ch- spelling was restored 1500s."

This is fascinating to me-- I hope it is to you as well.

I like the idea of character being an imprint on one's soul. It's like the very essence of who we are is an immutable, undefinable quality. Also, it strikes me that the idea of a character as a person in a play or novel is a later definition. The people we bandy about in our writing both have character and are characters.

Happy Friday, everyone!

A trip to the zoo...

2010-04-07T08:59:00.000-07:00

Always means...

WALLABIES!!!!

*Ahem.

I haven't done a wallaby post in a while and I keep meaning to post some of the ADORABLE pictures we got the last time we went-- all the way at the end of February. Yikes.

Anyway, here are some wallaby pics with a few other nice shots and memorable moments thrown in. Enjoy.

No, that's not a respectful suggestion. That's an order. Everyone needs to enjoy wallabies, otherwise, what do we live for?

*Ahem. Wow. I have wallaby fever bad... and on to cuteness!

A wallaby in action!! Check out that hop!

I just want to snuggle those fuzzy ears. Yes, I know I'm weird. We've already established that.

They look like bunnies here, all curled up in their hay. All together now, awwwwwwwwwwww.

What's this? A very serious, regal, large kitty?

Nope.

This peacock was being fed when we walked by. WF tried to get in close, and it threat-displayed him by opening up its plumage. He was too busy trying to get away from it again to take a pic (shame) but here's the next best one we got:

And then, a few hours later, we saw these creatures! The rare Sleeping Mimic Cats! Known for their tenacious commitment to sleeping in the same position at the same time! We managed to capture only two photos.

And that's our day at the zoo. All pictures by me or my future husband.

WALLABIES!!!!!

Okay, I'm done. For today.

Mad Libs Results Day #21

2010-04-06T09:51:00.000-07:00

Sorry folks, I was home sick yesterday and my Mad Libs file was here at work. But moving forward, here we go!

Find the source article here.

Also, I goofed. First word should have been an adjective, not an adverb. Whoopsie. I've corrected all your adverbs into adjectives though, so hopefully it will still work and not detract from the funny.

From Matt:

But a more cutting explanation is that Ms. Crabapple possesses assets most of the aspiring stevedores lack. She has a legitimate black base, having represented a Shin-Yua-area Congressional district in a part of the state where her family is prominent. She has a network of "oranges", especially women, who are not going to abandon her. She has a commitment to working her rain off to keep the car, a fact that even her tall enemies swimmingly acknowledge.

From Stephanie Thornton:

But a more quick explanation is that Ms. Kruschev possesses assets most of the aspiring hydrogen bombs lack. She has a legitimate loud base, having represented a Minsk-area Congressional district in a part of the state where her family is prominent. She has a network of explosions, especially women, who are not going to abandon her. She has a commitment to working her turtle off to keep the bomb shelter, a fact that even her black enemies quietly acknowledge.

From Bane:

But a more ugly explanation is that Ms. Fooker possesses assets most of the aspiring ninjas lack. She has a legitimate specious base, having represented a Deluth-area Congressional district in a part of the state where her family is prominent. She has a network of "crimes", especially women, who are not going to abandon her. She has a commitment to working her trumpet off to keep the flag, a fact that even her scarred enemies scantily acknowledge.

From Donna:

But a more stark explanation is that Ms. Tremain possesses assets most of the aspiring butlers lack. She has a legitimate hot base, having represented a Podunk-area Congressional district in a part of the state where her family is prominent. She has a network of trains, especially women, who are not going to abandon her. She has a commitment to working her seat off to keep the bar, a fact that even her rare enemies creepily acknowledge.

From Dangerous With A Pen/ Lindsey:

But a more gloomy explanation is that Ms. Stout possesses assets most of the aspiring enemies lack. She has a legitimate slight base, having represented a Princeton-area Congressional district in a part of the state where her family is prominent. She has a network of "funds", especially women, who are not going to abandon her. She has a commitment to working her peacock off to keep the tophat, a fact that even her upbeat enemies stealthily acknowledge.

Good show, chaps! I'm particularly fond of "working her peacock off to keep the tophat"-- sounds just crazy enough to work. Also, I think I will begin using this phrase in my everyday life. No, I'm not sure what it means. Thank you to Lindsey. And a round of applause to Donna for trying out her first Mad Libs-- I like "Podunk-area Congressional district".

Earthquake

2010-04-04T20:47:00.000-07:00

Most everything seems to be fine here. We weren't home for it, but our house appears to be undamaged and nothing even out of place.

We were at W.F.'s parent's house,and had just sat down to Easter dinner when it started. Everything rumbled and swayed for what felt like forever. There have been a few small aftershocks, but hopefully nothing bigger again in the coming days. It was centered about 112 miles southeast of us in MexiCali, and last I heard at a 7.2. My heart goes out to the people there-- knowing that the construction in the area could be pretty similar to that of Haiti and Chile, I can imagine that there are casualties and damage. I don't have much definitive news just yet, but I'm hoping it's not as bad as the other two recent disasters.

Just wanted to let any of you who were wondering know we're okay over here-- I haven't really heard of any building damage (in the San Diego area, at least), and I have friends and relatives all over the county.

I'm "using" these to "make a point" and Mad Libs Words Day

2010-04-02T09:34:00.000-07:00

So Matt Delman of Free the Princess "fame" has "egged" me on to using "unnecessary quotes" today. Hope you're "happy", Matt.

But actually, that "leads" me into a topic. Punctuation. It's like the "stylistic" brush of writers. We "use" certain punctuation as a form of "personal expression" when we write. There can be both "intentional" and "unintentional" stylistic uses, and I tend to "think" that they are based on the way we use speech in our real lives.

Me for example, I "have" a tendency to overuse "semi-colons", for some "reason". I think this is because when I talk in "normal" conversation, I pause a lot. Semi-colons in my "writing" "represent" the same kinds of pausing and sentence structure I "use" when I'm speaking.

It's just the way my "thoughts" run. Of course there are the "grammatically correct" ways of using punctuation, but these "rules" can-- and often are-- "broken" by writers. (By the way, I also "tend" to use em-dashing a lot).

Anyway, "moving on", here are your Mad Libs "Words" for the day. Leave your answers in the "comments" by Sunday evening and I'll post the results "Monday".

Adverb
Last Name
Plural Noun
Adjective
Town or city, real or fictional
"Plural Noun"
Noun
Noun
Adjective
Adverb

What punctuation do you tend to "abuse"?

Good News, Everyone! (Minor, but still good)

2010-03-31T09:15:00.001-07:00

First of all, a special thank you to Donna Hole for giving me an award. Thanks Donna! You're a peach :) I'm glad to have you around these here parts.

Well, rather than wait around for all my news, I decided to make some of my own.

I actually got to write again yesterday!

Now, I'm not saying this will become a regular thing, yo. I mean, I still have a wedding to plan, and blogs to write and read and comment on, and work and chores et al to do and sleep to get. But-- go on, ask me how it felt.

CHORUS: "How did it feel, L.T.?"

IT FELT REALLY FREAKING GREAT!

Oh, writing, how I've missed you...

All the excitement about this story has come pouring back. And I do hope I can sustain it long enough to actually finish the sucker-- a.) because I like to work all at once, and b.) because it's going to be quite the undertaking.

Have you had time to just write lately?

Whoopsie

2010-03-29T09:42:00.000-07:00

I am a bad, bad blogger. Bad! Bad L.T.!

Ah well.

I think I'm going to cut Mad Libs down to every other week or so for a while and see how that goes. More content, less mad-ness. Well, okay, more content at least.

Today's my day over at the Secret Archives of the Alliterati. Go check us out over there!

Waiting

2010-03-24T10:04:00.000-07:00

I feel like I'm waiting on a lot right now. I'm actually sort of scared for when answers start rolling in.

I know I've written about waiting before, and what to do with yourself in the meantime, but what do you do when what you're waiting on seems to consume everything around you?

I get butterflies in my stomach every time I think about what I'm waiting for. It's not good for my disposition.

So, instead, I'm trying to take my own advice and focus on something else-- my wedding. I get giddy every time I think about walking down the aisle, and I'm sure that obsessing over what time the ceremony will be and where to stamp the invites is much more productive than worrying about things I have no control over.

Even if they are really wonderful, amazing things.

I am happy with the life that I have, and I have so much already. So I'll focus on what I do have and let the answers roll right on by, whenever they come. Doesn't mean I won't be investing in Hershey Co. for a few weeks. Chocolate soothes the bitterest soul :)

I know I've asked this before, too, but I could use a reminder today: what do you do to keep your sanity while you're waiting on something?

Mad Libs Results Day #20

2010-03-22T09:05:00.000-07:00

Hurray! It's Mad Libs Day!

