Michele Shaw

I'm Not Her

2012-02-09T23:24:00.003-05:00

Can't do it
Your flawless, perfect, air-brushed life
Your wrinkle free, look at me
Fat-less skeleton

Won't be that
Fake nailed, spray tanned
Extended hair, gem so rare
Silicone filled doll

I'm not her

Take my scars
Marred pieces, too big, too small
Take it all
Close your eyes and see

I'm real
All crooked and flawed
Outlawed
No zero tags to flash

Words float, ideas swell
An ear for the mind
A pure find
Strange and imperfect

The best me

I'm not her

A Twitter Experiment Gone Wrong...Or Did It?

2012-02-01T11:04:00.000-05:00

I feel the need to whisper this...like I'm some kind of weirdo. Wait, I mean, I am weird, but you know, sort of normal, quirky weird. When I say weirdo, I mean *cough* stalker weird. Not the scary, following people in my car, taking pictures from behind bushes kind of stalker, but, yes, a Twitter stalker. What started out as my ~~total buttinski nosiness~~ insatiable thirst for knowledge, turned into an experiment.

As the number of people I follow mushroomed over the last year, watching their tweets became unmanageable. I had my favorites, so I turned to **lists and columns using Tweetdeck. It's been great, but every now and again I look at my regular feed. I'm always hoping a great article will pop up, or I'll find some really funny person who brightens my day. That's all good, but then one day I happened upon someone, mmmm shall we say, different.

I'll call this person Racer X. See, one day I saw Racer X tweet something that was to take place later that day. I was intrigued for some reason, so I checked back later to see if Racer X tweeted the outcome. Drat! No tweet. Then I caught a another tweet from Racer X that was part of a conversation. "Hmm," I thought, "Wonder if that's connected?" Why did I care? I think it has something to do with *whispers* procrastination. I was stuck in my wip and looking for ANYTHING else to do. Before I knew it, I had followed this person's tweets for two days to find the answer to the initial tweet, and I realized that Racer X not only tweets a lot of personal info, but it's like a freaking soap opera.

Strangely, I've never been a soap fan, but I seriously wondered how far this person would go in the sharing of info. After less than a week, I found it shocking how much I knew of Racer X's life. (Now I know this is the internet. Every word could be pure bs, but to me, it seems like it would be quite a lot of effort to keep this up and it wasn't so much like movie drama, but real life crap...you know, the kind most people don't tell the world at large about...unless they are on Twitter and apparently forget the world at large can read it.)

So, here's where the experiment came in. I decided to watch Racer X's tweets for another few days to see how much I could learn about a stranger. I was hoping to prove to myself I was overreacting. I thought maybe I'd caught RX on a particularly emo week and the info would dry up. I didn't exchange tweets with Racer X, and don't ask me why. Guess I thought it would blow my cover or something. Did I mention I always wanted to be a detective? Anyway, let me tell you, it got scary. In that amount of time, I knew where this person worked, lived, a few of the restaurants RX frequented, romantic status, even saw pictures of the RacerXmobile.

Were I a "real" stalker, I could have found this person irl with ease. And I really think that should make everyone who uses social media, pause. So, while at first I laughed at myself and wondered why I did this experiment, I soon realized that it was a good thing. It made me think. I learned.

What I learned is that A) There is most definitely this thing called TMI, B) I don't want anyone to know THAT much about me (especially total strangers) and C) Stalking is easy enough as it is. Why give someone a road map to your entire life? While you might think your tweeting is random, if you put it together as a whole and someone cared enough to see every single one of your tweets, how much would they know? Think about it. I've also had more than one person tell me they're glad their friends and family aren't on Twitter, but how can you be sure? Names are faked and people don't have to follow you to read your tweets. Every complaint, snarky remark, etc may just be read after all.

So, the moral is, have fun with all forms of social media, but be careful. You never know who might be watching a little too closely. And it won't be me, though I'll admit I felt sort of addicted to Racer X's ongoing hijinks for a few days. I removed that column from my Tweetdeck and went back to looking at my friends lists and the occasional peek at my regular timeline. And, phew, I'm glad I did. No one told me that stakeouts were so exhausting!

**If you want to be on my friend list, all you have to do is start talking to me and respond when I talk to you. Simple!

What do you think? I'd like to hear from you!

Read A New BooK? Let's Chat...Before I Explode

2012-01-24T21:47:00.000-05:00

Raise your hand if you've ever said this or had it said to you: "I just read the best book! Go read it right now because I need to discuss!" A friend (who happens to be a librarian) said this to me the other day regarding King's new offering 11/22/63: A Novel. While I've been considering adding it to the tbr pile, I haven't yet. But we went ahead and discussed it anyway because I saw that look in her eye. That look of near combustion if you don't GET IT OUT and dissect the story, get someone's opinion, and either gush, moan, or both about certain parts.

I even let her tell me spoilers because I knew what she had to say was about to boil over. Also, I was on the fence about reading this book and she convinced me that I most definitely will. We had a great chat. Librarians are awesome, btw.

While I've never belonged to a book club (I can't take the pressure to read certain books by a deadline), I do enjoy a hearty discussion with ANYONE WHO WILL LISTEN TO ME when I come across another who has recently read the same book. I can go with books I read awhile back, but it's really the most fun when the story and emotion are fresher than fresh. Like walking out of a movie with a friend, going for a drink, and rehashing the whole thing scene by scene.

That said, I'm need a favor, friends. I just read The Fault In Our Stars by John Green and I seriously need to purge. I have A LOT of thoughts about it and I really, really want to know what someone else thinks. (No spoilers from me here, but I'll say this: Loved a lot of it, had a problem with one part. Beautiful writing. If you're still trying to figure out what voice means, read this book!) For now, I've made do with reading a few reviews and that helped...a little. One in particular had me nodding my head so some of my opinions were shared by at least one other person. But I'd still like to hear from you! There is so much about this book to discuss. Anyone read it? If not, tell me what you ARE reading. Maybe we can still share thoughts!

If Your Character Smells Like a Rose, Make Sure He Still Stinks

2012-01-20T09:44:00.000-05:00

The other day I was thinking about some shiny characters, deciding what they will be like and how they will develop through a new story. Of course they will be fictional...sorta, but there's always a pinch of someone we writers know in our characters, right? Or is that just me? *ahem*

I had a conversation with a friend recently regarding a mutual acquaintance and she said, "Aw, you know. He's one of those people who can make every bad decision possible and still come out smelling like a rose. He never seems to suffer for anything or be held accountable because he's so damn charming." Hmm. I wondered if I could put this to use.

Then it hit me that this example would make a character people wouldn't believe. They'd think no one would ever get away with such behavior even though they probably know someone "rose-like." They'd say no one's life goes that perfectly. (Although, I swear, it really does for this person I know irl. It's baffling and the ultimate example of "life isn't fair.")

Ultimately, it comes down to getting the reader to agree to go along for the ride. Not everyone will like every character, but we do have to make events, actions, and emotions seem logical for the character we've created while at the same time making them unique. I decided I could take a pinch of this "smelling like a rose" guy and turn him into a winning character if he behaves just as my friend talked about, but hits a few bumps along the way. That's where the potential for growth is waiting to be revealed as the story progresses.

My plan is this: I'm giving this character who's coming to life a shower and just the slightest spritz of cologne to start out, but he's going to get some dirt on his clothes. Some of the other characters will think he stinks. Maybe he'll learn to be responsible, or maybe the other characters will learn that he'll never change. We'll just have to wait and see...

How about you friends? Do you know any roses? Annoying, aren't they?

Hey, Heather Locklear, I Want My 2 Hours Back!

2012-01-10T19:38:00.000-05:00

Ok, friends, there's always room to learn, especially from awful writing. I truly believe I learn more from the bad than the good. I see mistakes I've made and vow never, EVER to do them again. I see mistakes I never want to make. So even though I thought I had wasted 2 hours of perfectly good air with what I'm about to tell you, I know somewhere down the line it will keep me from stepping in it when I write.

The year was 2011...

Picture it: Me in fleece pants, eating a Pop-Tart, and flipping channels late one night when I can no longer write another word. And I'm sure as hell not about to do something productive like laundry at this point. I click-click away, two steps closer to carpal tunnel, while griping about the lack of anything to watch when I have a least a gagillion channels to choose from. But, wait. What is this? Is that Heather Locklear? What is going on with her face?

Unfortunately, this is all it takes to make me pause. Her lips look weird and her cheeks don't move when she talks. Hmm, I study her, then Google to see how old she is (50, btw). Cut to commercial and I see that the name of this movie is "Flirting With Forty." Of course, I now think, "Yeah, right! 40?" But hold on, HL is still a babe and she looks really good (though slightly frozen). So, props to her. Hollywood is brutal on women.

Anyhoo, though I missed the beginning, I quickly catch up to the story. Boy, it's a doozy! Betcha never heard this one before: Woman about to turn 40 gets divorced when husband gets a new young girlfriend. She travels to Hawaii where she is promptly picked up by a hot 27yo surf instructor. They have sex the night they meet, but OMG she's not really like that! He leaves the next morning, she sobs, then he shows back up and wants her to be his everything woman. I mean really, like his girlfriend. Not kidding. He takes her to a party and hid dude friends think she's hot.

