Power of the Pen

If It Was A Movie...

2011-05-07T09:39:00.000-07:00

If your books were movies, who would play the characters? Which movie star would fit the role?

Please tell me this isn't a game that only I play. I love watching movies and saying, "hmm, no, he's just not right." "she's too thin." "he's too short." Besides, if for no other reason than practicality, it makes it a lot easier to envision your characters when you have a star all picked out. And so, without further ado, I present the list of stars I've figured out.

Monty Renthers

Monty is a sub-character of the novels I co-wrote with Nina Hansen, and will someday be the main character of another book we intend to co-write. He thinks he's six foot, but he's not. He thinks he's handsome, he is. He thinks he's intelligent, he has his moments. He thinks he's talented, which he is, but never has the patience to really get good. He's funny, sarcastic, debonair, and a smashing pilot. (literally) All said, a fun character who would need a fun actor to play him; James Marsden.

Peter Standish

Peter was from the co-written novels afore mentioned, my lead character. Big, blonde, handsome. Tan skin, blue, blue eyes. Spitfire pilot, rugby star, oxford student. Full of boyish enthusiasm, but strong with the traits of a true leader. He was the hero of the men who served under him, a good listener, soft lover, and faithful friend. He had the heart of a lion, never one to give up or show weakness. He was a tragic character, one who had lost everything. And, of all the characters I've ever written I like him the best. He is, by far, my favorite, and so, he has been the one who it has taken the longest to find an actor for. I think that Chris Hemsworth could do it. He's tall, muscular, blonde with blue, blue eyes. He has a countenance that can laugh and be soft or turn to hardest iron in a moment. He has the ability to be a tremendous leader, but also a gentle man.

Mark Kendall

About a year and a half ago I wrote a novel called "Strike In The Dark" for NaNoWriMo. It was an action novel, set in the middle east in the 80s. Now, at the time my arabic knowledge was kind of lousy, so without a complete overhaul, the novel will never be seen by human eyes for fear of my complete ignorance being a spectacle for all the world to see. Unfortunate, but true. However, the main character, one Mark Kendall, was brilliant. He was a vietnam vet with a dark past and a heart of ice. Now an FBI agent he was ruethless. Nothing could stop him, nothing could even phase him. He's a piece of iron, but inside of his stony shell there's a soft interior. Finding an actor? Not so hard. I present to you, Hugh Jackman.

Alicia Jefferson

This November my novel was a tale of a futeristic america, of world domination and the saving of said world. The hero, an ordinary man. The heroine, anything but. A new breed of human, super strong and super intelligent, bred to rule, to lead. Rouge now, she fights against the powers that hold the world in her grasp. She's tall, lithe, with black hair and flashing green eyes. Sexy, but deadly. Never a dull moment, never a stop in the action. Passionate lover, faithful to the end. A black haired Eva Mendes would be her to a T.

So. If someone was to make your books into movies, who would play your characters???

~~~

I do have more of these, if you guys are interested.

BLOG CHAIN: Swirling

2011-03-16T12:32:00.000-07:00

I'm a day late on my post for the Christian Writer's blog chain...so sorry to all the people out there for being late TWO MONTHS IN A ROW! Arg! When I gave my date I didn't realize it was a Tuesday...the busiest day of my week. And then working on schoolwork (which I'm trying desperately to finish before vacation) made me busier still! So, the result is that I completely forgot about this post. My bad.

Anyway, I did remember and here I am, trying to snatch a few minutes out of yet another BUSY day! Wow. My life right now is heeecktic.

So. Without further ado...swirling.

~~~~

This is the blog chain of Christian Writers, and I have a writing blog, so I suppose this word, "swirling" is supposed to somehow pertain to writing. When you say swirling I don't think of writing, I think of hot chocolate with swirls of whipped cream, those fantastic saltwater taffy things with a swirly pattern, and lollipops (which were always far too sweet for me). If I wasn't so angry with poetry right now (far too much analysis in my lit curriculum!) I might think of that, which is somewhat writing. Not my writing, but writing all the same.

I wonder why it is that the word 'swirling' makes me think of poetry? Maybe because it's poetic in nature, a delicate and beautiful substitute for 'stirring', 'mixing', or any other word pertaining to a circular movement. In other words, it is a word used to describe something. A description word with far more beauty and imagery than some other plain words that could describe the same thing.

It's a fact I often have to remind myself of. Just because I am [anything but] a poet, it doesn't mean that I should throw all delicate descriptive language out as 'flowery nonsense'. I love description, don't get me wrong, but I really prefer to use descriptive words that are sharp, clean, and very to-the-point.

Those kind of words work best when describing an atomic blast or the supreme court. But when the novel is all done and tranquility once again abides on the pages of the imagination, I should never forget the descriptive language that suits that new kind of peace...like swirling.

BOOK LAUNCH: My Mother The Man Eater by Tracy Krauss

2011-02-23T09:43:00.000-08:00

Tracy Krauss, author of ‘edgy inspirational’ fiction, is launching her book MY MOTHER THE MAN-EATER on Feb. 24 at amazon.com. You can help Tracy achieve ‘best seller’ status by purchasing the book at amazon.com TODAY!

About the book:

Loaded with humor, action, intrigue and romance, My Mother the Man- Eater is the story of a woman whose search for meaning in life finds an unexpected outlet. Joleen Allen is on the hunt for a man. Unfortunately, every time the mother of five meets one, he falls for one of her daughters instead! At forty-four, Joleen has lived a tough life. She became a mother at 16, and her five daughters are now grown. Her ex-husband, Harold, is out of prison and back in the picture, looking for revenge. He’ll stop at nothing – even murder – to ruin Joleen’s reputation as well as her relationship with their daughters. My Mother the Man-Eater makes for some truly tempting and redemptive reading.

About the Author:

Tracy Krauss is a prolific author, playwright, director and artist. Originally from a small prairie town, she now resides in Tumbler Ridge, BC, known for its scenic mountain vistas and many waterfalls. She received her Bachelor’s Degree from the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon and currently teaches high school Art, Drama and English. .

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BLOG CHAIN: When It Knocks You Off Your Feet...Then It's Love

2011-02-17T12:43:00.000-08:00

February's blog chain...and I'm a few days late of the day I said I'd have my post up...a big apology to all the people who follow the Christian Writer's blog chain and have been wondering where my post is!!! Oops!

Some people say that love is a rose, maybe they’ve hit it right on the nose, but other folks say that it’s like the sun.A long time ago daddy said to me, "I’ll help you clear up the mystery; I’ll give you a simple rule of thumb."If it knocks you off your feet, then it’s love.If it makes your life complete, then it’s love.If it turns you upside down, then it's love.If it makes your world go round, then it's love.The dictionary won’t tell you much if love is the word you’re looking up, I don’t believe that the definition’s right.And the encyclopaedia won’t reveal the crazy way you start to feel kissing on a moonlit summers night.If it knocks you off your feet, then it’s love.If it makes your life complete, then it’s love.If it turns you upside down, then it's love.If it makes your world go round, then it's love.Some say that love is a game, maybe compare it to a flame, or say it's a medicine that heals. But a bank of experts could fight all night and never figure out which one is right; but they'll agree on how it makes you feel.If it knocks you off your feet, then it’s love.If it makes your life complete, then it’s love.If it turns you upside down, then it's love.If it makes your world go round, then it's love.

"If it makes your world go round, then it's love." A bit idyllic, don't you think? In a world of easy-come easy-go the standards for love seem pretty high. Maybe we shouldn't fall in love, instead choosing the fast lane, racing on, striving for higher goals, letting the intense dedication of love fall by the way.

After all, without love there's no chance for heartbreak. But I tend to believe that there's no true chance for happiness either.

I'm sixteen; and yes, I believe in true love. I believe in real love, forever love, and I'm pretty sure that I'm in love. :) He's a couple of years older. Funny, kind. And he loves me. I think I'm in love because when we're together, it's all him. What he thinks. How he feels. What he wants. There's no me it's all us.

I see that in little places in my life; from the fact that I straighten my hair because he likes it to the clothes I wear (ones I know he likes more), and stuff like that. I think that that's a lot of what matters in a relationship.

Natalie Wood gave her heart to James Dean, high school rebel and a beauty queen, standing together in an angry world, one boy fighting for one girl.I want to be loved like that, a promise you can't take back. If you're gonna love me, I want to be loved like that.Daddy never gave Momma a diamond ring, Momma never worried for anything. What he gave her came from the heart, a bond that was never torn apart I want to be loved like that, a promise you can't take back. If you're gonna love me, I want to be loved like that.An old man kneeling all alone plants his flowers in a garden of stone. For seven years now she's been gone and his devotion is still going strong. I want to be loved like that, a promise you can't take back. If you're gonna love me, I want to be loved like that.

The Heart Manifests Itself Through The Pen

2011-01-30T11:21:00.000-08:00

Writers write primarily about what they think, feel, believe, or contemplate. This is, of course, most easily seen in nonfiction, but also plays an important role in the job of those like me...the storytellers of the world.

I have pretty strong feelings on things, some things more than others. As a general rule I dislike hostile confrontation, and though heated conversations are often great when they're happening, I dislike debate and essays. So I find myself with the need to tell the world what I think in a different way.

When it comes to writing, I am a storyteller by talent, practice, and desire. I've been writing for a lot of years...probably close to eight or nine (since I was eight or so). But as most people who start writing young, I've lost a good deal of the patience (and time) that it takes to write prolifically, as well as getting frustrated by work that was nothing short of rubbish. The result is that I do not write every day, nor every week, save blog posts. But in this time when writing has been pushed to the back burner of my life, I've learned something very important, and it has changed my craft...for the better.

I've learned that I write best if I have a theory, idea, or frustration that is bothering me. That idea then transforms into a story which has more than just words; it has meaning. And while plot carries a story well, nothing carries a story like meaning.

I don't know if the world wants stories that speak out (bluntly at times) against Global Warming, vaccines, obsession with appearance (particularly weight!), the United Nations, and 'systems'. Maybe the world around mr doesn't want that, but I honestly do not care, because in weaving my views into a story I find fulfillment, and seeing as I've pretty much given up all hope of writing professionally, fulfillment is really the ultimate gift.

My goal is to never make myself write a story I don't feel, but at the same time never let a matter lie if it demands a story.

Classic Literature

2011-01-26T09:01:00.001-08:00

I know that as an author I'm supposed to have this deep affection for the classics. I should hang on every word of Shakespeare, Dickens and Verne. I should love musty old books with the pages falling out.

I admit; with the exception of a few modern classics I hate the classics. Shakespeare not only puts me to sleep but it also depresses me. I'm sorry, but coming from a girl in love--who wants their romance to end like "Romeo and Juliet"? I know it's a classic romance, but what a horrible ending!

Dickens is also depressing. Stories of poverty and cruelty which, honestly, seldom get THAT much better by the end! Also Dickens rambles far too much for me.

I also dislike Verne; I find his characters either boring or thoroughly disagreeable, which is a horrible combination and tends to distract me from his otherwise sorta interesting plots.

Now, that said, I do like old hardcovers, as long as they're not musty in the least. I hate musty/mildewy things. I like the thick paper and typeset they used to use tho. I have a good dozen books that are original printing, including "Magnificent Obsession", "The Secret Diary Of Doctor Hudson" and "The Robe" (all by Loyd C Douglas, yes, I like him) and "Enemy Brothers" by Constance Savery. I love my old books, but the pages are not falling out...I would find that maddening!

Despite this, as I mentioned before, there are a few modern 'classics' which I do enjoy.

"Brave New World" is a scary but fascinating read. Unlike its also-famous competitor, "1984", "Brave New World" deals with a futuristic society in which the people are slaves to this perfect and thoroughly enjoyable society. It's not dark. Not full of filth and unpleasantness. It's almost bright in it's outlook, though very sarcastic in its brightness.

I love "The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy" as well. I laughed through the whole book, a silly and utterly impractical sci-fi romp. The writing style is alternately ridiculous, random, witty and sarcastic. Other than being brilliantly written the book has little to no literary value, but I found it a very enjoyable read.

