Give Up or Die Trying

Right, so the title is a little dramatic, I know. But what is life without drama? Without drama, life is boring, like the drive from Chicago to Estes Park in a car that's top speed is 45mph. Boring, long, and ass-swelling. I hate that drive. If I rode in a car with Hunter S. Thompson, Johnny Depp, and a well charged iPod, I still would hate the drive and my swollen, sitting-for-12-hour-ass.

My point, clear? Good. Great. Moving on.

I've come to a realization: having written one novel--okay I lie, two or three--doesn't qualify me for the big leagues. This is not to say my story(ies) don't deserve to be shared with the world, but I'm just saying that because I wrote a novel doesn't mean it I should immediately jump to acquiring an agent. Writing isn't just about getting published, scoring a big advance, winning the hearts of thousands of fans and ultimately a movie deal.

Okay, that sounds pretty damn sweet. Maybe it is... for some.

Ahem, what I mean is that writing shouldn't alone be about fame or glory or being that one writer to score a trillion dollar advance. It should be about the creativity, the craft, and--fuck--the enjoyment of breathing life into people who exist only through you.

I'm sick to death of the world around me thinking that because I write, I should also be published. Hey, I dance too, so should I go out and try a career as a Burlesque dancer? Oh, better yet, I'm a damn good singer. Studied that shit to death in college. Should I seek to become a singing, writing, Burlesque dancer with a penchant for potty-language?

No. Life is not validated by becoming "famous" or "acknowledged" or "mass success." Writing shouldn't be like that either. And the good news, my friends, is that writing, unlike dancing or singing, has longevity. I can write until I die an old, crotchety woman in my eighties (Yep, I've decided on 80's only because I don't want to die with lack of bladder control... going out in a blaze of glory and soggy undies just doesn't cut it). I can write when I'm sick, excluding pinkeye--fucking pinkeye. I can write just about anytime and about anything. It is, by far, one of the most open artistic forms and so long as I have an imagination, my options are endless.

So, why in hell would I rush it, burden my creative process, burn through my passion, or write away the one thing that keeps me sane simply for the glory of publication? Glory is good, but I've gotta get my head back on straight and remember why I came to writing in the first place. It was to save my sorry ass and to fill time when I had too much of it... oh, and to play with my imaginary friends.

The point of my rambling tirade is this: don't let the pursuit to get published burn through your passion. My dreams of becoming a musician died the day I realized the passion had dwindled to a kernel of nothingness. I spent several years lamenting the loss. Don't let that happen to your writing. Even if a world of agents don't want your novel, or the business is bleak, or people don't read books like they once did, remember that writing is not to heal the world or save it, but to heal you.

With all this said, getting published is still worth fighting for and something that I, as well as millions of others, will continue to do.

There's my fucking pep speech for the month.

Oh, and if the speech means nothing to you, maybe this video will spark some interest. It sure as hell got my attention. (Note: I will never be visiting ANYPLACE where huntsman spiders are native. Good thing they don't exist in Estes Park)

Chapters n' Shite...

Yes, yes, I have an A-1 potty mouth. I'm learning to live with it, embrace it, and call it my own.

Anyway, I haven't posted in a while because, well, life has been pretty damn busy. Sorry. As well, I haven't visited others' blogs and kept up with my networking. Sorry again. Really, I love reading and conversing, but when I get into a funk I disappear. But I'm back. Sort of.

Point is, I've revised some chapters of FG. I uploaded them to my website, so if you're bored as all get out, feel free to read. Disclaimer: While I am inviting you to read, please don't invite yourself to be my editor.

Later, yo...

Foxglove: The Bloodsucker, CH. 1-3

Voice and a Writers Conference

Haven't posted in a while. Sorry. I trust everyone had a lovely holiday. Oh, and Happy New Year! (When it comes...)

After a reread, my book is going back to the drawing board. Of course, this is a treat for me b/c I love editing. This is a chance to improve my voice which, to date, sucks. In fact, there seems to be no voice in my writing. There was. Yes, yes, there was about a year ago, but edit after edit, it lost that "Abby" feel and now it's a skeleton of blah. Bummer. Really, big fat bummer.

