tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10174461117983341192024-03-13T13:03:09.474-07:00Diana Paz Writes...Diana Paz Writes... Young Adult Fiction. A blog about what I read, write, imagine, and dream. dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11603216077450841282noreply@blogger.comBlogger127125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-43192812447698259212010-11-26T16:24:00.000-08:002011-02-20T07:27:20.741-08:00Thanksgiving Flash: Humans and Aliens<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I woke up with an idea for Thanksgiving-themed Friday Flash. I guess I like using the holidays as a springboard for shorts *grins* And in other news, I'm so excited about our first Christmas in our Very Own Home that I went out today and got our Christmas tree!!! (Already. Yup, it'll be a dried out shrub by Christmas :P)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">***</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;">Humans and Aliens</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The spray of steaming water came to a stop as the shower control panel flashed from blue to orange. Vivica raised her arms. A gust of warm air spiraled around her body, drying her in seven seconds.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Vivica dressed quickly. Her palmcon flashed blue and she held it to her hand, not bothering to affix it properly before creating a thought, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m going primitive and won’t be communicating today! Hugs and happy Thanksgiving!!!</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> She added warm fuzzies to the thought before releasing it from her mind and skimming the communications sent to her. Most were conversations she didn’t bother accessing, but… a Private Thought from Liam? </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Her heart pounded. Did Liam want to begin communicating? She couldn’t suppress the smile at her lips. It was more than the fact that Liam was cute-- what morphling wasn’t? But Liam, he had a way of looking at her-- </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">No.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Why did she always let herself get carried away when it came to him? Fine, he was one of the few nice genuinely nice morphlings at school, but that didn’t change the fact that most of his kind thought they were superior. It wasn’t a coincidence that morphlings were tracked for space travel, while earthlings ended up testing for classes like Fundamentals of Programming. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sure, let the earthlings do all the encoding.</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She set the palmcon aside and headed downstairs, her mind made up. If she accessed the Private Thought, Liam would </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">see</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> that she’d accessed it. Whatever Liam wanted, it could wait. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">***</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The smell of cinnamon rolls filled the house and that-- combined with the sight of Mom in the kitchen opening a feast box-- made it really feel like Thanksgiving.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Good morning sugar-shine,” Mom said, her soft brown eyes crinkling in a smile. “Want to help?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Definitely,” Vivica said, starting on one of the smaller boxes. It looked like the utensil box. As soon as she had it opened she recognized the food holders and stirrers, but something new caught her attention. Twin blades affixed to a handle. “What’s this?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mom checked the insert card. “It looks like a skinner. It’s for removing the outer layer of skin from vegetables.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Vivica checked the side of the box and felt a gush of excitement. “You decided to try a lower primitivity level this year!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“What can I say? You talked me into it.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Stellar!” Vivica </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">loved</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> creating their own food, just like earthlings did centuries ago, before instant molecular generation made food preparation obsolete. Not that she’d want to do it every day, of course.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Why don’t you generate a cinnamon roll while I get the rest of these boxes opened,” Mom said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Oh, the cinnamon roll scent was only an artificial air enhancement. Vivica didn’t complain, though. It was tradition that Mom lifted the parental food controls for holidays, and cinnamon rolls were her favorite.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In two seconds she was cramming her mouth full of the soft, icing-covered rolls. “These are celestial,” she said, generating another. “Where are the vegetables? I want to try out the skinner.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“The food box is over there,” Mom said, reading the virturkey manual. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Vivica licked her fingers and found the food box. It opened with a faint </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">hiss</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> and a billow of chill mist.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Be sure to seal it properly,” Mom said. “The last thing we need is to have a ruined feast with all our visitors coming.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Who’s coming besides Gram?” she asked, her fingers going numb as she dug through the icy food box.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Uncle Nando and Annia,” Mom said. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Vivica almost squealed-- that meant baby Mayica would be coming too! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“And Liam from school. You know him, right?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Liam</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">? The numbness in her fingers went straight to her chest. “Why? He’s not family, and-- and-- they don’t celebrate Thanksgiving-- and </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">why</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">?”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“His parents have been sent on interplanetary assignments, you know that.” Mom sent her a sharp glance. “I might teach Social Ideology but I’m not blind to the cliques at school. You’ll be civil to him--”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“They’re the ones who aren’t civil, acting all high-and-mighty with their telepathic powers--”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Stop it. All morphlings don’t act that way. Liam’s a kind boy and I’m not letting one of my students sit alone in a dormitory on Thanksgiving.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Vivica exhaled shakily.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Try to think outside your sphere, Vivica. He’s curious about the custom, and I think a little lonely without his parents.” Mom rubbed the frown from her brow, looking tired. “Didn’t he send you a palmcon about this? He told me he’d let you know.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Vivica felt herself blush at the memory of what she’d thought that message from Liam might have been. How stupid was she? Of course he was only letting her know that he was coming to Thanksgiving. A morphling would never date an earthling. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">***</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Liam approached the Hanover household-- Vivica’s home-- unsure of what to expect. He understood the disdain many earthlings felt for morphlings. Centuries of oppression against them couldn’t be erased in a few generations’ time, especially since Vivica’s kind had almost been obliterated in the aftermath of the Invasion.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But all morphlings weren’t the same.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He shifted the platter of food he brought and pushed the notifier bell.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Hi Vivica,” he said when she answered the door.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Hello.” Her mouth turned down, her gaze wary. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He didn’t need to analyze her mood to know she wasn’t thrilled to see him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She moved out of the doorway and he stepped inside, inhaling deeply. The scents merged together, baking bread and sizzling virturkey, apples and brown sugar, all of it too complicated to be mere artificial air enhancements. “It smells great in here. Did you participate in the feast preparation?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She nodded, her eyes downcast as she pressed the doorway access pad to shut it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">His lips parted, as if his body anticipated his need to fill the silence, but his mind came up with nothing to say.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ms. Hanover came to the entryway. “I’m so glad you could make it, Liam,” she said, her smile warm and welcoming.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Um, this is from my mom,” he said, handing her the platter of janifrass his mom teleported this morning. “She sends her gratitude for including me in your celebration today.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He caught the way Vivica glanced at him. He couldn’t read her thoughts without touching palms, and for that he was grateful.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Tell your mother, it’s a pleasure to have you,” Ms. Hanover said. “Vivica, take Liam into the family room and introduce him to everyone, while I finish up. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Vivica’s lips formed a thin line. “Come on, Liam.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Vivica’s grandmother greeted him courteously, but he sensed falseness in her reception. The rest of her family welcomed him brightly, even little Mayica with her gummy grin. He couldn’t help laughing as her emotions washed over him with an openness he wasn’t accustomed to. Earthlings were usually careful with their feelings, and morphlings were born already possessing telepathic speech and cognitive abilities. Babies were quite unique in their artless expression of emotion.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mayica gurgled in speech patterns mimicking enthusiasm, her arms and legs synchronized to her excitement. Liam relinquished himself to the desire to make her laugh.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Pressure built in the back of his mind and he glanced up, the trace of a smile still on his lips as he met Vivica’s gaze. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Her cheeks flushed with heat and Liam blinked, his mind faltering. She turned away, and suddenly he very much wanted to read her thoughts.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Dinner’s ready,” Ms. Hanover called.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Everyone headed to the dining area, complimenting Vivica and her mother on the food spread out on the table. He and Vivica were seated beside each other, a fact that sent his senses into overload. He didn’t know what to make of that, or of the increase in heart rate he detected in Vivica. He shouldn’t be reading her vitals. It was a step away from analyzing her emotions and that was unforgivably rude. But she was so close. Her breathing so unsteady… almost as if… as if she--</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Before we take our turns saying what we’re thankful for this year,” Vivica’s father said, holding her mother’s hand in a strictly earthling form of affection, “I’d like to welcome Liam. I hope this is the first of many visits from you and your family.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Liam found it difficult to meet anyone’s gaze, and dropped his. “Thank you,” he said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Each member of the family gave thanks for something, and he didn’t miss Vivica’s grandmother’s severe tone when she said, “I’m thankful to be living in a free world. Some people seem to want to forget that it wasn’t always that way.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The atmosphere changed, the air becoming tighter. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Yes,” Ms. Hanover said smoothly, “thanks to earthling rights activists like Liam’s family, much has changed for the better over the past century.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Everyone seemed to relax, and Mr. Hanover carved up the virturkey, which glistened in shades of deep, caramelized browns over moist white protein. The dishes were all rich with flavor, with unusual combinations like chopped bread soaked in a savory juice, or starchy vegetables mixed with cream. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Seconds, Liam?