Today's my day to write at the Secret Archives of the Alliterati. If you haven't already, go check us out here.

On to Mad Libs Results! Today's winner, through sheer fortitude and an aggressive use of the word "wallaby", is Matt Delman. Sigh...

But Shannon and Stephanie had some pretty good offerings too! Check it out:

From Shannon O'Donnell:

“We all squatted the moose, and we all are expecting both balls to move toward the proximity fields] and to help create a moon in which those talks can be fat,” Mrs. Fletcher said.

From Matt:

“We all wallabied the wallaby, and we all are expecting both wallabies to move toward the proximity wallabies and to help create a wallaby in which those talks can be wallabiest,” Mrs. Wallabysky said.

From Stephanie:

“We all snorkeled the clownfish, and we all are expecting both piranhas to move toward the proximity eels and to help create a tooth in which those talks can be slimy,” Mrs. Snarfblatt said.

Get Yer Mad Libs Words Here! Mad Libs Words Today!

2010-03-19T09:12:00.000-07:00

Go check out our first guest poster, Harley Mays, over at the Secret Archives of the Alliterati today.

Planning a wedding is AWESOME. It is all-consuming at times. Which means, I don't have any content for you today.

I hope you'll forgive me. I have Mad Libs Words though!!

Leave the following in the comments by Sunday evening to play. Go here for rules if you don't know how.

Verb ending in -ed
Noun
Plural Noun
Plural Noun
Noun
Adjective
Last Name

How Many Words Would a Writer-Person Write if a Writer-Person Could Write Words?

2010-03-17T09:11:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I forget how lucky I am.

I mean, I live in the world that I live in. Frankly, it doesn't get much better than that. Thank goodness I wasn't born in a country where females are viewed as inferior, little better than dogs or property, and therefore not worth educating. Thank goodness I wasn't born into a place where books don't exist, or a time where only the rich could read because only the rich could afford books. Or with a disability that would mean the same things.

Of course, there's always the oral tradition. This post isn't about that, though.

It's just a concept that I've been philosophizing to myself about today. What would happen if everyone (and I mean everyone) in the world could write a story?

Tell me what you think. Do you think things would be any different, or would they stay pretty much the same?

May I Have Your Attention Please!! and Mad Libs Results #19

2010-03-15T09:20:00.000-07:00

Well, my lovelies. Today is a great day. A frabjous day. (Dang Alice in Wonderland. Can't stop thinking about it). Today, my friends, is The.Day.

Presenting.... The Secret Archives of the Alliterati! That's right, folks, we're launching today. Come on over and take a look-- yours truly has the inaugural post. And there might be some incentive there for you to stick around... she said mysteriously.

WOOOO!

Ahem. On to Mad Libs Results.

From Shannon O'Donnell:

The ballplayer’s international trip had grown into a source of ecstasy among many hard fields, who complained smoothly to the White House that they were being forced to take a quick vote on bed care so Mr. Swisher and his family could leave on the overseas beer next week.

From Susan:

The farmer’s international trip had grown into a source of disgust among many lanky sunglasses, who complained merrily to the White House that they were being forced to take a quick vote on cable care so Mr. Butterman and his family could leave on the overseas egg next week.

From Matt:

The wallaby herder’s international trip had grown into a source of sadness among many brown wallabies, who complained swimmingly to the White House that they were being forced to take a quick vote on rancher care so Mr. Carnarvon and his family could leave on the overseas ranchhand next week.

From Deb:

The fortune-teller’s international trip had grown into a source of mystification among many turbid techies, who complained secretively to the White House that they were being forced to take a quick vote on lottery care so Mr. Devine and his family could leave on the overseas jackpot next week.

From Mary:

The roadkill worker’s international trip had grown into a source of trepidation among many tawdry fungi, who complained scrumptiously to the White House that they were being forced to take a quick vote on fence care so Mr. Rodriguez and his family could leave on the overseas laundry basket next week.

Well, the gratuitous use of the word "wallaby" is always a winner in my book. Congrats, Matt. But if I had to pick a second, I'd go for Susan's lanky sunglasses.

Happy Monday!!! And the Ides of March, apparently.

T.G.I.F. and Mad Libs Words Day

2010-03-12T09:23:00.000-08:00

Thank. Goodness. *Gasps*

*Crawls on shore, wearing bedraggled clothes, soot staining half of face, hair sticking out at odd angles*

Made it to another weekend. Anyone else relieved it's Friday?

Oooh! Ooooh! Me! I am!

Wait. I already showed that. Now I'm telling. Dangit, I can't wait til I have time to write again. I'm getting worn out. Used up. Out of practice. Cliche.

It... *is* Friday, right? I'm not stuck in some sort of sick, infinite loop, am I?

Happy weekend, everyone!

Don't forget-- The Secret Archives of the Alliterati launches on Monday (and yes! We are still looking for guest bloggers. Email us at alliteratiarchives[at]gmail[dot]com if you're interested). See you all there! And here. But mostly there.

Here are the Mad Libs words for this week. For a breif treatyse on how to play, go visit this post.

Occupation
Emotion
Adjective
Plural noun
Adverb (ends in -ly)
Noun
Last Name
Noun

Leave your answers in the comments by Sunday evening and I'll post the results Monday.

Trying on a new hat

2010-03-10T12:12:00.000-08:00

I saw Alice In Wonderland last night, and it got me thinking about hats. (Great movie, by the way. Strange, but not unusual for the standard Tim Burton/ Johnny Depp/ Danny Elfman fare).

We've all heard the phrase "wear many hats". And as writers, we have a unique opportunity to do so. What's to stop us from wearing many hats? What's to stop us from being horror writers, and YA writers, and journalistic writers, and taking alternate Saturdays to show our prize-winning roses?

Well, the publishing industry, for one. Tradition/ publishing etiquette/ publishing edict dictate that THOU SHALT WRITE ONLY ONE. But this hasn't stopped some writers; writers like Stephen King and Neil Gaiman cross boundaries all the time. So why can't we?

Well, the answer isn't that we can't. (It's also somewhat that if you're Stephen King or Neil Gaiman, you can just lick some paper and it will be a bestseller). The answer is complicated, and not easy to explain, but I'll try. First of all, a lot of writers are just more comfortable in a certain genre. They *are* horror, or YA, or journalism. It's how they think, feel, grow. It's where the ideas come from. It's the garden in which they grow their thoughts. They simply have no desire to wear a top hat one day and a saucy little chapeau the next. There's nothing wrong with that.

But then there are those who juggle hats like. . . a hat juggler. (Strong on the metaphors today I am not). They play three instruments, ride elephants and unicorns, sew, paint, build and garden (no, I'm not talking about myself-- obviously I don't have any unicorns. Yet). They write sci-fi when they wake up and thrillers before bed. Perhaps if you are already used to wearing many hats, it's not so hard to try on a new one. There's nothing wrong with a new hat.

Then there are those who only ever put on their beret/ hockey mask/ ball cap every day because they feel that's what they should wear. That's what the established authority says they should wear, and they will wear it. There's nothing wrong with this, either.

Me, well, I'm complicated, too. I think I've found a home in commercial fiction, but fantasy creeps in even there. I don't know what else I'd write though. And there is that whole "establishment" thing.

So, where do you fall? Are you comfortable trying new hats, or do you stick to one? If you could try on a new hat, what would it be?

Mad Libs Results Day #18

2010-03-08T09:46:00.000-08:00

From Shannon:

Some daffodils suggested that the pillow would look even better were it not for heavy owlstorms that blanketed major cities in February, keeping would-be minivan seekers at home and kissing business, particularly teacher. Most experts now expect job baseballs will give way to gains in the spring, as still cautious American clouds edge happily back toward hiring.

From Ali:

Some children suggested that the napkin would look even better were it not for heavy couchstorms that blanketed major cities in February, keeping would-be laptop seekers at home and dreaming business, particularly programming. Most experts now expect job dogs will give way to gains in the spring, as still cautious American dreams edge always back toward hiring.

From Deb:

Some skeletons suggested that the closet would look even better were it not for heavy packagestorms that blanketed major cities in February, keeping would-be chocolate seekers at home and mutating business, particularly surgeon. Most experts now expect job alligators will give way to gains in the spring, as still cautious American crocodiles edge frantically back toward hiring.

I love all the different storms this week. Reminds of Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs, haha. Thanks for playing everyone! What's your favorite?