And my favorite classic ever; "The Time Traveler's Wife", a romance about a time traveler who finds himself saved from his self-destructive downward spiral by a girl who fell in love with him as a child when he came back in time to visit her after they were married. The book deals with raw love and passion, and I know that lots of people are quite offended by the sexuality of the novel, but I was impressed by the love and intimacy shared by these soulmates. I dare anyone who has even a little bit of romantic in them to read this book and tell me they don't want to be that close to their partner! Although these lovers fight, quite a lot in fact, their intimacy always proves as a way for them to forgive and forget. The book is honest, dealing with all the worst issues that arise in a marriage while still showing love and happiness. I ADORE that book! !!!

So what's your opinion on the classics? What is the reason for your love or hate of the classics? Do you have a favorite? Why do you love it so much?

BLOG CHAIN: A Clean Slate

2011-01-10T00:00:00.000-08:00

Well, it's time for another blog chain from Christian Writers! It's a sad but true fact that pretty much the only time that this blog is getting used is for blog chains! At least I'm still getting stuff posted. I might not be the best blogger ever but at least I can keep up the pretense, right?

I hope, at least.

The topic of this month's blog chain is "New Beginnings". For me, that's an awfully full topic! Where to start--and what to write about!

New beginnings are very near and dear to my heart, as anyone who knows me will tell you. I've written entire novels about second chances and loved every instant of it.

My most extensive work by far was "A Fire Is Woken", written with Nina Hansen. In that book my character was a burned fighter pilot, taken from elite war hero down to broken soul in a few flaming moments. He looses everything and has to start over from scratch with pretty much the whole world against him. I love the novel, and I loved the idea... Why? Because it was a new beginning, a second chance to become truly great.

New beginnings usually involve overcoming great odds. They usually involve tremendous bravery, or at the very least, willpower. They are the beauty of the earth, the light at the end of the tunnel, the hope in our hearts. We all hope, even when the world gets truly dark, that there will be a new beginning, a second chance. A chance to turn it all around.

I love New Years too. Because it is, in reality, a new year. It's a new year to fix the wrongs of the year before. It's a new year to be successful where we previously failed. Aside from the big problems in our lives, it's a time to assess and work on the small issues as well! So often we put off reform and put off new beginnings. We say that we'll do it 'later'.

Well, it's a new year, 2011. It's a new time. It's later...it's time to bring those new beginnings to fulfillment. It's time to be successful and conquer the unconquerable. Do the undoable. Attain the highest heights.

Welcome to 2011, the future, the 'later' of our lives. Let's make it a truly great year. What are you waiting for? Get out there and live like it's a new year.

BLOG CHAIN: Christmas

2010-12-24T11:37:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year again! The trees are up and the lights are strung. People all across the United States are getting ready for an amazing time with their families; a time of love and sharing. For some of us, Christmas is hardly as idylic.

For reasons that I don't agree with, my family does not celebrate Christmas. Most of the time, Christmas is the single worst day of the year for me. I spend the whole thing pretty blue because of the lack of unity in our family. On Christmas more than ever the disunity is felt, because half of us want it and half of us don't.

This year is looking brighter; my sister and I are spending Christmas with my best friend and her husband. We'll, for the first time in our lives, have a normal Christmas that is what Christmas should be--full of love and happiness.

I have regrets, of course. I can't spend the holiday with my boyfriend, which I'd love to do. And I won't have my whole family there around me. But I will at least have a holiday where I can spread the joy and the giving that I've always wanted to.

I love Christmas. Despite what my family thinks, I adore the holiday. I find it easily one of the best days of the year. I love the Christmas spirit, and I love going out around Christmas because the whole world is full of it! And I love giving. Scratch that--I adore giving. This year, out of my meager income, I dumped over $300 into gifts. For friends that I'm really close to and even ones I'm not so close to. I just love buying things for people, wrapping them, and either sending or giving them. It makes me happy. :)

I'm so happy to have Jesus this season as well. Amidst all the maddness of the conventional Christmas, I try to never forget that He is truly the reason for the season, and that the joy in my heart comes from him. This holiday season I'm so thankful for all the blessings He's bestowed upon me this year!

I have an amazing family who cares deeply about me. They love me, protect me, but still give me enough freedom so that I respect them fully. I'm thankful that they were as good about me getting a boyfriend as they were; I never dreamed they'd be like that! If they would have been more difficult, I think I would have found myself sneaking around behind their backs and defying them. But because they were willing to try; I'm willing to do almost anything in front of them. They know practically everything, and they're okay with it. I'm glad that they trusted me enough to let me do that.

I thank God for my boyfriend too. He is AMAZING. I've spent all my life wanting a guy who would love me and care for me... And he's so much more. I would have never dreamed I'd have a guy like Cory. The guy is perfect for me! :) I'm totally and completely happy in his love.

I also thank God that he has granted all of us the chance for happiness. Whether or not we take it and make joy out of surroundings is our choice; but he gave us the chance.

In reality, I find that very much the spirit of Christmas. If we let it be a stressful experience, then we might not find the joy in it. Joy is in our heads and in our hearts. God gave us the chance, we need to take it.

Merry Christmas!

NaNo ate my Novel!

2010-11-05T10:21:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has done NaNo pretty much just has to face it. At some point or another in our noveling process the pressure and spur-of-the-moment nature of NaNo takes over and completely murders a sentence, paragraph, chapter...or sometimes entire plot...of our novel.

Day before yesterday I had minor squabbles with my novel over NaNoish issues. But last night my novel took a turn for the stereotypically NaNo.

First my one main character was recklessly driving down a freeway in pursuit of his true love (who has hated him since the beginning of the book), and God shows up in the back seat. Yes, God. Like that God. THE God. In the backseat of his car. And some people think purple ninja bunnies and exploding zombies are bad!

Next my novel informed me that one huge group of villains who are ruling the world with an iron hand isn't enough. Oh no! There's another group of villains now too. The villains who think they should be ruling the world, and will kill the first villains to do it.

And my two main characters in the middle of this...trying to kill off BOTH GROUPS of villains! o.O

If that wasn't enough; my main characters also stopped fighting and admitted their undying love for each other... Which is fine because I intended to have it happen...about another 20,000 words further in!

Oh well.

What can I do? Nothing much, I guess.

On the bright side I'm to 30,831 words. Yay me! :D

A Surprising Evening

2010-11-04T07:23:00.000-07:00

I am of the opinion that I always write better after I've talked to my boyfriend. It might be true; it might just be my imagination.

Whatever the case; I did a mere 1000 words yesterday. But that evening, after work and talking to the boyfriend...I managed to pull off over 7000 words in less than two and a half hours!!! I am quite frankly shocked. I don't think I've ever written that many words in that short of a time period before.

I'm honestly not sure how it happened. I sat down and started typing. A few chapters later...I checked my wordcount...and there it was!

I wanted to make it to 20,000 words last night. I was almost completely sure I'd never make it unless I stayed up until midnight. So I did a very NaNo-ish thing to do. Drank a cup of coffee (cold, but still good), ate a little bit too much chocolate, and put my hands to the keyboard. The next thing I knew I was almost to 23,000 words!

I wanted to see it all the way through to 25,000 and the halfway point...but my sister was throwing a fit that I was keeping her awake with my typing. (this was about 10:30). So, happy with my success, I went to bed.

Not bad, in my opinion! Now...moving on to today. :)

Nutty NaNoWriMo

2010-11-03T06:27:00.000-07:00

For those of you who do not know me; I have been a NaNo participant for two years. 2008 I finished out at just over 125,00 words. Not bad for a first year. The novel sucked, but the word count was good! Last year in 2009 I did three novels, coming out to over 250,000 words. I hit 50,000 words on Day Four...a feat I doubt I shall ever repeat since it was hell getting there!

But coming into this year's NaNo I didn't think I was going to write this year. After all, I haven't done more than essays and blog posts since May! And anyway, I had no real desire.

But then it came up that my boyfriend was going to be out of town for most of the month of November... And I knew I'd need something to keep me busy. I opened up the lines of communication with my amazing NaNoing buddies of last year... And the rest is history.

Coming into it I knew it wasn't going to be last year. My schoolwork load is heavier this year and I want to do it right this year! Besides, I still didn't have the 'urge' to write! So I said, '50,000 at best'. HA HA

But this over-achiever made 10,000 words on Day One! Day Two was bad...I spent all day at the computer and only got 4,000 words to my name.

And now Day Three. What will this one bring?

BLOG CHAIN: Sneaky English

2010-10-12T06:38:00.000-07:00

For those of you that do not know, I am still in school. 12th grade. Highschool Senior. Tortured person. :) All equates to about the same thing in the long run.

Now I might write, but I've never been good at grammar. Give me a sentence, I'll make it right. But if you start asking me whether it's got a broken participle? I couldn't be more clueless. And so my grades are...well...lousy at best. In fact, every year I just manage to pass with a grade that could be a whole hell of a lot better.

My Dad says the problem is me. I think the problem is this English language of ours.

I mean, have you ever really thought about it? English is a sneaky language! We have these words that are nouns but can masquerade as adjectives and parts of speech that are one thing if used with this and one thing if used with that! And we're supposed to UNDERSTAND this stuff! It's outrageous!

In fact, I can't think of anything quite as complex AS English. It's a tough language, and that's all there is to it. It's got many quirks and many strange things to it. If mouse becomes mice, and goose geese, then why doesn't moose become meece? Silly! And we have lady becomes ladies, which is easy enough. But then man becomes men! And child can't be childs, it has to be children!

I'm not even going to get into grammatical functions, because, quite frankly, I can't even understand those when my text book spells them out for me. In perfect honesty, anybody who thinks the CIA is sneaky hasn't taken a good look at the English language recently! It's virtually cryptic!

How did we ever learn to read and speak this stuff in the first place, anyway?!

Write What You Know

2010-10-08T08:12:00.000-07:00

We've all heard it said before; "Write what you know. If you don't know it, don't write it."

I've followed this advice for the past year and a half. If I haven't researched it, I don't write it. ;) However, I think that clichéd saying is supposed to mean that you shouldn't write what you haven't experienced.

Now that rule I've broken, over, and over, and over. No, I don't know what war is like. I don't know what danger is like, and I don't know what looking death in the face is like. I don't know what being married is like, or being out at sea is like, or any of that. Hell, until a month or so ago I didn't even know what love was like!

And that was okay. I wrote just fine...I wrote more than fine. I still do. Because you know what? Whoever made that statement didn't understand what drives us as writers. What we feel inside and what makes our hearts beat true. And that's imagination. Huge, boundless imaginations. We have these ideas and we weave them into fantastic, amazing stories that leave our readers short of breath. (or so we hope)

All that takes a huge amount of imagination and being able to see things that can't be seen, understand things that can't be understood.

So forget writing what you've experience. Let your imagination take you. Who knows, it might be a trip to hell and back, but it'll be one heck of a ride!

Yellow Lines on Black Pavement

2010-09-24T11:33:00.000-07:00

I love to travel.

I would say that, far ahead of writing, travel is the love of my life. In all my life I never much had the chance to travel, to watch those yellow and white lines stretching into the horizon. When I was nine years old my family took the train to Oregon, where we stayed with family for several weeks before returning home. Even then, I loved it. But before I got big enough to really enjoy the open highway, too many children and not enough money rendered travel impossible.

But then this spring my parents bought an RV. An old one, yes. But big enough for our family of eight. And so, for the first time since 2003, we were once again distance-bound. Virginia, and a different set of family.

By then, I'd been wishing to travel for years. My hunger for those endless highways had only gotten stronger with my own driver's license and a car. So as we set out, I was excited. Deep down in the depths of my heart, this was a dream come true.

And it was an amazing trip. Full of new places and new horizons. New oceans. New mountains. New cities. New cultures.

I love America's diversity, and a first-hand taste of it gave me a hunger.

You could almost call it an addiction.

I expected that to be the last trip for a year. But, much to my surprise, the family decided to once again dust off the RV and go to visit friends in big-sky country--eastern Montana. This time, tho, it wasn't going to be there and back. It would be a road trip. A day here, a half a day there. South Dakota badlands. Mount Rushmore. Black Hills. The Iron Highway. Custer National Park. Then on to Montana. The North Dakota Badlands. Painted Canyon. The Saint Louis River in Minnesota, and finally Duluth.

Now my head is full of stary bowls, and skies and plains that are bigger than life. I've seen out of my tiny woods where I've lived my whole life and seen freedom. Raw freedom. Freedom in the wind, and in the sun, and in the cold. Cruel places...but cruel only because they were free.

