No No to the NaNo

It's National Novel Writing Month and I can honestly say...

There is no freaking way I will ever get a full novel written in one month. So I'm not even gonna try.

I'm the type of writer who tries to get everything right the first time. Or at least "right enough" that I only have to re-draft seven or eight times.

I work full time, take care of three kids and a husband (so you might as well count that as four kids), help with homework, write, exercise, blog, be a friend, and try to sneak in a few hours of sleep every night. If that makes you tired, it should. It certainly makes me tired.

But I'm off on a tangent. I guess what I'm trying to say is that there isn't much room in my life to do things a million times because I didn't get it right the first go around.

Anyway...I did think it would be a good time to set a lofty goal for myself in regards to my writing, because frankly, the other facets of my life have almost nixed my attempts to get something on the page. Therefore--

dun

dun

dun
My humongous goal--that is going to be stinking impossible to accomplish, but I am determined to do it--is toWrite 30,000 words in the month of November on my current manuscript.

I figure that if I "Put it out there" then I will be more likely to try to accomplish said goal. It will be HARD. But isn't that what a lofty goal is supposed to be?

So GO AHEAD...

DO IT...

MAKE A CRAZY RANDOM GOAL OF YOUR OWN.

RIGHT HERE.

RIGHT THIS SECOND!
What is your goal for the month of November?

FRIENDSHIP AND An Awkward EX Moment

My friend Jo—awesome person and author that she is—is hosting a blogFEST. Well the letter F is for friends, and since Jo is one of my best ones, I am actually displaying some actual writing of my own. BUT only because she asked me to. J

For her thing, you are supposed to write about an awkward "Meeting of the Ex-es" moment. It has taken me some time, but here is what I came up with. (Just so you know, this was scary for me. I hardly ever post my actual writing.) I'm taking a stab at writing from a grown up MALE perspective. Believe me, this is a HUGE stab. I write YA, so all of my stuff is teenage girl stuff. Therefore, forgive me if I accidentally slip into snarkiness. It's the comfortable writing attire for me. I also decided to write about the build up to the awkward ex moment and let you figure out the rest yourself. Anyway…here goes…

READ AWAY! (I'll just be over here, biting my nails)



PARENT/TEACHER CONFERENCES
"Hey, Honey, where did that new dress shirt go?" I flip through the clothes hanging in my closet. Normally, I don't care much about what I look like, but tonight is special.

"Which dress shirt?" she calls from the other room.

"The blue one. The one I bought yesterday."

"I washed it." My wife walks into the room dangling the freshly ironed shirt from a fingertip. She puts a hand on her hip. "Why are you trying to look so fancy anyway? It's only parent teacher conferences? Most people just wear jeans and a t-shirt." She hands me the shirt, then steps around me to look through her jewelry box. That's what really bothers me. The way she never looks at me anymore.

My fingers shake as I put it on and button it up. I hope she doesn't notice. I hope I'm acting casual enough. I turn away from her and clear my throat. "I thought everyone dresses up for these things."

"Nope." She pulls out a necklace. "No one."

Finally, she walks to her side of the closet and yanks out a button up shirt and some kind of dressy pants. She holds them out to show me. "But if you want to look all decked out, then I'm with you."

An eyebrow raise and fake smile are all I can concede right now. But I watch her as she walks into the bathroom and closes the door silently behind her. At one point she would have invited me in. She wouldn't have been able to keep her hands off me. That was a long time ago.

I secure my tie, check to make sure it looks okay, and proceed to pace until my wife comes out of the bathroom. As soon as I see the door opening, I leave. We've filled our quota of small talk for the day.

Thomas, our son, is watching TV in the living room. I sit next to him on the couch and ruffle his hair. "What's up sport?"

"Nothing." My son is only twelve, but has mastered the art of "don't ask, don't tell" as well as any teenager. He doesn't take his eyes off the television screen.