JOIN US and Mad Libs Words Day

2010-03-05T11:55:00.000-08:00

So, on Monday I announced that the Secret Archives of the Alliterati will be launching on Monday, March 15th. We need guest bloggers for every Friday, and while we've already had enough responses to carry us into May, we want more! (A special thank you to those of you who have already expressed your interest). If you'd be interested in a semi-regular feature or just a one-time post, email us at alliteratiarchives[at]gmail[dot]com to tell us a little bit about what you'd want to write about. We are looking for all sorts of posts! Either way, be sure to follow our new adventure.

On to this week's Mad Libs Words. They're noun-heavy again, so be sure to pick them all up:

Plural Noun
Noun
Noun
Noun
Verb ending in -ing
Occupation
Plural noun
Plural noun
Adverb

You don't need to tell the whole story to tell a good story

2010-03-03T09:18:00.000-08:00

I was watching Disney/Pixar's Up a couple nights ago, and it really got me thinking. For those of you who haven't yet seen it, I'll try not to spoil anything. Basically, the first twenty or so minutes of the movie involve the main character meeting his future wife as a child and then shows their life together. Even though there's so much more to the story after they reach old age (the rest of the movie, in fact), that first twenty minutes is amazingly powerful, and poignant. All it is after their initial introduction is a montage without words. But it tugs on every heart string (I) have, and tells an incredible story. Without words. Without devoting more than thirty seconds to a single snapshot of their life.

I thought about this first part for a while, and realized that what the movie does there is tell a compelling and powerful story by only showing the most important parts. You leave that first twenty minutes feeling saddened that they're gone-- it seems as if the whole movie has already taken place-- only to discover there's still a lot more of the story to go. It's a masterful execution, and a technique we could all learn from.

If you haven't yet seen Up, I recommend watching it so you can see what I mean. If you have, I recommend keeping that first twenty minutes in mind the next time you're struggling with a narrative summary or a too-long story (I know I will). Some of the most compelling and powerful stories can literally tell whole lives in a few pages.

The key is the snapshots. I'll take one example, from the middle, that might have a slight spoiler. Carl, the main character, and Ellie, his wife, are lying on their backs watching clouds when one of the clouds takes on the shape of a baby. Suddenly, the sky is full of clouds that look like babies, and the way the two of them smile suggests they're going to try for one. They're shown decorating a nursery. Ellie paints the wall joyfully. Then the scene cuts to a doctor's office. Ellie sits in a chair, head in hands, shoulders shaking. Carl comforts her from behind.

We don't get a lot of information here, but it tells us everything we need to know. We have some questions: did Ellie ever get pregnant? Or, why can't they have a baby? But those questions pale in comparison to the story, and we're okay not knowing the answers. Saddened, but okay.

Using snapshots in your writing could easily and effectively reduce summarizing narrative to a powerful, yet brief tool to tell a story. I intend to experiment with it myself.

Do you think this would be an effective tool for you?

Mad Libs Results Day #17

2010-03-01T10:25:00.001-08:00

So, yeah. I'm starting to wonder if there's a business to be had in psycho-analyzing these Mad Libs results. Take a look at this week's results; you can also find the source article here.

From Shannon O'Donnell:

By Friday, some baseball study ballplayers were demanding something more than an end to his fangirl: they were calling for his drool. That only added to the increasing sense that it would be
luckily impossible for him to run the television and the moose with the husband case in the background.

From Matt:

By Friday, some pillowcase blue wallabies were demanding something more than an end to his sheet: they were calling for his pillow. That only added to the increasing sense that it would be
sharply impossible for him to run the blanket and the mattress with the bed case in the background.

From Bane:

By Friday, some mutt stinky corvettes were demanding something more than an end to his detective: they were calling for his speaker. That only added to the increasing sense that it would be juicily impossible for him to run the joke and the shrubbery with the knight case in the background.

From Deb:

By Friday, some rattlesnake inflationary reptiles were demanding something more than an end to his physicist: they were calling for his farmer. That only added to the increasing sense that it
would be disproportionately impossible for him to run the cosmonaut and the pitchfork with the sunbeam case in the background.

From Stephanie:

By Friday, some bed comfy bedbugs were demanding something more than an end to his slippers: they were calling for his chocolate covered pretzels. That only added to the increasing
sense that it would be sleepily impossible for him to run the monkey and the quilt with the pajamas case in the background.

Clearly, Shannon's anxious for a baseball game (or her husband is, possibly also a moose), Stephanie and Matt need a nap (or a good night's sleep), Bane's dog needs a bath and Deb wishes it would stop snowing. Amiright?

Good show, chaps, good show :)

Some Bad News, then Some Good News, then a Pretty Please?

2010-03-01T08:42:00.000-08:00

Mad Libs Results aren't far behind...

First, my bad news.

I'm going to have to cut down the number of days I post to this blog to three a week. Don't worry! There will still be delicious, tasty content on all of those three days-- including Mad Libs.

Why, oh WHY!?!?!? you may be screaming to the heavens. Or not. Either way, I will answer, my dear readers.

It's because of the good news.

See, four of us got together and decided we'd gang up on this whole blogging thing and do a group writing blog. Not that you don't already know them, but in the event that you don't, I'd like to take a moment to introduce you to Matthew Delman, Bane of Anubis, and Stephanie Thornton-- three powerhouse, up-and-coming writers who totallyneedtobepublishedrightnowtheyarethatawesome!

*Ahem*. Anyway, they rock. And roll. However, you may have noticed that there are only four of us. And five days in a week. This is where the pretty please comes in. We will be posting Monday through Thursday regularly, but we are looking for interested bloggers to rotate Fridays. We want people who want to post either a "regular" feature, or a series of posts, or even just one-time posts. If you think you might be interested, email us a little about what you'd want to write about at alliteratiarchives [at] gmail [dot] com. If you have no idea, that's fine too. We don't bite! We'll respond to every inquiry.

The Secret Archives of the Alliterati will launch officially on March 15th, 2010. Our first guest blogger will therefore be posted on March 19th, 2010.

Made it. Oh, and Mad l.ibs Words Day

2010-02-26T09:06:00.000-08:00

I'm back! From the past! Into the future! Well, technically present, now the past...

Anyway, there's a good reason I don't write sci-fi. Specifically sci-fi about time travel. Not my thang, yo. I get all sorts of confused when time does anything other than move along a straight, narrow path.

I survived the last two days, and after today I get two days *to myself*. Whoa. Awesome. They should do that at the end of every week, how awesome would that be?

(You may be able to tell I have reached the state of exhaustion that I like to call Deliriously Silly. Please bear with me as I slap myself back to normal, there are Mad Libs Words today, I promise).

Sooooooo... I've run out of things to say. LOTS to talk about next week, though! Here you go; if you want to play along this week please leave each of the following in the comments. Lots of nouns, make sure you Pokemon those guys. (Catch 'em all, if you didn't get the reference).

Noun
Adjective
Plural Noun
Noun
Noun
Adverb
Noun
Noun
Noun

Have a great end of the week-- week's-end-- week-end?

Today is February 23rd, 2010.

2010-02-23T14:59:00.000-08:00

For me, at least. Hopefully it is for all of you, as well. Otherwise I've time-traveled, again. Gosh darnit.

Anyway, the local paper seems to agree with me (unless it's a KGB plant! I'm watching you...) so I think I'm safe in saying,

*ahem*

I will be gone the next two days. Woo-hoo for things coming together at work and a big hurrah for me. *Pats self on back*.

See you all on Friday, my lovelies. Give my best to yourselves.

Mad Libs Results Day #16

2010-02-22T11:47:00.001-08:00

Okay, so, the one lesson I learned from this week's Mad Libs was that you should never Mad Libs yourself. It just makes you sound like a raving lunatic. Case in point, the results:

From Anita:

Don't think I don't hear you contemplating to yourself as I round the whiskey and fondle it out enough to come in and pander. Don't think I don't notice you meandering the door back and forth ever so slowly, or that you're-- wait. You're not. Even. Looking. At. The. Mouse. Anymore. Your lice are interrupted instead to the rack of ice cream fixins. You know, the ones that aren't even in the money???

From Matt:

Don't think I don't hear you berating to yourself as I round the scotch and caress it out enough to come in and charm. Don't think I don't notice you racing the door back and forth ever so cuttingly, or that you're-- wait. You're not. Even. Looking. At. The. Armadillo. Anymore. Your cars are scolded instead to the rack of ice cream fixins. You know, the ones that aren't even in the wombat???

I rest my case.

P.S.--

2010-02-19T18:10:00.001-08:00

I'm snuggling my bunny RIGHT NOW.

The New York Times is Full of Meh Today-- Mad Libs Words and Some Rules to Play By

2010-02-19T17:18:00.000-08:00

The NYT is full of meh. Rather than waste a perfectly good Mad Libs day on meh, I thought I'd spice it up a little and Mad Libs one of my own entries from this week.