Will this effect my writing?

How can it not, when I've seen that my horizons are no longer the limit?!

BLOG CHAIN: Turning Seasons

2010-09-13T18:08:00.000-07:00

Well, it's that time again! Time for Absolute Write's blog chain! I missed last month's because of the absolute hecticness of my life, but I was resolved this month to not even miss this one because of my family's trip to Montana!

The topic of this month's blog chain is seasons. I love all the seasons, personally. Each in a unique and different way. Alright...so winter is a bit too long in my Northern Wisconsin home, but what the heck. Could be worse, I s'pose.

But more than the seasons themselves, I love the changing of the seasons. It's like a clock. Can't you hear it? It's a new year, chiming out the hours. Then the snow is heavy on the ground as it ticks around to spring. The air is getting warmer and the days are getting longer. Now the ice is melting on the lakes and the first green leaves are pushing their way up through the dirt.

Next come the flowers, and then the leaves on the trees. Tick tock. Tick tock. Nature is whispering to us. Can't you hear it? "Summer is coming. Summer is coming."

Summer comes with the longest day, and we are swept away by the heat and the sun. Up where I live there's lots of lakes, so summer means swimming, waterskiing and tubing. If you're lucky, there will be a wedding. Or a vacation to some exotic location. For me, summer is a time of fun and work. And very little sleep.

But after all, God made the nights shorter in the summer time than in any other part of the year! So sleep should be the last thing on our minds.

But the clock hasn't stopped--much as we probably want it to. No. It's still ticking on. And now the leaves are turning red and gold, and the winds are getting cooler. Fall is on the way. It's probably raining more too. And the clock is still ticking forward. Cooler. Crisper.

And then the first frost. All silver ice particles, stringing the trees and coating the roofs. Then the first snowfall...and it's winter again.

Back toward the new year and the chiming of the hours.

I love to see the seasons go, sweeping by, God's way of measuring my life.

~~~~~

Be sure to check out the blog posts of my fellow blog-chain participants!

Ralph_Pines: http://ralfast.wordpress.com/ and direct link to his post
Aheïla: http://thewriteaholicblog.wordpress.com/ and direct link to her post
DavidZahir: http://zahirblue.blogspot.com/ and direct link to his post
orion_mk3: http://nonexistentbooks.wordpress.com/ and direct link to his post
LadyMage: http://www.katherinegilraine.com/ and direct link to her post
semmie: http://semmie.wordpress.com/ and direct link to her post
llalah: http://www.twylanonsequitur.blogspot.com/ and direct link to her post
hillaryjacques: http://www.hillaryjacques.blogspot.com/ and direct link to her post
AuburnAssassin: http://clairegillian.wordpress.com/ and direct link to her post
laffarsmith: http://www.craftingfiction.com/ and direct link to her post
sbclark: http://www.sonyaclark.net/ and direct link to her post
FreshHell: http://freshhell.wordpress.com/ and direct link to her post
PASeasholtz: http://www.paseasholtz.com/
SF4-EVER: http://www.ulbrichalmazan.blogspot.com/
T.N. Tobias: http://tnt-tek.com/
IrishAnnie: http://superpenpower.blogspot.com
Proach: http://desstories.blogspot.com/
mada: http://questioningseeking.blogspot.com/
WildScribe: http://polyspace.wordpress.com
Regypsy: http://regypsy.wordpress.com/

My Long Absence and the Reason For It.

2010-08-31T19:09:00.000-07:00

"I'll post every week" I said. "I'll not let my work schedule get in the way of my blogging" I said. "I'll be the best blogger ever" I said.

And I lied.

Or maybe I just didn't look far enough down the road. Or maybe I just didn't see it coming.

Could be any of the three...I do all three of them a bit too frequently.

But for whatever reason, it came and robbed me blind. Took my time, my passion, my energy... This horrible thing was my second job.

For four months or so now I've been bussing tables. I like that job. I work evenings, make semi-decent money for the few-ish hours I work, and get to hang out with the really cool people at the restaurant. (restaurant people are awesome, I don't know why)

But my semi-decent income wasn't enough, so I got a second job. This one was minding the counter at a bakery... And it was boring. Tedious. Hot. I worked long hours and the pay was a hundred times less than decent. And so, 40 to 50 hours a week I worked that job and every minute I was there was one more moment of summer that I was selling for a lousy paycheck.

But, being a very determined sort of person, I stuck it out. Three months of hell. And here I am now, about a thousand dollars richer and feeling much better now that I've got my soul back from corporate America.

So. Blogging should resume as before. I should start writing again. Heck, working this summer gave me enough ideas for cultural satires--I should get busy! Sorry for being so out of touch; and y'all can expect to hear more from me in the near future.

BLOG CHAIN: ?Bad? Guy

2010-07-06T12:36:00.000-07:00

Well, it's another month on Absolute Write's blog chain! This time our originator was Scott C. Morris, Ahelia remained our host. Much thanks to both of them.

Topic? A post that casts your villain in a sympathetic light. Sounds horribly easy, right? Guess what? N-O-T. First off...bad guy? What bad guy? Which bad guy? My novels seldom have specific villains! Can you see me tearing at my hair over here? I was hoping so.

So.

Right now you're probably thinking I'm stalling; and if you're thinking I'm stalling then you're entirely right. Oops, I wasn't supposed to admit that. Bugger.

Ah well.

So what to do? Maybe I'll ad-libb this. make it up as I go, y'know? Okay. So let me see...

~~~

Roger Wilson was annoyed. He was annoyed because everything was working well. Too well. There were few things that could rile him, but nothing could rile him like feeling he was being played. Right now he felt played. The bill...it had gone through Congress in a flash. The UN had power. Countries all over the country were ceding power.

His life work; his every waking thought; his very dreams were coming true, right before his eyes. The pieces were falling together like dominoes when one was touched.

But something, somewhere, was wrong. It trickled like ice down his spine, threatening to take away the day of his triumph.

And so he was annoyed.

Annoyed enough that he hadn't celebrated by opening the bottle of Champagne sitting on his desk. Compliments of the president of the United States and the Minister of Afghanistan.

What a combination. It was probably poisoned.

He frowned. this is your day of triumph. Your day of peace, and you're thinking uncharitable thoughts. He stood up and walked over to the the full-glass wall of his office. New York City sparkled below him, gems on a necklace of unspeakable price. This was Planet Earth, the greatest planet in the Galaxy. No other planet could support life--only this.

And he had saved it. Under those lights tonight there was peace. Stretching around the world; skimming the vastness of the oceans and climbing the tallest peaks... Peace.

"Peace." he said it out loud, and it echoed off the glass and whispered back to him.

"You should be proud of what you've done, sir."

He turned quickly on his heel and saw her standing there. Evelyn.

Yes. A beautiful woman. A highly intelligent woman. A strong advocate for their new world.

"Come and look, Evelyn. Come and look at what we have done. Standing up here, we are gods. We have saved humanity."

He spread his arms wide, and she walked forward. Black business suit tight through the chest and hips, shirt white against her tanned neck. Heels accentuating lovely legs, clad in silk stockings. Grey hair curved over one eye and twisted back in a bun.

She paused by the desk, and her finger traced over the sweaty bottle. One red fingernail carved a circle in the perspiration.

"Red nails tonight, is it?" he smiled. "All these years, now you celebrate."

"Celebrate what?" her voice was low.

"Peace! Triumph!"

A small smile. "Yes, triumph. You are ruler now, Mr. Williams. And so I wear red. Red...like blood."

~~~

Hmm, not bad for not having thought it up in advance. :)

Be sure to check out the posts of the other members in the blog chain!

CScottMorris: http://cscottmorrisbooks.com/ and direct link to his post
Aheïla: http://thewriteaholicblog.wordpress.com/ and direct link to her post
AuburnAssassin: http://clairegillian.wordpress.com/ and direct link to her post
DavidZahir: http://zahirblue.blogspot.com/ and direct link to his post
IrishAnnie: http://superpenpower.blogspot.com/
Anarchicq: http://anarchicq.com/
Proach: http://everythinghistorical.wordpress.com/
devero: http://mysticcrossroads.wordpress.com/
bri ness: http://briallison.blogspot.com/
hillaryjacques: http://www.hillaryjacques.blogspot.com/
LadyMage: http://www.katherinegilraine.com/
M.R.J. Le Blanc: http://libraryofandunien.blogspot.com/
Mariekeme: http://www.mariekenijkamp.com/
aimeelaine: http://www.aimeelaine.com/writing/blog
Fokker Aeroplanbau: http://rightfarright.blogspot.com/
Irissel: http://irissel.blogspot.com/
CowgirlPoet: http://frontnotes.blogspot.com/
Collectonian: http://collectonian.livejournal.com/
Alpha Echo: http://writersramblings81.blogspot.com/
cryaegm: http://enigmainklings.blogspot.com/

BLOG CHAIN: Outside of my Box

2010-07-01T04:45:00.000-07:00

It's not yet July first yet as I'm writing this. My schedule has gotten nuts and so I am writing it as I spend my precious half-hour of lunch-break outside with a burger, fries, and a root beer.

I'm not heading up the July blog chain on Christian Writers, no. I'm hardly helping! So why am I going first? I volunteered to go first in place of my good friend and co-writer, Nina Hansen. It's her blog chain, really. Hers--and all the other wonderful people on Christian Writers who made it happen.

Being first is good; you're most likely to get read. But it also has the disadvantage of not knowing the tone of the blog chain. Which means? I'll just have to do my best. :)

The topic--Stepping Outside of Your Comfort Zone as a writer. My comfort zone is definitely futuristic sci-fi with a strong lean toward political thriller. Second, but no less my comfort zone, is co-writing historical fiction.

I am not, however, totally a one-genre writer. Not even a two-genre writer. If I have a good enough idea I'll jump outside of my box in a blink. NaNoWriMo 2009 was my most dramatic 'outside the box' writing spree...and the only time I finished novels of other genres.

I started off by writing a 70s political thriller set in the Middle East; "Strike in the Dark". Not EXACTLY my comfort zone; but for now we'll call it close enough.

Then? Then the massive word-count started to get to my brain and strange things happened.

First off I delved into the world of fantasy with "Mirror". Oh yes..and YA while I was about it. I might read YA if I feel so inclined, but with a very few exceptions I am not, not, not a fantasy reader! And I am most certainly never ever ever going to make my living writing fantasy! Heaven forbid.

But there I was...and there I stayed for 12 days while I typed out the first draft of 75,000 words. At the time it didn't even phase me; but now as I try to edit I remember why I don't typically write fantasy.

But was that little leap outside of my comfort zone enough? Oh no.

Next came "Gumpaw" (those of you who are regular readers of my blog are probably pretty familiar with that particular work!). During the last five days of NaNoWriMo I whirled off a humor serial--with a strong lean toward Juvenile. (Which I never read).

Two novels. Four times out of my comfort zone. One months. A hell of a lot of fun. Those are the only novels that I've finished outside of my box, but there are two others sitting around my computer waiting for my next spree of craziness. "To Love Her" (straight romance) and "Brothers" (YA literary). If either of those are ever finished I doubt I shall ever show them to anyone in my complete mortification at wasting time on those genres!

I am of the personal opinion, though, that even if I all I do is waste time with these other-genre novels that my time is not truly wasted. I play on an online gaming board where one of the best medals you can get is 'crossmaps', a medal awarded for being able to play many different maps. The best players are the ones that can play everything.

Who is to say that the best writers are not the ones who can write everything?

~~~
What is your personal experience or opinions on cross-over writing?

Serialized Novel: GUMPAW

2010-06-22T13:22:00.000-07:00

I apologize in advance for any typos or silly mistakes in this week's section of GUMPAW. My life is crazy. Having never worked more than half a day three days a week, two full-time jobs are giving me the 'Oh no, I lost my life!' feeling, and making it tough to get stuff like this done!

And...like the total moron I am...I forgot to schedule this on my last day off. So right now I am spending part of the precious 2 hours (to do all my chores, eat dinner, shower, and dress) between jobs to get this posted. Eep!

So, without further ado, GUMPAW.

PART FOUR

I woke to a general ruckus. Rolling over, I glanced out from under an eyelid.