We sit in silence for a while watching some kind of cartoon show that's too young for him. Not something I'd choose to watch under normal circumstances, but it takes my mind off of what I'm doing tonight. The stupid, conceited, exhilarating thing I'm doing tonight.

"So how's school going?" I ask.

"Fine."

"You like your teacher, Miss…what's her name again?" I put a finger between my collar and my neck, suddenly feeling like I'm strangling.

"Miss Warner. I've told you a million times." Thomas rolls his eyes.

"Oh yes. That is her name." I say it jokingly, but get a ripple of fear in my stomach at the name.

Kathy Warner. Junior year of high school. Backseat of my parents Oldsmobile. Yep. I remember a lot about Kathy Warner. A lot.

"Ready." My wife is putting in her last earring as she stoops to turn off the television. "We don't want to be late." She barely glances at me before heading into the kitchen. Thomas pushes himself off the couch to follow. I wonder how she gets him to like her so much. He is my son, but sometimes I feel like he's just putting up with me.

Checking my tie and hair in the mirror, one last time, I follow them out to the car. My wife is already sitting, seat buckled, in the passenger seat, and checking her lipstick in the overhead mirror. Thomas has found his IPod and is staring out the window, pretending I don't exist. I turn on the radio and back out of the driveway. Rainy Day Woman by Bob Dylan streams from the speakers, bringing back a new wash of Kathy Warner memories. The car warms at the visions tumbling in my mind, until I know I must look flushed. I just thank the lord that my wife doesn't pay any attention to me.

As we pull up to the school, I resist the urge to check how I look in the mirror. It would be a dead giveaway. And I'm not ready yet to explain to my wife why I agreed to come to parent/teacher conferences this year.

She doesn't know about Kathy Warner, because I never told her.

But she will know.

Soon enough.

To look at other awkward EX moments...go here: http://jostorm.blogspot.com/2010/09/writing-promptdialogue-between-exes.html

To Hook up to Alphabe-Thursday, go HERE:


What about you? Have you had a freaky EX moment you're willing to share? I didn't dare tell my real life Awkward moment.

Busy

You know how sometimes you just get busy?

Planning family reunions?
Shopping with friends for eight hours straight?
Cleaning the storage room you've pretended doesn't exist for years?
Getting in fights and making up?
Playing Wii with the kiddies?
Sleeping an extra two hours every day?
Making breakfast, lunch, AND dinner (I hate when school isn't in session)?
Online shopping with the gazillions of Semi-Annual sales going on right now?
Filtering a years worth of receipts you kept because you can't remember why?
Eating trail mix?
Consuming large amounts of Diet Coke?
AND
Working on a story re-write a year and half in the making?

Yeah?

Me too.

That's the kind of week I've had.

(Planned on blogging more...but just had other stuff to do. Catcha next week.)

Tip My Hat Tuesday--For the first and probably only time

In navigating this blogging world, I've seen so many day of the week posts. Manuscript Mondays, Wordless Wednesdays, etc. I've always wanted to get to the point of posting something every single day and having each day dedicated to something specific.

HOWEVER

I'm so NOT good at that. Anything that I HAVE to do every day becomes a job and I didn't start blogging because I wanted another full time job. I started blogging because I like to write. So far, writing is my hobby . . . NOT my job. And until I make a million dollars from it, I fear it will remain that way.

TODAY I am beginning a days of the week thing. But not posting every day, every week. Just off and on. I've decided Tuesdays will be my day to praise, pedistal-ize, and otherwise worship something that I love. I call it 'Tip My Hat' Tuesday.

This Tuesday, I'd like to TIP MY HAT to a very special group of people who have basically changed my life--or at least have given me permission to 'have a life'.

WRITERS CUBED

Writer's Cubed is my writing group. I met these wonderful people at a community writing class I spur-of-the-moment signed up for about a year-and-a-half ago. Until that point in my life, I assumed it was my duty to be a "Working Mom". Because I worked all day, I was REQUIRED to stay home with my children every night. It was what was fair to them. In retrospect, it made me grumpy, resentful, and otherwise a major Bee-otch.