It was also pointed out to me last week that not everyone may fully understand Mad Libs 'round these parts, so I thought I'd also put together this handy-dandy little Guide To Mad Libs. I'm not too proud to admit I may not have the firmest definition on all of these myself, so if I'm wrong or you can explain it better, please do so in the comments! If you're well-versed in Mad Lib-ology, go ahead and skip to the words at the bottom.

I'll start with the bare basics. Mad Libs is a game where you take a previously-written work and remove key words, leaving blank spaces to fill in with similar-functioning words (noun for noun, verb for verb) resulting in humorous or strangely-apropos new writing. Each week, I generally select a paragraph from the top New York Times article to turn into my Mad Lib, but on occasion I will deviate (such as now).

Here's a basic rundown of the word types I often use in my Mad Libs:

Noun-- A person, place, or thing. Zookeeper, garden, or tennis ball are examples.

Proper Noun-- A named person, place, or thing. Mrs. Smith, Disneyland, and French's Mustard are examples.

Plural Noun-- More than one. Dogs, cats, buckets.

Verb-- an action word. Generally, they formally start with "to", though we remove this for sake of the Mad Lib unless otherwise noted. Run, walk, and jog are examples.

Conjugated Verbs-- I will occasionally modify the type of verb I'm looking for to make sure your answer matches the context of the original sentence/ paragraph. Sometimes I'll ask for a Verb That Ends in -ed, like melted. Or a Present-Tense Verb, like melts.

The much-bedraggled, nobody-likes-me-they-all-just-USE-me-sob! Adverb-- These modify/further define verbs, and almost always end in -ly. Ran crookedly. Stood stoically. Shopped maniacally. Etc.

Adjective-- I often get these mixed up with adverbs, I *usually* manage to catch myself before it publishes. Ahem. Anyway, these are descriptive words, usually used to describe nouns. The red fish. The angular coffee table. The insane tiny black cat. That last one actually has three adjectives.

Some other popular word types I ask for:

Name: This one's usually up to you. It can be Snorfle VonTufflebottoms or just Snorfle. Your pick.

Last Name: Usually last name only. Smith, Johnson, Cox. Aha. Ahahahaha. Yes, I am 12 today.

World/ Land/ City, real or imaginary/fictional: Give me a world or land or city that's real or imaginary, your pick. Narnia, Earth, Tufflebottomopolis, etc.

So that's pretty much it, or at least all I can think of right now. I'll edit this post as I come across others (or if any common ones I missed you leave in the comments). Playing is pretty simple, just leave one answer for each word type I ask for on the day of. I'll post the results the Monday (or soonest possible) after.

Without any further ado, here's today's words:

Verb ending in -ing
Noun
Verb
Verb
Verb ending in -ing
Adverb
Noun
Plural Noun
Verb ending in -ed
Noun

Leave your answers in the comments by Sunday evening and I'll post the results Monday!

To My Job

2010-02-19T09:02:00.000-08:00

Dear Work,

I love you dearly. And I mean that. But when I'm seriously busy with you, I melt down at home and *nothing* gets done. I haven't snuggled my bunny in two days! (No, that's not a euphemism, for those of you that are new. I actually have a bunny rabbit. Her name is Hop Scotch and she's very soft and cute).

Also, my blogging suffers (disclaimer: at home, on my own time. Fits into the whole "meltdown" thing up above). Think of the blogs, work! Think of the blogs!!!

Sincerely,

L.T.

Okay, so, Mad Libs words are coming later tonight, I'm afraid. But they will be here!

Special thanks to the super-sweet Mia who has gifted me with an award at her blog. Mia, thanks!

To The Dude In The Car That's Next To Me On The Freeway

2010-02-18T10:23:00.000-08:00

Thanks to everyone for commiserating with me on yesterday's post.

Dear Dude In The Car Next To Me On The Freeway,

Thanks for hovering on my right flank as I'm trying to get over to get off the freeway, and am boxed in on all other sides. Thanks even more for speeding up when I speed up to get in front of you, and shrinking the once-large-enough space between you and the car in front of you to even-my-sub-compact-won't-fit-there size. Thanks, really.

Thank you also for then slowing down with me when I then assume you just don't want me in front of you, matching my speed ever-slower as I try to get behind you.

I can only assume you think it's hilarious or something, because you proceed to do this three or four times. Ha ha. I'm laughing over here, too. How hilarious that I just missed my exit! How terribly funny (almost improperly so) that my blinker has been on for three miles so I look like one of those people who just forgot to turn it off! How perfectly droll of you to pretend you don't notice when I try to inch over anyway!

Please lose your car keys at the next earliest convenience.

Sincerely,

L.T.

What do you hate that people always do when you're driving?

To The Lady At The Supermarket In The Frozen Foods Aisle

2010-02-17T09:21:00.000-08:00

Dear Lady-in-the-frozen-foods-aisle,

I, too, would like to select vegetables for my dinner later this week. It's difficult to hint any further that I would like to do this by sidling any closer (I am practically hugging your back) and turning any more towards the door you are currently holding open (I turn any further and I'm looking away again). It's even more difficult to see from where I am as you hold the door open, allowing it to be covered in (what is that technically anyway? Frost? Vapor?) whatever-it-is that makes it so I can no longer see what's inside. Thanks also for parking your cart with your screaming child right in front of the rest of the doors and clamping on to it with your other hand, effectively barricading me from getting anywhere near the veggies.

Don't think I don't hear you muttering to yourself as I round the cart and nudge it out enough to come in and look. Don't think I don't notice you rocking the door back and forth ever so slightly, or that you're-- wait. You're not. Even. Looking. At. The. Veggies. Anymore. Your eyes are glued instead to the rack of ice cream fixins. You know, the ones that aren't even in the freezer???

Yes, I also noticed the dirty look you gave me as I grabbed the door handle from you and pushed in to actually shop for something. I did say excuse me. Like five times. Not my problem anymore.

Sincerely,

L.T.

Have any supermarket horror stories you'd like to share?

Mad Libs Results Day #15

2010-02-16T09:03:00.000-08:00

I hope everyone had a lovely Valentine's Day and President's Day (for those of you who got to enjoy it yesterday).

Source article here.

From Shannon O'Donnell:

IT ALL STARTED with a pink, tattooed nanny with a passion for old animals. He was taking Biology classes at City College of Walla Walla, a two-year baseball college, and when students started meeting informally early last year to think up a project for a coming science competition, he told them that he thought it would be cool if they re-targeted cells from electric eels into a source of fast energy.

From Matt:

IT ALL STARTED with a chartreuse, tattooed chimney sweep with a passion for verdigris animals. He was taking Alchemy classes at City College of Chin-Yua, a two-year basketball college, and when students started meeting informally early last year to think up a project for a coming science competition, he told them that he thought it would be cool if they re-jumped cells from electric eels into a source of azure energy.

From Karen:

IT ALL STARTED with a nambypamby, tattooed monkey trainer with a passion for ludicrous animals. He was taking Zoology classes at City College of Scaggsville, a two-year curmudgeon college, and when students started meeting informally early last year to think up a project for a coming science competition, he told them that he thought it would be cool if they re-thwacked cells from electric eels into a source of befuddled energy.

From Deb:

IT ALL STARTED with a lovelorn, tattooed matchmaker with a passion for romantic animals. He was taking shagology classes at City College of Venice, a two-year Adonis college, and when students started meeting informally early last year to think up a project for a coming science competition, he told them that he thought it would be cool if they re-foozled cells from electric eels into a source of slapdash energy.

Deb's wins my vote this week for making me laugh out loud. But they were all quite hilarious. Stay tuned this week for Open Letters To The Universe!

Love Week-- Day 4-- Share the Love and Mad Libs Words Day

2010-02-12T10:24:00.000-08:00

I've been writing this week about love. Obviously. Love in our writing, mostly. But V-Day is quickly approaching (holy cow it's two days away!) so I just wanted to share some of the love I'm feeling right now with all of you.

I love blogging! I love my blogging friends. Yes, you. I love you. *sniff*. I won't even throw a drunken ", man!" on there. I just love you.

Share some love this week with someone that means a lot to you! You guys/gals mean a lot to me.

If you want to play along with Mad Libs this week, please leave the following in the comments by Monday evening. Answers will be posted on Tuesday because Monday is a holiday! Woooo!

Adjective
Profession
Adjective
Science
City
Noun
Verb ending in -ed
Adjective

Love Week-- Day 3-- Will it Last?

2010-02-11T09:10:00.000-08:00

Thanks for some interesting perspectives on ways to make love real in yesterday's comments. That's one of the big things I love about you guys. *Sniff!* I get to learn every day! As long as I'm, ya know, blogging on topic. *Ahem*.