“Don't tell me.” I muttered, still half asleep. “It's Friday.”

I expected to hear a groan from up on the bed and then the thumps as my girl tried to reach the radio to shut it off. But no.

What was that noise?

I opened my eyes and stood up, shaking myself, blinking and trying to focus.

It was the man. He was doling out the food again. My stomach rumbled, and I had to repeat to myself several times my decision to not eat the foul stuff.

My stomach screamed.

“You're fat and full.” I said out loud. “You couldn't possibly want anything to eat after that lovely roast beef and lamb bones—with the marrow still inside—that you scarfed not more than an hour ago. Followed by a full dish of water... You're so full you can't move.”

“He's cracking!” Jerome laughed mirthlessly. “I knew he'd crack, boys. Look, I'm still sane and he's going over the edge!”

“You know what's going to go over the edge next, don't you Rommie?” I replied sourly. “You.”

He laughed again, and I shivered and turned away. “He's insane! An insane dog! I love it! We've got our own comic relief down here.”

“Ha ha.” I muttered under my breath.

The man was now nearing my cage. He took one look at me, and his dark eyebrows drew down until they hid behind his sunglasses.

“You, mutt. You're taking up food and room that I need for some other nice pooches. So I think you're just going to have to find your way out onto the streets. Remember? Broken neck? Interstate? Nobody gets in my way when I don't want them to and get away with it. I'm too bad for that.”

Well, if he wanted to see bad I supposed that I could appease him on that matter.

I pressed myself tight against the door as he started to undo the latch. The latch rattled and he couldn't get it open. He looked at me quizzically and I barred by teeth and snapped at him. He flinched away, but kept on trying to get the latch open. I leaned against the door harder.

Then I moved back and the latch flew open.

I was in his face in a moment and he fell hard to the concrete floor. There was a tremendous crack! as his head hit the concrete, and I winced a little. He'd be out cold for awhile.

But what to do? Someone would have to guard him and the only person I could trust to not let him get away in the whole room was Jerome. I'd have usually chose Doby, but poor Doby—it wasn't his fault that he wasn't too bright.

I looked over and realized that Jerome was on the top layer. I couldn't reach the latch on his cage to get it open. Jerome growled deep down in his throat. “You haven't saved the world yet, doggy.”

“No I haven't.” I replied with as much dignity as a very dirty and starving mutt could manage to muster. “No I haven't, but I will. I'll think of something.”

But from the look on his face, he understood my predicament. Finally a brown poodle on the bottom row with muscular shoulders and a very, very thin stomach piped up.

“I could watch him for ya.” he volunteered. “If you need someone. So you can go and get help.”

“Oh, Spot wouldn't condescend to go get help.” Jerome spoke up. “He thinks that he can save all of us all my his lonesome. Doncha, Spotty-boy?”

“I was planning to go get help.”

With one last glance over my shoulder at the man lying there hardly breathing on the hard floor, I moved over to the cage of the brown poodle. I nudged the latch and it popped open. He stepped out gingerly.

“Sure you're up to it?” I asked. “You look pretty terrible.”

He looked at me with watery eyes. “Yeah—well. You haven't eaten in days either.”

My stomach chose that precise moment to agree with him. “Point taken!” I said. “Keep an eye on him. I'll be back just as soon as I can!”

I had to stretch high to reach the UP button...

There! I hit it with my nose just as my feet slipped. I landed in an ungraceful heap on the floor with something sharp poking into my skin. I jumped to my feet and shook myself—and the pain subsided.

The world swirled around a little bit, and I shook myself again. What? Rather odd.

The doors of the elevator opened, and I stumbled in and hit the first button I could reach.

Was it just my imagination, or was this a longer ride than the one down?

The door finally opened and I bounded out. It was a hall. Just like the other hall.

Oh, maybe I'd just imagined that it had been longer. I raced off down the hall. Where to go? I couldn't remember the way to the front door all of a sudden. That was bad.

Inconvenient at least.

Well, I could just jump out of that window.

I leapt up on the window sill, and suddenly gasped. Botherations! It was a longer ride!

I was at least four stories up, and now I was wobbling from the great jump it had taken to get up on the window sill. Unless I could catch my balance I'd...

Oh no!

My mind went in every which way as I fell off the sill, and down...down...

Two stories I fell, and then landed on the metal roof of the house next door. I scrabbled for a foothold, but my claws just scratched the steel instead of actually gripping.

I was sliding down toward the ground at such a terrifying rate that I started to scream. Two stories...two stories I'd fall onto a pile of disused bricks.

I'd never fallen on bricks before, but I'd wiped out on the nice smooth concrete of the sidewalk, and then it had been only from my own height instead of the height of a two story building. From this I could deduce that it would hurt.

And just then my claws dug in—to the gutter.

I wobbled, and then there was a tearing noise. I didn't now where it was coming from, and I didn't really want to know where it was coming from. My death...oh, here it was. They say that when you're about to die your life flashes before your eyes.

Well, mine did. All the sofas I'd never chewed on. My girl's dad's nice leather slippers. I'd hid them, but never been brave enough to chew on them.

Oh, why hadn't I? I might have gotten sold and then I wouldn't be here.

And poor Doby would still be starving and bouncing around in a rusty cage.

Alright, so fate had one thing right at least. Someone needed to save all those dogs.

NEW LOOK!

2010-06-18T11:33:00.000-07:00

For anybody who is wondering...yes, I did redo my blog! I've had a lot of complaints about different formats being difficult to read, so I'm going to really want some input on this one. I'm not sure if it's hard on the eyes or it's just that I've been looking at it for six hours.

For one thing, though, I'm sure that it's much cooler looking that before!

For those who are wondering, my initial blog design was black and dark red, which was very sharp, but never very effective. I made the blog header to go with that, so when I tried to modify to grey later, the blog header never matched. The new template made the size of the old header too small so I made an entirely new one. Orange and very dark brown this time to match my background image.

Please leave me comments as to what you think of the new blog look and let me know if you can see anything that might make it better! The point of this blog is to be read, so let me know what YOU think!

BLOG CHAIN: Define Your Character

2010-06-15T12:40:00.000-07:00

Well, it's Tuesday, and if I were to keep up my schedule, y'all would be reading the fourth part of my serialized novel, "Gumpaw" right now. But it so happens that my turn has come up in the June Blog Chain from Absolute Write, and I'm too crazy busy right now to try and juggle both this week. Check back next week for the second to last installment... I do intend to finish it! Come fall I'll hopefully be able to post several times a week...but for this summer I have to grit my teeth and just hold on, or I'll miss my weekly posts!

So...moving on to the topic of this blog chain! The subject is, "post a scene from your WIP that defines your character". Wow. Which Work In Progress to use, I wonder? Recently I've been working most on my apocalyptic thriller... But I'm still so early in the process that I've hardly scratched the surface of the characters. And then there's my other futuristic thriller, but I don't think there's a really 'defining' scene in that one yet.

Bugger!

So I decided to do something totally out of the box, and post pretty much the only scene that I have completed out of a novel that I am going to be co-writing. If you've been reading my blog, you've heard of the novels I co-wrote set in World War II; "Through a Rain of Fire" and "A Fire is Woken". There will be a third novel to make a trilogy, "The Fire Dwindles". But we have big plans for a side-novel set during the Korean War featuring a sub-character that we both fell in love with during the original novels.

Monty Renthers.

I'm writing him, and my co-writer has another character. We've played with ideas for the novel a lot, but never wrote much. However, the first scene I scribbled down is VERY defining...maybe because Monty has more character than any of my other characters has! So...without further ado; Monty Renthers.

“What? Who?” Monty winced, straightening his tunic and standing a little straighter. There was the murmur of the secretary's voice from the adjoining room, and then a loud bellow. “HIM? Here?” More murmuring. “Well, come the hell in here, Montgomery Renthers.”

Monty took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. He stepped through the door into the richly paneled office. “Air Commodore, Sir!”

“What the hell are you doing here, Group Captain? Are you aware that every time you step through that door something goes wrong in here...a smoke bomb in the furnace or the secretary finds a tack on her chair? And WHAT goes with this paper I've got here on my desk? You're asking to be sent with the small British force to the other side of the world?”

“Actually, sir, yes.” Monty grinned. “Bit bored here on the home front, doncha know.”

“You're testing planes every day! Most dangerous work in the service—and you're bored.”

“Oh, quite.” Monty yawned for emphasis. “Thinking that a spot of combat might freshen me up a little.”

The Air Commodore only oggled, so Monty proceeded. “You know, I was very good back during the war. They ought to be happy to have me over there!”

“I don't think they can afford to have you over there! You thought fighters were expensive back in your day! They're more now! Millions, Group Captain. Millions.”

Monty shrugged. “So are the planes I'm testing now.”

The Air Commodore coughed. “Our budget...allows...for some...problems.”

“Well that's a good thing.” Monty frowned. “Because, quite frankly, most of those planes aren't worth the money you put into them and deserve nothing more than the junk heap. But you didn't need me to tell you that, did you?”

“Watch yourself, Renthers!”

Monty sighed. “Oh no. We're not going to go into that spiel again, are we?”

“I'm just considering it. You know you really ought to be defrocked! Stripped of your rank at the very least.”

“Hmm.” Monty shrugged. “Believe me, it's happened Commodore. Before you ever took this office half a dozen other high ranking officers stripped me down and I just put 'em back on again. Can't argue with the best pilot in the RAF, now, can you?”

A spluttered silence.

“And yes, I know I'm out of line. You know—I love flying but all this military rigamarole drives me up the blinkin' wall! Amazing I haven't quit yet—I mean, it's not like I need the paycheck. Actually...” He considered. “You know, if I wasn't such an insubordinate minnow I'd probably be sitting where you are right now—or higher.”

The Commodore spluttered more, but Monty just grinned. Finally the Air Commodore got control of himself. “I'm granting you your wish, Renthers, purely for the reason that you will be unable to find your way into my office if you're in Korea.” he scrawled a signature on the page. “These papers will go through all the other officers that need to sign them—hell or high water. I hope you never come back.”

Monty saluted. “Thank you, sir.” He turned on his heel, walking briskly out of the office and down the hall. Out on the fresh London street he took a deep breath of fall air. Soon he'd be in Korea.

Hmm. Southern Hemisphere. It'd be spring there.

Singular.

Monty considered his reflection in a store window. He was just barely thirty, not quite six foot with a well-toned body that came only from hours of physical training. A curly black shock of hair fell over equally black eyes. He liked to think that he still looked as young as he had during the last war, but it wasn't true.

For certain, he hadn't put on weight like many men did once they hit their thirties. He was still as flexible and athletic as he'd been ten years ago. But just last week he'd spied a few silver hairs around his ears and there were deeply carved crows feet at the corners of his eyes.

It's the war.

He blamed all maturity and sensibleness on the war; no reason not to blame aging issues on it as well. It was true in one regard—the war had come along and made him grow up rapidly.

Maybe that was something else that had changed. He'd been so boyish during the last war... He was a man now. The weight of the world was starting to press down on his sloping shoulders, and maybe there was reason for the few grey hairs.

The past year hadn't been a good one, that was for sure.

Three funerals... One aunt and both parents. That had been hard. Harder by far than anything Monty had ever done. Lying them to rest up in the big cemetery on the top of the hill that had held the family for almost a thousand years had been difficult. But now it was over. He was still having to cope with trying to shift the business interests and such...

His father had run the merchant's business almost all by himself. Monty knew nothing of the trade, and so had quickly hired a broker to take care of it.

And then proceeded cheerfully with life.

There was one other worry in Monty's life. It seemed that the girls were starting to see him as older as well. Only... Most women his age weren't so well preserved. They'd put on weight...and Monty was disgusted.

Seemed a man could never have everything.

Ah well, though. He was rich, he was successful. He was doing what he loved most, and if he couldn't find a hot date—ah well. He'd just drink the wine by himself. He could enjoy that too.

In fact...there was very little that Monty couldn't enjoy.

He was sure that that was, essentially, what made him one of the happiest men alive. Happy—and contented.