So she starts flying to Hawaii every few weeks to see him, and did I mention she has 2 kids and is supposed to be an uber busy hot-shot interior designer? And yes, it does get better from here...as in really, really awful. Her friends and family give her a hard time. She breaks up with him. They pine for each other. Piiiiiiine, I tell you. Oh, but wait, not before she dons the skimpy bikini he gave her as a Christmas present and wears it out in the snow of her Colorado hometown to symbolically throw away her over-sized sweatshirt of divorce mourning. *snicker* I know, I should have stopped watching, but it was sooooo bad it was good, ya know?

Long story short, the writers try to "trick" the viewer into thinking surf dude has a hot young girlfriend when it's really his sister, HL's ex-husband gets dumped by the hot young girlfriend he really has, and HL and surfer dude reunite when he comes to the mainland to become a businessman as HL wanted him to do. Ohhhhh, and the big "We <3 each other" scene happens on Christmas. Or was it New Year's Eve? I already forgot and/or blocked it from my mind.

I was a little nauseous by this point, maybe slightly, ummmm, bitter and angry with myself for spending my time with this drivel, but in an effort to wring a drop of learning, I decided to step back.

So while, yes, HL, I do want my 2 hours back, thank you for reminding me to stay away from every possible cliche, all ridiculous/bad/syrupy dialogue, wooden/stock characters, beaten to death plots, and...botox.

If you love me, you'll leave a comment and tell me you spent part of your holiday doing something equal in the pursuit of time wasting to my hours spent with Heather Locklear. Please? Just so I won't feel bad. *puppy eyes*

I Kissed A Writer and I Liked It

2012-01-04T08:47:00.000-05:00

The title of this post is the phrase I want everyone to say in the new year. I think there should be bumper stickers! T-shirts! Barbie dolls wearing the T-shirts! Coffee Mugs! A new logo on the Red Bull can! And...and...did I miss anything?

Well, anyway, the reason for this phrase should be obvious, but for those who don't know, writers are quite loveable if you get past the quirks and don't need a lot of attention.

We have many, many good points. For example:

1. Soft lips. We use a lot of Chap Stick. All that hunkering down in the dry air requires copious amounts of lip balm.

2. Virtually wrinkle free. We never go out in the sun, so that unlined baby's bottom skin is ours! (disclaimer: Most of us aren't vampires.)

3. We go green. While we consume our fair share of electricity, our footprint is low when you consider the lack of showering, and wearing the same shirt for a week really saves on laundry.

4. We create jobs. The coffee industry stays vibrant and healthy due to writer consumption of their product. Even if all non-witers quit drinking coffee, the bean would still be in high demand.

5. We make a cheap date. Take us to the library, sit and discuss books for a few hours, then spring for a bag of chips from the vending machine on the way out and we're set.

6. We're good listeners. It's all about YOU! We like for YOU to do most of the talking. That is...if you're answering our research questions about how you hold your fork, when you lost your virginity, or what's the best way to kill someone with a can of hairspray.

7. We're generous with your free time. We'll never complain about how much time you spend playing video games or watching You Tube videos. That just frees up more time for us to write.

8. We have interesting friends. Do you know many people who sit around and talk about the best way to write a sex scene (in detail) and consider it all in a day's work?

9. We're easy to please at gift time. One solid trip to the office supply store and you're done for the year.

10. Writers are freaking cool. Nuff said.

I think everyone should kiss a writer...then go get the shirt.

Okay, friends, I only listed a measly 10 reasons. I'm sure you have more, so hit me in the comments!

It's Christmas! ...and It's All Good.

2011-12-20T09:15:00.000-05:00

I'm ready for Christmas, friends. Not ready, ready (duh, like I'd be done shopping this early), but ready for a break in routine. Ready to spend time with my family. In a way, ready to be away from "real life" for just a few days. This includes time away from my blog. I'm going to read, relax, and hug and kiss my kids a lot. Here's wishing you all a wonderful holiday season! But before I go...

I leave you with with true wisdom (Not mine! My brain is FA-RIED. Just finished revisions, doncha know) from Mr. Charles Dickens.

I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. ~Charles Dickens

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Oops! I Did it Again!

2011-12-13T09:04:00.000-05:00

Life can feel like it's on rewind. Or Groundhog Day (the movie). Or maybe like I've been reincarnated and I'm having memories of a past life. Whatever the reason, my current life feels strangely familiar.

1. I revised. Again. I'm certain I can recite my entire novel line by line at this point. Well, okay, maybe not the parts I changed, but a good 85% is locked in the memory bank. And it will stay there until senility kicks in, which I'm guessing will be in 2-3 years tops. So really, let's get this baby published, shall we?

2. It's mid-December and I haven't started shopping yet. Again. But I'll have all that time on the 23rd, ya know? The whole day. Free and clear. No, wait, I'll be driving that day. Sh*&! The 22nd? Ahhh, we'll see.

3. I'm growing my hair out. Again. I say I'm going to do this all the time, then I hit that weird length. You know the one. It's a solid month where even a stylist to the stars couldn't do a thing with it but run away screaming. This is usually the point where I break down and yell, "Scene over! Cut!" This time I'm really going to try to make it. I promise! But then again, I saw this video today, and she looks so damn cute. That's the haircut I used to have, but wait...that video is from 1997. I swear it came back though! Yeah, but I'm not dewy-faced and doe-eyed like Natalie Imbruglia. Okay, right. Back to growing it out...

4. I'm going through candy withdrawal. Again. I swore I wouldn't buy so much Halloween candy this year yet, I did. And we didn't get that many trick-or-treaters, but you know, I had to be prepared! I wasn't going to be responsible for sending some kid crying from my door. No! We gave it out by the handful. But...there was still a lot left. And I ate it. All of it...well, except the stuff I didn't like which went to work with my husband. So here we are and I just ran out. It's doing strange things to me. I'm seeing snippets of red and diving for them, thinking I missed a stray Hundred Grand Bar. But, no, it's only paper off some other food item or a piece of loose yarn. *sigh* At least Christmas cookies will be in full swing soon. Anyone have an office party they want to invite me to?

5. I have broken a piece of electrical equipment. Again. This is a curse I've carried since childhood, and lately it's been vacuums, but alas, no. My treadmill may have climbed it's last hill. McGuyver, my dh, is still pondering whether it should have another fix. He can do it, but parts may cost more than it's worth. PS: Hey, Santa, I wouldn't mind one of those tread climber thingys. If you're in a giving mood...

So, as we approach 2012, I hope to be moving forward. Doing new things. Ending the cycle that's stuck on rewind. Or else I'd like to come back in my next life as a never-aging 20-year-old Brazilian model with a Phd in biology who cures cancer in her spare time and writes a best seller about it. You know, my new, longer hair life or that...either way is good.

How about it? You guys up to anything new I should know about? Fill me in!

The Sock Touch: Texturizing Characters Part 2

2011-12-01T20:01:00.000-05:00

We've all been there. You're out with a group of friends, one friend says something that makes no sense, but one or two other friends laugh anyway. You are perplexed and ask, "What's so funny?" Instead of an answer you get a muffled, "Oh, you had to be there." It's kind of...awkward. And when it happens to me, I feel left out.

One of the great things about reading is being in the know. Many times we as readers get to be in on all the inside jokes. We understand the tics and nuances of the characters because the author has invited us to join the secret club. Woot! I love being in the secret club. Since I'm on the other side now as a writer, one of the things I try to do to let my readers into the club is add the sock touch.

If you've seen Diary of a Wimpy Kid, then you understand what the cheese touch is. It's an old, moldy piece of cheese on the school playground that all of the kids are afraid to touch. If someone does, it's considered a curse and no can touch them for fear of the cheese touch. Based on this, my kids and I made up the sock touch in reference to an errant sock we saw in the parking lot one day at my son's music studio. It was squashed, having been run over many times, and dirty, and well, just gross. Week after week we saw it there, and my son said, "Don't pick it up! You'll get the sock touch!"

So this became our joke, something we could laugh about that others might not get unless we explained. I realized that adding things like this to my stories can enhance the relationship between my characters and the reader. They want to be in the know. And my characters are more interesting if they have sayings, or family tradtions, or they laugh about "what happened when we went out to xyz" when chatting among friends. It's those great stories we like to tell over and over because they are fun and full of silly details that make our lives great. Yes, those. Our characters need those.

Writers tend to get caught up in eye and hair color, or height and weight. Let me just say...don't. The best stories are rich with all the things that made those characters into who they are at that point and brought them to where they are. They need to have plenty of sock touch so they seem real, and interesting, and sympathetic or whatever it is you want them to seem like.

How about it? Do you guys like to add your own sock touch to your stories?

Do Your Characters Have Texture?

2011-11-23T00:04:00.001-05:00

Some of my favorite characters in literature and on screen became my favorites for one reason: texture. They aren't smooth, flat, or bland. No! They have bumps, ridges, spice. They interest me with their quirks and most of all, surprise me with sides to their personalities I never expected. Sometimes this makes them more endearing or shows a vulnerability I didn't initially recognize in them. (Tough guy really has a soft heart or meek character finds strength when pushed to the limit. But obviously not in a cliche kind of way, right? Right. ) Whatever way my opinion is changed, it creates interest because that character now has more texture.