I had always loved writing and finally decided to do something about it. I took this class. I sat through every session, not saying a single word. *Cause that's how I roll*. At the end of the sessions, one wonderful person (Jen :-)) mentioned starting a writing group and put her number up there.

I immediately signed up and from that moment on--MY LIFE CHANGED. It was okay for me to work full time, take care of my children, AND do something for myself. It started as a once a month thing--then became a bi-weekly thing--and is now a once a week thing. This is great for me because. . . I LOVE THESE PEOPLE.

They are witty, funny, a little crass (so much like me), and very supportive. They think like writers, and totally get when I point out that the empty warehouse downtown could possibly be a portal to another world. (haha). As a matter of fact, they wouldn't hardly bat an eyelash if I did say something like that (sort of).

I also love that we don't limit ourselves to discussing only writing. Movies, life-stories, politics, the use of Red Bull as a stimilant, and the fear on people's faces have all been discussed and analyzed...and that is completely AWESOME with me.

Basically, they are my support network for life. And that is why we are Writers Cubed. A cube is equal on every side, at any one time any side can be the base, and multiplied together we are three times more than we could ever be alone. And so I

TIP MY HAT to these people. My friends.

Thanks for your support and encouragement.

Now it is your turn to tip your hat to someone or something you love in your life. Who is your support network? Who lifts you up when you want to discontinue trying? Give them a SHOUT-OUT now! :-)


BTW, Writer's CUBED...We REALLY need to get a new picture taken. :-)

Life Story in Books--Blog Hop and Giveaway

A couple of weeks ago, someone asked me which book or author was my inspiration in my writing. My muse, so to speak. I stared at them, dumbfounded, and thought. . . Honestly? Like we all just stick to one voice or one type of writing and live/breathe it? I am a person who has loved books my whole life. How can I discriminate that love? BUT . . .
As I've pondered this thought, I've realized something. I can remember the periods of my life according to what I've read. Pathetic? A little. I had plenty of friends--AND I loved spending time with characters in books.
The whole idea has got me feeling kind of nostalgic. In an attempty to harness it, I've decided to write my life story . . . IN BOOKS. Kind of, a history in years of books I've loved.
However, waxing nostalgic is NO FUN when you do it all by yourself. So I'm turning this into a blog hop/share. On Friday, May 28th, I want everyone to post your life story in books. ie. what was your favorite book in 1st grade, 2nd, teenage years, adulthood before marriage, post-child, etc. (You get the idea.)What books shaped you into the person you are today?
Sign up now...and be entered into a drawing for a ten dollar barnes and noble gift card. Oh, and don't forget to push 'follow' when you link up. Thanks for playing! Please say you adored Pippi Longstockings in elementary school the way I did. :-)



ALSO: CHECK MY SITES TO VISIT (Top of other column) for a couple of other favorite blogs currently doing GIVEAWAYS!

Does This Manuscript Make My Butt Look Big?

There are several things I've learned since becoming a writer.
1. Sometimes less is more (usually most of the time).
2. Characters have more than just eyes and a face.
3. It's okay to break grammar/usage rules to get a point across.
4. Prologues are somehow a no-no (who knew?)
5. Just because a character is something doesn't mean they always have to act like it.
AND
6. Your a** grows in congruence with your manuscript.

Yes, I said it. I swear that every page written adds another piece of cellulite to the butt and thighs.


Before I started writing, this was me:


After a year and half, this is me:

Okay, so neither one are actually ME. But you get the idea. I swear it is scientifically accurate. I wonder if I measured the height of all the pages I've written and compared it to the growth of my bedonkadonk if it would be in proportion? I might have to do that some time. (Add to list of experiments I'd like to try)

I guess my hang up with all of this is balance. I am a full time mom and I have a full time job. This writing thing is consuming every extra ounce of free time I possess. It's amazing to me, because I truly love writing, but a small part of me resents it for taking my life away. It has given me one more full time job. The only problem? I don't get paid for it.