Anyway, today's topic revolves around enduring love. Depending on your story, the love between your characters could be a short fizzle or a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I think most people tend to write fated lovers, the destined-to-be together couple who were made for each other, so the reader can assume as much at the end of the book. Or, if your story is tragic, you may set your characters up to be this way, then rip them apart. The more perfect they are for each other, the more emotion you'll wrench from your readers.

It's up to you what direction your story takes (duh). While I prefer happy endings personally, I don't think there's a right or wrong between them and tragedy. (Romeo and Juliet is still my favorite love story of all time, interestingly enough). And I can't speak to short fizzles vs. endurance except to say that short fizzles are usually either a character or plot device, on the road to long-term love.

So how do you write love that lasts? This is another one of those ethereal questions that I don't really have a definite answer to. There are so many different ways couples can be compatible that you can't ever guarantee it will resonate with your reader until someone reads it. There's stories where at the end, my reaction has been, "How beautiful!" *sob*, and there are stories where I've snorted to myself and said, "They'll break up in three years/weeks/seconds".

Another consideration too-- and the Princess Diaries series (movies at least, I haven't read the books) are a perfect example of this. If you bother to set up forever love in one book, I will feel cheated when you break that couple up in the sequel.

Of course, there is one possible easy solution to all of this. As long as you end your story on a happy note, with the couple together, your reader will likely assume that they stay that way. After all, what else can they do? That's all the information you've given them. Unless you write a sequel. And break them up in it. (Can you tell I'm bitter, Princess Diaries?! Can you?!)

What, to you, makes love that will go the distance in a story?

Love Week-- Day 2-- Is it real?

2010-02-10T09:42:00.000-08:00

One of the biggest things I struggle with writing romance/ love in my stories is reality. How do you make love believable?

Certainly, it's not the circumstances. I've read books/ seen movies where the young/hot/gold-digging girl falls for the older/clumsy/poor guy, and believed it. Usually, theirs is a somewhat farcical relationship. But I still believe it, within the context of the work.

It's not the actions. Again, I've seen examples where two people couldn't be more in love, but we never see them kiss, or perhaps even touch until much later in the story.

It's not the dialogue. People never say what they mean when it comes to love, at least not until they know it's safe.

So, how do you make love real for your readers? I can't say I'm an expert. Usually, I cringe away from writing romantically-tense scenes because they always seem forced to me. My characters don't love like I do. So I try to keep that to a minimum and instead focus on other things.

Like what they don't do. What they don't say. What circumstances they don't have. Somebody's fingers clench into fists at their sides because they want to reach out and brush the other's hand, or cheek. Someone starts to say those sweet little words and changes mid-stream to "I. . . want a cupcake." Someone comes home late from work to avoid seeing the other because they can't stand the tension between them.

There are whole scenes that don't happen between my characters that I've written in my head. Whole other possibilities that no one else will ever see; infinite places the story could go if only they'd let go of their inhibitions and love each other. But if they did before they were ready, it would be a completely different story.

I'd like to think I've managed to make the love of my characters more real by doing this, but I guess time will tell.

How do you make the love in your story seem real?

Love Week-- Day 1-- Let Me Count The Ways

2010-02-09T08:05:00.000-08:00

(This is about writing, I swear! I'm not even going to put it in #Off-Topic. Because it's not. Ha).

So this weekend is the Big Day. This is not a drill, people!

*Ahem*. Excuse me. See, I was ever the hopeful "Will my super-secret admirer shower me with love and affection today? THIS day?" girl growing up. (And no, they never did. Sad, I know. It's okay. Don't feel bad for me. I'm gettin' married!!!)

Well, V-Day hasn't gotten much better since I've been with WF. Not his fault, you understand. Totally mine. When we first started hanging out, in that weird we-like-each-other-but-still-trying-to-make-sure-you're-not-completely-psycho limbo, I was vehemently anti-dating. I was single, and loud, and proud! The first time we hung out outside of school was the night before Valentine's Day. At which he boldly asked me what I was doing the next night, and I, so obtusely, proceeded to tell him that a.) I was attending an Anti-Valentine party with mah girls, and b.) I didn't "get" V-day, and hated flowers, and blahblahblah.

Yeah. It's taken two years of re-training to fix that mistake. (Except for the flowers. He "hates" them too. By which I mean, he actually hates them).

Anyway, it doesn't really bother me, and I have no real attachment to V-Day anymore anyway, because we started dating almost exactly two weeks later and turned February-March into a love fest. We have V-Day, our dating anniversary, and his birthday all within four weeks. So I'm not lacking for opportunities to show him I love him. And there's a few in there for him to show it back.

I think I don't care so much about V-Day anymore because he shows me all the time that he loves me anyway. And I show him. It's the little things he does every day that have totally killed my need to have "big gestures". I always thought I was a big gesture kinda gal, but turns out that's just because I wasn't getting anything.

So our relationship works for us, because . . . it works for us. We just are these kind of people. I'm not a raging, "I can't believe you forgot and didn't get me any flowers!" kind of fiancee (hee hee-- still get a kick out of saying that). Even though with another guy I might have been. Also, I do realize that a large part of why he hasn't made a big deal about V-Day before is my fault. And I'm okay with the way things have been anyway.

So here's the part to do with writing. How do your characters, in love, show each other? Do they have tension because something isn't working? Are your characters more big-gesture kind of folks? If you're a romance writer, probably. Or are they more subtle, like WF and I, showing each other every day in little ways instead of all at once?

Mad Libs Results Day #14

2010-02-08T11:04:00.000-08:00

(Thanks so much for the award, Guinevere! As I'm in the middle of planning-- LOVE your wedding pics on that post!)

Alright, here we go:
From Shannon O'Donnell

Mr. Buckalew focused on the caution that still stays many households amid a time of coffee anxiety, suggesting this will continue to dampen consumer imagining, which accounts for more than 1/4th of the coffee. That should keep baseballs reluctant to hire, limiting the books that workers have to squat at other businesses.

From Bane:

Mr. Host focused on the caution that still marry many households amid a time of stud anxiety, suggesting this will continue to dampen consumer starting, which accounts for more than 1/3 of the stud. That should keep months reluctant to hire, limiting the weddings that workers have to enjoy at other businesses.

From Susan:

Mr. Burton focused on the caution that still swindles many households amid a time of goat anxiety, suggesting this will continue to dampen consumer rushing, which accounts for more than 1/4th of the goat. That should keep boxers reluctant to hire, limiting the fingertips that workers have to beckon at other businesses.

From Mary:

Mr. Tibble focused on the caution that still seeks many households amid a time of spiked heel anxiety, suggesting this will continue to dampen consumer kissing, which accounts for more than 1/8th of the spiked heel. That should keep screwdrivers reluctant to hire, limiting the bottles that workers have to swallow at other businesses.

I'm loving the _____ that workers have to ______ at other businesses today! Thanks for playing. :) Happy Monday!

Random Factoid Friday and Mad Libs Word Day

2010-02-05T09:34:00.000-08:00

Happy Friday!!!

This Random Factoid Friday brought to you by my currently all-consuming thought:

Weddings.

Turn away if you must. I understand. But leave some words for Mad Libs in the comments before you go!

A lot of these you probably know already, but just in case you don't, I thought I'd share some of my favorite tidbits about weddings. Specifically, Victorian weddings.

1.) Most of our current wedding traditions stem from the Victorian era, when weddings became less of a formality and more of an excuse to throw a really lavish, expensive party.

2.) Most bridal gowns prior to the Victorian era were just the lady's Sunday best. White came into vogue as a display of wealth, a show of the bride's family's ability to afford a gown she would only wear once, as the staining and wear apparent on the color would make it unsuitable for repeated use.

3.) The wedding ring goes on the third/ ring finger of the left hand thanks to the Romans (or the Egyptians, depending on your source-- perhaps our resident historical experts can affirm or deny for me?) believing that a vein in this finger ran directly to the heart. Awww.

4.) According to Victorian tradition, a bride is supposed to wear a coin in her left shoe to ensure that her new marriage is never lacking for money. I'm not sure if I'll be undertaking this or not-- it will depend on the shoes!

5.) Also according to (some) Victorian tradition, the bride should walk to the church on a bed of flower petals the day of the ceremony. That's a lot of flowers!

And now for your Mad Libs words. If you want to play along, please leave the following in the comments by Sunday evening:

Last Name
Present-tense verb
Noun
Verb ending in -ing
Fraction, i.e., two-thirds
Plural noun
Plural noun
Verb

Performing my civic duty

2010-02-04T14:44:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, WF came walking in the door all mopey-like after a visit to our mailbox. Included with the rest of the Important Postal Missives was an ominous, bureaucratic-looking envelope.