One of my all time favorite illustrations of this happens in the movie Parenthood. I loved this movie long before I became a parent, and appreciated it even more after. But as a writer looking for texture, one of the best scenes happens between Tod and his girlfriend's mother, Mrs. Buckman. ** They discuss Garry, Mrs. Buckman's son. Garry is experiencing feelings of abandonment by his father while struggling with puberty and the fighting between Mrs. Buckman and his sister Julie.

Up to this point, Mrs. Buckman has had a strong dislike for Tod. She only sees him as a dumb, impulsive, immature teen who has knocked up Julie. This is the impression the audience is given of him as well. Every scene leading to this conversation shapes this silhouette of Tod, but Mrs. Buckman finds herself in need of a male opinion and Tod is the only one around. Tod makes a very wise statement, revealing some personal information which changes Mrs. Buckman's opinion of him. It's a brief scene, and one small statement by his character, but it adds a layer to him that gives him texture and for me, changed my impression. It went like this:

Helen: It sounds like a boy Garry's age needs a man around the house.

Tod: Well, it depends on the man. I had a man around. He used to wake me up every morning by flicking lit cigarettes at my head. He'd say, "Hey, asshole, get up and make me breakfast." You know, Mrs. Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog, or drive a car. Hell, you need a license to catch a fish! But they'll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father.

At the end of the scene, he shivers, almost as if shaking himself from a dream, and goes right back into the dopey Tod character we had come to know, but we now get that more lies beneath every decision and action for him. He has a heart. Real feelings. Experience in life. And maybe he isn't such a loser after all. Though he continues to make mistakes, he's a genuine character and by the end, becomes a father himself.

No matter what you're writing, every single character is important and they all need texture. As we create new characters and rework old ones, I hope you'll join me in giving them a few wrinkles, wringing the dirty sweat from their pasts, and dropping in some surprises. I know our readers will thank us for it.

Tell me, who are some of your favorite characters and why?

**I did not pick this scene because of my long running crush on Mr. Keanu Reeves. Really. I promise. No. Really.

A Very Important Detour! Prevent Google Hijacking

2011-11-15T15:12:00.000-05:00

Friends, I'll make this quick so you can get to what's important. My dear friend Carolina Valdez-Miller went through hell last week when her google accounts were hijacked. It was a stressful, emotional mess of a week for her and I don't want any of you to experience that. She wrote an extremely helpful post that gives step by step instructions for what we all should do to keep from being the next victim. The scammers get tougher to deal with every day. Please take a detour to Carol's Prints and learn from her experience! Sharing info is the only way to beat these jerks. I feel like I need to shout, "Tawanda!" Okay, now GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

On NKOTB and Writing Like Kermit

2011-11-08T09:34:00.004-05:00

I don't know a single person who loves the first day at a new job. It sucks being the new guy. You know, the one who has to ask stupid questions, doesn't know where anything is, and hasn't yet figured out how to hide his/her lunch from the office mooch. But in all things, we must take our turn, and for a long time, I hated that.

With each new step, I always wanted to skip the beginning and go right to being that self-assured person with all the answers who everyone else turned to. Freshman year? Can I just be a senior for four years, please? First day working for a very stern doctor who yelled at me for misfiling? That part where I later ran the office like a tight ship? Yeah, that part, I wanted to skip right to there. First day home with a newborn? Pa-lease! Don't even get me started.

So, here I am. A writer. And oh how everything has changed. With writing, I don't exactly feel like the newest newbie. I know a few things. I've been around a few blocks. But always, always there is so much more to learn. I'll never be the "got it all" gal, because in writing, there is no such thing. And I have to say, I'm kind of glad. How can it get stale or boring when nobody really has it all figured out and they never will? Sure, the true beginning was really a struggle, but in a way, every day that I write is a beginning. I've had experiences good and bad that are shaping me into the writer I am at the moment and the one I will become. But it's ever changing. Evolving minute by minute. My style and approach differ with each new story, and I love that.

Though I still spend a lot of time feeling like I'm flailing, I love that too. Lately, it's become even more clear to me that we're all newbies in some way each day that we get out of bed. And we can't skip the beginning, no matter what it is. It may suck. It may be great. But it's NEEDED. So we writers are lucky, jogging down an unknown path every time we carve out a new story, send a query, or go out on sub and bite our nails to the quick while we wait. It's exhausting and exhilarating, but we're reaching for something. We're living. I've come to terms with my sort of newbie status, and I've decided to embrace it. It's not easy being green, but since I'm a writer, it's never going away.

I think this calls for a writer party, because we're all New Kids on the Block with The Right Stuff. *groan* Sorry, you know I had to do it...

The Sitter

2011-10-27T11:06:00.000-04:00

A little Halloween fun...

Beth couldn't believe her luck. Jaren, her long time crush, had finally asked her out. A sought after football player with a killer smile, Jaren had his pick of any girl in school. But he'd picked her, a girl who guys always thought of as a friend. She had often blamed her bulky athletic build and shyness for her single status, but none of that mattered to Jaren. He saw past it.

They went on five amazing dates by any standards, much less what a girl would expect from a high school junior with a part-time job. Nice restaurants for steak and lobster, and he insisted Beth order the most expensive dessert on the menu each time. He treated her like a princess, giving her his full attention when they were together, often gazing at her body longingly. Though she'd heard stories about dating athletes, Beth found Jaren quite tame. They kissed, even made out at the end of the last date, but so far he hadn't pushed for more.

Beth felt a stir in her gut when Jaren suggested they get together Halloween night. Alone. "Meet me at my uncle's," he said. "I'm house sitting, and we'll have the whole place to ourselves." While excited at the prospect of being with Jaren, she hated going anywhere on Halloween.

As a child of five, Beth had been scared out of her mind by a neighbor boy pulling a prank. He'd lured her into his home which was decorated like a haunted house. After telling her the candy bucket sat in a homemade coffin with dry ice swirling around it, he'd shoved her in atop a bloody dummy and locked the lid for more than an hour while she kicked and screamed.

But Beth liked Jaren more than she thought possible, and she knew what he likely wanted had nothing to do with scaring her. She felt he was the one to take the next step with, so she eagerly agreed to go with only a bit of nervousness. She spent the day primping, shaving her legs, putting on lacy underwear, and adding a single spritz of perfume on her way out the door.

When she arrived, no lights were on, but Jaren had candles lit on every available surface. "Come on in. I've worked really hard to make everything just perfect for tonight," he said.

Beth giggled and shrugged out of her coat, revealing a strapless dress in red that hugged her ample curves. She remembered it fitting better the one time she'd worn it, and figured too much lobster and dessert had caught up with her.

"You look great," he whispered, pulling her in for a kiss. He ran his hands over her bare shoulders, squeezing the flesh on her arms. "So perfect," he said. He lifted her hand and twirled her in a circle, then nodded down the hall.

Jaren led her to a door and rested his hand on the knob. "Work before pleasure. Pet sitting is such a pain, but lobster doesn't come cheap, right? Gotta earn the dough."

"Pet sitting too? I thought you were just house sitting."

"Oh, I take care of everything around here," he said. "Uncle Ray has a checklist, and his pet is number one. His baby. But he trusts me. I've never let him down and he pays me well. Very well."

Jaren pulled open the door and shoved Beth from behind. The candlelight disappeared when the door slammed shut, and she spun in the darkness, stretching her fingers into the icy air. Cold breath stung down her back and a growl echoed around her, growing louder and closer by the second. "And right now," Jaren called through the door, "it's feeding time."

It's Miraculous Because I Say So

2011-10-19T19:42:00.000-04:00

the Definition of MIRACLE

According to Merriam-Webster:

1: an extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs

2: an extremely outstanding or unusual event, thing, or accomplishment

Really? Divine intervention? Extremely outstanding? That sounds so, so...rare.

Some people think "real" miracles never happen to them, while others believe things like the birth of their children or recovering from an illness qualifies. I can agree with children and illnesses, but why be so limiting? Why not see the everyday miracles in our lives?

Everyone (or most everyone) has heard the line, "Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." from Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. My response is, "Me too!" Think about it. It's all in the perspective. Some of my miracles include:

1. A day when I don't eat candy. I try. I really do, and sometimes I go twenty-four hours without a single piece. Do you hear the angels singing when this occurs? No? Oh wait, that may be me singing sappy love songs to my candy as I gaze longingly at the wrappers.

2. A day when I do my workout...and I mean the WHOLE thing. Not half,or three-quarters, but reaching 100% completion. I tend to conveniently "run out of time" when I have a few sets left, or I haven't gotten to cardio. When I do the whole thing, it's like I expect to be placed on the center platform so I can lean over to have a gold medal placed around my neck. "It's a miracle!" I shout. "I should get angel wings for that!"

3. A day when I don't injure myself in some way. My husband never responds with words like, "Are you okay? Let me get you a Band-Aid." Nope. It's always, "What now?" Honestly, I can't blame him. When you've been married more than half of your life and your wife falls, cuts herself, and runs into things every single day, it's not that exciting after the first few years. When the rare day occurs that I'm injury free, I swear I hear harps.