All right--RANT OVER! Time to look on the bright side. Some things that I've realized since becoming a writer.

a) Running Sucks! I've forced myself to go out and do it for ten months now . . . and I HATE IT! It never gets easy. In fact, if it does get easy, you aren't trying hard enough. I finally have a reason to quit. I don't have time for it! Thanks manuscript for saving me on that one.

b) My kids can sleep just about anywhere. Really. I'm not lying. Since I began this journey into the world of words, I've found my kids in some really weird places. In front of the bathroom door, sticking out of my closet, in the corner between the bed and the dresser--Completely ASLEEP. I don't know how they do it, but it works for them and we're going with it.

c) Hardly anyone cares about writing, EXCEPT writers. Since I've come out of the "Writing Closet" and admitted that I dabble in novels, everyone asks me about it. However, not a freakin one really cares that I used this verb instead of that one, or made a character with a unique flaw. THEY DON'T CARE. And that's all good. That's what "Writing Friends" are for.

d) My brain does not work like the majority of people. I can't look at a person, a place, or a story in the newspaper without wondering what's behind it. That weird guy at Walmart who sings really loud to himself. Hmmm...I wonder what's up with him? Maybe he was kidnapped my aliens! That old building in my semi-new subdivision, why is it there? Perhaps a secret society meets there on the weekends! (You see what I'm saying) Every conversation overheard becomes a page in a book in my mind.
For most people this is called PSYCHO! To other writers? CREATIVE!


Yes, my rear might get larger until I figure out how to balance the creative juices and the nectar of life, but I can deal. Because I know someday, someone, somewhere is going to publish my book, and someday, someone, somewhere is going to read it. So until then, I'm going to pull up my size 50 pants proudly. Because. . .


I AM A WRITER!

A Taste of 'The Deception Virus'... No pun intended.

I'm participating in a bloghop today at 'The Fiction Groupie' blog. (http://fictiongroupie.blogspot.com)

The goal is to take a section where the dialogue tells the story. I've chosen this section because it is probably the only semi-risque section in my entire manuscript. The rest of the novel is all action packed and conspiracy driven. Read at your own risk--I'm sure you'll never look at me the same way again. :-)ALSO, forgive the formatting, I'm posting this as quickly as possible.