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“No thank you,” he said, “I’ve almost doubled my caloric needs already.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He sensed everyone’s humor before their laughter bubbled across the table. Vivica offered him a smile, and he again wondered about her heart rate earlier, the way blood had rushed to her cheeks. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It was almost like an attraction response.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That thought left his mind blank.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Everyone headed for the family room again as the smell of baking apple and pumpkin pastries filled the air. Some of Vivica’s family members played games, others engaged in verbal communication. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Hey,” Vivica said, sitting in front of some kind of fire producing device. “Want to roast marshmallow?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He sat beside her, again overwhelmed by his sensory response to being so close to her. She was a very lovely earthling. Beautiful. And passionate. She let her emotions out more often than any other earthling he knew. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She took two skewers and pierced a large mass of puffed sugar on the end of each, offering him one. Liam followed her lead, sticking his skewer into the flames, twirling it around and around like the thoughts that now turned in his mind. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Vivica?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She glanced up, her eyes glowing in the dim light.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Would you ever consider…” his voice failed him, and his heart, which had beat the same steady rhythm since the day he was born, stuttered abnormally. He breathed deep, startled.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Your marshmallow’s burning,” she said, tipping his skewer up. She leaned forward and blew.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">His gaze remained on her lips. He forced them up to her eyes. “Do you want to do something sometime? Outside of school?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She turned her face down, hiding from him. “You mean, socialize?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">No, not like socialize. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Like… courtship. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Never mind, that was a thoughtless suggestion,” she said, her eyes sparkling with a challenge he didn’t understand. “Morphlings don’t socialize with </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">humans</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.” </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He sucked in a breath. The words </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">human</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> and </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">alien</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> were the worst kind of derogatory slurs, antiquated from the time of the Invasion. “I guess you’d notice more than I do,” he said, getting up. “Seeing as I’m an emotionless alien.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Her mouth fell open. “Liam, wait.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He’d never felt so close to anger before. How did she see him, if she could use that kind of word? He grit his teeth. How could he have allowed himself to use a similar one?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He paused in front of Vivica’s parents. “It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Hanover, Mr. Hanover.” He lifted his palm respectfully and they did the same, albeit slowly. “I’ll be leaving now.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He reached the entryway but before he could hit the access pad Vivica caught up to him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m so stupid, I have no right--”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“You have every right to your feelings. You were lumping me with the prejudiced morphlings that inundate your life.” His speech pattern was too fast. He was allowing emotion to blur his mind and he couldn’t stop himself. “I’m aware of the systems in place that keep earthlings from advancing, and I can’t change what morphlings have done in the past, but I have a right to my feelings too.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“What do you feel?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He took her hand, pressing her palm to his. Their minds overlapped and he shuddered, his eyes sliding closed. Emotions coursed through his body and flowed into hers. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This is what I feel. </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He lowered his hand and their fingers interlaced. Her pupils were dilated. Her lips parted. He should apologize, but he wasn’t sorry. He’d seen her thoughts too, one in particular that she’d had over and over. He was having the same thought now, and he lifted her chin and kissed her.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The End.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-65598174691230595472010-11-24T17:07:00.000-08:002010-11-24T17:26:26.129-08:00I'm Not Qualified to Give Query Advice, But...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I'm procrastinating (when am I not?) and I figured I'd pay attention to my poor, neglected blog. My sweet friend Juliette @jterzieff on twitter started her agent search today, and that got me thinking about what words of wisdom I might impart. The advice I give here isn't specifically for Juliette because I don't know all her particulars. But she's the inspiration for the idea ~waves to Juliette!~</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">VERY IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Sadly, I don't have an agent, so that makes me unqualified to give advice on the subject of querying them. Yet here I go anyway because I can't seem to stop myself.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Tips For Querying, For the First Time Querier, and without going into much detail about whether this advice comes after learning from my own experiences or not:</span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">1. Finish the book. Reeeeeeeeally finish it. Yeah. Moving on.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wait, did I say finish the book? I didn't mean get to the end. Or even checking so that it makes sense. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">The whole revision process is longer than you might think, oh first-time querier (at least, that's what I wish I'd known when *I* first started querying).</span> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">There are layers and layers and LAYERS of revision. So... do it! Let the story sit a while, re-read it, have it critiqued, revise some more, when you think it's ready, have beta readers take a look, revise some more. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">When you think it's FINALLY ready, print it out and read the whole thing again-- and mark it up with a sparkly pink pen</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> (or, um, whatever color. It doesn't *have* to be pink).</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">2. Okay, so now you're ready! Time to make a list of agents! Yay!!! ::dancing:: Woo hoo!!! </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Oh wait, you probably skipped past step one and already did this. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">You've been following your list of agents on twitter and reading their blogs and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">you know EVERYTHING about them! The names of their pets and whether they prefer Starbucks or Coffee Bean; their favorite food/books/movies; their disdain for TSA and their take on e-readers. Your agent list grows every day, it seems!</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But...all that doesn't necessarily mean those agents that you've been following (stalking, whatever) on blogs and on twitter should make your query list. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It merely makes you a fangirl/fanboy of theirs-- which is FINE. They are, along with authors, our rock stars. If they have a social presence, they're probably not averse to being loved and adored by you. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Aside from the social aspect, you need a separate list of agents that you should be targeting for your BOOK.</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">It really shouldn't have a lot to do with their social awesomeness (although social awesomeness can be added to your notes).</span> The List of Agents for Your Book should have more to do with the kinds of books the agents represent. Gathering info from places like Querytracker is a good way to start. You can narrow your search down to specific genres, and check out statistics on wait time and request rates.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">RED ALERT!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Making a list on Querytracker isn't enough! You should investigate the agents on that list FURTHER, by reading the preferences and guidelines on their websites, checking out what places like Publisher's Marketplace and AbsoluteWrite have to say, and adding notes to each accordingly so you don't waste time double researching. If you can find interviews or a writer conference recap, even better!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">3. Create a dedicated email address for your queries. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This is a wise move. Not only will it look more professional than pinksparkleberry337, it'll help you! If your query email is never used for anything else, you'll always know that a new email </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">means</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> something agenty... and every time you get a new email in your </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">normal</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> inbox, you won't spaz out.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">4. Write the query letter. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Some people say write the query letter first. I'll probably try that with my next book. Whatever the case is, write the query letter and DON'T SEND IT!!! Just like with your book, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">please</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> don't send off the very first attempt at the very first query letter you've ever written, because then if you receive rejections it might just be your query letter and not your book. Revise it. Have others read it. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">Have someone who's never read the book read it and ask them if they're confused.</span> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And also, after all that tweaking, be sure to triple check the final version. Sending a query with a typo is sooo embarrassing. Moving on.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">5. When are you querying? Does timing matter? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Shall we query in September? April, June, and November?</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I don't know. I'm not the type that makes my querying status public, nor will I share my statistics, but I will say that overall, I don't query around the holidays.** Also, some think the end of summer is best, but really, I say meh. If the book is really ready and brilliant, it's really ready and brilliant. I've seen blog buddies and twitter friends make agent announcements all year round.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A final bit of advice...</span></span><br />
<ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Be prepared, absolutely and unequivocally, for rejection. </span></li>
</ul><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Don't let even the smallest part of your brain expect that you'll be the Lucky One who gets an agent the first time out. It'll only make rejection harder, and if you ARE the Lucky One, you'll be just as shocked and delighted if you hadn't let yourself expect it.</span></li>
</ul><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Try your very hardest to develop selective amnesia. If you can send out queries, let's say in batches of five, and then find the strength inside yourself to </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">move on with life as if you hadn't just sent them out,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> you'll probably be a bit more productive and less of a wreck than if you obsessively check your email and talk incessantly about the querying process... HOWEVER, seeing as how this is your first time ever querying, that advice is absolutely impossible to follow. So, go ahead and obsessively check your email and talk incessantly about the querying process :D</span></li>