Jury duty.

I'd like to tell you I commiserated, wept, or even baked him a condolence cookie. But no. I, ever the bigger person, laughed. And laughed. And chuckled, guffawed, and snorted. I think I may still have been tittering a little to myself a week later when I went to visit my mother (to whom I still have a lot of my mail sent as I am too lazy to say, change my driver's license address) and she handed me my own ominous, bureaucratic-looking envelope.

Jury duty.

Bah.

So anyway, long story short-ened, we both got jury duty at the same time. And that's where I was this morning. Sadly, there were no trials that needed jurors today. Shame. I was really looking forward to going all "12 Angry Men" on the place.

But, at least WF was there with me, suffering through the three-hour wait to tell us to go. And since he works in said courthouse, I got to *finally* see his desk, and meet various co-workers that I hadn't met already, and get the grand tour, and I felt very... bureaucratic. There are a lot of files in that building.

Have you ever had jury duty? Did you get picked or sent home?

Doing the Fun Part

2010-02-03T13:07:00.000-08:00

As with anything in life, with writing there is a "fun part" and a "not-so-fun-I-want-to-throw-this-at-the-wall" part.

My favorite part? Writing. I LOOOOOOVE writing. Just letting the story flow from me is almost as much fun (if not slightly more) than reading. I know it's cliche, but I love writing so I can find out what's going to happen in my story!

My not-so-fun part? Probably editing. I don't hate it, per se, but I'd much rather be writing! It's fun in its own way. I guess I should say that I hate editing for the 10th or 11th time. That's usually when all the easy, good stuff is already fixed and I'm just on mind-numbing typo and repetition patrol.

I know this is pretty generic, but I know there are some of us who like editing, so I'll ask anyway: what are your fun and not-so-fun parts of writing?

The World Of Publishing

2010-02-02T08:39:00.001-08:00

I sometimes feel like this whole thing is a ride at a certain happy-est place on Earth. You're greeted with fanciful dreams, and there's a long line to get in, and then once you get on the ride you realize that it's only just begun-- there's still a story to tell, and everyone has their villain to deal with before at last spilling out into the sunlight again on the other side. And then, if you are brave (sick) enough to want (need) to do it again, well, no cut-sies. You have to go through the whole process from the beginning, unless you're Brangelina or something.

Not only this, but you have to pay (write) a lot of money (time) before you can even get near the ride.

And the best part? They're constantly doing construction on the park. The ride you want to go on may not even be open when you get in. (If you are planning to go on the Vampire ride, for example, it's probably closed for the next ten years).

Why do we do this ourselves again?

Oh, yeah. Because we like it. Or something.

And the award for most inconsistent blogger so far in 2010 goes to...

2010-02-01T08:23:00.000-08:00

Me!

Well, that was fun. Not. I thought it was just a cold, but then it sidelined me on Thursday, and yesterday's the first real day I've been able to do anything but just sleep. So my apologies. I really did mean to get a Mad Libs up but... yeah. Sleep.

Anyway, it's February, which means no more excuses! I'm here! I'm going to write! I'm going to write about writing! I'm going to plan a wedding! ... But that's a whole other blog. Maybe.

Here's to 2010 settling out, at least for a little while. How'd January treat you?

And we're back.

2010-01-27T10:32:00.000-08:00

Class started last night (otherwise known as my writer's critique group). It's going to be different this semester. I'm really happy that so many new people are interested in the class (to keep it going), but I'm going to miss (both socially and writer-ing-ly) quite a few of the people that are no longer there. I'm half-considering seeing if those people want to just meet out of class instead, but I haven't decided yet.

I also feel like I won't get to read as much of my stuff this semester, either. But we'll see. I haven't made any decisions yet. I really like my instructor and would love to stick around, but now with planning the wedding and everything, maybe it would be better if I didn't have to go every week.

I sound like I'm talking myself out of it, don't I?

Anyway, going to class last night prompted me to think about "I" for the first time in a month or two on my way to work this morning, which was actually nice. It was nice to feel the buzz of excitement, and get thinking about the story again. But I still have some other obligations to fulfill before I can start writing again, so if I stay in class, I'll be workshopping V til I have time to write.

Is is safe to say I think 2010 is going to be a fast and furious year?

What do you think I should do?

No (okay, no content, uh, containing) post today

2010-01-26T13:46:00.000-08:00

Work exploded. See ya tamale!

Big, Off-Topic, No-I-Didn't-Get-An-Agent News Day

2010-01-25T08:35:00.000-08:00

This weekend, something special happened. To prevent blogger from giving away my little piece of news before you click on my post, have a picture of a tree:

What happened?

Well, to be fair, I was expecting it to happen soon. I wasn't expecting it to happen on Saturday. But thank the lucky stars, it did! And now I get to change something on my blog. Something right about -------------------------------------------------> and ^^^^^^
there-ish. Do you see it? Do you see what I changed?

That's right, WB, that normally stands for Wonderful Boyfriend, is now WF. For Wonderful Fiance.

Yup, we're gettin' hitched!!!! Here's my ice:

It's an aquamarine (his birthstone)-- you can just barely tell it's blue. Which I love.

I am so excited! Eeeeek!

Mad Libs Results Day #13

2010-01-25T08:03:00.001-08:00

From Matt:

Mrs. Smith-Jones’s lasting speech with its blue war undertones — likening the car curtain to the Gold Curtain — criticized several baseballs by name, including New Transylvania, for dog censorship. It was the first speech in which a top administration official offered a vision for making dog freedom an integral part of wallaby policy.

From Bane:

Mrs. Jones-Smith’s tailing speech with its cerulian war undertones — likening the truck curtain to the Platinum Curtain — criticized several basketballs by name, including Old Transylvania, for cat censorship. It was the first speech in which a top administration official offered a vision for making cat freedom an integral part of thunderstorm policy.

From Shannon:

Mrs. Rumpelstiltskin's braying speech with its drunken war undertones — likening the puppy] curtain to the Quartz Curtain — criticized several teenagers by name, including Fantasia, for Moose censorship. It was the first speech in which a top administration official offered a vision for making moose freedom an integral part of baseball policy.

From Deb:

Mrs. Bubenko’s flaming speech with its flabby war undertones — likening the chicken curtain to the Mercury Curtain — criticized several furbelows by name, including Gabon, for sandwich censorship. It was the first speech in which a top administration official offered a vision for making sandwich freedom an integral part of boloney policy.

They're all great this week. I'm always a fan of gratuitous use of "wallaby", but then Bane's, being a parody of Matt's, made me giggle. Shannon's "moose censorship" and "moose policy" had me snorting. And Deb's "a vision for making sandwich freedom an integral part of boloney policy" got a chuckle too. Therefore, you're all winners today!

Hey-- stay tuned. I have some not-writing-related Big News coming up! (It is Wildly Off-Topic January still, thank goodness).

Holy Weather, Batman! Aaaaand.... Mad Libs Words Day!!!

2010-01-22T09:27:00.000-08:00

So, unless a mud slide wipes out my house or similar disaster occurs (unlikely, but seemingly possible), I promise I won't blog anymore about Storm Watch 2010. After today.

See, I'm tired. I'm tired, because after a very exciting day yesterday (not writing related, sorry, but good news coming soon!) I struggled to get to sleep around 11 PM, only to be woken up promptly at midnight by the worst storm I've ever seen.

I've been in tornadoes, people. We did not have a tornado last night, but it felt like a monster hurricane. What woke me up at midnight was what sounded like Megatron throwing a semi down the freeway. (Our house is right next to a major freeway. Literally, right next to.)

In fact, I hadn't seen the lightning flash, so for a minute I did think it was a bad accident. But then the rain started. I thought the window might break from how hard it was coming down. And no, I'm not being dramatic.

Now, I know that we never have to deal with real weather out here so I'm probably just in denial. But it was a bad storm, I swear! (My sincere and humble sympathies to anyone who's actually lived through hurricanes and such. I know this doesn't compare, but for a while last night, I thought it might).

Luckily, it appears to have calmed down for now. It only took me an hour of lightning and thunder to get back to sleep. Mostly because once I wasn't paralyzed by my groggy, half-awake fear of the windows breaking, or trees falling into our house, I felt really, really bad for my horse. She must have been terrified last night. I will go bring her carrots and reassurances tonight, but I wish I could have been out there for her. Not that it would have made a difference. She would have been terrified either way.

Anyway, on that happy note (!), here's our Mad Libs words for the week (I just realized-- these are the first of 2010! Whoaaaa...).

Leave your words in the comments before Sunday evening, please, and I'll post the results on Monday! Woo!

How's everyone doing today?