4. A day when I don't leave my house covered in dog hair. I think this may have happened once, but I'm not sure. It really does take divine intervention. I took my son to the doctor a few weeks ago. After he was told he could jump down from the table, the doctor was pulling at his lips and said,"I think I got dog hair from the back of his shirt." Me: "Yeah, what's your point? We don't go anywhere without it."

5. A day when I write a whole chapter, AND I'm happy with it. Getting the chapter out at all is miracle part one. I know I'm a writer, but sometimes I hear that sucking sound, like a shoe caught in mud. That's where my words are, stuck and fighting me. Half the battle is getting them out, but if I like them too? Holy cow, miracle of miracles! When it happens I'm not sure I was the one who even wrote them. Then I get excited. Then I eat candy. Then...woops, what number were we on?

6. The biggest of my miracles occurs when I get 1-5, my kids are happy, my house is clean, the bills are paid, I have 6 or 7 straight hours to write, I eat vegetables, I have no errands to run, I'm not tired, I remember and do everything I'm supposed to...hmm. I think I'm still waiting for this miracle. It's an impossible thing. But I believe it can happen, and it's not even time for breakfast yet.

How about you? Have an everyday miracle to share?

Why I Shouldn't Go Out In Public

2011-10-12T14:23:00.000-04:00

I really need to start shopping online more. Honestly, I don't know why this happens. I tend to go out in my uniform of tank top, hoodie, jeans, and running shoes. This is nothing like what people wear who are employed by the stores I frequent. They're either dressed better (not hard to do), or covered in some kind of vest/smock/apron with a name tag.

So, why do people shopping in every store I visit think I work there? I'm carrying a purse. Sometimes pushing a cart. Nowhere on my person does it say, "Hello, my name is..." or "Michele, five years of smiling service!"

Apparently, I just "look" like I know where everything is at Target. I spent fifteen minutes running down an etch-a-sketch for a lady the other day.

And recently, this is what happened:

Customer B can't find the shoes at Kohl's. After I help customer B (Cuz I'm customer A, even though she doesn't seem to know that) locate the shoes, and I do help because, well, I'm me, she asks my opinion.

"Would you buy these shoes?"

At this point, I'm no where near the items I came for, so I should be shuffling off to get my errands done. What do I say?

"Well, I don't know. Are they for everyday? Where will you be wearing them? Personally, I like them in black better. Did you bring the store coupon? Don't buy them without the coupon."

Customer A slips on said shoes and turns in front of the mirror. "Hm. I don't know if I can pull these off. And, no, I didn't bring a coupon."

I reply, "Who determines what you can pull off? If you like them, buy them. Why do you care what someone else thinks? And I have a coupon in my car. Let me go get it."

Customer B says,"You're right! Who cares! Oh, and thank you for the coupon."

I return with the coupon. Customer B thanks me again and walks away carrying her shoebox with a smile.

I sigh, wondering where my commission is.

Then I turn in a circle and say, "What did I come in here for?"

Since I'm never going to change, I think the answer is clear. I don't plan to work in retail, so yep, online shopping. It's definitely calling my name.

Who Knew? That Which Drives Me Crazy

2011-10-05T16:30:00.000-04:00

I'm keeping it short and to the point this week, friends. I learn something new about writing every single day, but I do have a few bits of knowledge already stored in the melon. Some things just drive me crazy, and I see this one SOOOOOO OFTEN when people write, I feel the need to give a quick clarification. I'm talking about the correct use of who, which, and that. Please, PLEASE, take note, and pass it on if you know any regular offenders.

Using That, Which, and Who as Relative Pronouns

In modern speech, which refers only to things.

Who (or its forms whom and whose) refers only to people.

That normally refers to things but it may refer to a class or type of person.

Examples:

That is a spice which I need for a recipe.

These are the books that I need for the class.

He is the man who will fix the furnace.

They are the type of people who would leave the party early.
They are the type of people that would leave the party early.

(That is OK here because it is a class or type.)

I'm not saying I've never made these mistakes, or that I won't do it again when typing in a frenzy, but hopefully, I'll catch any boo-boos when editing. I hope this tip helps, and you all have a great writing week!

Got any pet peeve grammar nazi tips to leave me? Please do. I still have a lot to learn.

Is it Okay to Love Your Work?

2011-09-28T11:33:00.000-04:00

Writers come in many shapes, sizes, personality types, and just like all other occupations, there are a wide range of E-G-O-S.

Some writers are embarrassed to tell anyone they write and never show their work. *raises hand* I used to do that. Then you have those in the middle, writers who blog, share their work with others, and pursue their publishing dreams with enthusiasm, yet know how not to be pushy and annoying. And then, well...you know who's left.

They're the "Ooh-ooh, LOOK AT ME!" types who constantly tell everyone how great their work is and pump iron just so they have the strength to shove their books down your throat.

Of course, there are many other places in between where people fall. But, all in all, it's hard to know how to present yourself professionally and with confidence, and how to promote yourself without becoming "one of those." If you try too hard to be humble and modest, or even cut your work down all the time, others may start to believe you.

If you do the opposite, you look like a jerk.

But here's the thing, it's okay to love your work. It's okay to be proud of what you've accomplished and to send out your words with a smile. This has been a hard one for me. I'm always positive I'll get a negative reaction, and I'm often embarrassed to ever admit that I adore something I've written. But I shouldn't be. It's silly and I know it. If I didn't like it, why would I ever ask someone else to read something with my name on it? We writers are very good at playing head games with our own minds, but there are enough people out there to do that for us.

So be proud, be confident, and don't sell yourself short. End each day with a nibble of humble pie to prevent unleashing writerzilla, and the world will respond, I promise.

Numbers, Comparisons, and Random Epic Fails

2011-09-21T10:25:00.000-04:00

Word wars. Word mongering. 1k, 1 hour. You my have seen these as hash tags on Twitter or in various places around the net. For those who don't know, this is something writers do to get things moving on their wip (work in progress). They compete with someone to see who can write the most words during a specified period of time. Or, they just set their own timer and try to write 1,ooo words in 1 hour. Some people simply set a daily goal for the number of words they want to write.

If you find any of the above rituals helpful and productive, then yay! Go you!

I'm sorry, but I can't join your ranks. Perhaps it's because I don't have a competitive bone in my body, or maybe it's because of the ridiculous amount of time I spend evaluating each sentence. But one thing I know for sure, is that when I have to force out words quickly, they are utter crap. I could write 1,000 words in an hour, but I'd wind up deleting them, so I'd consider that hour a waste.

Yesterday, I wrote 694 words. I don't really care what anyone thinks of that number, because I can say with confidence, they are good words. I'm happy with them. I'm proud to call them mine. In the end, that's all that matters.

Some days I'll have many, many more. Some days I'll sit at zero. Maybe people think it's wrong not to have a goal, but actually, I do. It just doesn't revolve around a number. Sure, I have a rough idea of a number where I want to wind up when I type "the end," but my goal is to write real emotion, beautiful sentences...good words.

Speaking of good words, or bad depending on how you look at it, I've decided the words I see or hear most often are random, epic, and fail. I kind of like them. They're fun, though horridly overused. I'm guilty as well. I'd say this post is rather random, wouldn't you? Now, let's just hope it's not an epic fail.

Do you use word counts or timers? If so, does it help you? I say do whatever works!

Goodreads and Writer Weeds

2011-09-14T16:10:00.003-04:00

This week I came to a conclusion, and it wasn't easy. I'm trying to get a lot of writing done, but there are days when the weeds pop up in my wip because I've been away too long. I decided that though my writing time has increased just a bit as of late, I still have too many other things invading it. Something had to go, and after some hesitation, I deleted my Goodreads account.

When I evaluated all the things I spread my time over, in the end, Goodreads got the axe because I was never keeping up with it like I should, not participating in discussions, and I rarely had time to post stars, much less full reviews. I think GR is fun and it's great for authors to see some feedback, but in the end, the value of it didn't outweigh the time it used. And, okay, I'll admit, I don't like saying anything bad about a specific book on a public forum, and by using stars, I felt compelled to give more than certain books deserved, in my opinion. I know the point of the site is to say what you think, but I am the softest softie out there. That's just me. I've been looking for a cure, trying to develop a formula for a pill that turns me into a hard butt, or now that I think of it, I'd like one that literally hardens my butt, and maybe lifts it a little, you know, that darn gravity...what was I talking about?

Oh, yeah, anyway...I gave up Goodreads, never joined Google+, and I'm eyeing Facebook like a troll about to be pushed off the bridge. I think I can manage Twitter and blogging, at least I hope so, because, the point is, I want to write. That takes a lot of time, A LOT, and my family requires so much of my time, that I no longer want to give too many precious minutes to online pursuits that take away from what is important. So, I'm cleaning the online house, and it feels better already.

Whether this is good, bad, or otherwise for my "platform," I don't know, but the way I see it, I won't need a platform if I don't finish some more books! So that's what I'm doing...writing.

How about you, friends? Are you overextended online?

Ten Years of Gold

2011-09-08T09:11:00.000-04:00

I've been really busy working on the outside of my house lately: painting, ripping out trees, power washing everything in sight. It started with one project which led to the next and the next and the next. I wondered why this particular summer required so much work. Then I realized we've lived in our current home for ten years. Things I had touched up or glossed over were now ready for major work.