</ul><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">WAIT!!! Did I mention rejection is hard? It's HARD, but if you've done everything you can possibly do for your book, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">for really-really-reals--</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> and you're not just *saying* that because you're in a rush and excited to query-- AND you want to be published, then facing rejection is your only option. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">From what I hear, rejection doesn't end when you get an agent.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And in conclusion, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">congratulations!</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> You're a step closer to your goals!!! Querying is exciting! You can do it! You'll learn about yourself in the process! And one day you'll have an agent and you'll see everything you've gone through as steps to prepare you for your future as a published author.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">**This no-querying-around-the-holidays rule I set on myself should be VERY interesting for me, as I near completion of revisions of my novel right around the holidays. Critiques are coming back in, I'll be sending out beta reads next week... it'll be tempting to just send out my book once I get the beta comments back, but that'll likely be smack in the middle of Decemeber. My advice to myself, let another round of beta readers get to it. Or let it sit for a while, to be re-read again in a week or two. Querying later is always better than querying too soon, right???? And why am I in such a rush, anyway????? (I-don't-KNOW!!!).</span></span><br />
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</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-11460881737469440652010-11-16T05:00:00.000-08:002010-11-16T16:33:29.818-08:00Visiting at Natalie Murphy's Blog Today!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I'm not here today, I'm guesting at <a href="http://nataliemurphy.blogspot.com/2010/11/character-development-guest-post-by.html">Natalie Murphy's Blog, The Sound of the Rain</a> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">. She's having surgery (or had?? I'm setting this post to go up automatically ahead of time. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">It's like I'm speaking to you from the past!!)</span> so this week a few of her other devoted admirers (myself included) are stepping in to help. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">You'll be very proud of me, I turned on my brain and wrote a writerly blog post for her, with practically no silliness! I even stayed on the subject!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So hop over to </span><a href="http://nataliemurphy.blogspot.com/2010/11/character-development-guest-post-by.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Natalie's Blog</span></a> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> and find out what I learned at a writer conference last summer about character development!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Synchronizing blog posts in three... two... one...</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">*MASSIVE EXPLOSION!!!!!!!!*</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">(Really Diana. No massive explosion. You wrote a blog post, you didn't become a spy or whatever it is you're imagining. ~weary sigh~ It's better when you let me be in charge. And stop watching so much Bourne Identity. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">-Your Brain</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">.)</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-82611102761673976632010-11-11T13:14:00.000-08:002010-11-11T13:27:02.329-08:00¡Diana en Español!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Hola amigos, sólo quería mandarles un mensaje rapidito para contarles de lo chistoso que es mi familia--</span></span><br />
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Just kidding-- I promised I wouldn't do a whole blog post in Spanish! Hopefully I haven't scared anyone away with a confusing foreign language intro *soplando besos* This idea was inspired by @mrsmica Michelle Ristuccia who has my kind of humor hehe.</span></span><br />
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">ANYWAYYY, in my last blog post, I mentioned that some of my family was visiting from Miami and Costa Rica. I'm happy to say that so far, everyone's having a fabulous time, yay!!</span></span><br />
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I also mentioned in passing that my first language was Spanish. I've gotten a couple of emails, comments and tweets about my </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">idioma materno</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, so I figured what better way to further procrastinate revisions than to post a blog about it! After all, this is my blog and it's totally random, as the header states. So I shall blog about totally random things! *tosses confetti*</span></span><br />
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">More Than Anyone Wanted to Know About Diana's Linguistics:</span></span></span><br />
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">To be clear, my first language was Spanish, but my best language is English. Here's how it happened in my case:</span></span><br />
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Because of my grandfather's work, my mom went to high school both in Costa Rica and the United States. My mom lived in Miami when she found out I was coming along. She went back to Costa Rica to be with her mom while she was pregnant with me. I'm her first kid, so that seems reasonable.</span></span><br />
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We moved permanently to the United States when I was two years old. My mom spoke to me in both languages until around kindergarten, at which point it was English only. She read to me A LOT in English. </span></span><br />
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I never went through ESL classes.</span></span><br />
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I don't speak with an accent in either language. I'm good at faking accents though *grins*</span></span><br />
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I dream in English. I think in English. Except if I spend a long time talking in Spanish. Then wonky things happen. </span></span><br />
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">***side note*** </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Long-time blog followers might have come across a post or two that mention that I was teased and bullied as a kid. If not, now ya know. I was teased and bullied as a kid.</span></span></span><br />
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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A lot of the bullying happened from issues that are difficult to explain; a lot of it was from my own awkwardness (which, of course, bullying only perpetuated); and a lot of it probably stemmed from me not looking like the peer groups I felt a kinship with and tried to belong to. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">This, in part, led to me resenting myself, my heritage, my language, etc. I refused to speak Spanish for a loooooong time. I took French all through high school (and incidentally, I fell in love with the language) and no surprise, I was emotionally mixed up as a teen. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Shocker, right? A YA writer who didn't have a peachy teen experience ~wow and gasp... so original~</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> :P </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Anyway, I don't bring a lot of "issues" onto my blog (I don't think) but bullying is one I try to be open about. Because it sucks. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">***end side note***</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So, as a kid I didn't want to have anything to do with Spanish. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">By the time I got to college, I swung to the opposite end of the spectrum, and became kind of engulfed in learning about my</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> cultura nativa</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">. I minored in Spanish, read Spanish literature, wrote papers in Spanish. I'm the queen of typos two languages.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">All through college I was a bilingual instructional aide. I spent three solid hours a day speaking Spanish. Much wonkiness happened in my brain.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There ya have it. More than you wanted to know? Yeah, that's what I thought. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I love having a blog.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-38544466150794283802010-11-06T07:00:00.000-07:002010-11-06T07:03:00.688-07:00An Update... Spanish 101<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">As of yesterday, Nathan Bransford is no longer an agent, or even in publishing. He took a job as a social media something-something at CNET. In case you somehow missed it on twitter, now you know. Let the speculation begin!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In totally unrelated news that I'm too sleepy to transition into properly, I'll be off blogger/twitter/etc for a while. I have family flying in from Miami and Costa Rica (actually, they arrived yesterday. Again, I'm sleepy. I should have waited until I was awake before blogging but I have SO.MUCH.TO.DO for la familia's big visit).</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Basically, they want to "see" California. And so... I will show them. (It feels like I should insert an evil laugh here. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And so... I will show them..... BWAHAHAHAHA!!!!</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">). Universal, Disney, Hollywood, the beach, the mountains, drunken celebrities, whatever that want to see. Ten days of gozando al máximo.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I don't know if I've ever blogged that my first language is Spanish. Having la familia here from far and wide has me thinking in Spanish. It's making blogging un poco difícil. Which reminds me (another sleepy tangent), I saw someone randomly do an entire blog post in their native German once. I'm not saying it wasn't cool, but I couldn't read a word of it. I won't do that to you all, no se preocupen.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So la familia is staying for ten days. Not all at my house. Some here, some at my mom's. It'll be fun (I'm an OPTIMIST, people). When I go to Costa Rica they're always awesome, and I'm determined that they have as good a time here as they give me when I go there. DETERMINED. That being said, my beloved family (read, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">crazy people I'm connected to through bonds of blood</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">), is a boisterous group, and things tend to go comically awry (or horribly wrong) no matter what we do.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Good times ahead.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Pura vida.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And I need a white mocha.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-61415831510811019442010-10-30T14:47:00.000-07:002011-02-20T07:28:11.597-08:00Halloween Flash, a creepy story... bwahahahaha!<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">All this pumpkin carving and decorating put me in the mood to write a spooky story. Not a scary one-- I'm a huge baby and I can't stand anything scary! But spooky is fun... I hope you find this creepy short story as fun to read as it was to write. Happy Halloween...</span></span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> bwahahahahahahaa!!!!!</span></span></b></i></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I</span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">sadora's Kitchen</span></b></i></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Brandon shut his car door, the metallic thud echoing through the dark, still street. Window upon black, vacant window stared out at him. Construction on the upscale master-planned community had begun a year before the housing crisis, and none of the houses sold. Now the entire neighborhood stood deserted, the sidewalks left unfinished, some houses only half-built and covered in ghost-like sheets of billowing plastic.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He blew into his cupped hands before jamming them into his pockets. Signs of ‘No Trespassing’ had been tagged with graffiti. Brandon kicked aside a can of Rock Star as he approached the only house with a dim hint of light flickering from somewhere deep within its half-painted frame.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">***</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Isadora popped open her lip gloss, running the wand back and forth over her lips as a high-pitched </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">scree</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> whistled through the room. She hated tea, but she was bored. The bitter aroma filled her nostrils as she read the leaves at the bottom of her cup. A mortal boy would visit her tonight? Not exactly thrilling news. What would he want? Muscles? To be free of pimples? Her gaze slid to the near-empty fishbowl on her kitchen counter. Inside, a toad stared out with buggy, glistening eyes.