Last name
Adjective ending in -ing
Adjective
Noun
Metal or Mineral
Plural Noun
Country
Noun
Noun

It's Raining, It's Pouring, The Old Man Is Snoring

2010-01-21T10:41:00.000-08:00

Ok, ok, the secret's out.

I live in California.

*Gasp!*

See, something strange is happening here this week.

It's *raining*.

We *never* get rain. Like, ever. The ceiling in my boss's office buckled last night, and there's currently a giant trash can catching all the water next to the plastic-covered computer on her desk.

A few chunks of the concrete ceiling in the parking garage were fallen into a space a couple places away from me this morning.

And the window in my office is leaking. Not bad, but enough to pool on the ledge.

Surprisingly, my fellow drivers have been pretty good this week. Normally, if there's a cloud in the sky, my commute slows to a mile an hour. But today, even though everyone was going slower than normal, it was still moving right along. No stop and go. I'm so proud. :)

See, I spent the first 8 years of my life in Michigan. Clearly, I never drove while we lived there. But I have on trips since then, once even in the snow (scary!) so I do count myself as a tad more experienced with weather than the natives.

But weather still brings out the weird in people here. It's always slightly entertaining to see the stupid things people do just because it's raining. This particular storm has also been somewhat tragic as it's actually cost lives (not something we ever have to say around here).

Yet, I'd still rather have all this rain (as long as it keeps up throughout the year) and not be able to ride my horse for a couple weeks than have to deal with the wildfires again.

This kind of thing always makes me really thoughtful. I always wonder what it's like for other people. So tell me-- what's rare where you live and how do people react when it happens?

Department of Redundancy Department

2010-01-20T10:44:00.000-08:00

*Gasp! A possible entry about writing, in January??? What is this madness?

Repetition is probably my biggest, little thing. What is that, you ask?

Well, I think every writer has things. Big things, and little things that they struggle to overcome or better within themselves. Repetition is my biggest, little thing.

See?

I have a tendency to latch onto words I like and use them several times in as many sentences. Then I go through and weed them out red-faced; agonizing over which to keep because dangit, it's the perfect word there, there, AND there. But I figure it out. Better to use a less powerful word than the same one three times in a row, row, row.

I don't know what my big thing is. Or at least, it's either so vague I haven't been able to put it in so many words, or not a flaw I've yet realized I have. I have plenty of little things though.

What's your big and/ or little thing?

Promises, Promises

2010-01-19T08:43:00.000-08:00

I'm almost caught up on my promises. I finally, just last night, finished the last bareback pad order I had from way before Christmas. Luckily, despite my failing at life lately, the girl it's for has been nothing but understanding.

For those of you curious, or who don't know, I make custom bareback pads as a side hobby. A bareback pad is used to ride a horse, er, bareback (no saddle) to make the experience more comfortable for both horse and rider. And to give you something to hold onto, should you really, really need it.

I've closed myself to new orders, which is a shame because these pads have proven to be pretty popular on the horse forum I'm a member of. I always thought that this might be a business someday for me. I have dreams of making bareback pads and writing all day to pay the bills. (Well, okay, to be honest-- just writing. But I wouldn't mind doing the bareback pads occasionally).

Alas, I think I will only get busier from here out (this year) and so I'm stepping back from any more responsibilities that I won't be able to fulfill. But I'm going to finish catching up first. There are still a few things I owe people. :)

No, this isn't code for "I'm just not going to blog anymore." My writer's critique group starts up again next week, which means I *have* to start producing. So I'll have more to talk about for writing again. Soon.

Movie Review: Avatar

2010-01-18T09:57:00.000-08:00

Clearly, I am not the first person to blog about Avatar. Ok, I'm probably the last. So I won't be offended if you don't stick around. But I thought while I'm off-topic this month, that maybe I would talk about something else that is very near and dear to my heart: movies.

I went to see Avatar last Tuesday because my mom wanted to go. I'd heard the hype, but I just wasn't all that interested. It's Fern Gully, and Pocahontas all over again, I thought to myself. Why would I want to spend three hours in a theatre for that?

In fact, aside from my mom wanting to see it, the biggest selling point for me was that it was James Cameron's first movie since Titanic, one of my all-time favorites. The man knows how to pull on heart-strings. I didn't really process that before we went in.

Well, on the other side of that three hours, I can say I am a changed woman. I'm a fan. Avatar was amazing. It's easy to see why James wanted to wait-- I imagine the Na'vi and Pandora in late 90's CGI and the experience, while still rich, would have been so much less than it is now. The visuals are absolutely stunning. We didn't see it in 3-D and probably won't-- 3-D messes with my brain too much-- but even without it, the world created in this movie is incredible.

You feel, even in the most serene moments, as an intimate participator in the story.

My least favorite things were (NOTE: Potential spoilers ahead):

-Neytiri's moodiness-- I felt like she was a little bi-polar towards the end, being angry and then loving and then angry and then loving and then angry and then self-sacrificing and then loving. I would have liked to see some consistency.

-The disasters. I know James Cameron made his name on disaster, but I kept feeling like "how much more can these people take?" And the further he pushed them, the less likely I felt that the avatars would survive their wrath. I was constantly surprised when they weren't immediately lynched after things kept getting worse.

My favorite things were:

-The richness of the landscape and the all-encompassing power and unity of the Eywa.

-The story of a man with a broken body who not only gets a new one, but one that can do beyond incredible things. I feel this very closely with my shot right knee-- so many things I want to do are beyond me.

-The "bond" with the animals. While this kind of weirded me out (but not in a unicorn way), it also made me insanely jealous. I mean, come on, who doesn't wish it was a coming-of-age tradition to wrestle and tame your very own pterodactyl-thing to ride whenever you pleased? I also couldn't help but think how much easier my relationship with Tally would be if I could just reassure her and tell her what to do with my mind instead of having to pound it in through all the fear. But that's a discussion for another time.

Five Things That Weird Me Out

2010-01-15T12:30:00.000-08:00

1.) Unicorns.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE unicorns. They're beautiful. But they weird me out. I mean, horses can be dangerous enough as is, but give one a spike on its head? Yeah, pain city. Plus, I know they're supposed to be all pure and magical and stuff, but come on-- you know at least one is gonna go bad, and try to take over the world. They. Always. Try. To. Take. Over. The. World. You think all that magical power isn't going to corrupt at least one unicorn? You'd be wrong.

Would the world be a better place under the iron rule of a unicorn overlord? That, my friends, is a question for the ages.

2.) Optical Illusions

WHY BRAIN??? It's right there!! Why can't you work right???

3.) Other People With My Name

I know for some of you this may be a fairly common occurrence. But my real first name is pretty rare, considering it's made up. There are a few other people out there that share it, so it's not unheard of, but I've never met another one. It would be surreal to hear someone else calling my name and have them mean another person.

4.) Digeridoos

Much like unicorns, I love digeridoos. The sound of other people playing them, at least. WB and I were at the mall a few weeks ago and they randomly had a store that had a digeridoo. It was set up so you could walk up to it and try it and I immediately started walking more quickly. I knew the arm-grab "Oh, let's try it!" was not far behind and I had no desire to try it for the first time and make amplified farting noises for the entire mall.

5.) Those People Dressed Up As Animals Or Other Characters Yes Even The Human Ones At Amusement Parks And Occasionally Restaurants

One time when I was a kid, my family and I were eating at a buffet. This particular buffet's mascot was, for some reason, a bee. Now, I don't like real bees, and a giant, freakishly-smiling one wasn't high on my list either. Much like a real bee when you're wearing a brightly-colored shirt, this bee, too, would not leave me alone (I assume because I was a child). I was supposed to want to HUG the bee. And take PICTURES of the bee. And bee FRIENDS with the bee. So what did I do? I hid. And I didn't look up until it buzzed off.

Perhaps this incident sparked the reaction to these creatures of the night-- these sallow-faced caricatures of real life-- that I have to this day. When WB and I go to certain happiest places on Earth or other places that have them, I walk quickly in the opposite direction whenever I see Aladdin, or Shamu.

Which works great, unless the Alice in Wonderland crowd is there. Because then they think you're late for a very important date. And so are they. Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Mad Hatter. You can take your 10/6 and shove it.

What weirds you out?

*In light of the disaster in Haiti, I will not be doing Mad Libs this week. I'm not comfortable giggling up any of the articles on the front page of NYT right now. We will resume next week (hopefully).

I hope you're all ready.

2010-01-14T11:21:00.001-08:00

For....

WALLABIES!!!!

WALLABY!!

WALLABY!!

DUCK!!

WALLABY!!

What do you write about writing when you're not? Writing, that is.

2010-01-13T10:49:00.000-08:00

First of all, let me just say you all have the patience of saints. Thank you for tolerating my whining.