Yes—overall life was good.

~~~

Check out the posts of the other members of AW's Blog Chain!

LadyMage: http://www.katherinegilraine.com
FreshHell: http://freshhell.wordpress.com/
Collectonian: http://collectonian.livejournal.com
Aimee Laine: http://www.aimeelaine.com/writing/blog
AuburnAssassin: http://clairegillian.wordpress.com/
Lyra Jean: http://lyratorres.wordpress.com/
Aheïla: http://thewriteaholicblog.wordpress.com/
ArcticFox: http://picaresqueblog.blogspot.com/
Fokker Aeroplanbau: http://rightfarright.blogspot.com/
Alpha Echo: http://writersramblings81.blogspot.com/
xcomplex: http://arielemerald.blogspot.com/
CScottMorris: http://cscottmorrisbooks.com/
egoodlett: http://wordlarceny.blogspot.com/
Lilain: http://abigailschmidt.blogspot.com/
defyalllogic: http://tavialewis.com/hyperbolicallyspeaking/
*RomanceWriter*: http://www.staceyespino.blogspot.com
IrishAnnie: http://superpenpower.blogspot.com ME!!!
Anarchicq: http://anarchicq.com/
littlebear91: http://blog.littlebearz.com
hillaryjacques: www.hillaryjacques.blogspot.com
Proach: http://desstories.blogspot.com
CowgirlPoet: http://frontnotes.blogspot.com/

Serialized Novel: GUMPAW

2010-06-08T12:36:00.000-07:00

By jingo, it's another week; another Tuesday; and the third part of my serialized novel, "Gumpaw"! First I must offer profuse apologies for not getting a segment posted last week. Tuesday was the day that we left to go camping and I never even got to LOOK at the computer; much less work out a blog post!

Now I could have scheduled it...but I forgot. It was a crazy week to put it mildly.

But now I am back. I have not forgotten this blog or you, faithful readers! So, without further ado... It's "Gumpaw".

PART THREE

I was tired.

I was depressed.

I was sick of Roma crying.

Most of all (embarrassingly enough) I missed my girl.

Even when she was preoccupied writing a novel she was better than nothing. Now I was cramped and sleepy and I wouldn't let myself go to sleep. I didn't know where we were going, and that was only the half of it. I yawned. I'd finished chewing through my bag awhile ago, and now there was nothing to do.

There was a click and the hatch popped open. Cold air blasted in. I could see on the horizon a city. Wherever we were there was a great big building...and it looked empty. There were heaps of garbage everywhere.

The man in black was leering down at us. I noticed with surprise that even in the darkness he was wearing his sunglasses. “You're outta your bag, mutt.” One of his hands grabbed my neck—and squeezed.

I struggled.

“I don't like mutts.” the man said, squeezing a little harder. “I think I might just let you go.”

Oh, that was an excellent idea! I wagged my tail hard as I could to show my approval.

“Break your neck and throw you off on the side of the interstate.”

No! I stopped struggling instantly and tried to look charming. I'm such a poor, helpless dog! my eyes said.

He threw me down, and I let out a little yelp of pain. Then he clipped a leash onto my collar and tightened the collar several holes until I choked.

“Perfect.” he said, and little prickles of ice went up my spine and then came back down again. “You can't get away now, mutt.”

He grabbed Roma and I up, and started striding off toward the building.

Inside the halls were an off-white color. Almost like they'd been white once but weren't any more. The years of gray and brown grime had polluted them.

He pressed a button on the wall, and the doors to the elevator opened. The man stepped in and pressed the button that was marked BASEMENT. The elevator jerked like old elevators are wont to do, and we were going down.

The doors opened, very slowly, and he stepped out. I let out a yelp of surprise, and he cuffed my ears.

We were in a wide room. All around the edges were cages which were stacked two high and made out of cheap metal which was now rusted and bent.

The man walked forward purposefully, and shoved me into one in the very middle on the top row. Roma he tossed into another several cages away.

Then he turned and stomped away.

When the doors to the elevator shut, I stood up, very cautiously

“Hey, pal. How's life on the outside?”

I peeked down through the bars underneath me. There was a white, male poodle. His hair looked as if he'd had a show cut once but it had now grown out and gotten outrageous.

“What happened to you?” I asked, curiously.

“Whadya think? One day I'm sittin' in my bath feelin' all high an' mighty an' like I own the whole wide world, and then all of a sudden capouf—the lights go out for this poodle. Next thing I know I'm bumpin' around in the back of a car an' then I'm here. Been here ever since. Not sure how long. Kinda lost track of time. Only way to tell time is by how many times they change the light bulb. Once a day they feed ya junk.”

“That bad?”

“Oh, it's horrible. I couldn't stomach it for the first week...but then... Hunger is the strongest feelin' there is, trust me, pal. But what about you? You're not the usual type.”

“What's different about me?” I asked.

“You ain't a poodle, pal. We're all poodles down here. Fifty? A hundred? I dunno. Lost count.”

“Hey man, nobody can say for certain but I lost count at eighty four. That was two light bulbs ago.” A voice from my left said. I looked over my shoulder and saw a black poodle; also with greatly overgrown hair.

“Oh, trust me.” the one under me said, “You'll never escape this. Nobody ever has.”

“Well, prepare to see the first one do it.” I said. “I'm not staying here one minute longer than I have to. I'm gonna be outta here before the first feeding!”

* * *

“So, have you got a plan?” I frowned sourly down at the poodle underneath me as I nursed bruised shoulders. For the past hour I'd been trying to forcefully break the bars down.

It hadn't worked.

“You know,” I said, trying not to sound too peevish, “before this relationship goes any further I'd really like to know your name.”

“Doby.” he said. “Dunno why I was named that, but I was.”

“I know all about dumb names.” I replied. “Mine's Spot.”

“I mean it honestly.” Doby said. “You got a plan for getting us out of here?”

I sighed. “Not a single one. Do they open the doors when they feed you?”

“They're not that dumb, man!” the black poodle said. “They's got little doors that they push the food in through.”

“If I bit their hands, could you grab the keys?” I asked Doby.

Doby shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“If you bit him could I get the keys?”

Doby shook his head again. “Absolutely not.”

I sighed. “Okay. Anybody have any other ideas?”

“I told you.” the reply came. “There's no way outta here.”

I banged my forehead against the bars a couple of times. “I don't believe that.” I said.

* * *

I woke up to a particularly putrid smell. It was worse that rotting fish. I shook my head several times...hoping it was just a dream. But no. It was real.

I lifted my head and opened one eye. There was no way under heaven that I wanted to get anything that foul in my face. I wondered for one brief moment if it was some sort of horrendous torture.

Then I saw the plate.

It was heaped high with something that was so old that the mold was inches thick on it. The reek filled the whole cage, and it was coming off the food so strong that I could almost see it rising off—like heat waves.

I shuddered.

I must have died, I thought, and gone to hell. The only thing worse that my dog-brain could imagine would be a place where a cat reigned supreme.

But at the moment this was quite bad enough.

Yuck!

“Hey, pal!”

I looked down through the bars. “What?”

“You want that food or are you just gonna leave it?”

I stared in surprise at Doby. “There is no way I'm sticking my nose in it, if that's what you mean.” I returned. “It's horrid!”

“Then knock it down here.” he said. “It's food, and I'm starving.”

I dubiously got a paw under the edge and flipped the plate over. It was molded to the plate and didn't fall.

I tapped the back of the plate, but still nothing happened.

“Don't mind.” Doby said. “I can reach.”

As he munched away happily I had to turn away. The very thought of that horrid food was turning my not-so-very-sensitive doggy stomach. My stomach rumbled, and I lay down in the furthest corner of my cage.

My dog brain was racing again. What to do? There had to be a way to break out.

Doby grunted and let out a snore. I frowned down at him.

“Thanks, pal.” I said sarcastically. “Thank you so much for helping me brainstorm how to get outta this dump.”

“You ain never gonna get outta here, mutt.” the black poodle said. I eyed him fiercely.

“Oh yeah? You want to bet?”

“Sure.” his eyes held dark reservations. “There's been tries. No dog here has the know-how to get out.”

“Well.” I shook myself and then felt better. “That's gonna change, poodle. Because you guys are a bunch of show dogs that don't know sand from clay. But me—I'm a living breathing specimen of dog-flesh, and I know every dirty trick in the book.”

“What you talkin' about, man?” the black poodle returned. “You talk like a rabid dog.”

I sighed. “Only to you, pooch. Only to you.”

“'Pooch', as you put it, has got a name.” he growled.

I whipped around and looked at him. “Then maybe you could reveal it.”

“I'm Lord Jerome.”

* * *

Time passed much too slowly. Doby woke up and started doing exercises...mostly trotting up and down the length of his cage. He stretched and shook his head until fuzz flew off his ears. Then he sat down and looked up at me through the bars.

“Well, pal, you come up with some sorta plan for us to get out of here?”
I lay my nose on my paws, never letting my eyes stop looking around for any escape route. “Not yet.” I told him.

“Oh, I trust ya, pal.” Doby said with more confidence than I felt. “We all trust you here. You'll get us out. You're not a dumb show dog like the rest of us.”

“Don't bunch me with the rest of you rats.” I frowned at Jerome with one eye. “And I don't think he'll get us out of here at all. We're doomed to die here!”

“You know, Jerome,” Doby said, getting to his feet and moving around so he could see Jerome better, “you could really try to not be such of a killjoy. We want to get outta here, and if we want to lift our poor sagging spirits by looking forward to the day that we escape from this stinking basement, then I don't see what you've got to say about it.”

“I was the first dog here.” Jerome looked distinctly angry. “I've watched you all come. There will be no escape.”

I sighed, and had all I could do to keep my eyes open. All this arguing didn't seem to be doing anything, if you asked me.

Someone had to watch. Had to see how it worked.

Finally, just when I was sure that I'd have to go to sleep or I'd never be able to keep up the vigil, the doors of the elevator opened. I stiffened, but kept my eyes half shut. No need to let the guy know that he was being watched.

He was wearing the same black shirt and black suit. The same black sunglasses, even here, underground.

He walked over into the dark space on the right and came back pushing a metal trolley completely covered with dishes of moldy rubble. He stopped at the first cage and opened a little door and pushed the plate in. I noted with interest that his hand actually went inside the cage...

How amusing it would be to sink your teeth into his hand.

But what to do? I lowered my nose and tried to get a good look at what the cage was like. The small door was in the bottom of the bigger door and the bigger door definitely latched from the outside.

I stood up and tried to stick my nose between the bars.

No, that wouldn't work. My nose was much too large and the bars were much too close together. I supposed it was to keep all the small and smallish poodles behind them.

The door on my cage rattled as the man tried to get it unlatched.

Why wouldn't it open?

I moved to get a better look and suddenly the latch popped open. If you leaned against the door it jammed the latch.

Hmmm.

One thing for certain. There was no way that they were keeping me here against my will.

Absolutely not.

BLOG CHAIN: Writing and Music

2010-05-27T08:31:00.000-07:00

No, this isn't the third part of “Gumpaw”. Yes, it will be posted Tuesday as usual. The reason for this divergence from my pattern is that I have been taking part in Absolute Write's May Blog Chain. For those who do not know what a blog chain is, it's when one topic is picked and everyone writes on the same subject. The only requirement is that we comment on the other writer's posts. It's a wonderful way to up blog readership and get your writing out there!

You can find the links to the other participants of the blog chain at the bottom of this post.

In the mean time...

~~~

The topic of this blog chains is music and how it pertains to writing. When the topic first came up, I thought that it would be a pretty simple matter. After all, I'm crazy about music. I have many, many gigabytes of music on my computer, and more on CD. I have an iPod and listen to it any time I'm by myself. I listen to music when I'm studying, sewing, working...and yes, when I'm writing.

But it turned out that when you're quite a ways down the list on a blog chain, almost every subject that pertains to music has already been done! And I wanted to do something a little 'outside of the box'.

I was lying in bed the other night and thinking about it, and thinking about how music 'pertains' to writing. It occurred to me that I can almost tell what kind of music people listen to by what their writing is like. There are 'classical' writers and 'soundtrack' writers... If you follow my meaning.

I'm pretty eclectic with my listening tastes. I listen to essentially everything except for Rap! And my writing is pretty eclectic too. But more than anything else I listen to country music. I'm a country music freak. At any given time I can tell you the top ten on the country charts. I can sing well over half of contemporary country...and know ALL the words for several dozen country songs.