I went to writers conference in July and they kept talking about voice. Voice. Voice. Voice. You must have a strong voice. I wondered--What the hell is voice? After pondering it, I know now what voice is. Yay for me! I learned something. What did I learn? Well, I learned my voice needs oomph. I'm okay with that, too. I'm ready to add spice to it and it's going to kick ass. Yep. It will. So, back to the drawing board for me. Happy Fucking New Year.

BTW, I'm signed up for a conference in April. DFW Writers Conference in Texas. Yeehah! If anyone is going, let me know. It may be nice to meet up. I'm really very nice. Get a drink in me and I'm fucking fun.

Happy New Year, folks!

Weird Websites

This post has nothing to do with writing. Sorry. I simply love visiting random websites. The more absurd the better. Lately, I've had ample luck finding weird sites and I can't help but share my spoils with you.

Besides, I like to laugh. So should you. And, seriously, don't we all need one of these:

See more great ideas at: Regretsy (in no way affiliated with Etsy)

Hero of the Day

Click here for more Peter Pan greatness

Oh! The Madness!

There's madness in all of us. What triggers it is what differentiates us. For me, writing is my madness and I'm slowly learning to deal with it. In fact, "deal" is not the right word. I should say I'm learning to love it.

But no one told me this madness would be so fucking difficult.

I mean, I'm not the most rational, normal gal. I've got my share of qualities that, to some, may not be desirable. Yet, I never thought that any of those qualities made me a little loony in the noodle.

I have always been the creative type, however. When I was in grade school, I was an artist. My best friend and I would draw and paint pics until our little fingers ached. We wrote stories, too. Then in high school I became a singer and, well, started coughing up everyone else's art. I was a singer, possibly a musician, sure, but not creative. And with that my creativity fell dormant. Fast forward nearly ten years and I've picked up the writing bug again. It has been a wonderful, fascinating journey. I'm at home in my creative world. Problem is, I'm such a fucking creative nutjob, I am oftentimes mistaken for being aloof. I live 75% in my head and the other 25% I go through the motions of life. Writing seems a logical catharsis for me and, boy, has it kicked up a lot of crazy dust these past few years.

I run on extremes most of the time. Either I'm hyped up on coffee, writing, and barely able to yank my brain from that 75% I mentioned. Or, I'm low, low, low in what most would call "writer's block." After discussing this with A, I realize I'm not alone and that lots of artists feel this way.

I'm learning I like madness, at least this kind.

So after fussing with the lows for a few weeks, I have come to a very important question: Would I give up these highs and lows for middle ground? No. No, I will not. I'm OK with the madness and, thankfully, I'm learning to embrace it rather than hate it. I will take the lows and trudge through them with my head up, because I know that as soon as a new wave of creativity washes over me, I'll be back to my fast-typing, writing madness.

Being at peace with that is so damn refreshing.

BTW, here is an interesting article about writers and bipolarism. I'm not saying I am, nor do I claim to know much about the disorder, but I thought I'd share with any of you who wonder about your muse and why she is such a bitch sometimes.

To my muse: "I looove you, my dear. You're really not a bitch... sometimes."

The Critic

I find movie reviews to be hit-or-miss. Do I entirely trust movie critics? NO! I'd be an idiot to let two old fogies tell me what I should and shouldn't see.

The same is true for books. I'll read what I want, regardless of someone else's review, and I'll decide if I like it. Despite the hoopla, I haven't read Twilight not because I'm too smug to read it, but that it just doesn't interest me. I have yet to read Dune because I can't sit my ass down long enough to commit to it--even though it is classic sci-fi. One day I'll read it. One day. Promise.

Just this morning, I surfed through a thread on a writers' forum discussing what they hate about books. "Ugh. Here we go," I muttered. As I read everyones' complaints, I sunk further and further into my office chair, worrying that I've committed some of the mentioned sins. For a moment, I felt like the shittiest writer on the planet, like I should rush off to find a different, less critical career.

Yet...

Yet, the world is not entirely made up of readers as critical as the writers on those forums. That those writers spend day after day visiting and commenting on what they HATE is enough for me to step back and evaluate their motives. I'm not saying us creative folk don't have the freedom to vent. By all means, we should, but we can't let that bring us down if our manuscripts fall into one of the bitch-fest categories.

There are so many different tastes in this world that we cannot please them all. If we can please a small percentage, then we've succeeded, and the rest are just... critics. So, if you get discouraged because your novel is in first person present or is a fantasy about elves and dwarves or jam packed with frilly words, keep your chin up. Someone may love it and, in truth, as long as ONE person loves your story, you succeeded.