I didn't mind. I looked back, grateful for every peeling post, every overgrown shrub, and all the dirt I scrubbed from my fence. Through all that's happened, it's been ten years of bliss. Ten years of gold because...

It's also been ten years since 9/11. Not like I could forget, but this year it seems the coverage is already ramping up, and I fear it will be greater than in years past due to that magic number ten. It's not bad that it's shown, I just don't like watching it. If you weren't following my blog last year, I wrote a post detailing that day in my life. You can read it here.

You'll see that the last ten years for me have been filled with joy and happiness because on that day, I was blessed. I've had all the ups and downs of family life, work, and that monkey on my back of home ownership, but it's all been wonderful, because I didn't have to do it alone. Thank God.

If you read my post last year and you're still reading my blog, most sincere thanks. I've been blessed again.

The First Chapter Blues

2011-08-31T17:10:00.000-04:00

If you happen to be a fast-drafter (I know many, and they constantly irritate me with their insane daily word counts) *jealousy looks like this :P,* then you may want to avert your eyes. This may be painful. I have a new wip cooking along, and by that I mean slow-cooking, because I write at a glacial pace. That is just me, and it's a hard fact I've come to accept. Finally.

So, as with all new novels, there simply must be a first chapter. FTR, first chapters are my enemy. Seriously. I don't know how I ever get anything finished, because first chapters are like an impacted bowel. Days go by and nothing's moving.

I read, reread, rearrange, delete, start over, debate, ponder, procrastinate, stare at the wall, eat candy. (Did I mention I eat candy?) Then, I do it all again. This time around, I worked on nothing but my first chapter for two weeks. You read that right. TWO WEEKS! Less than two thousand words that I hovered over and dissected like a a frog in seventh grade biology.

I had some serious blues. I didn't know if it was going the way I wanted, saying the right words, setting the right mood. I was ready to wave the flag and give up. But, then I decided to get a second opinion about the arrangement of my paragraphs and...drum roll please: I finally got over the hump and it's getting closer.

I did move on...eventually, and I managed to get a lot more words down. (Four more chapters) I'm still stirring that first chapter, weaving and pondering, but I'm recharged and ready to continue. It's amazing how some feedback can return you to the right frame of mind and move those fingers. Never be afraid to ask for help.

It's incredibly important to me to get the first chapter right. I know if I don't, I'll have thousands of words after it that no one will read. So, if any of you suffer like me in chapter one, I FEEL YOUR PAIN. But please remember, time spent on that chapter is never wasted, and writing in the way that works for you is never wrong. Do what it takes to write YOUR book, no matter what anyone else says.

Got it? Okay, off with you. Run away now and write. Oh, but first...

Anyone else get stuck in chapter 1? I'd like to hear from you.

How To Hatch A Writer

2011-08-23T23:25:00.019-04:00

I don't know if I'm scared, excited, or both. Yesterday the 9yo announced to me that he wanted to write a story.

"For school?" I asked.

"No. I just want to," he said.

Mommy brain said, "Wow! I'm so proud. My child wants to be creative and spend his time doing something to stimulate his brain." Writer brain said, "Yes! Score! How cool! A writer!" *fist pump*

He had a crumpled paper which he said held his notes. "It's not the story. Just ideas," he said.

Me, vibrating with excitement, trying to hold in a squee said, "Okay then! Let's go!"

I set him up at the old laptop and he started pecking away. He hasn't learned to type yet, and while he could have become frustrated at the slow pace, he kept going.

For a while, I sat next to him working on my wip. He looked over, beaming, and said, "Look, we're writing together."

I no longer have a heart. It melted when he said that.

And then, I saw the true beginnings, the first moment in a writer's life. That moment when writing fever took over. In the last two days, my son has thought of little else besides his wip. He's obsessing over when he'll have time to work on it next. He wants to stay up late, bring the laptop in the car, and he's decided school is going to cut into writing time far too much. The writer in me says, "I hear ya!" But I have to be the mom and make sure he finishes homework, plays, sees his friends, gets his vitamins. I can't prop him up in a corner with coffee and cigarettes.

But that excitement I see in his eyes overwhelms me. To be a part of that birth, to feel that energy humming in a wee one's brain feels like a miracle. Today at the bus stop he said, "I can't wait to get back to my story. There's so much I want to add."

"That's how I feel!" I said. "Remember how you're always asking me why I'm writing all the time? That's why."

"Ohhhhhhh!" he said, with a slight blush to his cheeks. "I get it now. Isn't it exciting?"

Yes, my beautiful son, it is, and you do get it. I couldn't be happier.

PS, readers: Somehow, he came up with a cool title on the fly, and he has the start to a pretty awesome fantasy story. I think he just might be published first, which would be the perfect ending to this story.

In Which I Figure Myself Out...Sorta

2011-08-17T10:26:00.000-04:00

I've been questioning myself a LOT lately. Wondering why I am the way I am. Wondering why I make the choices I do, take the actions I take. I keep thinking I'm making the same mistakes again and again. But, why? When will I learn? When do I hit that "old enough to know better" age? Or is the theory that we are born who we are and never change really true? And is what I perceive as a mistake always a mistake?

I've been struggling to figure it out and getting nowhere, so I decided to be scientific. I took the Jung Typology test and it was very eye-opening! And, yes, in a good way. I will smack whoever said, "Der, I'll bet."

See, it turns out, I'm an INFJ! Oh, okay, totally makes sense now, right? *cough* Yeah, it didn't to me either until I read the whole thing. I'm an Introverted iNtuiiting Feeling Judging. Now you got it? Yeah, not so much. I had to keep going. I pulled out the highlights from an article written by Marina Margaret Heiss, see the full article here. This is what makes me tick, and according to this article, I'm a rare type. Who knew?

**INFJs are distinguished by both their complexity of character and the unusual range and depth of their talents. So, as you can see, this is a brilliant article which I wholeheartedly agree with! Really! It had NOTHING to do with the comparison to Mother Theresa.

**INFJs tend to be idealists, and because of their J preference for closure and completion, they are generally "doers" as well as dreamers. This rare combination of vision and practicality often results in INFJs taking a disproportionate amount of responsibility in the various causes to which so many of them seem to be drawn. Um, translation: I get stuck doing everything because I can't say no. But if I call myself a doer, does that sound dirty?

**INFJs are deeply concerned about their relations with individuals as well as the state of humanity at large. They are, in fact, sometimes mistaken for extroverts because they appear so outgoing and are so genuinely interested in people -- a product of the Feeling function they most readily show to the world. On the contrary, INFJs are true introverts, who can only be emotionally intimate and fulfilled with a chosen few from among their long-term friends, family, or obvious "soul mates." True. I can put on a good show of being a social butterfly, when I really do prefer small groups or one on one conversation. And I don't confide in a lot of people. Hmm, I'm starting to think there is something to this! I don't know, though. It didn't even mention my fondness for hiding in corners at parties and stalking the food table.

**INFJs may well have the clearest insights of all the types into the motivations of others, for good and for evil. The most important contributing factor to this uncanny gift, however, are the empathic abilities often found in Fs, which seem to be especially heightened in the INFJ type (possibly by the dominance of the introverted N function). Translation: I'm good at reading people. My problem isn't spotting the bad ones, I almost always do, it's the stray puppy syndrome where I have trouble. "No, really! Do you need anything? Anything at all? So what if you're a serial killer? Need a place to stay?"

**Usually self-expression comes more easily to INFJs on paper, as they tend to have strong writing skills. And this is where I decided this test was a flawless diamond. I'm thinking of getting a tattoo now. No "MOM" or hearts on my bicep, just INFJ, baby! And I'll wear it proudly!

Give it a try! What's your type?

If Twitter Died

2011-08-10T09:22:00.000-04:00

Okay, Twitter addicts, let me start by saying, I love Twitter. I really do. But, did you ever wonder what would happen if it just...went away? I know *gasp* the horror, don't even think it, right? Right?

The truth is, if Twitter goes away, something else will take it's place. Maybe a Google + or some other hybrid. Before you hyperventilate, remember that (for now), Twitter appears strong and vivacious. That said, I think a healthy dose of reality is good for everyone using social media, so here is my Twitter reality:

*I have nearly 2900 Twitter followers. (I had to check.) That's a decent number, but does it matter? How many of those followers would notice if I stopped tweeting? How many of them would care? Answer: Nowhere near 2900. If I'm honest, probably closer to 29...or less. So, I don't get caught up in the numbers. While I do appreciate everyone who follows me, strikes up conversations, retweets things, and generally supports me, I realize that to some (by some I mean most), I'm not that important.

*People lie on Twitter all the time. I know, shocker, right? *snort* Not ALL people, but many. They misrepresent who they are, what they do, and what they've accomplished. It's harmless enough as long as I don't buy into a scam, follow faulty advice, or give out personal information to a weirdo. I try to be careful, and FYI, while I'm human and I've told the occasional white lie to spare feelings and be nice ("No, of course your butt doesn't look big in that!"), I don't go in for the big whoppers. It's wrong and I'm too lazy. Lying takes work. I'm tweeting the real me.