But I'm not a country writer. My writing isn't country in the least; except for some of the rock-crossover country songs. I'm a country music person who has a rock writing style. I listen to rock; after country it's my favorite genre.

But it struck me as a little strange that my writing does not mirror my listening category! I usually think that everything ties together, I read books like the ones I write. I read other genres too, of course. Variety is very important to me. But my favorites are my genre—thriller/political/action. And those are my favorite sort of movies too.

But music is different.

It struck me how we're all different and how there's really no 'uniformity' to the human race. Isn't it interesting that there can be two billion people in the world and yet no two are exactly identical in ever way? It makes me think about how we as humans often like to put boxes around people. I'm a personality person—I love them. I'm always categorizing people, saying they're this or that.

But I suddenly realize that personalities do not limit. They're not a restriction on who the person is! It's just the manifestation of what's inside...and what is inside is amazing and diverse.

I love people, and I always will. I love music, and I love writing. I love movies and I love books. I love the similarities and differences of taste. And I love watching and looking at how things pertain.

But this fraction in my writing/music tastes is going to keep me thinking for quite a while. Has anyone else noticed a divergence in their writing and music/reading/watching tastes?

~~~

Serialized Novel: GUMPAW

2010-05-25T16:50:00.000-07:00

Here it is, a bit later in the day than I'd like, but I've delivered! To say I'm proud would be a minor understatement. Regularity is something I've always struggled with, so posting regularly on my blog is going to be a tremendous effort.

But that is a topic for a blog post all of its own. ;)

For now; the second part of my serialized novel, "Gumpaw"!

PART TWO

	Briiiing...  I sighed and rolled over.  No.  I was not getting up.  Never mind if my girl had to get up and go to school.  I was going to stay and sleep in.  If she could write and ignore me, I could sleep and ignore her.

“Errrrr...”  The noises of my girl trying to wake up.  Amusing, if I felt like being amused.

I didn't.  It had been a terrible weekend.  First the poodle—and then not the poodle.  Since then I'd caught myself watching her multiple times.  Every time I would scold myself, but—well.  I'm just an ordinary dog and she's a very pretty white poodle.

Even if she is rude.

And my girl hadn't taken me for one walk.  She hadn't deemed to go to the park.  Nothing.

“Oh...heck.”  her feet appeared over the edge of the bed.  “Mmph.  School.  Oh...”

Monday morning blues.  She's so demonstrative of them that if I'm not careful I get infected and then I end up moping all day.  I'd been moping all weekend, and I was ready for a change of pace.

*	*	*

I sighed and leaned against the gate.  There was nothing happening.  My girl had gone to school, my girl's dad had gone to his job with the newspaper, and her mom had gone to the hospital, ready to take care of kids with runny noses all day.  The house was quiet, but I knew the kitchen door was propped open, just a little.  My girl's mom was really very good to me.

A car came by on the street just then, and I stopped.  A car might not seem like much to you, but we live on what you might call a very quiet street.  Because it's a very quiet street there aren't a lot of cars that come by.  And then when they do they're all neighbors.  Either Mr. Bently in his blue jeep or Miss Albans in her purple Chevy.  There's the new neighbor too in her pink Porsche and Todd with his Dodge Ram.  The Claymore boy had a Dodge Daytona, and he'd be coming by soon on his way to school, smoking the tires at the stop light.

But no.  This car wasn't any of those.  It wasn't the sort of car that I was used to seeing in the neighborhood.  It was different.  Number one, all of the windows were darkened.  I couldn't see inside.  It was a black Cadillac with an engine that purred.   

I thought that was funny, so I shoved my nose up against the gate trying to get a better look.  The car pulled up to the curb in front of our house, and a man got out.  He was tall with black hair, and wearing a suit.  A black suit with a black shirt under it and a black tie.  I couldn't see his eyes because he was wearing black sunglasses.

Now, I haven't usually got anything against people that wear sunglasses.  After all, my girl wears them.  But these sort of sunglasses gave me the creeps.   

Something akin to a shiver passed down my spine, and mind you, it takes a lot more for a shiver to pass down a dog's spine than a person's.  Comes from people's being vertical and ours being horizontal.  Makes the 'down' part harder.

He looked around, and I could just imagine his little pig eyes narrowing under the frightening sunglasses.  For a minute I thought he'd seen me, but then he turned and moved off, walking up the street toward the big house next door.

I had a very bad feeling about this.  A very, very bad feeling.   

I thought of Roma.  What if...

No.  It was none of my business whether or not she was hurt.  She was a snob!

And she was pretty.

Oh beauty.  For the first time in my short dog life I hated it.  The trouble with beauty was that if you weren't careful it would control you.  And no...I don't mean Michelangelo paintings.  I know those control some people, but he never did one of a poodle, and so I remain unaffected.  I mean real beauty.  Real, true dog-beauty.  Nothing like living breathing female dog-flesh to make a male dog's hair stand up strait on the back of his neck!

Even if it was a female dog with an ego problem—in the worse degree.

So I trotted over to where my hole was.  No one had filled it in.  Roma wouldn't dirty her paws, and her owner's (even if Roma said she wasn't an owner at all) stiletto heels kept her from venturing into the yard.  As for my family—they'd been to busy to notice.  So I wiggled down in.  It felt smaller than before, and colder, and wetter.

When you weren't dreaming of new neighbors on the other side all holes seem nastier.

I got my nose out the other side and waited.  I could see the man walk up to the wrought iron gates, and he pulled out a tape measure.  Then a pad of paper.  He scribbled some things down, and the hair on the back of my neck pressed against the mud of my hole, trying desperately to stand up.   

When he turned to walk away I started trying to wiggle back through my hole.  Backwards.  Might I not recommend this maneuver?

After a few seconds I was horribly stuck.  There was only one thing for it.  I'd have to come all the way out of my hole on Roma's side of the fence and then turn around and go through the right way.

With my mind made up I clawed for a foothold and shot out of the hole.  I whirled around, spreading dirt every which way.  I'd just stuck my nose and front paws back into my hole when a citified laugh came from behind me.  I froze, with my nose in the dirt and my rear in the air.

“Well, well.  It's Spot from next door.”

“Yes.”  I mumbled through a face full of mud.  “It's Spot.  Spot is just dashing back where he came from.”	

“But I want you to stay and play.”

“I'm dirty.  I'm grungy.  I've got a mysterious black stranger to watch.  Not a cat, I'm not that dumb—and I'm not sure what he's up to.”

When I shot back through the hole I was extra specially careful to push up dirt with my hind paws.  I hoped that just a little bit of it would fall on Roma's perfect white coat.

I emerged from my hole on my own side of the hedge and ran over to the gate.

Oh—rats.  The black Cadillac was gone.  Short of tearing at my ears or attending Roma's tea party I could think of nothing to do, so I lay down over my hole.  I'd lost him.

And it was the first good stranger I'd seen in awhile.  I wished that I'd thought to knock open the latch on the gate and go chase him while I'd had the chance.

*	*	*

I was wagging around the yard that evening when headlights lit up the yard.  Which neighbor was this?  I sauntered over to look.  But, no.  The car wasn't any of the neighbors.  It looked more like...

Oh no.  No no no no!  I've had nightmares before—mostly related to biting black cats—but never had I dreamed of something this horrible.  It was the black Cadillac from earlier!

I ran for my hole and dove through.

I sniffed the air, trying to smell anything unnatural.  Nothing.  I started to slink toward the house.  A tiny light appeared at the back, and I stopped and went stiff.  What was that?  Someone leaving the building?

It wasn't bright enough to be a flashlight.  But maybe...  Crooks can have all sorts of intricate things that the rest of us aren't familiar with.  Or that's what my girl says.  I suppose that she must know what she's talking about.

I skulked closer, keeping my belly close to the ground.  As if that could hide me any more than the darkness already was...

There was a click.  The back door opened with the softest creak and the tiny light came outdoors.  The door was then pulled shut and a dark shape hurried down the steps.  It moved around the house, and I skulked after it as fast as I dared.

I had no doubts that this was the man from the Cadillac.  Now that I was here I wasn't sure what to do.

After all, it seemed corny in the worst way to go dashing after him barking!  It might just prove to humans that we dogs make noisy, if not particularly intelligent guards.

But what else to do?  My dog brain was racing fast as it could, trying to come up with a solution to this less than desirable situation...  How to fix it?

When he got near the gate I slipped through before he could shut it.  He was hurrying back toward his car and I trotted after him, still unsure what to do.  By the faint light of our porch light I could see that he was carrying something large and dark...  A bag, maybe?

But what could possibly be in it?

I knew it was time to take some action, even if it wasn't very intelligent action.  Some had to be better than none.  So I did the most doggy thing I could possibly do.

First I howled.  Nothing like a good howl to wake up all the neighbors.

Then I bit his leg.  Hard.  I pretended it was the Claymore boy and he was kissing my girl.  That gave me all the strength and courage I needed.

He screamed.  Didn't grunt like a man.  No—he screamed like a girl.  As the lights started to click on in the houses I barked as loud as I could several times...until...

We were right in front of his car, and he opened the trunk and tossed his bundle in.  The next thing I knew I had a rag in my mouth and was in a bag.

Oh.  That might be what was in the bundle.

Unable to bark I could only whimper when I was tossed in the trunk of his car.  There was a painful crack as I landed on the hard bottom of the trunk.

Then the car started and I heard it shift up several gears right away.  Whatever was happening the stranger was getting out of the neighborhood as fast as he could, and I was going with him.

I thought of the comforts of sleeping under my girl's bed, and for the first time thought about how disappointing it would be if I were to miss Wednesday Elvis.

Suddenly an adventure didn't sound so great at all.

With it out of my mouth I settled back and tried to think about how I'd get out of this situation.  I was obviously stolen—by a crook.  What to do?  I supposed that a good place to start would be to try and remember all the ways that they'd overcome the crooks on TV.

Fire.  There was fire.  And guns.

Human things.  I tried to remember if I'd ever seen a TV show where the dog was the hero.  The more I thought about it the more I realized that I hadn't.

Well, that was lousy.  Without the TV to give me ideas I wasn't sure what to do at all.  I know, I'm a dog with not a lot of brains and even less imagination.  Not all people (or dogs) are blessed with an overabundance of intelligence, you know.  We can't help it.

For the first time I wondered if I'd be missed.  Would my girl look around and not see me there and then forsake her novel to try and find me?

The thought made me all warm and fuzzy inside.  Yes!  She'd come to search for me.  No matter whether it was National Novel Writing Month or not!   

And then I wondered what was in the other sack.  If I was in one...

A dog was in the other.  Well, that was logical enough.

Roma.

Wonderful.  Absolutely wonderful.

Now I was stuck in a car with her.  I didn't want to be stuck in a car with her.  I could still hear her words echoing through my mind.  “You're not my sort of dog...”

*	*	*

The drive passed much too slowly.  Roma could do nothing but whine and complain.  All my tries at explaining what had happened to us were to no avail.  She refused to understand.  She thought that her whole world should be ribbons and butterflies.

Now I must clarify one thing.  I want my life to be happy too, but I don't have the same mindless pursuit of joy that she does.  I'm willing to accept bad too.

And then there was the problem that we were tied up in bags.  This will put a real crink in anyone's style and I'm no exception.

So I was stuck, frustrated and not sure what to do.  I was also annoyed.   

“Will you please shut up?”  I said finally.  “I can't stand all your sniveling.”

“I'm upset.”  she retorted.

“Well, I can't think.”

“Are you thinking?”  she asked, sounding suddenly very hopeful.

I groaned.  “Yes.  What did you think I was doing?  Feeling sorry for myself?”

“Well...”

Of course.  The dog would think that everyone in the world was like her.

Serialized Novel: GUMPAW

2010-05-18T12:54:00.000-07:00

This is the first part of my serialized novel that I wrote for NaNoWriMo this past year! It was originially 23,000 words, but I edited it down to 10,000 words to be able to submit it to a magazine. Only they closed to fiction submissions when I was ready to send it in... I haven't seen another place for a serialized story since, so I'm posting it here! You can expect a new part every week, so be sure to check back next Tuesday!

PART ONE