Mel Brooks said it best. Click Here.

Humbug

We adopted an adorable mutt a year ago. When we chose him, he was the most submissive creature in the pound. He curled up into my husband's arms and sat there waiting for us to take him home. It was love at first sight.

On the drive home, our new mutt, Charlie, revealed his true colors. He proved to be the gassiest dog we had ever met. He farted up a smelly storm in the car ride. Shortly thereafter, he developed other gassy problems--he'd eat the rotted, fermented crab apples in our backyard. The gas came from both ends and cleared rooms.

A couple weeks ago, Charlie revealed he has trouble with another bodily function. We took him downtown to get his photo taken with Scrooge. A chance to socialize! Hurray. The experience started off fine and he happily went along with everything, until he met the photographer that is. After being muscled into position next to Scrooge, Charlie's last defense before the photographer snapped an adorable puppy-holiday photo was to pee.

Pee he did.

Twice.

All over Scrooge's costume, the photographer, and me.

I was so embarrassed I almost didn't think to apologize. I wanted to run out the backdoor and never look back--with Charlie in tow. But I stayed and, to my dismay, was asked to take the picture WITH Charlie. I've included the pic for your enjoyment--please note Charlie's horrified expression.

A cute and rotund bulldog took a huge dump on the theater floor as Charlie and I did our walk of shame. That softened our embarrassment, if only a little.

Is this what it's like to have children?

Vampire Mayhem

Well, New Moon is finally out and the world is in a vampire-frenzie. Again. As if True Blood, Vampire Diaries, and all of the other blooduscking stuff isn't enough, we have New Moon and BOY is it profitable. New Moon has taken the vampire world to a whole new level, which is good for any vampire lovers out there.

But, my heart doesn't flutter at the sight of the Meyer-vampire-gods. I've never viewed the vampire in such a way. I grew up with Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula, Love at First Bite, and other creature of the night tales. None of those ever got me swooning. Although, Dracula DID bring on my love for anything & everything Gary Oldman. Yes, I love Gary Oldman... Gary Oldman.

OK! So, I swooned a little. Just a little. Don't judge.

Back to the point. With the release of New Moon, comes the critics and naysayers. Some love it; some hate it. Someone argued that vampires will go out of style and all of this nonsense will be forgotten. Huh? Really? The last time I did a check of western literature, vampires have been around for thousands of years. The ancient Greeks had their version of vampires. The Romans did. Medievalists did. And vampires will disappear into the cracks of history, forgotten and... dead?

*insert blood curdling scream*

Vampires, like werewolves, elves, faeries... you name it... are woven into our folklore. Getting rid of them would be like us getting rid of pants because they're "So, overdone." Come on, people. Folklore is fun and it's fun to modify. And these modifications are nothing new. Virgil tweaked Homer's epic tales. And if Homer and Virgil are cool with it, I'm coold with it.

My only question: When  is the market going to open up for a vampire who is over-the-top, laughable, and, well, isn't quite a vampire? See pic.

Steampunk!

1) Had a great weekend. But prior to a great get-together with my beta/critique friends on Saturday, Charlie the Mutt had a little accident. He posed with Scrooge for a cute holiday photo. Didn't go so well. He was terrified of the photographer and his camera. Charlie's little legs quivered. His ears pulled down. Tail tucked. Then he peed all over the photographer and Scrooge. It was embarassing to say the least, but as we did the walk of shame, a plump bulldog pooped on the floor nearby. That softened our mishap--sort of.

2) The great critique meeting uplifted my spirit, which has been low. Actually, it has been up and down like the hills of a roller coaster. One hour I'm elated, the next down. It sucks, but as I've said before, I'd much rather experience extremes than the middle-road. I like extremes b/c they make me feel alive even if they are disheaterning.

3) These highs and lows oftentimes translate into my creative process. This morning, listening to movie sountracks on the way to work, I came upon a creative high! I'm so pleased. My BP is a series. Trilogy? Maybe. Ten book series? I don't know. But I like the trilogy, though I'm sure I could come up with more ideas for books beyond one.

Book two of BP will parody zombies--zombies with a twist--as you know. Book three, if I choose to write it, will parody pirates--again, with a twist. I love pirates. Love them! As I've been pondering their genre, I have been struggling with what kind of pirates, until this morning.