A tear dripped from her eye and Zack wiped it away with his thumb. Being tired made her weepy. She hated it.
“It’s okay Lou. We’ll all help you. We’ve promised.” He grinned. “Believe me. I tried to get Jay to stay away, but he won’t.”
Lou self-consciously ran her free hand through her hair. “I bet you did. You guys don’t seem to like each other very much.”
“Can you blame us?”
Lou blushed, concentrating on their interlocked fingers.
“You have no idea how cute you are, do you?” Zack asked.
“Whatever.” Lou tried to pull her hand away, but Zack kept a firm grip.
He smiled. “Look at you. I’m never sure if you’re going to hug me or slap me.”
Lou smacked his arm.
“I guess that answers that question.” Zack chuckled, then went serious. “Serves me right, I guess. That’s what I get for liking a girl who is so unavailable.”
“Who says I’m unavailable?” Lou asked halfheartedly.
“You don’t want to know. It will only make you mad.”
Lou slapped him lightly again. “Tell me.”
Zack screwed up his face. “Shantelle.”
“You talked to Shantelle about me?” Lou covered her face with one hand. “That’s great. She must have given you an earful.” She peeked through her fingers. “Just out of curiosity, what did she say?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Zack rolled his eyes.
“If you don’t tell, I swear, I’ll beat you senseless.” Lou squeezed his fingers as tight as she could.
Zack snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”
Lou suddenly rushed at him. But he grabbed her arms and pinned them against her chest. She struggled, but he gently held her back. Lou tried a different tactic. She stopped moving altogether and went boneless, putting her full weight on top of him. That didn’t work either. He held her up like she weighed nothing.
“Okay, don’t tell me. I don’t care.” Lou conceded. She pulled away and sat back on the couch again.
Zack took her hand and shrugged. “She asked me out, and I told her no. She must have put two and two together, because that’s when she said, ‘If you’re thinking about Lyndsie Martin, don’t bother.’ And something else about you liking your friends as more than friends . . . or something.”
Lou’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, she said that, did she?”
“I didn’t believe her.” Zack’s blue eyes stared into hers. “Until I’ve been with you guys tonight.” He frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt like more of an outcast.”
“Please,” Lou said, “Isn’t that being a little dramatic.” Then she looked closer at him. A wrinkle formed between his eyes, his mouth turned down. Oh crap, he's being serious.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize it made you feel bad. We were just being us.” Though she felt forward for doing it, Lou reached out and put her hand on his cheek. Rough and warm.
Zack raised her other hand to his chest. His heart thumped beneath her fingers. He looked at her. “I’ve never had a friend like that. My family was so weird, people didn’t want to be my friend.”
“Sure.” Lou appraised him. “You’re just too hot. They were probably intimidated.”
Oh my heck, I just called him hot to his face.
Zack smiled. “So you think I’m cute?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well you just said I was hot. I’ll take it. I think that’s the only compliment you’ve ever given me.” He pulled Lou toward him.
Chickening out, Lou leaned her head lightly on his shoulder. “Read into it what you will. It was a slip of the tongue.” Did I just say tongue? An image popped into Lou’s head of her first kiss with Zack. The tension built, easing some of the hollowness left over from her dream.
Desperate to change the subject, Lou said, “So tell me more about you. Where did you grow up? What does your dad do?”
“It’s a boring story. We moved around a lot. Now he does factory work.”
“Wow, that’s quite a life story,” Lou said sarcastically. “I’m sure they’re making a documentary about it right now.”
“I don’t want to talk about me.” Zack’s voice was husky. It sounded almost like . . .
Lou looked at him to check if he was crying. He wasn’t, but she already knew what she wanted. Their eyes locked. Zack leaned his head downward and kissed her softly on the lips.
She couldn’t stop herself. Lou deepened the kiss. She clung to his t-shirt, her other arm circling behind his head. As the kiss lengthened, Zack cupped her face, and Lou moved so she was on top of him. His hands were everywhere.
This is a much better distraction than jumping.
Zack flattened her against him.
Way better.
Suddenly, Zack pulled away with a shocked look. He was breathing hard. “We should stop.”
“We should?” Lou caught her breath, her heart racing. Then the guilt came.
I’m getting it on when I should be concentrating on saving my parents.
“Yeah.” Zack pushed her back onto the couch and stood up. “I think it would be best.” He scratched his head and backed away, giving her a strange look she couldn’t read. He sat on the love seat again. “Besides, you’ll need your sleep if you’re going to figure anything out tomorrow. I don’t want to be the one responsible for keeping you up.”
The couch might as well have been an island in the middle of an empty sea.
Her throat constricted. She lay down on her side, facing the couch, and pulled the blanket over her. Tears pushed at the inside of her eyelids. She shoved her face into the brown leather and swallowed. “Will you catch the light? I can’t sleep with it on.”
“Sure.” Zack didn’t move for a minute. Finally, the light click off, engulfing the room in darkness once again.
Only then did she let the tears slip down, wetting her pillow.

Wokka Wokka Wokka...And other such nonsense.

I am blessed to hang out twice a month with a group of friends I like to call The Maple Mountain Writers Guild. (Really I don't like to call them that--it's just our official title). A week or so ago, someone from this group blogged about how everyone in the world could be compared to a Winnie the Pooh character. It's amazing, and she was totally right! However, I'm not a Pooh Bear kind of person. The Muppets are so much more my style. So I started thinking . . . which muppets character would each person in our group be? Here is my list, in no particular order.