I've never written a novel before, so I'm not sure exactly how to start. I suppose my girl would be able to tell me, but she hasn't hit fifty thousand words yet, and so she's still not talking to me. Anyway, I don't suppose she'd believe me if I told her I wanted to write a book. Maybe I should start by introducing myself. My name—and believe me, I don't usually say this just when I've met someone—is Spot. Which utterly ridiculous, considering that I'm dark brown with a creamy belly and chin, and no sign of spots whatsoever. My girl says that she's a most creative person and can think up the most fantastic stories; but I most sincerely hope that her characters do not meet the same naming fate as her dog.
As far as good dogs go, I think I've always been one. Obviously there were some accidents when I first came home from the shelter two years ago. I was just a puppy then, and so I think that I ought to be pardoned in my ignorance of house rules. Who can blame me? I'm just a dog.
Before my girl had me I'd come from the Humane Society. They had called me 'doggy'. Now I don't mind being a 'doggy'--but they were saying with that tone of voice.
It hurt my poor puppy pride.
My girl doesn't call me 'doggy'. Just 'Spot'. Which is almost as bad, really. But other than that she's very nice to me. She comes home from school, feeds me, and then does some homework. When I'm done with my food I bring the leash and she clips it onto my collar and we go for a walk. She usually brings a Frisbee and we have a good time in the park while we're about it.
That's for eleven months out of the year.
There's one month when it's different. November. Just when the weather in our northern Wisconsin town starts getting cold and uncomfortable. Then—well.
During November, she employs a totally different technique. She writes during November. A novel. A whole novel in one month.
And all during November, my life is miserable.
She comes in the house after school and tosses her backpack on the bed. She hits the power button the computer, and taps her foot, waiting for it to boot up. She doesn't even notice me lying under the bed with just my nose sticking out from under the comforter, watching her. Usually she'd rub my ears while she was waiting for the computer to boot up.
But not during November.
When the computer finally boots up she flops down in the chair and pulls up her document. First she pulls out the pages of writing she did while she was in school. I usually crawl out of bed about that time and come over to see if I can catch any of it. After all, she's my girl. I ought to show some support by showing interest in what she's writing.
And anyway, I always hope that she might notice and feed me.
But no. She's set on what she decided at the beginning of the month. She'd feed me when she reached her word-count for the day. She said that was her reward for finishing.
I personally can't see how it does her any good seeing as it's my dinner that she's withholding while she struggles over her novel.
So I stand there and try to decipher her scrawl. After awhile, I usually get bored. Of course! What else is a dog to do? I'm not the best reader, you must understand.
After a while I get tired of it, and I trot downstairs. My girl's mom is usually good enough to let me out of the house, and I take a few turns around the yard. And then I stand at the gate and watch the people walking by on the sidewalk.
There's nothing particularly special about watching the traffic go by, except that it's something to keep me busy. It's a relief to have something as a bright part of my afternoon what with my girl upstairs muttering about how many words she still needs and whether Tom will kiss Harriet in this chapter.
That is—that's what my day was like until she moved it.

* * *

The house next door was a fancy house and it had been years since anyone had lived there. I never knew anyone who lived there, and my girl always said that she hoped someone would move in there with kids her age.
She seems to like the idea of having rich kids next door.
But when someone eventually did move in, my girl was much to busy with her novel to even notice. But me, bored and hungry...

* * *

It was a Saturday. The first Saturday of the month. I woke up to the noise of my stomach grumbling. My girl had forgotten all about feeding me at all last night. She'd been up late working on her novel and when she'd finally collapsed into bed it had been without feeding me.
I wriggled out from under the bed and squinted in the bright sunlight streaming in through the window. There was a clickity-clack of keys, and I didn't have to try and look around the bed to know what was going on.
She was up writing early.
I padded down the stairs. In the kitchen my girl's mom was starting coffee. When she saw me she pulled out the dog food and poured a liberal amount into my dish. I wagged my tail to show her my appreciation, and was soon snarfing down the food.
I finished my food and went over, pushing at the door with my nose. My girl's mom opened the door for me and I slipped out into the morning.
I trotted around, trying to see out past the hedge that surrounded the yard. My world was very small during November, and even though it had hardly started I was already feeling cooped up. Maybe my girl's mom would take me for a walk today. If I was lucky.
There was the roar of a truck, and I bounced over to the gate and tried to push my head through the slats so I could see better.
I couldn't get it to fit. I could remember when it had still gone through, but I supposed that it had gotten larger since then. Heads tend to do that. Swell, I mean.
I got my paws up on the gate and pushed myself up on my hind legs until I could see over the gate. There was a great big truck backing up to the house next door! There was something about Movers Inc on the back—but I couldn't read all the big words.
Movers! Someone was moving in next door!
My tail wagged so hard that I had to drop back to all fours before I fell. There were people next door! People! People!
My girl would want to know!

* * *

Or so I thought. But my girl didn't want to know. She was, in fact, completely oblivious to anything but her novel. Including me. So I was back out in the yard and determined to get into the yard next door.
Someone had to greet the new neighbors!
The layer of topsoil on the flower bed took me about two minutes. The sand underneath that was harder to dig. It was partially frozen, which complicated things.
So it was awhile before I burst out on the other side of the hedge in a shower of mud and dead grass. I shook myself, trying to get all the bits of dirt and rubbish out of my fur. Brrrr...
There was the sound of a car in the drive, and a pink Porsche pulled up to the deck. The door opened and one slim, white leg came out. The owner of it pulled herself out of the car, balancing precariously on high pink stiletto heels. She was wearing a short, tight pink skirt and a pink jacket, and her blond hair was streaked with pink.
What an obsession. I sighed. Disgusting. They weren't even the interesting sort of neighbors!
She leaned back toward the door and said something softly. Two light, dainty white paws appeared, and a white poodle with pink ribbons on her ears leapt lightly to the ground.
Immediately my aptly suited body started manufacturing doggy saliva. I was ready to jump up and run over to the poodle right away, but I practiced incredible self control and kept my rear sitting on the cold, damp ground, although my tail wagged so hard I was sure I'd dig the Panama Canal before long!
The poodle was oblivious to my existence, and she pranced alongside her master, her head held high and her pom-pom tail swaying. Oh...such a dog...
What I'd do to know a dog like that. I started to get a mental image of me, walking beside the poodle through the park. She'd shake her head a little and I'd nip at those pink bows on her ears. She'd bare her teeth a little, playfully, and I'd rub my head on the bottom of her neck, and then we'd roll over and over...

I sighed and wandered into the back yard. Maybe she'd come out. I settled down to wait.

* * *

It seemed like ages until the back door opened and she swept out. She stopped, suddenly, as if she'd just noticed me. She held her head high and walked forward slowly, each step sedate.
Elegant.
“Hello.” she said, and her voice was deep and throaty. “Who are you?”
“Erm. I'm—I'm...” Nothing like having to tell your true love that you're named Spot. “I'm—I'm the dog from next door.”
“Oh really?” I started drooling again. “What's your name, dog from next door?”
“Spot.” There. It was said. I couldn't take it back now.
“Spot?” she laughed. Actually laughed, right in my face. My ears drooped. “You're really named Spot?”
“Yes. I can't help what my girl named me.”
“Elshiva named me.”
My head flew up. “Your mother?” This was unheard of!
She laughed, a silvery doggy-laugh. “No, silly. She's my—how did you say it?—girl.”
“Oh! Your owner.”
“Well, we have a bit of a 50-50 agreement.”
“A what?” I didn't like to look silly, but it seemed to happen that way.
“A 50-50 agreement. You could say we're partners. She's not my owner. I'm not her dog.”
“Oh.” I knew I should have said something more intelligent, but 'oh' was all I could think of to say.
“Don't you and your—girl—have an agreement?”
I nodded until my ears slapped my neck. “Oh yes. Either she writes one thousand six hundred and sixty-seven words each day—or I don't get fed.”
The poodle's eyes went wide. “That's cruel! You ought to sue her!”
“Why would I want to name her Sue?” I asked. “She's got a very good name already. By the way, what is yours?”
“Andromeda.”
“What? Can I just call you Roma?”
“Alright.” she said at last. “I rather like it. I think it's sweet.”
“I think you're sweet.”
She giggled. “I think you're cute.”
My ears came the closest they ever did to standing strait up. “Cute?!”
“Yes, cute. Not my sort of dog, but cute and amusing all the same.”
Not my sort of dog...

“Well, then, if I'm not your sort of dog...” I started to walk off.
“Oh no. I didn't mean it like that. We can always be friends.”
Friends?! She must be joking. I'd go crazy, just being friends with a poodle like that. “Oh, I don't know.” I said. “I might have to spend more time with my girl and such. I don't know if I'll have time to be friends.”
“I thought you said your girl was writing?”
“A novel. Yeah.”
“Then maybe you can be friends with me. We might be able to play together some.”
“Yes.” I looked away. Friends! What did she take me for? A cold blooded mutt? Alright—so I was a mutt. Regardless of that, I was certainly anything but cold blooded. And if anyone would have taken me for cold blooded before, they wouldn't be able to now. My blood was on the verge of boiling! “Anyway,” I said, walking backwards toward my hole under the hedge, “I'd better be going.”
She followed me, and then recoiled when she saw the hole. “You're going to crawl through that?”
I looked at her. “Yes. It's just a hole.”
“It's wet and it's dirty.”
“It's a very nice hole.” I said protectively. “I dug it myself!”
“You—dig?” Her lip curled in disgust.
“Yes, I dig. I also eat out of a bowl that is only washed once a week. And my water sometimes has bits of...other things in it.”
She pulled. “I take it back. You're not cute. You're repulsive!”
I sighed. No more friend business, at least. But oh—
I sighed and slid through the hole back to my own yard, feeling lower than ever. Compared to this, the fact that my girl was writing a novel seemed not that serious at all. Maybe I'd go and chew on something. The sofa would be good. Then they'd beat me and take me to the shelter and I might get a home far away from beautiful poodles who just wanted to be friends.

Writing Dare: Describe Yourself!

2010-04-18T11:43:00.000-07:00

I dare you to write a description of yourself. A description like you'd describe a character in a book. Put them in the comments, and let's see what we get!

She was in her mid teens, leaning toward being tall. Thin, but well built. Blue-grey eyes and red hair, cut short and pulled back into a ponytail. Not all of it reached, and what didn't fell down in uneven waves around her face and on her neck. Her skin was still winter-white with just hints of a summer tan coming on. Faded freckles brushed her nose. She laughed, revealing straight, white teeth.

She wore faded blue-jeans, just starting to rip in fashionable places. Union-Jack t-shirt; the cheap Wal-Mart variety. Grey fleece hoodie, cropped short. Slightly worn. Skateboard sneakers. A man's watch on one wrist and a triple-row Italian Charm Bracelet on the other. Silver hoops--big as saucers.

Plain, but fashionable. Young, and loving it. Full of life. Happy.

Signed; A Friend

2010-04-16T12:08:00.000-07:00

What if there was a parallel universe? What if it was 40 years behind us? What if everything is the same there; even the people? What if we could write letters to ourselves in that parallel world--changing history?

And what if everything I just told you was true?

It's 2183 and Randy Griffith is a mass-murderer. He's spent the past twenty-one years in solitary confinement, with lots of time to think about his sins and ponder what he did wrong with his life. Now he's given a chance to change his life in another world. He's given three things. Paper, a pen, and a tv to watch himself.

But it's not as easy as he first thought. He thought that the principles he was raised on was wrong. But there's more than that. More than he ever realized, or ever even thought about.

Why are the cities empty? Why are the schools the way they are? And...most frightening of all...where have all the people gone?

There is something wrong--something terribly wrong. Those left in the world can't see it. The only ones who actually seem to know there's something wrong is a group of ragged orphans.

And there's only one brave enough to change it. And his courage isn't even his own--at least not in the sense we usually associate it to. Because his courage comes from the letters he receives from his Friend. A Friend who will not always be there. When he's gone--what will happen to everything he's fought for through his old tv and his pen and paper?

Writing Quiz

2010-02-16T13:22:00.000-08:00

So...to get this fantastic new blog off to a fantastic new start... I'm starting with a writing quiz that I acquired off the ever-helpful (as far as quizzes go) Facebook. Rather a good quiz, I enjoyed doing it. Hope it gives y'all a better idea of what I do! ENJOY!

Do you have a pen/pencil collection? How many of those are chewed?

My 'collection' is mostly just a 'collection' of dead ones that I never threw away. They have no special significance...and they want none. :D A few are chewed... I've mostly stopped chewing pens since I finished Algebra!

Do you prefer handwriting or typing furiously?