*Twitter is a great marketing tool if you have something to sell (I love helping other authors get the word out about their books), but it's nowhere near the ONLY marketing tool. If it went away, I promise, we'd survive. I mostly use it to chat with other writers, find and share good articles, and spout nonsensical gibberish when I need to blow off steam. Also, a note to people who do NOTHING but hawk their shtuff...people stop reading your tweets and many unfollow you. Its called being annoying.

*There are days when I make Twitter go away, and I enjoy them. Everyone who doesn't do this should try it. Twitter breaks are good. Don't panic, people, seriously. Remember that to most of your followers, you aren't a real person so much as an avatar with some words typed after it. To the people who genuinely like you, well, you've probably moved on to emails. There's also that thing called a phone, you know, for talking. And, I've even met some of my crew in person! What? That's crazy talk! They are real. I have hugged them, seen pictures of their kids, the whole deal, and it's nice. If you've made a real friendship, it will outlive Twitter.

So, my point is: Twitter is fun, it's useful, it's many wonderful things, but we should all realize what it's not, and make sure to keep balance in our lives. It may be around for a while, it may die out next year. Either way, I'll be fine, and so will you.

What do you think, friends? Could you live without the Twit?

8 Simple Rules for Dating Your WIP

2011-08-03T08:57:00.000-04:00

Hey, writers! We all know our grammar, right? Riiiiight? Well, yeah, I struggle a bit at times, but for some reason, I stumble over the same things again and again. "Why? Why? Why?" I scream. And the universe shrugs its shoulders.

So, pretend you (writer) are a teenaged boy waiting on the couch while the father of your major crush (wip) paces behind you with a shotgun. He says, "If you want to date wip, there are rules, RULES, boy! They must be followed...or else." He sets down the cloth he is polishing said shotgun with and draws his index finger across his throat. Curtains for you if you don't listen up! If that wip is riddled with mistakes, it's over.

You nod eagerly, waiting for the rules because you loooooove wip. Love her. Want to give her smooches and parade her around to all of your friends. Grammar Daddy has condensed his top 8 rules, with the promise of more to come. Notepad ready, writer! These are the 8 that plague me the most. I confuse words and often have to check to be sure I'm using the right form. To save you the trouble, here's a nice little cheat sheet.

******Disclaimer below

1. accept vs except

Accept is a verb, which means to agree to take something.
Example: "I always accept good advice."

Except is usually used as a preposition or conjunction, meaning not including.
Example: "I teach every day except Sunday(s)."

2. affect and effect

affect is usually a verb (action) - effect is usually a noun (thing)

If it's something you're going to do, use "affect." If it's something you've already done, use "effect."

Example: "The noise outside affected my performance."

Effect is followed by the preposition on and preceded by an article (an, the).
Example: "His smile had a strange effect on me."

Effect can also mean "the end result."
Example: "The drug has many adverse side effects."

Just remember: "affect" = to influence, and "effect" = to bring about.

3. complement (v) vs compliment (n)

Complement (a verb) To make better or more attractive when combined.

Example: "The colors blue and green complement each other perfectly."

Compliment (noun) A remark that expresses approval, admiration, or respect.

Example: "It was the nicest compliment anyone had ever paid me."

Try these mnemonics:
If it complements something it completes it. (With an e.) I like compliments. (With an i.)

4. good vs well

Good is an adjective. Use good to give more information about a noun.

Example: My dog Sam is very good. He's a good dog.

Well is usually used as an adverb. Use well to give more information about a verb.

Example: He usually behaves very well.

The exception to this can be when you talk about someone's health:

Example: She wasn't a well woman.

and when you describe sensations:

Example: That perfume smells good.

5. All ready vs. already

All ready means "completely ready." Example: "Are you all ready for the test?"

Already is an adverb that means before the present time or earlier than the time expected. Example: "I asked him to come to the cinema but he'd already seen the film."

6. Fewer or less

The general rule is to use fewer for things you can count (individually), and less for things you can only measure. Example: "There were fewer people in the class than usual." (People can be counted.)

"I drink less coffee than she does." (Coffee cannot be counted individually it has to be measured).

Note - The lines between less and fewer are getting blurred, i.e. a sign in a shop might read "10 items or less," because "10 items or fewer," seems pompous to many people.

7. Every day vs. everyday

Every day - here every is a determiner and day is a noun. When you say every day you mean each day without exception. Example: "You have been late for school every day this week."

Everyday is an adjective. When you say everyday you mean ordinary, unremarkable. Example: "My culture pages offer an insight into the everyday life of Britain."

If you want to check yourself, see if you could write "every morning" or "every evening" without loss of meaning. Then you'll know it should be "every day."

8. A while or awhile

A while is a noun meaning “a length of time”

“I slept for a while.” - (compare with “I slept for a bit.” and “I slept for three hours.”)

Awhile is an adverb, meaning “for a time,” or literally, “for a while.”

“I slept awhile before dinner.”
(compare with “I slept deeply before dinner” and “I slept badly before dinner”.)

The words can be used almost interchangeably in some cases – but a while needs to be accompanied by a preposition, such as “for” (“I slept for a while”) or “ago” (“I left work a while ago”). Awhile always means “for a while.”

So, I hope this helps and you go on to a wonderful relationship with your wip. We all want to be proud of our shiny, as-perfect-as-possible wip's don't we?

****** Examples provided by LEO Network-- Learn English and not from an actual Grammar Daddy with shotgun.

Happy Writing!

Do You Risk Getting Punched in The Face?

2011-07-27T21:26:00.000-04:00

I’m going to come clean right from the start and admit it--I’m not only a people watcher, but an intent studier. I devour every detail of complete strangers in an effort to understand human behavior so I can infuse my characters with realism. How people move, what motivates their reactions, why they say what they do. I can’t get enough, but one of these days, I just know I’m going to get into trouble.

Though I try not to be, I may actually verge on rude at times. I stare. A lot. The wheels of my mind are turning as I take it all in and sometimes…well…I get caught. People have sneered. Given me that, “Whaddayoulookinat?” scowl. If only they’d ask, I’d be glad to tell them, they may end up in a book someday! Yeah, that may not be enough to appease them. I really need to start practicing my bob and weave, or least not leave the house without running shoes.

Anyway, my most recent character study happened while I was on vacation this week. We were at a restaurant and lucky enough to get seated in a semi-circle booth on a platform…facing the entire room! I know, right? Gold mine. There were a few families, but a lot of youngish couples and singles. Didn’t take me long. I spotted a prime target.

They were on a date and dressed with great care. Hair and clothing perfect. I’m sure perfumes and colognes were involved. They spent time. Most definitely not a first date, but in the first few months, I’d say. How do I know? Body language.

They saw only each other. Neither of them looked around the room and they barely registered their waitress when she dropped off their food. (No offense to my husband, because obviously I wasn’t paying attention to him, but we’ve been married forever and he was refereeing the kids while this was going on, so, you know…and PS, he’s used to me doing this. It's part of the weirdness of being married to me.)

Anyway, back to my boy and girl. Girl was very attentive. She smiled and laughed at boy. She listened intently, leaning in at times. A few hair flips. Though now that I think about it, she never touched him, so I’m thinking maybe 2^nd or 3^rd date instead of a few months in. They seemed too relaxed for it to be a first.

As for boy, oh, my, was he into her! He kept tilting his head, batting his lashes, yet occasionally leaning back trying to play it cool. Still, he was googly-eyed and definitely thinking…well, never mind. He used every trick up his sleeve. Glancing down shyly, pursing his lips, then staring intently into her eyes. I know, horrible of me to watch, but they were out in public! Give me a break. It's research!

Then I panned out. The director in my brain screamed, “Wide shot!” I watched other men, watching her. A really beautiful woman. They threw looks of longing/jealousy. That, "Damn I wish that was me, lucky jerk." look. I felt like slipping boy a note that said, “You’d better be nice. They’re lining up to take her away from you.”

So, you see, I learned a lot. I didn’t write it down, but the picture is stored away in my head. I mentally took note of everything, and when it’s needed, I’ll find it. Every movement, look, and what my writer's mind imagined they were saying to each other. Every slight twitch, where they placed their hands, stolen glance. Everything. Thank you, unknown couple! You are completely unaware that you aided an author.

I have to say, I was quite stealthy about the staring this time. It helped that it was noisy, crowded, and they were very distracted by each other. Yesterday, at an amusement park, I wasn’t so lucky. I seemed to keep passing the same people and every time, I stared at this young man thinking he’d make a great character. I was working out how to describe his interesting face and the way he walked in a wide stance. Almost in a saunter. He reminded me of a cowboy ready to draw.

Well, he caught me, and when he looked straight at me and whispered to the girl next to him, I’m pretty sure he said, “What’s wrong with that lady? If she doesn’t stop staring at me, I might have to punch her in the face!” Or maybe not, he kept on going. And I moved on to ride the scariest roller coaster I’ve ever been on. I cussed in front of my child. It wasn't pretty. You know, now that I think of it, I really hope at that moment, no one was studying me.

How about you friends? Ever been caught? ...cause I know you do it;)

The Bird Sisters and a Child's Wisdom

2011-07-20T10:48:00.000-04:00

I was thrilled to see this front and center at my local B&N!