Me: Statler and Waldorf

For those who don't know, Statler and Waldorf are the two old men who sit in the balcony of the Muppet Show and basically rip on everyone and everything in site. Their sarcasm and use of puns is unparalleled. Though I try to be positive and uplifting, my brain just sees the world through sarcasm glasses. Plus, I laugh at my own jokes. I might as well get myself box seats at our next group meeting.

Lois: Dr. Bunsen Honeydew

Like Dr. Honeydew, Lois is our resident researcher. She is fact driven and very good at looking at things in a logical way. Keep her up late at night though, and Lois is an entirely different person; wild, crazy, and hilarious. After midnight, a Mad Scientists bursts out. She hasn't blown us all up yet, but just knowing she has the power and smarts to, makes me a little scared. :-)

Amy: Scooter

Scooter is the stage hand who keeps all the muppets grounded. When we want to get off-track or a little crude (little being the operative word), Amy makes sure we remember who we are and why we do what we do. When other muppet characters start busting up the place, Scooter is the one that sets it all right again. That's what Amy does for us.

Tahsha: Miss Piggy

I know she is going to kill me for this one...but let me explain. I've never told anyone this, but I always wanted to be Miss Piggy. Miss Piggy is fashionable and commands attention. She is equal parts spunky and dramatic. No one takes the stage like Miss Piggy. That is our Tahsha. Fun, Hilarious, and totally beautiful. Also able to eat large amounts of food and remain toothpick thin. I just wish I could get her to use the word 'moi' more.

Ted: Gonzo

I chose this character as Ted for one reason only. Gonzo is all about the Chicks. He keeps hourds of them around and they all worship him and would do anything for him. Gonzo knows how to put on a show and sport a pimp-daddy hat. Yet there is something about him that is a little crazy and lovable. The funny thing is that Ted is the oldest member of our group--and also the most girl crazy. Go figure.

Reana: Janice

In case you're wondering, Janice is one of the few female characters on the muppets. She's the rocking guitar player in the Muppet Band. Part gypsy, part musician, part cool cat, Janice is the person you'd want to hang out with in a Jazz Club drinking Margaritas. Reana is just as cool as all that. And, like Janice, an air of mystery surrounds her.

Jo: Mixture of Rowlf the Dog and Animal

Depending on the time of night and the day of the week, you could get either one of these with Jo. Rowlf the Dog is the one all the muppets go to for advice and a listening ear, yet he is so talented, he can play pretty much anything. That's Jo. Totally talented literaturally (I just made up a new word), yet takes the roll of resident psychologist. However, get her going, and Jo can be a real animal. There's no stopping her at two in the morning.

James: Fozzie

Fozzie is the resident comedian. Sometimes his jokes are funny. He likes playing practical jokes on other muppets (though it doesn't usually work). But he is always lovable. When in a pinch, Fozzie can take the stage and tell jokes to his hearts delight. That is James. You aren't sure whether to pat his head, or throw a rotten tomato at him. Either way, the muppets, and writer's group, wouldn't be the same without him. Wokka, Wokka, Wokka

Jen: Kermit the Frog

Who doesn't love Kermit the Frog? You could ask any person on the planet what they think about Kermit and I don't think anyone would say, "Blegh, that green guy?" They would say 'I love him'. Jen is just as lovable. Yet what would the muppets be without Kermit? That's right. There would be no muppets. Jen pulls us together, sets us on track and does it all with a laugh and smile. It's disgusting (that's the Statler and Waldorf in me coming out).

I would say come and join the fun one day. It's as close to the Muppet Circus as you'll ever get. But. Alas for You. We are exclusive and snobbish and altogether too great for words. That is, if they let me come back after this merciless blog post.

I LOVE MMWG!