You may have noticed I don't have very much to say about writing itself lately. My well runneth dry. Not really, you understand, but metaphorically-- I'm just having a hard time coming up with posts about writing.

And therein lies the rub. Yesterday's post helped pave the way, turn on the light, and smack me upside the head with cliches-- er, the reason why.

It's hard to write about writing when you haven't been writing. At least, it is for me. My mind isn't consumed with characterization and plot and voice and etc., so I'm not finding easy topics to grab for blogging.

What am I going to do about this? Well, other than start writing again (I wish!), all I can do is try to write from my past experiences, write from my present experiences, and of course write off-topic. So, for the rest of January, I present to you:

THE WILDLY OFF-TOPIC WRITING BLOG!!!!

Don't worry, there will still be writing-related content. Just don't be surprised if there are more wallabies and fewer plot devices. :)

Briter's Wlock

2010-01-12T13:06:00.000-08:00

So going along with my theme of whining this month, I thought I'd talk about something else today that I miss a lot:

Writing.

I have not typed a single non-work-or-blogging related word since easily the beginning of December. Possibly longer. I've lost track.

That's bad. When I can't even remember the last time I got to write? That hurts.

I've come to the realization though that I'm sort of glad publishing is a dinosaur industry. Me not writing for over a month isn't a tragedy of epic proportions in publishing, it's rather more of a tiny personal one. And I know that when I have the time to write again (better be soon!), I will be able to enjoy it that much more because I've been away.

"I" is sitting in my brain, biding its sweet time. And I'm ok with the simmer, for once. Even though I thought I was going to explode from it back when I was trying to edit V. I know "I" is going to be a complicated story, so letting it simmer is appropriate. Let the kinks try and work themselves out in my mind, and I'll come back to it later.

You know, when I have the time.

Is there anything you've been too busy for lately that you miss?

Cue Evil Music

2010-01-11T09:03:00.000-08:00

I'm baaaaaack!

And now I have to write this post in a hurry because apparently, if you hit enter after putting in your title, Blogger takes that as fine and dandy to publish the thing. Without any content.

Yay.

So, what did my week off teach me?

That a week isn't nearly enough time to get caught up right now. But-- I'm here, and I'm going to be a responsible blogger and do what I need to. And I'm going to catch up on my beta reading, too, darnit!

This is where I wax poetic about missing childhood, but I'll keep it short. All told, I kind of miss being in school as a kid. Where, you know, you get holidays that are a couple weeks to three months long, no consequences. Alas, as a kid I did not put these breaks to the kind of use I would appreciate them for now-- namely, catching up on other things. And I feel as an adult I may not fare much better. I did get a Nintendo DS for Christmas, you know. And while I've never been a big fan of video games in general, it has been calling me from the corner. Had I any free time, I imagine it would be spent playing the New Super Mario Bros. instead of writing.

Anyway, my goal for this week? Catch up. For real.

What, if anything, do you miss about being a kid?

Aaaaaaaand are you all really surprised?

2010-01-05T11:57:00.000-08:00

I'm going to whine again.

I'm busy. *whine*.

Ok, whining over. Anyway, my point is that... as much as it pains me, I think I'm going to have to be wise and take a brief hiatus, my dear ones. Just through next week! But I fear I am not going to be a good, responsible blogger this week, and rather than trying and failing, I'll take the higher path, use a few more cliches, and persevere in the end!

See you Monday...

2010 is here... and I'm so happy I noticed.

2010-01-04T14:26:00.000-08:00

*Waves*. Hi!

Welcome to 2010!

I'm only four days late in saying anything, but it looks okay from this angle. Of course, there are 361 days in which it can start to look NOT ok, but we'll take those as they come.

How is everyone's 2010 treating them so far? Belated HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!! to all my Alliterati!

Countdown to 2010-- Day 1

2009-12-31T08:43:00.000-08:00

Warning: Today's post makes use of the word "Kumbaya" and the phrase "holding hands".

So today is the last day of 2009. It's also the last day of the decade. (Right? Not to show my colors, but I've never exactly been a math whiz-- do new decades, centuries, etc. start on the zero year, or the one year?) Anyway, it's been a long decade.

There's been a lot of change, a lot of sorrow, and a lot of joy.

I've grown up. Mostly. (Hee hee! Poo! Hee hee!)

I found the joy of being a "mother" to my fur-creatures. I bought two of my own horses, and lost one. I discovered bunnies (OMG BUNNIES!!), lost my first one, and gained my second. I raised two sets of two kittens, moved away from one set last year (though I still get to visit) and found the other, velociraptor-inclusive set this year.

I've said hello and then goodbye to friends, family, and relationships.

I found the person I want to be with forever and promptly snared him in my trap. Ha!

I've watched the world I live in change in ways I never would have pictured ten years ago.

I discovered that I really do want to be a writer, after all. And that decision brought me many amazing new friends, both in my neck of the woods and online.

The past few days, I've been talking about what's coming in 2010. But on this, the last day of 2009 and the first decade of the new millenium, I wanted to wade in the things that the last ten years have brought us. I want to celebrate the things we've already been through and accomplished, because it's always more than we think. It's always time passing, and life going on, but most of all, it's worth remembering.

Sometimes we need to stop looking forward to the future and take a few minutes to remember our past. Remember the happiness and the pain. Remember the things we achieved and the things we lost.

What better day to do that then today?

I suggest a little group therapy. I don't want to sing rounds of Kumbaya and hold hands (ok, I will, virtually, if anyone REALLY wants me to), but I would like to hear what's happened to you in the last ten years (if you're willing to share, of course). Your triumphs and sorrows. Share away! We've got all year!

. . . which is actually only another 15 hours, for me.

Countdown to 2010-- Day 2

2009-12-30T10:08:00.000-08:00

Firstly, a fellow Alliterati shout-out: Matt Delman over at Free the Princess is having a 10-word novel contest. Go here to check it out and enter-- but do it quickly! It ends tomorrow.

So we've been talking about next year. On Day 4, I started by asking what your goals were. On Day 3, I talked about the fear of change. Today's topic is joy.

What's coming in the new year that you're excited for? Happy about? Looking forward to?

2010 will be a big year for me in a lot of ways. I'm not going to share some of the things I know are coming, a.) because I don't want to jinx them, and b.) because it's just more fun to share them as they happen, but I'm glad I'll have all of you to share these things with.

What will 2010 bring for you?

Countdown to 2010-- Day 3

2009-12-29T08:44:00.000-08:00

With change comes fear. We are programmed to flag things outside of our routine as potential danger, so when we do things differently, or change our surroundings, we can (and often do) feel fear, even though we may not understand why.

2010 is going to be a clean slate, a chance to experience things anew. And it will be unsettling for a few days that it is a new year. The first time you write a check, or date an invoice, it will feel weird. The first time you say the date wrong, it will feel weird. Being surrounded by "Where did 2009 go?" and "I can't believe it's January again!" will feel weird. It might not be weird enough to make a big deal out of it, but it will be there.

So thinking about all the goals you have for 2010-- goals that mean change-- what are you afraid of?

Me? I'm a little afraid of actually getting what I want. (Note: I'm not afraid enough to not pursue it as hard as I can). The idea of what this next year could bring just feels so big. But I'm ready. I may be a little scared, but I'm ready.

And that brings to mind one of my favorite quotes: "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear"- Ambrose Redmoon.

What I'm trying to say is, whatever it is you're afraid of, charging ahead anyway is courageous. Charge ahead into the new year and all the change it will bring!

Also: Thanks to Matt over at Free the Princess for giving me the Kreativ Blogger Award and the lovely shout-out :) If you don't yet know Matt-- you should!

Countdown to 2010-- Day 4

2009-12-28T09:57:00.000-08:00

So, 2010 is (scarily, terrifyingly, abruptly) only four days away. Yes, I just used my adverb quota for the day there. Possibly for the rest of the year. (Hee hee! With the new year only four days away, the "rest of the year" jokes will abound. Hopefully not here. But I may not be able to restrain myself).

Anyway, with a New Year always comes promises. And right on the heels of the over-indulgence of the holidays, they tend to revolve around losing weight, being good, quitting things that are bad for you, etc. But what about for writers?

Renee and Stephanie have touched on goals for writers in the New Year, and I thought I'd follow suit because it's important to have goals. Obviously we all want to be published. That's the end goal, though. What are our goals for the next year? Write a new book? Finish one? Revise? Start querying? Keep querying?

My goal is to find an agent for V that loves it as much as I do. But my secondary goal is to keep writing. "I" is waiting for me... and soon, I'll have time to write again. I hope.

What are your specific writing goals for next year, Alliterati?