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“You wanted a date with the Homecoming queen, didn’t you, Toady? Didn’t you?” She tapped the glass, punctuating each word as she said, “And. You. Got it.”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The toad’s throat stretched in a quick hiccup. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Isadora smiled. “There now, Toady. Soon you’ll have a friend.” She leaned forward, close enough to the glass that she caught her own violet-eyed reflection. She licked her lips, enjoying the sight of herself as she whispered, “Or maybe I don’t want to wait so long for a taste of frog-leg stew.”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Toady’s suffering <i>croak</i> gave her a moment’s fiendish glee, and she could hardly help the cackle at his expense. A pounding at the door silenced her, and she rolled her eyes. “Humans.”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">***</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Brandon slammed his fist against the door. “Hello? Is anybody in there?”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The door opened, revealing a black-haired girl with pale skin that almost glowed. “Isn’t the customary greeting, ‘Trick or Treat?’”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He swallowed, his eyes darting to the dead frog in her hand. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">His jaw dropped. </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </i></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It was true. She was a-- a--</span></span></i></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“I believe the word you’re looking for is witch,” she said. “And before you ask, yes, I can read your mind.</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> If</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I feel like it.”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He let out a misted breath. “I need help.”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Why should I help </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">?” she asked, mocking in her half-laughter.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Warnings blared through his skull, but Brandon said, “I-- I can pay.”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She sauntered inside, leaving the door open. Brandon shut it behind him, watching as she tossed the dead frog into a boiling pot, licking her fingers afterward. “You can pay. What could you possibly give me that I would want? Money?” She snapped her fingers. A blaze of blue fire sprung up from her hand, burning itself out and leaving a wad of smoking cash in her fist. “I make my own.”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Please, it’s my girlfriend--”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Oh.” She smirked, returning to the the pot with the dead frog in it. “Isn’t it always about love?” She stirred the brew before dimming the fire and sitting down at the breakfast nook. “So, is she flirting with some other guy? Cheating on you? Texting your best friend behind your back?”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“I don’t know,” he said, his voice cracking as he thought of his sweet, angelic Rebecca. Her powder blue eyes and sunlit hair... her shy, sweet smile. “Everything was perfect. At least, until Homecoming. Now she won’t answer my calls or texts, she ignores my tweets. I don’t know what went wrong.”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The witch gazed at him with her chin in her hands, a soft smile touching her blood-red lips. “I can help you.”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Brandon exhaled in a burst of relief. “Thank you. All I want--”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“All you want,” she said, walking toward him with a slow click-click-click of her spike-heeled boots, “is to be together again. Right?”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He nodded, and despite the warm room, a shiver raced up his spine.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Do you have a picture of her?”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Yes, uh--” he took out his phone and showed her the background image.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Lovely girl,” she murmured. “Are you sure you want my help?”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Yes, definitely.”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Very well,” she said, ladling out some frog soup and pouring it into a teacup. “Just drink this.”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Brandon took the cup. His hands became slick. “And... Rebecca will love me again?”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The witch’s smile broadened. “More than ever,” she purred.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Brandon gulped the rancorous brew, his stomach clenching as bile rose in his throat. “What’s it going to do to me?”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Nothing,” the witch said. “I just wanted to see you drink from your friend’s remains.” She snapped her fingers. “But this, on the other hand, will do a lot.”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Blue fire whirled from her fingertips, swirling toward him and ramming him in the chest. He gripped the edge of a table, his body stinging and burning as if he were filled with a thousand furious wasps. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“What's happening to me,” he cried. “No! No! </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Please</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">!”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">***</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“There, there,” Isadora crooned, scooping up the now soft, furry human. “You’ll be with your precious Rebecca soon enough.”</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Isadora searched the house, making fetching whisper-noises as she did. “Here kitty-kitty... precious kitty.” </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The cat appeared at the top of the stairs, her powder blue eyes almost human. It let out a pitiful meow. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“Poor Rebecca, you must be hungry. Not used to cat food yet, I suppose,” she murmured, stroking its silky fur. “That’s all right, today I have a treat for you.” She dangled the once-human mouse by its tail. “A treat <i>and</i> a trick.” Isadora dropped the squealing, panic-stricken mouse into Rebecca’s waiting paws. “Now it’s really Halloween.”</span></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-53242795635438386192010-10-23T11:43:00.000-07:002010-10-23T11:36:04.418-07:00Stepping Out of the Writer Cave(Another mobile blog post-- ack!! I fool myself into thinking I'm multi-tasking if I'm not sitting down at the computer *grin*)<p>The Writer Cave.<p>Writer friends probably know what I'm talking about... it's a time warp. Five hours melt away in the space of re-reading the same scene/query letter/synopsis... or when things are flowing, chapters fly beneath our fingers. There's little concern for things like sleep or hunger-- those are annoying distractions, burdensome necessities of our human existence. We emerge, squinting and ravenous, probably in desperate need of a bathroom. <p>But that's only the deepest level of the writer cave. I make my way up through the cave, still immersed in the writing world. Blogs, twitter, agent research... critique partner emails, phone calls, meeting up for lunch to talk out our plot issues... all of that, while not a direct part of my current story, still keeps me connected. I'm in the writer world. On some level, I'm still in that writer cave.<p>For me, it's important to step completely away sometimes. Maybe that's why I don't tell my non-writer friends that I write books and am pursuing publication. Not that it's a tightly guarded secret or anything!! Anyone can Google my name and find their way to my writing-- and yes, a friend or two has-- but I don't let it become a big deal. I've learned that letting too many people into the writer cave makes it a bit too crowded.<p>With that in mind, I'm stepping out for the day and meeting three non-writer friends for a girls' day ~happy dance~ I do LOVE talking about writing and hashing out plot issues and meeting up with writer friends too, but sometimes it's good to get in touch with other parts of who I am. Maybe with a day at the beach or a trip to some touristy part of town, or just going to my mom's and watching Steel Magnolias while we eat too many cookies-- whatever it is, I think the writer part of my brain absorbs it all and is better for it.<p>What about you? Do you ever feel sealed up too tight in the writer cave? Stepping out can be hard... writing is such a big part of who we are. What do you do when you come out?<br>
<br>Sent via BlackBerry from T-MobileUnknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-86996935830953432392010-10-18T06:46:00.001-07:002010-11-26T16:27:32.200-08:00Blog Swap: The Truth Hurts by Dana Elmendorf<div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DRQ0ICu-BQI/TLxQC0qDCBI/AAAAAAAAASc/iRyZYixSOZE/s1600/dana+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DRQ0ICu-BQI/TLxQC0qDCBI/AAAAAAAAASc/iRyZYixSOZE/s1600/dana+(2).jpg" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Hi everyone! Dana Elmendorf here from <a href="http://asquirrelamongstlions.blogspot.com/">A Squirrel Amongst Lions. </a>I get the honor of being a guest blogger on Diana’s blog. It’s a fun way to mix things up because let’s face it, sometimes blogging needs a swift kick in the pants. Seeing as Diana is my critique partner and all, I decided to take her suggestion and write about what I’ve learned from critiquing. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The fact is…the truth hurts. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It’s never easy to put yourself out there, especially when you’re a newbie like me. As much as we know our manuscripts need work, we all cringe at being told what needs to be fixed. But it’s the whole “forest for the trees” issue. You need the eyes of someone else to point you in the write direction. (Yes, I’m trying to be punny.) </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Depending on the voice behind the critique, sometimes I need 24 hours to pout before I can move on. I’ve critiqued for several different people and vice versa but Diana is the steady voice I trust to be honest but kind. We fit together like a couple of puzzle pieces, though we don’t look, write or act anything alike.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">What have I learned from critiquing? </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I’m a WASinator, zapping the passive voice out of any document. My grammar stinks. Commas are my mortal enemy. Fixing someone else’s plot holes helps me with my own. Nothing is ever perfect because there is always room for improvement. Being critiqued trained me to be a better critique partner. But most importantly, critiquing has made me a better writer.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Whether you use a group or exchange with a friend over the internet, a critique partner is key. Sure, you have to decide at what stage to bring that partner in but your writing will not grow unless you have the voice of a trusted fellow writer to help you (or at least some one in the publishing industry). Yes, family and friends are great cheerleaders. They can edit grammar or give you advice but there is that </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">something</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> extra only a fellow writer can add. A special knowledge that comes with writing a book itself: plot arcs, character voice, world building, etc. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So even though the truth hurts, they don’t call it growing pains for nothing. Each step of the way you learn a new trick, see a new way to spin your words and before you know it, you’re on your way to being published. Diana Paz is a fabulous critique partner and I am so grateful she has shared so much of her knowledge with me. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And now for the dirty gossip I found will snooping around her blog. Did you know that Diana Paz once—</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="color: red; font: 12.0px Arial Narrow; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">*************We apologize for this technical difficulty.************</span></span></div><div style="color: red; font: 12.0px Arial Narrow; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">*******The blog post you are reading will return shortly.*********</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">--Can you believe it? And I have pictures to prove it!</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Thanks Diana, I hope you’re not too mad at me for telling everyone your little secret.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Back to you Di.</span></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-53236132167290604782010-10-15T17:35:00.000-07:002010-11-26T16:28:19.847-08:00Blog Swap!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">My blog is being hijacked! On Monday, October 18th <a href="http://asquirrelamongstlions.blogspot.com/">Dana Elmendorf from A Squirrel Amongst Lions</a> is taking over my blog, with the promise to give it back if I hand over enough nuts to get her through winter! Blog topic to be determined... I'll be at her blog, wreaking havoc and probably doing irrevocable damage-- Dana, are you SURE you want me to take over your blog? *BWAHA-HA-HA-haaaaa!!!*</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-89168389878097720612010-10-14T17:05:00.000-07:002010-10-14T17:09:10.552-07:00Just Avoiding DinnerI have so much to do I can't even begin. Starting with making dinner. But since I'm on blogger, procrastinating, I wanted to say thanks for everyone's brilliant blog comments on my little *cringe* okay, <b><i>long</i></b> rant this week about romance novels. I almost deleted it the second I posted it!! Normally I keep things kind of light on my blog-- but then all the comments came, and then my lovely and <a href="http://nataliemurphy.blogspot.com/">sometimes critique partner Natalie </a>devoted a whole blog-post to it, so I figured it might be okay. And wow, lots of new followers.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>~waves~ Hi new followers!!!</div><div><br />