Life Lyrics

I am a person who walks around with my own personal soundtrack running around in my head. I think I remember each moment of life with a song attached to it.
One of my earliest memories is riding on the back of my dad's motorbike to watch him practice for a community theater production of Camelot. I distinctly recall sitting on the folding chairs in the PHS auditorium. My legs barely reached the end of the chair, but when I listened to Lancelot and Gueniviere sing "If ever I should leave you, it wouldn't be in autumn." it captivated me. My dream was to play Annie on Broadway, and I would practice in front of the mirror, belting out "Tomorrow...Tomorrow" like a true star.
Another musical moment that stands out happened on the 24th of July, a holiday in Utah. I have a huge family with cousins who truly feel like brothers and sisters to me. On this day, we had a family picnic in the canyon. My oldest cousin Linda, the coolest person in the world to us, brought some Alabama music and we staged an old fashioned hoe-down in a clearing in the middle of the forest. To this day, I can't hear the lyrics "If you're gonna play in Texas, you gotta have a fiddle in the band" and not want to find a meadow and start clogging. (Something I really shouldn't do anymore.)
Fast forward to High School and my first boyfriend. The movie Beauty and the Beast had just come out and the song was all over the radio (The Celine Dion version, not the Angela Lansbury one--Thank Goodness). It became "Our song", which is really weird when you think about it. Anyway, we had planned to go to Prom together. I was President of the dance team and actually had the opportunity to help teach and then lead the Promenade. I was pumped and had my extremely lacey pink dress all ready to go. The theme of Prom was even "Beauty and the Beast" (once again, strangeness). It was going to be perfect. Then, the people we were doubling with got in a car accident. My boyfriend wanted to stay at the hospital and make sure they were okay. Now, not to admit how completely self-centered I am, but I thought that was lame. When I asked if we could just run and do the Promenade, my boyfriend called me selfish and refused to leave. I had to call my dad to pick me up from the hospital. I held it together until I had pulled all the miles and miles of satin around me in the front seat and closed the door. The song Beauty and the Beast STILL makes me want to cry.
I tell you all of this because writing is practically impossible for me without some form of music attached to it. When I'm writing a sad moment, it always helps to bust out a ballad. Powerful girl moments beg for a touch of P!nk. And an action sequence just isn't the same unless Linkin Park or Foo Fighters put in their own two cents.
So, to follow the masses, I have created a playlist for my book, The Deception Virus. Either the lyrics spoke to me, or the feeling-tone of the song just encompassed what I pictured, but I love every single butt-kicking one. Of the whole list, I have to give a shout out to two artists whose albums were common listening throughout this entire process. First of all, P!nk, whose whole attitude entirely encompasses the way my protagonist looks at the world--especially the song 'Stupid Girls'. The 'Backspacer' album by Pearl Jam is amazing. I'm going to come out of the closet and admit I am a fan. But only because of this latest album. The lyrics to 'Just Breathe' are the way my main character's dad feels about his family, and frankly, every time I hear it, I want to cry.
These are the things that inspire.