Steampunk Pirates!

Uh, huh. That's it. Steampunk.

Only, I'm not as familiar with steampunk as I am with other genres. If anyone has ideas or thoughts, please shoot them my way.

To recap:

Critique groups = A must for any writer

Steampunk = Pirates

Movie Sountracks + Driving = Gets the creativity revving

Photographers + Scrooge = Depends for Dogs

Happy Monday!

"Where the hell is this going?"

I'm on a big Eluveitie kick right. Yay folk metal! The beginning of most of their songs are exciting. They usually kick off with bagpipes or whistle & a nice driving drumbeat. Their music unfolds as most songs do: verse, refrain, verse, refrain, bridge, and back again.

The bridge of any song, IMO, is what defines it. If it's a good bridge, the song is more dynamic and memorable. The bridge gives the listener that moment of "Ah," they want to return to the refrain to settle the mounted tension.

Eluveitie has the strangest refrains. The first time I heard their song Slanias Song, I wondered "Where the hell is this going?" It's a weird bridge, but somehow the band ties it back to the remainder of the song with a smooth transition. Once I heard it, I no longer wondered where the song was going. It made sense. The song wouldn't be the same without it. I love it more for that bizarre bridge.

That's when I realized it's about trust. Artists must build up a bond with the listener; this bond must first be about trust. Listeners must trust that the artist knows what he or she is doing and that the song will be resolved pleasantly.

A novel requires the same bond. Writers and readers bond. Every book I have ever read has a "bridge" about 2/3 of the way through. The story diverts. I scratch my head and wonder "Where the hell is this going." This moment challenges me to go on, requiring the trust that has been formed from the first half of the story to carry me through the strange digression. Sometimes writers pull it off and the bridge is flawlessly woven into the remainder of the book. It's a perfect harmony of dissonance, tension, and resolution.

I wondered about my book. Does it have a flawless bridge? Do I have the map laid out properly or have I led the reader into a dead end. What do you, my fellow writers, think of your novels? Do you have a bridge and do you love it, hate it, need to revise it?

I won a Wii this morning. I'm stoked.

17,000 Words

I'm not participatin in that WaMoNaMo thing-y. Could I write a novel in a month? Probably not. I like to let ideas gestate before I write--a month is not long enough to do that. But I am 17,000 words into the sequal of BP. It has been good fun thus far.

Trouble is, I keep developing the story more and more, consequently what I write doesn't work. I've rewritten the beginning numerous times. I'm likely going to rewrite it again. The core of the project is still the same, however. It's about zombies, though zombies with a twist (The twist is not top secret.) I'm sure it has been done before. BP twists vampires, but I'm sure even that isn't original. Then again, is anything?

Point is, I'm moving along. 17,000 is a nice place to be, especially since I see this book hovering around 95,000. Though I'll admit that this sequal has been written before, all doorstopping 500 pages worth. I'm starting anew because the previous version was darker than dark, with very little humor. I like humor. So do my characters.

The music playlist for this book is in line with BP:
Lacuna Coil, Shallow Life album
Rob Zombie (yes!), Hellbilly Delux album
Eluveitie, Slania album
Loreena McKennitt, An Ancient Muse album--"Loreena, you're after my own heart!"

BTW, what do you people listen to when you write? Anything? Silence? The hum of your heater? What?

Music is inspirational to me. I like riding in the car alone, because I can listen to whatever I want and put a song on repeat for 45 minutes if I so choose.

Nightmare

I just woke up screaming from a nightmare. I'm serious. 

A had departed for work before me, so I went back to bed after he said goodbye. I fell back asleep without effort and dreamt about riding some wild ride at a carnival. Then I sat up in bed because I noticed someone's feet beneath the bedroom door--I was supposed to be home alone. I sat for a while, staring. 

The door flew open and A was there, but dressed in a different suit from earlier. He had a big smile on his face. I asked why he was home so soon; he explained he just wanted to see me. 

This was all a little unsettling, but in retrospect what was most troubling was that I believed I was awake. It felt THAT real.