</div><div>Okay, enough procrastinating. Dinner must be made. Fun fact number two thousand ninety two about me: I'm a horrible cook. My twitter-friends saw a picture of the boiled noodles I BURNT the other night, eek! Who burns noodles??? I do *blush*</div><div><br />
</div><div>[My brain cannot BELIEVE how many exclamation points and *asterisk actions* I've used. It's appalled.]</div><div><br />
</div><div>Okay. Really. Time to make something for dinner. Reeeeeeally. It isn't going to make itself. Unless... (makes a phone call to super-husband...)...</div><div><br />
</div><div>...(ends phone call with super-husband).</div><div>Okay dinner really isn't going to make itself. *sad sigh*</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-65931563142193552872010-10-11T12:33:00.000-07:002010-11-26T16:26:19.679-08:00In Defense of Romance--YA or otherwise.<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Eek, this is a rant; fair warning!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I remember going through one or two historical romance novels a week as a teen. I don’t know WHY that genre appealed to me so much at the time; maybe because there were always teenage heroines going on unbelievable adventures. Stowing away on Viking ships; escaping from medieval convents; stealing into the night in disguise, only to be captured by evil villains-- I mean, I gobbled those stories up. They were so different than my real life. The romance was heavenly, the action and adventure beyond my wildest dreams, and nothing in the YA section could even come close.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I LOVE romance novels, YA or otherwise. I’ve loved them since I was twelve. I can’t be alone. Sales-wise, romance is the most popular genre in fiction (there are </span><a href="http://www.rwanational.org/cs/the_romance_genre/romance_literature_statistics"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">statistics here from RWA</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> and also </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romance_novel"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">here listed on Wikipedia</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, I’m sure AAP has something but I have a query to re-write and a synopsis that wants to kill me, so I don’t have time to dig up the exact numbers. It’s crazy though, like 46 percent of paperback sales, and twelve percent of ALL sales-- that’s more than one in ten books-- which means romance dwarfs all other genres in sales *gasp*).</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So what’s up with romance being a dirty word? My friend-- a guy-- told me that when he sees someone reading a romance novel, it’s like they’re advertising that they’re lonely and sex-deprived. What the-- seriously dude? Nooooooo!</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">When I see him reading a horror novel, I don’t AT ALL imagine that he wishes he could be out murdering people!!! </span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Since when do we read the things we want to happen to us in real life? Do readers of sad literary novels want the endings of their favorite books to actually happen? With tragic deaths and all that? No-no-no-no!</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">But that’s just one person, right? Or so I thought. My other friend, also a guy, told me he thinks it’s weird that I have romance novels in my bookcase, “like all your trashy books are classic literature or something.” Ummmm, guy, I love you, but I have books that I enjoy reading on my bookcase. Some are hard-core fantasy novels, some were written five hundred years ago, some are romance novels, some are young adult fiction, some are historical dramatizations-- the bookcase is about the books I love! Me. It’s MY bookcase GAH!!! </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">So in his opinion, I’m allowed to have all the books I love on display... except romance novels because they’re somehow less??</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Is it a guy thing? Is it??? (Sorry, that’s more rhetorical nonsense for anyone playing the rhetorical questions game). NO IT’S NOT A GUY THING! It’s a Diana’s-friends-thing, apparently. My awesome friend-who-I-adore rolled her eyes at a book I chose because it was from the romance section of the bookstore. Her words were, “Come on Di, really? A romance novel?” It was accompanied by her head dropping sideways, look of embarrassed pity. Hey friend-who-I-adore, I refuse to feel embarrassed about the books I choose to read. I hadn’t read a historical in a while and it looked good. Don’t try and shame me, please :(</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There’s nothing wrong with reading any genre, in my opinion. But that brings me to the reason for this blog post. I googled up “YA romance” because I wanted to see if any new books came up. You all know by now, I’m a huge fan of romance novels, and much like my little sisters, YA romance especially gives me that intense, brand-new love feeling I like to read about. So almost at the end of my search page I come across a post by someone trashing YA romance. And I find a few more articles and posts like it. It makes me want to defend the genre. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Just like horror-readers don’t read about murder because they’re on the brink of a killing spree, romance readers-- YA or otherwise-- don’t read about love because they’re about to go find a stalker boyfriend or give up everything for an unhealthy love. Not now, and not as a teen did I ever model my real-life relationships after books, tv shows, movies, or anything else. No more did I expect to find real-life dragons and ogres after reading a fantasy novel-- come on people, are YA romance-haters really suggesting that teens can only read realistic romance books? Does that mean they can only read about realistic everything-else? No science fiction, no horror, no fantasy, because they might start believing the world is really that way??? </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">As a teen, I would NOT have been a reader if the only books out there portrayed normal, balanced, healthy relationships with normal, balanced, healthy characters. That’s what I wanted out of my REAL life, not in the stories I read.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The stories I read were there to thrill me, shock me, make me think, make me laugh. I wanted the girls in the story to do horrible things that I would never do in my safe little life. If books hadn't shown me, I'd have watched television shows that showed me. I'd have </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">found a way</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> to see exciting, marvelous things. Somehow</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Twilight Factor:</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">One article suggested that Twilight started girls on a crazed desire for unhealthy stories. I can’t agree. Unhealthy stories have always been popular with teen girls. It’s not like teens were reading wholesome, well-balanced books and all of a sudden Twilight came along and they went off the deep-end. Teens were finding their way to unwholesome stories-- be they in book form, TV shows, movies, music, whatever-- and Twilight merely directed an energy that was already there. If Twilight hadn’t come along, those teens might not have turned to BOOKS for their unhealthy stories (unless they were like me, and knew where to look), but they would have turned to something. They might have latched on to the latest 90210 or Buffy spin-off, or found some other outlet, but whatever the case, girls who enjoy that kind of story are going to find a way to hear it.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There is a kind of girl-- and I was one of them-- who liked to watch princess movies and pretend to be Ariel/Jasmine/Belle/whoever for a little while. Not every girl is this way, but a lot of girls are, or there wouldn’t be a market for them. Some of those girls grow up and want older versions of those tales of romantic adventure. It doesn’t mean they’ll defy their father and ask a sea-witch for legs, or disguise themselves and escape the palace, or agree to live with a beast with rage issues. It just means they like a story about romance and adventure. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">They. Just. Like. The. Story. So, let them like it. </span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">They’ll still grow up and be successful if that’s what they choose. If they’re smart enough to pick up a book, they’re already showing signs of intelligence, especially considering all the other ways they could be spending their time.</span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-81583563974651574602010-10-06T10:57:00.000-07:002010-10-06T19:26:38.774-07:00Tilling Dirt, Reading, Movies, Other Stuff I've Been Up To.~waves~ I just wanted to say hi. Here are the things I've been up lately:<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">Tilling Dirt</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">: </span><br />
<br />
Sorry, no writing metaphor in this. We're just turning over the dirt in our grassless, weed-filled backyard. And yeah, it's as crappy as it sounds. We can't even use a motorized dirt tiller thing because our sprinkler system was installed so shallow and our "soil" has massive rocks in it. So the work is medieval-style, with a hand tiller. It's back-breaking stuff. And we're barely half done!!! I keep thinking, <i>imagine if we lived in Little House on the Prairie times, and we HAD to do this to EAT?!! </i>So thankful I'm not on a prairie.<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">Books I've Been Reading:</span></b><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b><br />
<b><i>Paranormalcy</i></b> (Soooo addictive; definitely one of my new faves)<br />
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<i><b>Firelight</b></i> (Thank you Tina! This is one of the BEST YA romances ever!!)<br />
<br />
<i><b>The Summer I Turned Pretty</b></i> (Thanks Dana! An absorbing read, I finally finished it!)<br />
<br />
<i><b>Darklight </b></i>(I LOVED Wondrous Strange and Darklight was even better!!! I can't wait for Tempestuous!!!!)<br />
<br />
<b><i>The Iron King</i></b> (Love-love-love the Midsummer Night's Dream premise and I can't wait to read The Iron Daughter!!!!)<br />
<br />
<i><b>The Duff</b></i> (Haha, super funny and cute. I liked it)<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">Movies at the Theater: </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><i>Easy A</i></b> Wow I really LOVED this movie!! Especially all the references to famous literature and 80's teen love movies (two of my favorite things in the whole world!).<br />
<br />
<i><b>The Other Guys</b></i> If you like Will Ferell you'll enjoy it; Mark Wahlberg does fine. Overall it's a wait-for-rental IMO.<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">DVD Rentals:</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><i>Iron Man 2</i></b> Loved it, it's even better than the first IMO! Robert Downey Jr is perfect as Stark.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Prince of Persia</i></b> It was fun. I'm a big fan of adventure movies.<br />
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<b><i>Date Night</i></b> Soooooo hilariously FUNNY!!!! I love Steve Carrel and Tina Fey, together they were brilliant!<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><b>Writing Stuff:</b></span><br />
<br />
I'm getting ready to query, eek!! I'm not super "open" about what I'm querying, and especially not who I'm querying, but I will say that I love querying :) It's exciting. I've spent a lot of time re-re-RE-revising this book, and I'm anxious to find out if the changes have made a difference. And I'm also excited because as soon as I get going with queries, I'll focus my energy into revising a different book (the one I just finished writing), and as my lovely Tina knows, it needs work.<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">Other Stuff:</span></b><br />