I'm a little behind on this, but I've been wanting to shout to the world about my love for the incredible book, The Bird Sisters by the extremely talented Rebecca Rasmussen. Find her on Twitter @thebirdsisters. What reminded me that it was still on my to-do list was a question from my daughter (age 7).

One day as she stared at my teetering tower of books, she asked, "Which one of these did you like best?"

I thought for approximately 2 seconds and said, "Well, I haven't read them all, but my favorite is The Bird Sisters."

"Was it smooth?" she asked.

I thought I knew what she meant, but then again, with kids you never know. I checked just to be sure. Smooth could mean a lot of things.

"Smooth?" I asked.

"Yeah, you know, did the author write the words so they were smooth, one after the other and you just kept going without thinking."

"Ah, yes," I said with a smile. "Very smooth and very beautiful." I had a proud moment. My wee one already gets it. She then asked me what it was about, and I explained how it was a story about two sisters, their lives together, and making tough choices.

"Sounds good," she said. "The birds on the cover are pretty. Hey, you should read this Junie B. Jones First Grader book I'm reading. It is woowee funny." Then the conversation turned to snacks and she wanted to know if we had any "Nilla Wavers." She's definitely mine. Priorities: books and snacks.

Such a short, to the point, talk we had, yet she hit exactly what I was thinking about this book in one word. Darn kids. Making me look bad. So, to steal her perfect description, The Bird Sisters is smooth, like butta, people. A tale of two sisters who heal birds and stick together when everything and everyone around them falls apart. From first breath to last.

I usually only take the time to give stars on Goodreads, but for this book, I made an exception and wrote a short review:

I loved this beautifully written book. It's a quiet story, unfolding in just the right increments, and delves deep into familial bonds and betrayal. The characters are rich and full, with their own stories and purpose, all woven into a tale I thought about long after I finished. Even though I refer to this book as quiet, make no mistake, there is tension throughout, and an underlying hum that urged me to keep turning the pages. Milly and Twiss are flawed and vulnerable, yet strong and resilient. A great blending of past and present time periods as well.

I really don't want to say more and give anything away. It's too good. Get it. Savor. Enjoy!

Look for Me at ACP!

2011-07-13T07:31:00.004-04:00

Hello friends!

I don't how it is near you, but by my house, it's freaky hot! I don't really want to go outside, but I'm

traveling around the net this week. I'd love it if you joined me over at Adventures In Childrens Publishing. They kindly asked me to do a post for their WOW Wednesday feature. Of course, I said, "Yes, yes yes!" They have one of my favorite blogs, and I've had them on my sidebar since my first post on this blog. These ladies provide mountains of information on a daily basis regarding craft, publishing, new releases, they do giveaways, critiques, and on and on. I get the feed emailed to me daily so I don't miss a thing. You should, too!

I was also interviewed over at
Another Slightly Scary Story
The generous Mr. Draven Ames asked me a few questions. Another great site to check out!

I hope you all are having a wonderful summer!

Sometimes, It's Good to Be Dumb

2011-06-30T12:54:00.000-04:00

Last Saturday, I went with my family to see some fireworks on a last minute invitation. We figured, "Why not? Sounds fun." These fireworks were being put on by a local church where my kids had attended the mother of all Easter egg hunts. They're still eating the candy (with my help). That should have been my first clue this wouldn't be any old wimpy fireworks display. But, for some reason, we figured we'd show up with a few people, throw our blanket down five minutes before it started, see a few colorful pops, and go home. I mean, come on, this was on a church member's private property after all, how big could it be?

Did I mention the Easter egg hunt? With the trash bags full of candy? Um, yeah, exactly.

So, after parking by the road wayyyyy back and realizing that easily a thousand people were there, we trudged up and found an open spot to sit...on the side. It *seemed* far back from where they were about to shoot off what I was sure were smaller fireworks, but mmmm, I was wrong on all counts. Mind you, we weren't alone. A truck full of teens sat right next to us, and next to them, more people, and so on.

But anyway, the point is we were TOO CLOSE. And these fireworks were ginormous. Like the kind you see at professional displays. We had to lay down on our blanket to keep our necks from hurting. It was really cool...until a few duds and stray screaming explosions nearly singed our eyebrows. One landed in the truck bed next to us, freaking out the teens, and the tree above us was smoking. Another came sideways instead of going up. Bright pink balls flying straight at us almost as if in slo-mo, yet, in reality, streaking lightning fast. We had to duck.

I took this looking straight up!

So here's the really dumb part. We didn't move. Sometimes, something crazy happens and you start laughing, your excitement builds, and the possibility of danger is kind of fun. I know it's silly. We got off our blanket and huddled under it, and my husband said, "This is nuts!" I said, "I know! Isn't is great?" Every time one went up not quite far enough, or went up but didn't burst right away, everyone around us said, "Uh oh, look out."

And yet, we still didn't move. Nobody did. It was too much fun.

Really, it was dumb, but man we had a blast! And from this I realized, being dumb, just every now and again, is good for our souls. Sometimes everyday chores and responsibilities get us down. A rainbow of exploding flowers, stars, volcanic white fire--they made me feel so alive.

It was the best fireworks show I've ever seen. And I don't regret a minute of it. I'm back to doing what needs to get done, but I'm sure I'll be dumb again soon. At least...I hope so.

Happy 4th!

Five Things I Learned from Bridesmaids (the movie)

2011-06-23T09:13:00.000-04:00

**Spoiler alert: You may not want to read this if you don't want to know any details of the movie.

A writer is always a writer, picking apart not only books, but TV shows and movies. You know what I mean! We can't help ourselves! So, a few weeks ago, I went with a friend to see Bridesmaids on my birthday. We had a great time. See the hilarious trailer here. But, as usual, I thought about it afterward, feeling mostly content, but maybe slightly disgruntled, because, honestly, for full price, I want it to be freaking awesome. Bridesmaids was...good in parts, not so much in others. Lucky me, though, I learned from it, so that's why I can say I walked out mostly content. Here is what I gained for my hard earned cash:

1. Probably least important, but worth mentioning to movie studios: A slapstick romcom at just over 2 hours? Not terrible, but too long for what they had going on in this flick. It wasn't deep, full of history, or detailed multiple plot lines that needed time to build. It was a messed up chick acting, well, messed up throughout her bff's prenup festivities. Easily, 20 minutes minimum could have been lopped off.

2. You can kill a gag by stuffing it down the viewer's (or reader's) throat. More than once, a really funny scene took the scene's premise and carried it a step too far, leaving me looking at my watch, saying,"Okay, it was funny the first time, now let's move on." For example, the mc is jealous of the bride's new friend, so the two ladies keep trying to outdo each other when giving a toast. The first few times when they were grabbing the microphone back and forth from each other were funny...and then it kept going on...and on. That scene felt endless, and I became annoyed. This happened in several major scenes. There's your 20 minutes right there, Mr./Ms. Editor.

3. A flawed character is good, but be careful not to fall into the whiny/slacker/why doesn't she just (fill in the blank) character. The mc didn't have one thing going well in her life except her friendship with the bride, and her idiocy even screwed that up. I wanted to smack her. There's a difference in feeling for a character and finding them plain pathetic. She "sort of" gets it together by the end, and somehow manages to get a handsome, sweet guy to boot. Honestly, though some of her antics were hysterical, many times I didn't care if she got fired or whatever happened as a result of her behavior.

4. A good sidekick with an outlandish personality can really pump up a story. If you've seen this movie, you know I mean Meagan, the groom's sister. She is over-the-top crazy, and steals every scene she is in. If there was slow section, her appearance brought a shot of adrenaline. I perked right back up.

5. I think the cost of movies is ridiculous, which is why I watch most of them at home, but I'll still go out to them here and there, because the time spent with friends, laughing and having fun, is priceless.

How about it friends, do movies help your writing? I don't know about you, but I love having fun and calling it "research."

Super Spectacular Book Giveaway!

2011-06-15T22:28:00.000-04:00

Hello friends!

In the spirit of continuing my agent celebration from last week, see that post here, I'm having a super spectacular book giveaway! Okay, maybe this giveaway isn't *quite* super spectacular, but FREE books always equal awesome! I'm giving away not one, but two books, and the winner gets to choose from six I'm offering including: The Body Finder by Kimberly Derting, The Sky Is Everywhere by Jandy Nelson, Thirteen Reasons Why, by Jay Asher, The Duff, by Kody Keplinger, If I Stay by Gayle Foreman, and the book everyone should own, Speak, by Laurie Halse Anderson . These are all great books--and 4 of them are hardcovers, dear friends--so don't delay! When my blog reaches 150 followers, a random drawing from comments to THIS POST will name the winner.

Because I'm feeling SUPER generous, this contest is open to anyone, anywhere, and heck let's make it THREE books instead of two!

So, please leave a comment saying which ~~two~~ three books you'd LOVE to have, along with a way to contact you. Best of luck, and if you're not already following my blog, why not? We have lots of fun over here, and I occasionally post something witty or helpful to boot!

Are you ready? Contest begins...now!

So it seems...I have an agent!

2011-06-08T09:36:00.005-04:00

Yep. You read that title right. Really! It's true! I pinched myself and everything.