Oh, golly. I love both. A LOT. I like typing because it makes it so that I can get a lot of thoughts onto paper fast. It makes editing easier and it makes it easier to make little changes as I go along—which eventually makes the whole thing better.

That said—if I'm stuck there's nothing like pen and paper to get me UN-STUCK!

How often do you get inspiration?

Maybe once or twice a month.

Honestly, writing for me is something that seldom happens, and when it does I whip off some ten thousand words. Weird.

Are you blogging this on a computer or laptop?

Laptop! There are three computers in the house...two for school and one a gaming machine for the flight simulator. Then, of course, each of us owns our own laptop... My laptop is what I ALWAYS use. The thing rocks and is worth every cent I payed for it.

Do you get inspiration more in the early morning or late at night?

It totally depends. I usually work better at night. Inspiration is something that doesn't really 'hit' so much as is either 'there' or 'not'. I've either got inspiration or the block. To say that 'oh yes, I'm inspired now'. No. “Inspiration” for me is when I can sit down in front of a text document, put my hands on the keys, and letters come out.

Do certain movies/books/music inspire you?

More than you can EVER imagine! I've just recently started watching suspense/thriller, adventure/thriller, and political/thriller. Those have quickly become my favorite genres to watch or write! Music-wise...oh hell yeah. Country and Rock! Couldn't live without 'em and I'm sure both show in my writing. Books... Kind of the same as movies.

In the past week I got a big jolt by starting to read Ted Dekker—and for the very first time in my life thought I WANT TO WRITE LIKE HIM! I think it'll be one of the best things that ever happened to my writing.

How do you incorporate God into your stories?

I don't ever really incorporate Him in my books. Don't. I prefer to write for a secular market and as such I do not go into it with a huge 'God oriented' goal. Sometimes He comes in anyway. That's okay. I believe there's a God, so yeah. That's going to make its way into my writing.

Do you kill off your villains or make them repent?

Um...I'm pretty partial to either having them caught or killed. I like it SOMETIMES when the villians repent, but a lot of the time it just feels anti-climatic.

Is the majority of your characters magical beings, humans or halflings? Or something else?

I've dabbled some in fantasy and would love to someday delve into serious sci-fi; but that said I usually write real-world stuff. Humans. Even the sci-fi and fantasy I've done the main characters were humans although there were other sub-characters who weren't.

What genre of writing are you most comfortable in? If you were to step out of your comfort zone, what would you write?

I've written a bit of everything, most honestly. I've dabbled in romance, written a stack of historical. I've even played around with a growing-up story, but that's hard stuff to do. That said, my most comfortable genre is either action/thriller or political thriller. I like action, guns, motorcycles... Some nice bureaucrats and court battles...

I guess, when it comes down to it, what I like most is asking the really tough questions and then showing that there's not always an answer. But, answer or not, we need to make choices anyway. I love that. I love the tough, I love the gritty. I like the strong men, the dangerous twists, and the beautiful women—who can probably kick ass themselves. That's what I like.

Do you work better alone or with someone else?

I've done both, and am very good with both. Co-writing has been a lot of fun for me, but I'm not sure as I could do it with just anyone. A: I can be too dominant about the stories and the characters—I think a lot of writers (particularly ones with more experience than me) would find this repulsive. And B: I don't know. We're the perfect match and part of that is that we're such good friends. Not sure if it would work any other way.

That said...I love writing on my own and the freedom that gives me! So!

Do your stories make sense, or do they ramble wildly?

I try to make them make sense! Like I said...I tend to write Thriller stuff...so it has to be fast-paced. It has to be action-oriented and it has to keep the readers interested. So...hey. I try to keep them from rambling.

Are your characters mostly Renegades, Peacekeepers or a mish-mash?

Start with this—I do NOT write peacemakers. NOT AT ALL. NEVER. Ever ever. I would say that 99% of them are Renegades. If they're not Renegades then they're soldiers or the such... Not the kind that revolt against the system, but they're revolting against SOME system or they wouldn't be in the military.

And they even usually turn out a bit regadish.

Are you a sucker for good grammar?

I like my grammar to be good, yes. Not because I'm a sucker for good grammar but instead just because it makes the story roll better, and I HAVE to have that in my books.

How is your handwriting?

Cursive. VERY cursive. I started out writing cursive because Mum practically forced me...but I've come to like it. It's WAY, WAY faster to write. It can get big if I'm not careful, but if I'm writing I write on unlined paper a lot for the SOLE PURPOSE to fit more on the page. So then it stays small.

How evil are your villains?

How evil can they get?! I like mine good and evil. Pretty warped.

Are you long-winded or succinct?

I try VERY HARD not to be long-winded! If I ramble on something it usually gets cut.

Do you have typical writer traits such as ink stains on your fingers or a pencil behind your ear?

Nope! I do not fit the usual writer's bill! Instead I choose to remain trendy and just a bit... Yeah.

Would someone walking past you on the street consider you normal?

No—but that has more to do with my personality than my being a writer. I have what my Dad calls a 'power walk'...I walk into everything pretty bold and brash. Dare those around me to contradict me.

Do you write mostly poetry, stories, novels or a mixture?

A FEW stories...mostly novels. No poetry.

Do your characters vary in accents, appearance and attitude or are they mostly the same?

They vary widely! I have a character who's english...so obviously has a very different accent than my Civil War Southern plantation owner or my Cold War FBI Agent/former Marine! As for appearance...some are dark, some are blond. Beards, black, white... Very different. Attitudes are sometimes different...but they're usually ST. E and I vary, as does P or J. Although I tend to stick to P most of the time.

Do real people and/or places inspire your writing?

Sometimes, yeah. ;) I think that more than anything else what I pick up on is the hard parts of life. Not particularly so much that they happen to me...but death...loss...troubles...near suicides... I pick up on those things, and they're prone to make their way into my books. I know PEOPLE more than anything else, I think...lots of people. Lots of different people. Men that swear and chase girls, and women that are so depressed they wish they could just die. That makes it into my books, I think.

What is your favorite character? Or do you choose to remain unbiased in case of a revolt?

Gosh. I don't know. Either Peter, Stephen, or Pierre.

Peter was my first REAL character...and I'm incredibly close to him. I think I always will be. I just love him—I like his anger, his passion, and his bursts of anger. His determination, his confidence... The dry humor and wry wit. His irony. I just love that.

Stephen is just— He's the kind of guy that every girl wants. He's the sort that would lay his coat over a puddle for a woman and never think twice about it. He's a gentleman. He's rich. The guy is amazing!

And Pierre. Oh, Pierre. Gotta love Pierre. His passion—the part of him that's a dark force. He's a pirate. He acts like it. He gambles...he's wildly romantic...loves the ladies. Oh, I love Pierre.

Do you talk to your characters? Do they talk back?

Never been much of one for talking to characters. It seems that they think the same of me.

Are you more comfortable with girl or boy main characters?

Males. I write men much better. Perhaps it's because I'm so Thinker. (love using Meyers-Briggs to explain things!) But the truth of it is that I DO do MUCH better with male characters. That said, I've written some women/girls that worked pretty well. But I generally prefer to write the men.

Do you follow basic overused plot lines with new twists thrown in or do you depart from the norm all the time?

I think that I do a lot of innovative stuff. That said, I'm about to embark upon a novel on the end of the world...which has definitely been done just a few times! So... Yeah. Unsure on that one.

Do you feel God has called you to be a writer/poet? Will you grasp the power of the pen?

I have no real plans for pursing writing solely. I'd rather work a day job and write as a hobby. I love writing as it is. I love writing maybe once or twice a month only. I like being able to play with it and never be serious about it. I love that. I think that if it were my career it would ruin the glory of it. So... Doubt I'll ever do it as a real career. That said... I would LOVE to be published! If it ever comes to a point where I could ONLY write and still be able to do it the way I'd like to (aka seldom, but when I do it's TONS of writing!) then I think I'd be pretty pleased with it.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps I'd get bored.

I don't know. Really. But for now I have no intentions of pursuing it as my sole career.

Welcome to my new blog!

2010-02-16T12:35:00.001-08:00

So...yes. This is probably one of the most foolish things I've ever done, embarking on a new blog. But the truth of it is that I'm starting realize how much a themed writing blog would do for me. I'm sure that I can get more readership out of a simply writing themed blog than I can out of my non-themed blog, my blog for a series that I'm co-writing or my One Year Adventure Novel blog. This one will be generally writing themed...and I'm very excited to be shoving off on this project!

Essentially, to do a bit of an overview on me and what I write. I'm tall, wild at heart, a little crazy. I love doing things that are either professed impossible or just--'not done'. Most delightful. If it's dangerous and adrenaline-pumping, I'll probably do it. I approach the world with an almost overdone sense of optimism. Everything has to be looked upon in the bright way. Everything has to be pushed to its full advantage.

And I love it.

I love life. Fire is my element. Anything with power thrills me...muscle cars, guns, motorcycles, airplanes... Fast and strong. Little bit dangerous.

I live on the edge.

This is reflected in my writing where I write mostly male characters. I've been writing for years now, but having a very hard time finding a niche where I'm happy. Something that I really love writing. I've played around with Juvenile, Humor, Historical Fiction, Action/Adventure, Christian, Literary... It's only just recently that I've discovered my niche and what I really enjoy writing.

Thriller.

Particularly Action Thriller and Political Thriller.

I've also co-written, and will continue to co-write, Historical Fiction. I've enjoyed writing Historical Fiction and think I always will, but in much more of a co-writing situation. It's not that I have anything against doing it on my own; but I seem to enjoy it more when I'm working on it with someone else.

My co-writer is Nina Hansen who runs her own writing blog--(blog link). Our Historical Fiction series that is currently in progress also has a blog—www.wingsoffireserries.blogspot.com. I try to keep it updated, but sometimes it gets away from me. ;)

Besides this I am working through a writing program currently known as “One Year Adventure Novel”. Nina has done several interviews on the subject which can be found at her blog. My blog—www.pursuingtheheroicquest.blogspot.com is chronicling my progress in the curriculum. Or—trying. That one tends to get away from me as well.

My completed novels include...

“Through a Rain of Fire” (with Nina Hansen)
“On Eagle's Wings”
“Strike in the Dark”
“Mirror”
“Gumpaw”

“Through a Rain of Fire” is currently being sent out to agents. As of February 16, 2010 we haven't gotten one that is willing to take a look at it, even though we've been at it for over a year. It's been a frustrating trip, but we've still got great hopes for the book. Someday...perhaps... It is the first novel in our “Wings of Fire” series; which covers Britain during World War II.

“On Eagle's Wings” was written last year during NaNo...and the more I look at it the less I like it. Parts of it might end up clipped into short stories, but I have no intention of ever publishing it. That would be much too embarrassing.

“Strike in the Dark” was written this year during NaNo. It's an adventure/thriller; and by far one of the best things I've ever written. Unfortunately, because it was written in a short period of time, I didn't have the chance to put any research into it and it stinks culturally. The better part of it takes place in Arabia...and the culture is mega-wrong. I have no idea how to fix it, but if I ever do figure out a way I'll pursue publishing it.

“Mirror” was written in about a week during NaNo this year as well. (I wrote three novels during NaNo in 2009) It's a young adult/fantasy, and also pretty exemplary for the time-period it was written in. The first four or five chapters need an over-haul, but other than that the novel is in very good shape. WHEN (or IF) I ever get around to editing the first chapters that one will also be ready to send out.

“Gumpaw” is juvenile/humor and probably best suited to be a serial story in a magazine or a fourth or fifth grade reader... Whatever I do with it will require a little changing of the story for the market.

I'm not even going to go into all the things that I'm working on—I'd need a whole week to explain them all. ;) My biggest two projects right now is the second novel in the Wings of Fire Series with Nina Hansen-- “A Fire is Woken”. It is proceeding well and I'm very pleased with it. We're over two thirds of the way through, and intend to finish within the month. Or so.

The other is “Fire & Glass”; a political thriller about the end of the world. Though I'm working off a Biblical time-line I hope to go secular with it. That's my hope for most all of my books, is to go secular with them.