<br />
I hate cooking. But I <i>love</i> baking. Amalia sent me a heavenly chocolate chip cookie recipe and I've been stuffing myself with chocolate chip cookies ever since, yummmmmmm.<br />
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I'm sick, did I mention that? It's a head cold with a cough and my nose is running like a faucet and-and-and-- *sniff* Well. You know. So I hope you're all doing better :)<br />
<br />
And that's about it! Minus lots of extremely boring stuff. So what have you been up to?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-76045354438015859362010-09-29T08:51:00.000-07:002010-09-29T09:51:42.645-07:00The MOST Rhetorical Question Game!Does anyone else get overwhelmed at the bookstore? I want to buy EVERYTHING, and my sweet and lovely ten dollar gift card won't accomplish that. I become frozen with indecision. I mean, OF COURSE I'll end up spending more than the ten bucks-- that's a given. But even then I find myself staring at a pile of books, totally unprepared to narrow it down to two books (okay, three. Three books MAX). The bookstore always wins when someone gives me a gift card. *sigh* What shoes are to other women, books are to me.<br />
<br />
While at the bookstore on Monday (Twitter-friends, that was the day of the evil electric company overlord box that killed my AC), while at the bookstore I noticed something... rhetorical questions! They're a huge query no-no, but on book covers I think they must be okay. And while I was there (making fun of the questions, of course), I thought it would be fun to play a game: The MOST Rhetorical Question Game! Does anyone have a question that's the MOST rhetorical? Even better, can you ANSWER them?? (CAN they be answered?? See? I'm playing the game already!).<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><i>What is love?</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><i>When is love not enough?????????</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><i>What if everything you knew about love was a <b>LIE</b>???????!?!?!?!?!!!!!</i></span><br />
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<b><i>~OR~<br />
(Game variation!)</i></b><br />
<br />
<b>Does anyone have a funny rhetorical question of their own? Here's mine: </b><br />
<br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">What if you found out your boyfriend was a vampire zombie, who was torn about using his Gifts to slay his own kind for the good of the world? What if he was ALSO your brother????!?!?!?! <b>WAIT?! WHAT IF HE WASN'T? </b></span></i><br />
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Before I go, I want to say thanks to everyone who commented/tweeted their suggestions for my sisters. We hung out on Saturday and it was awesome (almost unbelievable) that we talked books for so long. They both want to read The Duff (but my copy is in the hands of my friend-who-became-a-reader). One sister is reading Hush Hush and so far loves it! Anyway, it was great having lots of books to talk about with them, thanks blog friends!! Awww, *group hug*<br />
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Fyi this post was typed up from my phone (when is it not?? Rhetorical question again, ahhh!!!!) Sorry as usual for typos/clumsiness! Now let's see those rhetorical questions!! xo, Di <br />
Sent via BlackBerry from T-MobileUnknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-76677142771909513092010-09-22T07:14:00.000-07:002010-09-22T07:32:57.987-07:00ROMANCE? Help Keep My Sisters Interested In ReadingQuick post from my phone; forgive the clumsiness and/or typos. <br />
<br />
Thanks to Twilight, my sisters have slowly become interested in reading. (They were NOT readers before, so regardless of any personal opinions about the vampire romance-- which I enjoyed-- I am grateful). Ever since Twilight caught their attention, they've come often to my bookcase and borrowed from my extensive stash of YA books. They don't always finish them. Actually, I'd say ninety percent of the books they borrow come back, unfinished :( I'm talking best-selling authors, books I have LOVED. ("Really?" I ask them. "Sorry Nana," they say). Anyway, they want MORE romance, (so they keep telling me). Most of the stories I have aren't as saturated with LOVE as they want. Soooo, I figured I'd start guiding them to my adult romance novel collection (also extensive) but they want the blushing-crushing-first-love story. I can't make them happy! Except recently they became ADDICTED to Perfect Chemistry and Rules of Attraction by Simone Elkeles and they said, MORE LIKE THAT DIANA!!!!! The back and forth guy pov was a hit, as was the "romance first and other stuff second" focus of the story. I suggested Shiver/Linger by Maggie Stiefvater, which I remember being that way, and they LOVED it too. Yay! But that was a while ago. Now I'm at a loss. Every time I Google "YA romance" I come up with a similar list of books I already own...books my darling sisters didn't find romancey enough. <br />
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So blog friends, I need your help!!!!! Suggestions of YA romance novels? NOT novels that "have romance" but that are ACTUAL romance novels? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller? We're hanging out this weekend so I'd love to have some fantastic suggestions for them; thanks in advance... Di <br />
Sent via BlackBerry from T-MobileUnknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-82027150446900950342010-09-20T08:53:00.000-07:002011-03-07T06:08:41.293-08:00Guest Post: Diana's BrainI am Diana's brain. Diana has been asking incessantly for me to guest blog and although I am much too busy, what with running Diana's life and keeping her alive (no easy job, believe me), I finally agreed.<br />
<br />
Being a thorough brain, as all good brains are (and please let's be clear, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">all</span> brains are good brains. It's their owners who choose to act without them), it is my goal to provide insight into my inner workings, as well as discuss my grievances toward Diana and how she ignores me.<br />
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Before I proceed I would like to say, I despise Diana's abhorrent abuse of the word "awesome," her increasing use of asterisk actions (*shudder* indeed), and I firmly believe that the use of more than one exclamation point at the end of a sentence is a firm sign of a lunatic. You will see none of this today. As you can imagine, I have (forcibly) read Diana's past blog posts-- although you'll agree I haven't been allowed a big part in most of them-- and the way Diana refers to me <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">in this very blog</span> as, and I quote, "stupid brain," causes me <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">significant offense</span></span>. What greater insult could there be to a brain than stupidity? However, being a civilized brain, I am willing to make certain allowances for my mistress. She and I don't always connect, but my loyalty is unwavering.<br />
<br />
I realize that Diana's consistent disrespect to me and my office stem from her frustrations with me. She thinks I'm far too uptight, here in my ivory cranium, but the truth is, to describe what I do as an enormous job is a gross understatement. A mistress like Diana, with her constant daydreaming and being here inside her head with me more often than she's out there in the world, well she gives me no peace. Compound this with her obstinate refusal to listen to me, and my work is made immeasurably more difficult. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Sleep</span>, I tell her, making her lids heavy, but she drinks coffee, too besotted with her current Story to listen to me. I send her hunger pains, yet she can't be induced away from whichever love affair she's in the middle of to think about feeding us. Not to mention <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">what</span> she feeds us! With all of this happening, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">is it any wonder my frontal lobe is too cluttered for messages to get through to her?</span></span> Indeed I tell her where the keys are, and I remind her to charge her phone, and that her aunt's birthday is coming up, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">but my messages can't get through when she leaves me in such a state!</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Oh wretched existence, to be so ignored! </span><br />
<br />
My grievance list continues, for her biological neglect isn't the worst of it. I want desperately to help her in her life. I want her to be happy, and I care about her future as a writer. Yet she ignores me when I tell her to outline before writing a story. She ignores me when I tell her to stop revising Twists of Fate and give it a little distance-- for goodness' sake, she only just finished the book a month ago! It would be wiser, so much wiser, to rewrite Wishmaker, or do a nice final revision on Sinister Charms, but no... she keeps going back to Twists of Fate. I've never seen her so enamored. Bah! Fine, ignore me Diana!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> Ignore your own brain!</span> </span>You've gotten along quite well without me so far, haven't you? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">And that was sarcasm, my dear, in case you missed it!</span></span><br />
<br />
Doesn't Diana realize that the only way to get to her precious stories is through me? Never mind her muse-- don't make me laugh! Diana may enjoy her muse's company (when her royal highness bothers showing up), but Diana also doesn't coddle the silly thing. If Diana and I agree on only one thing, it's that her muse is not to be counted upon. Neither of us understand her muse, flighty thing that she is, and we definitely don't wait for her to show up before beginning our work.<br />
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But I must admit... a part of me is a tad worried that she's listening to my nemesis, her muse. I won't say Diana's muse is worthless, but she is most definitely a lazy diva. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Yes, I said it!</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Muse, if you're reading this, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">which I doubt</span>, please take a moment from your bon-bon eating existence and prove me wrong!</span><br />
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But enough about her. The muse and I are seldom on speaking terms.<br />
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Back to the matter at hand. Diana's future as a writer. It's all well and good to have torrid love affairs with story after story (and there have been <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">many</span>. You know what they say, for every story an author's completed, there's at least three skeleton stories in her closet-- whether she writes them or not is immaterial. She's <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">thinking</span></span> about them! I'm her brain for crying out loud!), but when will Diana settle down and get to the business of querying? Yes, she's gone down that road before, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">and yes it's the PC thing to say that a writer in today's modern world doesn't need to query to be happy,</span> but I know Diana inside and out. Having illicit affairs with story after story isn't enough for her. I can see from the gleam in her optic nerve that she has ambition. She wants more than just the rush of writing a story. She wants to be a working author.<br />
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In conclusion, I urge you all to think about your brains from time to time, how overworked they are, how thankless their job can be. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Banging upon your skull and blaming us for your problems will only induce us to exact retribution and give you a massive headache. </span>And please, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">please</span></span>, refrain from telling jokes regarding zombies. We all know what they eat. I fail to see the hilarity in listening to my mistress laugh as someone moans "brains" on that insipid thing called Twitter.<br />