And on the First Day...a Writer was Born

Today, I've been trying to remember when my love for writing started. Then I realized, that it was not one set moment in time or place, but a series of events that propelled me to get my work out there.
When I was little, I remember my mom reading me the book Where the Red Fern Grows. I was pretty young, but I distinctly recall sobbing my eyes out when the dogs died at the end of the book (sorry, if that's a spoiler for you.). I have never read that book since. I'm worried about ruining something that was truly magical to me. That book taught me that written words have power. Power to make someone laugh, cry, or cuss depending on their mood. Once I understood that--the love of words in general could not be contained.
A couple of years later, two things happened that increased that love exponentially. One, I was the winner in a contest throughout the whole third grade to read the most amount of pages. I can proudly state that I read 20,000 pages that year. I think I won some money--I don't really remember--but what I do remember is that part of the prize package included the book A Wrinkle in Time. I read it cover to cover and understood not one word of it. At first, I was disappointed, until I realized...if they would give me a book this weird and hard to understand, they must think I'm really smart. However, I shelved the book (that is until sixth grade when I read it again, three times, and loved it.)
The second thing that happened, is that I won third place in a writing contest. It was a letter to Santa asking him to quit smoking. The section I was most proud of went something like this. 'If you don't quit smoking, you'll get really sick, and Mrs. Claus will have to take care of you. Pretty soon, she'll get sick of it and start to hate you. The next thing you know, she'll be suing you for ruining her life. So you see, Santa, smoking isn't worth it.' Don't ask me where that logic came from, but I remember adults laughing about it. I thought it was pretty cool I could make adults laugh with stuff that I wrote. From then on, I strove to be funny in my writing.
In ninth grade, in my English class, I wrote a story called 'A Day in the Life of a Flea'. The main characters were all fleas living on one dog. It was a love story, and the main character--Fleadrick I think his name was--steals a girl from the school bully. The bully breaks his leg, but it isn't so bad because he has so many others. In the end, Fleadrick learns that all is fair in love and war. I wrote it in one night, and the English teacher ended up reading it to all of his classes. (At least, that is what he told me.) In my own class, I was both extremely proud and extremely embarrassed. When the other kids in my class period laughed about it too, however, it was all worth it.
The next step on my road to becoming a writer came my Sophmore year of high school. Mrs. Bridges, my English teacher, assigned us a persuasive paper about the Gulf War. I, of course, procrastinated it and ended up writing it during an assembly we luckily had that morning. My paper was 'for' going to war and the benefits to humanity when we help those less fortunate than us. I didn't have a good feeling about it. Mrs. Bridges was one of the hardest teachers I ever had. When the paper came back, however, a huge A+ graced the top of it, with a little note. 'See me after class'. I sat through the rest of the period with a huge stomach ache, worried that she would tell me she knew I had written it in an hour, and the good grade was a joke. After everyone had cleared out, I trudged up to her desk, ready to hear the worst, but it wasn't bad news. Mrs. Bridges told me I was an amazing writer and asked if I would give her the paper to submit to a magazine. I never knew if she actually did, or if the article was ever published, but I gained confidence that maybe I really could BE a writer.
Fast forward to college and a professor I will never forget the name of--Dr. Diana Major Spencer. My first paper in her class scored only a C, the lowest grade I had ever gotten in an English class. She told us we were welcome to revise as many times as we wanted to bring our grades up one full grade. I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into that paper, and after seven (yes, seven) revisions I pulled the grade up to a B. What a lesson that was...writing is hard work? What? There must surely be something wrong. Writing isn't supposed to be hard. Yet here I was, up into the wee hours of morning, revising and changing and editing. It just didn't seem fair. After graduation, my writing career pretty much ended. I got my diploma in Elementary Education and became a teacher, the only job I ever unequivacully loved. My favorite subject to teach, by far, was writing. I attempted stories and novels, but could never get my characters jump out of the page and join me in writing about them. Each story seemed to be missing that internal spark that made it come to life. Finally, one day, I decided to sit down and write a novel, a romance novel. I made myself the main character, and my high school boyfriend the love interest. Suddenly, using real people for the characters, I could see them as something more than just a name on a page. Characters were people with feelings and back stories and skeletons in their closet. It was a turning point in my writing.
I scrapped that novel, but the lessons I learned from it have changed me as a writer. Now, with one novel completed and under my belt, I feel like my characters actually exist outside the book, like if I went to this town they live in, I might run into them. Characters and voice have become my strengths.
In all, this writing life has been an adventure. Now I'm taking it to the next level--trying to publish. This, I realize, is where the work begins, but I'm willing to go the distance. I've won, I've lost, and I've learned. Now I'm ready to share my work with the world.
So now you know me, the writer. Get ready to share your stories with me...