I got out of bed to close the bedroom door (I didn't want it open for some reason), but the door swung against my effort--without A touching it. It repeated  several times, enlightening me that A wasn't A and whatever was happening was too creepy for comfort.  I looked back into the room for Charlie, our pup, who was hiding. A started walking down the stairs without me, the door still swinging. I called out for Charlie, but he didn't follow, so I followed A, hopeful he was just fucking with me. My heart was pounding.


When I got downstairs, I looked about with a dropped jaw. A had hauled up large objects from our basement and positioned them in the doorways, unnaturally. The objects were upside down, balanced on one point. Even the stationary bike which is well over 400lbs was flipped on it's end, angled in the doorway of the living room. 

That was when I knew I had to run.

I tried to look casual as I went for the backdoor, but he kept trying to grab me. I got to the backdoor and ran outside screaming for help. There were several people in the street, so I rushed to them. Apparently the cops were already coming b/c some guy had been run over. I waited, glancing back at A as he stood on our front porch. When the cops arrived, they looked at my arms and asked if he had hit me (I actually have a bruise on my elbow. Weird). I told them no but wanted them to arrest A b/c he was possessed. 



They didn't arrest him, but agreed to take us someplace so he couldn't hurt me--after they helped the run over guy, of course. Some neighboring old ladies hung out in the house with me, protecting me, as A sat at the top of the stairs chattering in a strange language. Time elapsed. It was nighttime, so I decided to turn on the porch light so the cops wouldn't forget to come by. The lights didn't work.

A started getting chattier at the top of the stairs, speaking louder as if to taunt me. I got smart with him. I just wanted him to shut up, plus I wanted him to know I had control of the situation. He got on all fours and raced down the stairs at me instead.

 That's when I woke up screaming.

Never. Sleeping. Again.

17 Things About Me

A few of my blog friends have posted "17 Things About Me" or something like it. I figure today, Guy Fawkes Day, would be a nice time to share 17 things about me. (Really, I'm bored out of my mind between projects at work and I'm killing time as I await energy points on Mafia Wars--this is what my life has recently come to).

Without further ado, I:

1) Don't like getting my hands wet, which is frustrating now that H1N1 is in season.

2) Once lived in an old TB sanatorium mansion from the 1800's. Creepy, yes. Did anything haunting happen there? Hell yeah!

3) Studied opera at a conversatory before realizing my voice was NOT big enough to fill an auditorium. Dream shattered.

4) Got to dance an Irish jig in Ireland. Good fun.

5) Belive that massages are the equivelant of petting an animal. I'm OK with that.

6) Have been rock climbing in Colorado. Ice climbing in the Scottish highlands. Backpacking in Yosemite. For a Chicago girl that's pretty good.

7) Huge fan of adventure disaster books/movies--see #6 for reason why.

8) Have fallen off a motorcycle twice. This is my lesson that I'm not meant to bike solo, only bitch.

9) I'm not an extrovert--this explains why I'm struggling for things to share.

10) Visited Rome. Though I'm a quarter Italian, I wasn't fond of the Romans. Too handsy.

11) My wedding cake caught on fire. Best part was that we got pictures on the firetruck. SO worth it.

12) Got so drunk I projectile vomited into two rooms at once. Hedonism at its finest.

13) Have a girl crush on Natalie Dormer.

14) My favorite movie as a child--The Dark Crystal.

15) Once, I tried to put my kitten, Radar in the toilet to wash him (I was two). Mom punished me by putting me in the toilet and then took a picture. Lesson learned.

16) My woobie was a Spiderman doll. I loved him, but he wasn't allowed to watch me dress, so I turned him around. I was such a prude.

17) Hurled a pound of haggis 35feet at the Highland games this past summer. Considering I was slightly sloshed on whisky, I think I did very well.

Gaming Lockdown!!

We once spent an entire weekend locked down in our house playing video games. It was good, lazy fun. I suspect we've only done it once b/c it was too easy to get lost in game-world and we have too many responsibilities to shirk. Alas, adult life!

Responsibility aside, we've agreed unanimously to bring back Gaming Lockdown this weekend--a lazy weekend to recuperate after two weeks of Halloween hedonism. We will do nothing but game, sleep, and eat.

It's research for the sequal to FG or BP, whichever abbreviation you prefer. I make everything research nowadays... but it is good to know what I write about, isn't it? Obsessive video gaming is the hallmark of my two protagonists, so there! Research.

If you have game suggestions for two very bad video gamers, please let me know.

Happy November, people!!