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Thank you for reading my side of things. For your sake, I hope you are a wiser master-or-mistress of your own brain, and that you actually defer to your brain's intelligence on a consistent basis, unlike <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">my</span> mistress, who-- well, let's just say has a mind of her own.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-21494557249141944362010-09-19T14:35:00.000-07:002010-09-20T09:27:42.824-07:00Speak.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 18px;">Please read <a href="http://madwomanintheforest.com/this-guy-thinks-speak-is-pornography/">Laurie Halse Anderson's blog post concerning her book, Speak</a>, and how an influential person in Missouri is calling the book soft pornography, filthy, and immoral, because of how it depicts rape.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 18px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I don't believe in banning books. Not for a curse word. Not for a sex scene. Not for portraying truth.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">As you may have figured out by now, I normally leave politics, sex and religion out of my blog. Unless you are a personal friend of mine, you don't know those things about me.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">But like </span></span><a href="http://writingfinally.blogspot.com/2010/09/speak-loudly-in-defense-of-laurie-halse.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Myra McEntire</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> , like </span></span><a href="http://tinalynnsandoval.blogspot.com/2010/09/speakloudly.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Tina Lynn</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> , like </span></span><a href="http://frankiediane.blogspot.com/2010/09/speakloudly-giveaway.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Frankie Diane</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> (who's hosting a Speak Giveaway) and so many others, I can't stay quiet.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DRQ0ICu-BQI/TJbkAcuDm2I/AAAAAAAAASU/H-ODLkPuUiI/s1600/Speak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DRQ0ICu-BQI/TJbkAcuDm2I/AAAAAAAAASU/H-ODLkPuUiI/s320/Speak.jpg" /></span></span></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I haven't read </span></span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Speak-Laurie-Halse-Anderson/dp/014131088X"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Speak</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> by </span></span><a href="http://madwomanintheforest.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Laurie Halse Anderson</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> , but I can't condone banning a book. Especially when its banning is being called for because of a rape scene.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">What this pro-banning person (who I won't name in my blog because I don't want his voice to have more power), what he seems to want, is to keep rape from being described-- to keep it hidden-- and that sends the wrong message to both the survivor and the rapist. Survivors have a right to speak, and everyone, even teens, should have access to those voices.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal;"></span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I am going to the bookstore tomorrow and buying Speak. It's hard for me to read books that deal with issues like rape. I have a survivor family member. I choose to read for escapism and maybe I'll never have the courage to read Speak. But that's the point. It's my choice. And I choose to buy this book.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Others have discussed this so much more thoroughly. I encourage you to not only blog and tweet about Speak, but TALK about it! Let people know, outside of your internet circle, that a rape victim's story should never be silenced. Speak!</span></span></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-49632947217500723982010-09-14T09:49:00.000-07:002010-09-14T10:03:44.257-07:00Book Talk: Mockingjay<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DRQ0ICu-BQI/TI-olpNN5HI/AAAAAAAAASM/F2FQSLtxTGk/s1600/mockingjay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DRQ0ICu-BQI/TI-olpNN5HI/AAAAAAAAASM/F2FQSLtxTGk/s320/mockingjay.jpg" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">"One of the reasons it's important for me to write about war is I really think that the concept of war, the specifics of war, the nature of war, the ethical ambiguities of war are introduced too late to children. I think they can hear them, understand them, know about them, at a much younger age without being scared to death by the stories. It's not comfortable for us to talk about, so we generally don't talk about these issues with our kids. But I feel that if the whole concept of war were introduced to kids at an earlier age, we would have better dialogues going on about it, and we would have a fuller understanding."</span><br />
-Suzanne Collins, in an interview by Rick Margolis (School Library Journal)<br />
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<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/monica-edinger/its-all-about-the-horror-_b_697433.html">http://www.huffingtonpost.com/monica-edinger/its-all-about-the-horror-_b_697433.html</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Mockingjay is not a "people pleaser." I doubt that Ms. Collins' intentions were to write a feel-good book, or an angsty love story, and I wouldn't describe Mockingjay as either. The book is a look at war and what war does to people... people we have grown to love very much.<br />
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What happens in Mockingjay doesn't make sense. It isn't fair. It isn't even right. That is the genius of this book. Ms. Collins didn't make war into something that could be neatly packaged. Innocent people die in war. People change, sometimes in ways we can't understand or even respect. War is a vicious cycle. Hard decisions are made, and we don't always agree with what the leaders of our nation decide to do. People are senselessly killed. People die without warning. And even worse, we don't get answers about every person lost in a war. Not in real life, and not in Mockingjay.<br />
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What a legacy we have in Mockingjay. What an opportunity. I admire Ms. Collins more than ever, not only for this exceptionally well-written novel, but for having the courage to be truthful to her audience about what war is like. How HUGE a lie it would have been to have Katniss obsessing over which boy to love, or seeking stolen moments of passion with whoever she felt most drawn to. I'm so grateful that Katniss remained true to her character throughout these novels. Katniss was a normal girl thrust into an overwhelming situation. Yes, she grew and changed-- her personality developed from the world she was a part of, for better or worse-- but she was always <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">herself</span>. Deep inside herself, Katniss always held on to one thing, even when her mind told her it was pointless, even when she didn't want to let herself believe it were possible, and that thing was hope.<br />
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Reading this book broke my heart, enraged me, unsettled me, and ultimately left me with a sense of mournful triumph. As a writer, I could not be happier to find a story that inspired so much. Deep parts of my brain felt opened, and I thought for a long time after closing this book. The world is real. The characters unforgettable. The challenges all-too familiar. This book is about more than Panem. It's a book about truths happening right now, as I type this blog post. As you read it.<br />
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This is a necessary book. People like me, in cozy suburbs with problems that could not be considered problems by over eighty percent of the world's population need to read this book and really think about life. Thank you, Ms. Collins.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-27908959558772174972010-09-07T10:49:00.000-07:002011-02-20T07:10:03.817-08:00An Ode to San Diego, with pictures. And Why-Don't-I-Live-On-The-Beach???Oh yeah, I don't live on the beach because it's freaking expensive. But it's also freaking beautiful.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DRQ0ICu-BQI/TIZvTS7RT2I/AAAAAAAAAR0/QCIeBwOC9ko/s1600/P1030410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DRQ0ICu-BQI/TIZvTS7RT2I/AAAAAAAAAR0/QCIeBwOC9ko/s320/P1030410.JPG" /></a>Our mini-beach-road-trip was AMAZING. We spent the weekend going down to San Diego, first to the Marina and Seaport Village Friday night.<br />
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Here's the view from the Seaport Village shops, with an aircraft carrier in the distance, amidst other Navy ships. The opposite side of Seaport Village has a view of the marina, filled with sailboats and powerboats like a big boat parking lot.<br />
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I LOVE Seaport Village. There is so. much. to. do. Street performers and vendors line the boardwalk, which is full of cute shops and restaurants. My favorite place to eat is Marion's Fish Market-- oh my goshhhhh I love them! I get the fish, shrimp and chips (my favorite is the huge, crispy shrimp), or the clam chowder served in a sourdough bread bowl, yummmmm. The popcorn shrimp is fantastic too, but those big shrimp coated in all that crunchy goodness are really the yummiest. Plus the seating area is right on the boardwalk overlooking the water... time it at sunset and you'll be in paradise.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DRQ0ICu-BQI/TIZ1UwzZZsI/AAAAAAAAAR8/Je-NNZ_arxo/s1600/balboa+walkway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_DRQ0ICu-BQI/TIZ1UwzZZsI/AAAAAAAAAR8/Je-NNZ_arxo/s320/balboa+walkway.jpg" /></a>The next day we saw the Midway, then spent the rest of the morning at Balboa Park. We drove across the huge bridge in the last picture (below) to Coronado Beach after that. Nothing brings out my hunger like the beach, so we came back to Seaport Village for lots more shrimp and then spent time at the pool.<br />
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I didn't take a good picture of Balboa Park, so here is one from a blog called <a href="http://sandiegodailyphoto.blogspot.com/">San Diego Daily Photo</a> . Balboa Park is an incredible place, just gorgeous. The fountains and ponds and gardens and especially the architecture blow me away every time I go. On top of that, there are restaurants and so many museums (a really cool classical art museum, which is also FREE, is one of my favorite places. A lot of medieval and renaissance art in oil).<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">I love Balboa Park. Isn't it pretttttttyyyy?</span><br />
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Sunday we headed back up the coast to Solana Beach for a while, then to the Carlsbad Company Stores and finally Oceanside (gotta love North County). We didn't want to get home too late on Monday so we drove up the coast early to spend some time at Huntington Beach (props to the O.C., one of my usual beach hangouts) before our mini-beach-road-trip was over.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DRQ0ICu-BQI/TIZ4HR3NYgI/AAAAAAAAASE/pD1i9CqZhqk/s1600/P1030413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_DRQ0ICu-BQI/TIZ4HR3NYgI/AAAAAAAAASE/pD1i9CqZhqk/s200/P1030413.JPG" width="200" /></a>I have family in Orange County and spend a lot of time there, but there is a really special vibe down in San Diego. Everyone is super friendly and they REALLY take pride in their city (they even call it "America's Finest City"). I finished college in San Diego, so I'm probably looking back through the lens of nostalgia, but it's one of my favorite places to go.<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Me, stuffed with shrimp and thoroughly happy.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-83411040309083448902010-09-03T09:35:00.000-07:002010-09-03T09:35:00.175-07:00Road Trip!!!!!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Need I say more? Road trip, yeah baby!!! Loyal followers will be stunned (insert sarcasm) to find out the locale is of the coastal variety. Yes, a <i>beach</i> road trip-- surprise surprise!</span></span></span></span><br />
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Here is where I'm NOT going:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DRQ0ICu-BQI/TIEcEKJ4EjI/AAAAAAAAARs/C-uzVJdyCy4/s1600/SN850712.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DRQ0ICu-BQI/TIEcEKJ4EjI/AAAAAAAAARs/C-uzVJdyCy4/s320/SN850712.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There is no way to take a road trip to the above place because sadly, there are no roads to Hawaii. I love Hawaii though. The first time I went I was determined to live there, that's how hard I fell in love. But I also love Southern Cali... too much to leave it. So Hawaii gets to be a special something to really look forward to. Like the best dessert ever.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">ANYWAY, this weekend's road trip will be-- I hope-- a full-on blasty blast! No repetitions of the pop-up shade debaucle, please!! And no, my beloved sister's aren't coming... this time it'll be my brother and his super-amazing wife. The two of them are so cute together! *insert floaty balloon hearts* Yay road trips!! Any guesses on where I'm going? I'll tell you next week and let you know how it went.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Have a great Labor Day weekend everyone! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-85130911865431640302010-08-29T09:58:00.000-07:002010-08-29T10:55:25.328-07:00Revisions. And Do-Overs For Yesterday...It's revision time!! Actually it's BEEN revision time. And it will be, for many weeks to come.<br />
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It would be so cool if life had revisions. At the end of the day I could skim through my mind and adjust things I said and did... or after a major mistake just hit the delete key, hehe. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Delete-delete-delete!!!</span></span><br />
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If life had revisions, here would be mine for yesterday (yesterday was a pretty good day, so revisions should be easy):<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">1. Revise to show me cleaning the syrup from breakfast off the table. </span>(This means I could delete the unnecessary "Ants All Over the Table" scene later on).<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">2. Revise to show me wearing shorts to the picnic at the park, instead of the semi-short, flowy peasant skirt I DID wear.</span> (I didn't realize it would be windy. Changing this would mean I wouldn't have to endure the "Constantly Clutching the Sides of Her Skirt to Avoid Flashing Both Friends and Strangers" sequence).<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">3. Revise to show me skipping the ENTIRE "Vacuuming the Stairs" scene, even though friends were coming over later.</span> (First off, real friends don't care about stair cleanliness. Second, it would delete the "Vacuum Falling Down the Stairs and Taking Diana Down With It" scene. The vacuum fell ON my left middle finger, which now hurts like crazy! I fell DOWN the stairs, luckily landing on my bottom but I landed <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">hard</span> and now I have a gross bruise and ouchiness, boo-hoooo me, all because of that stupid vacuuming the stairs idea!! REWRITE PLEASE!!)<br />
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4. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Revise to show me lending Mockingjay to my Best Friend instead of my Good Friend. </span>(We were all going to dinner and a movie-- they were coming over first and this is why I even vacuumed. Good Friend stopped by the house like an hour before Best Friend. Subsequently, Good Friend saw Mockingjay on my bookshelf <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">first</span>-- a whole hour first-- anyway, revising this scene would delete the "Best Friend Pouting" sequence I'm enduring now, and also "Diana Feeling Guilty" *sniffle*).<br />
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Anyone else have some revisions from yesterday? Want to share?<br />
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And oh yeah... <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">5. I would revise to show myself remember to bring my purse to dinner and a movie with friends.</span> The revisions just keep going!<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Since we're on the topic of revisions, here is a Mini-SCBWI Conference Learning Moment if anyone is interested...</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">At SCBWI I learned that editors typically give about three to four months for revisions, depending on the author, and a bunch of other variables, of course. (When are there NOT variables in publishing?!) One editor at a workshop said that-- in her experience-- an author being too speedy on revision turnaround usually meant revisions would have to start again, because often the author who returns revisions too quickly rushed through them. Every writer is different, so I'm assuming she meant in general... if anyone out there revises like a hot rod and it works for you, then great! And I personally don't know whether she's right or not... what do you think? Is her experience surprising? Did you figure that revising "too fast" would mean a less-than-thorough job? I have to admit, I thought that editors wanted revisions completed as quickly as possible-- the faster the better! Good thing for me that I was wrong, I guess, because I go through scenes over and over when I'm revising and it takes time to do that with a whole entire book!!! Hopefully I'm not too slow either...</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-60750209749390641122010-08-25T08:24:00.000-07:002010-08-25T08:19:51.322-07:00FinishedLast night around nine pm I finished reading Mockingjay. My head keeps going over everything that happened. Relentlessly. <p>I love these books. Brilliant. Horrifying. Beautiful. Scary. Real. Important. Human.<br>Sent via BlackBerry from T-MobileUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-26636551079782243182010-08-24T08:47:00.000-07:002010-08-24T08:47:00.119-07:00Am Reading...Mockingjay.<br />
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<a href="http://dianapazblog.blogspot.com/2010/01/book-talk-hunger-games-and-catching.html">Here are my thoughts on Hunger Games and Catching Fire</a> in case you're curious.<br />
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Next post... Mockingjay Book Talk.<br />
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<img src="webkit-fake-url://9FBF67F1-4CCF-4F0D-9360-7005F9BAB9EE/image.tiff" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-51545070281586896562010-08-23T13:55:00.000-07:002010-08-23T13:56:07.939-07:00Mockingjay Chapter 1 Read by Suzanne CollinsBelow is a video of Suzanne Collins reading the first chapter of Mockingjay. She has an accent!! I was sooo not expecting that!<br />
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Thank you to my lovely critique partner Dana at <a href="http://asquirrelamongstlions.blogspot.com/">A Squirrel Amongst Lions</a> for emailing me this link.<br />
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If you're curious about my <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: line-through;">gushing</span> thoughts on <a href="http://dianapazblog.blogspot.com/2010/01/book-talk-hunger-games-and-catching.html">Hunger Games and Catching Fire, click here</a> .<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Since this is the OFFICIAL and authorized sneak peek direct from Scholastic, I share without guilt and encourage you to enjoy... here it is, Chapter 1 of Mockingjay:</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: '-webkit-monospace'; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/jYC1954VJfg?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/jYC1954VJfg?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-73354220004907672072010-08-19T09:28:00.000-07:002011-02-20T07:19:53.274-08:00Five Bucks at the Mall and a Mini-Writerly MomentI was at the mall with my little sister (my other little sister, not the one from the <a href="http://dianapazblog.blogspot.com/2010/08/mobile-blogging-when-key-things-go.html">Beach-Day-From-Hell</a> [see the post BEFORE the last one. *shudder*]), and while we were there I had a mini-writerly moment...<br />
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First, a little about my sister. Like the previously mentioned sister, she is also awesome, also into clothes, but unlike my other sister, this one counter-acts the mojo that makes crazy things go wrong on family trips. Seriously, when we all went beach camping a few weeks ago, nothing crazy happened throughout the whole weekend!! Unheard of! Until we were getting ready to leave and she drove off first. Then there <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">was</span> craziness but ANYWAY, a story for another time people. The bottom line is, this little sister has a calming effect on the world.<br />
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So, the mall. We didn't have a reason for going to the mall other than to talk and hang out. We decided that this time, we would have a strict five-dollar rule, because otherwise talking and hanging out could get really expensive (as we've learned before *sad, sad sigh* *cringes, pushing away bills*). <br />
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At first we joked about what we could possibly find for five dollars at the mall, but really, finding something for five dollars is not the hard part; the hard part is knowing that once your five dollars is spent, you have no more money to play with. It became like a game... bracelets or hair clips from Claire's Accessories? How about something from Old Navy? Flip-flops, tops, stuff on clearance? Then there were random small shops with eyeshadow and nail polish, or layered tank undershirts... and The Disney Store-- haha, our favorite store ALWAYS-- had clearance ball caps for under five dollars, plus a bunch of little things that so rocked, like a keychain viewfinder and sparkly princess lip gloss!! We couldn't decide! It was an embarrassment of under five dollar riches!<br />
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We had a ridiculously good time trying on sunglasses and whatever else we could find-- everything under five bucks was manhandled and used for our sarcastic amusement-- but in the end we spent our precious cash at... wait for it... waaaait for it...<br />
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The Sweet Factory. <br />
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Candy. YES, we spent it on candy. Pointless? Maybe. As Charlie said in Willy Wonka, candy doesn't have to have a point. That's why it's candy. Hanging out with my sister was the point *gasp* and we both didn't care about buying more crap we didn't really need. So that's when I had this mini-writerly moment.<br />
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At SCBWI one of the workshop presenters emphasized the importance of character development. One way to check this in your story is to see if what your character WANTS at the beginning of the book is what they NEED at the end of the book. As I munched on strawberry cheesecake jellybeans and sour peach rings, I realized my sister and I had semi-illustrated this. At first we wanted to spend five dollars, but through the course of the day we realized we didn't NEED to spend the five dollars. We just needed to be together *sniff sniff* *group hug*<br />
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Had we known this in the beginning, we might have just stayed home to talk and hang out on the sofa, but would we have had as much fun? No!! The same with our characters. If they knew what they need at the beginning of the story, they might not go through the whole crazy adventure in the book we're writing, but that's what makes it fun. They get to figure it out. <br />
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Sent via BlackBerry from T-MobileUnknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1017446111798334119.post-72148825419752375792010-08-15T08:22:00.000-07:002010-08-15T08:22:13.769-07:00Bookstores and Chocolate Chip CookiesGood news! I convinced two non-reader friends to just read the beginning of Hunger Games... *rubs hands together with evil glee* They're hooked. They finished Hunger Games and Catching Fire. They want more books. They have nabbed random books from my bookshelf, bwa-ha-ha-haaa!!!!<br />
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ANYWAY, to change the subject almost completely, while I was at a big-chain-bookstore the other day, I did my usual and looked for my favorite authors to turn their books face-out. Hee hee hee! Yes, that kind of thing makes me happy. And yes, my friends who now read think that is extremely weird. <br />
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What's your typical trip to a bookstore like? Do you hang out for hours? Do you just buy everything online now? I do both. Buy online and go to the bookstore, and when I go to the bookstore I like to hang out for hours. Here's how my trip went the other night:<br />
<ul><li>Perused the YA section, from beginning to end.</li>
<li>Turned favorite authors' books face-out.</li>
<li>Selected a soft-cover copy of City of Glass to match the first two books I already own. I've read City of Glass but I want to OWN it. (Yes Janelle, you can have your book back now!!)</li>
<li> Grabbed a white mocha and a huge chocolate chip cookie from the in-store coffee shop. I almost got the cheesecake but that cookie was calling my name. <i>Diana! Diana you need a chocolate chip cookie! And look at me, I'm huuuuuge!!! </i> </li>
<li>Found a comfy chair and wrote. Or in this case, revised.** </li>
</ul>**Revised... ahhhh, this is the good part... which reminds me, I keep revising Twists of Fate instead of Wishmaker, what am I doing?????! My brain tells me over and over, <i>Revise Wishmaker, you have more distance with that story. Twists of Fate is too fresh in your mind!!! Why aren't you listening to me, I'm your brain!!!!!</i> Sorry brain, I've never listened to you before, why start now? I should probably update my website and put up an excerpt of ToF and change the status of that book to "in revisions."<br />
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<b>Where was I before my brain so rudely interrupted... oh yeah, revisions!</b><br />
<ul><li>Revised and revised and REVISED until my laptop battery died. Normally I could stay until the store closes if given the chance, but I came with a half-full battery.</li>
<li>Swung by the books one more time. This time checked out adult fantasy and romance.</li>
<li>Returned to YA and pick up Wayfarer by R.J. Anderson. I'm a sucker for fairy stories.</li>
<li>The End.</li>
</ul><br />
I love revising :) Have I said that a million times already?? I love having the book all semi-roadmapped in front of me. And this was my favorite way to revise, at the bookstore, with my white mocha in-hand and mega chocolate chip cookie in-stomach.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5