I waited for someone to say it was a practical joke. I paced nervously and hounded my inbox for a "Woops, I changed my mind," email. I tried not blather on like an idiot when I received "the call." And guess what? None of my worries came true. (Well, okay, that third one is debatable, but *cough* let's move on.)

I am ecstatic and ever so proud to announce that I am now represented by the amazing Karen Grencik of Red Fox Literary. Karen is a generous, warm person who (to steal a line from my awesome agency sister Julie Musil), "immediately felt like an old friend." We clicked, and any nerves I felt quickly melted away. Karen really believes in me and my YA Romantic Suspense novel. I'm thrilled to be working with her.

I'm celebrating this victory with all of you. The next step in a loooong journey. I'm EXTREMELY grateful to all who have supported, encouraged, cheered, read, critiqued, hugged, complimented, and urged me to never give up. It's not over, it's only the beginning, so I hope you'll continue along with me as I will with you, no matter what point on the road you find yourself. I understand. I'll be there for you. I'm afraid to name names and possibly miss someone, so THANK YOU to everyone who made time for me even when they were busy! I'm humbled and I treasure you. Thank you, thank you, thank you for sharing this with me!

Weeeee *throws skittles* (and of course I caught them in my mouth...wouldn't want to waste good candy)

XOXOXO

Michele

Are You Your Own Ghost Writer?

2011-06-02T23:10:00.000-04:00

This funny thing keeps happening to me, and it's happening all the time. I think there's a ghost living in my house, or maybe my computer, and it sneaks around writing things, waiting for me to find them. Yesterday, I opened a file and found ten pages I thought I'd written sometime in the last week.

I read, and I wasn't so sure.

I leaned into the screen, reading feverishly. I hit page ten, and when the screen went blank, I screamed, "What? No! What happens next?"

It took me a second, but then I remembered, "Oh, yeah, I haven't written it yet." During those ten pages, I became lost, as if reading a new book off a shelf. I really had to remind myself, "I promise, you DID write this."

At first, I was slightly disturbed, grumbling to myself, "Okay, wacko, you really need to start sleeping more." But, after a quick berating, I realized something great.

I'm getting better.

Every time I sit to write, it's turning into better work, the kind of improvement brought on by lots and lots of practice. I'll always be my own worst critic. That's why this realization is BIG. I see growth within myself as a writer, enough that I'm publicly willing to admit it. Those thoughts that seemed great in my head but came out all yucky on paper are finally making the trip in the right order. I used to fix them after many, many revisions and I see no time where I won't be an endless reviser, but for a first draft? This rocks better than anything I've ever done! I know it's an evolving discipline which has plenty of room for a better sentence here, or a snazzier hook there, and that's okay. I'll never stop trying to improve.

It's just so joyful to take this step, like holding a piece of confidence in my hand, the kind we all need to keep going in one of the hardest businesses out there. It seems the ghost is actually me, and I think it sneaks in and plants those words when the crazy busy part of my brain shuts down and (finally) takes a break. I think I like my ghost. We're going to be friends.

It's fun. We all need a little haunting. And we all need those moments where we say, "Wow! I don't suck!'

So, let me ask, has it happened to you yet? Have you met your ghost, or will I be going to the booney lin alone?

PS: Don't make me go alone! I want to party in the crazy with friends! I'll even bring the snacks!

Always Go For the Leather

2011-05-24T15:00:00.010-04:00

If you're looking for a post about bondage or something related, sorry, that's not what I mean. I'm talking about the process of choosing your next story idea! I know, I'm mean like that, teasing and all.

Anyway, on to my topic. Maybe ideas come to you one at time. You sit, work on them, finish, and go to the next. Oh, if it only happened that way for me!

I get story ideas, if not daily, at least 2-3 times a week. I jot notes in my phone, then give those notes a working title and a file when I'm able. Sometimes I write a page or 5 just to get the idea going since I may not look at it again for months.

So recently, the time came to pick which one I wanted to work on next. Which one had the potential to go the distance and become a full novel. Which one seemed fresh and different. Which one screamed, "Pick me!"

It was hard to decide, because I have a certain like for all of them, but then I thought about how I pick furniture. For the longest time I wanted leather furniture, but it seemed like a lot of money to spend when something else might "do." Ick. I hate things that "do." I want excitement, fun, and to take a few risks. So, I broke down and shelled out the cash for some really nice furniture that my dogs and/or kids might ruin. Guess what? BEST. DECISION. EVER. My furniture is so comfy and beautiful, it makes me giddy. I'm glad I went for it, even if it's taken a few beatings from said kids and dogs. It's holding up to the insanity.

When I looked over my story ideas, I thought, hmm, which one excites me, makes me happy, feels a little risky, and poses a challenge the most? I hashed out the ideas with my librarian friend until I finally hit on the right one. I opened up the file to 3 typed pages and fell in love with the foundation I set several weeks ago. It's a go.

I won't say what it's about just yet, but I'm excited. No making "do." I'm going for the leather!

How about you, writer friends? How do you choose your next story?

The Well

2011-05-15T16:03:00.001-04:00

I guest posted last week for my good friend, Draven Ames, with my short story, The Well. With all the blogger issues (people not being able to get to the site, comments wiped out, etc.) I decided to post it here for anyone who may have missed it! I hope you enjoy.

The Well

After Momma got sick, I took over most of her chores. I became a decent cook, learning to use every part of the game Daddy brought home. I did just fine cleaning, too, with our homemade tools and Momma’s solutions. Most importantly, I fetched water. My arms grew stronger from hauling buckets day after day.

I took to borrowing Momma’s coat, warmer than mine, for daily treks to the well. Nearing fourteen, I stood as tall as her, and the worn sleeves hit my wrists just so. I used her special combs, too. They kept long strands of hair from blowing in my face on windy days.

Daddy always said we were to drink only from our well, never trust another, and he knew best. His barrel arms and broad shoulders made me feel safe, but his mind, oh, how his mind worked. That’s what really kept me safe. I longed to know all he did, nightly begging for stories by the fire. Sometimes he obliged, and I listened. I obeyed.

Until the well ran dry.

I didn’t want to tell him. Lately, his eyes had grown tired. With daylight shrinking and animals burrowing in for the winter ahead, food graced our table in smaller quantities week by week. The woods held its shrinking bounty of meat, berries, and nuts like a selfish hag.

No. I couldn’t tell him. Water was my job. Curing the lack of it fell to me. Alone.

After he left for the day, shotgun in hand, arrows sheathed on his back, I laced up my worn leather boots. I secured the combs, buttoned the coat’s two remaining buttons, and stuffed a crust of bread in my pocket.

This trip, longer than usual, required something for my hands. Momma’s light breathing in even spurts meant she slept—like always. I quickly rifled a drawer by her bedside, snatching a pair of wool socks in need of darning. I cut small holes for my fingers and grabbed another pair to wear over them.

The fire needed a few more logs to keep her warm in the cabin. I arranged them on top for a good long burn before I slipped out.

Wind nipped at my face as I closed and latched the door. I grabbed buckets from our splintered porch and balanced the handles in the crook of my arm. I knew where it was, the next closest well. No one used it.

Might even be dry. No, no, don’t think it.

The crisp air carried the scent of snow, though none fell, and the cloud-filled sky looked wrong. Swirling gray puffs moved too quickly, unnaturally fast. A nice knit cap would have helped, but Momma no longer knit. Not that it mattered. We had little wool to knit with.

I should have walked past, but I stopped anyway, a butterfly of hope fluttering in my heart.

I had to check our well one last time.

Nothing.

“Please,” I yelled into the hollow tunnel. The tear escaping my cheek provided the only water at the bottom. My voice echoed up, and I threw my socked hands over my ears to muffle it.

The air stirred and I turned to whistles through the pines. Rustling leaves. Movement.

“Hello?” I called.

Nothing.

I wiped a drip from my nose and started for the path, remembering the way. Daddy showed me once, but only as a warning of where not to go. That warm day, so beautiful with wildflowers blooming and warm breezes tickling my skin became a tour of the outlying area. He set my boundaries for play and work—where I could go, what I could touch, what we were allowed to eat. Daddy’s good nature made the day fun, while I understood the purpose of everything he said.

I figured he never expected the well to run dry. Neither did I.

But it did.

More light crept across the sky, struggling to break the billowing waves of clouds, but our thick tree cover fought to keep it out completely. I worked with the path, moving through openings, turning sideways when needed, and gently moving branches to leave it as undisturbed as I found it.

A song floated through the treetops. A bird? But what a strange sound it made. Lovely soft notes, closer to a child’s voice than that of a bird. As I moved in further, a small parting of branches above allowed a sliver of sky to drift into my vision. The bird flew past, not once, but twice, cooing the song, almost as if dropping it down the hole in the trees to only me. I shivered, taking five more steps.

And there it was.

The well.

I stayed back a good ten feet, unsure why I didn’t walk straight to it. The bird, black as pitch, circled overhead and lilted his song again. I knelt and rested the buckets on the ground. I removed one of the socks, sifting dry grass and brush for a pebble until a brown speckled one appeared. A light toss landed it in the center, and a plop echoed up. My taught shoulders eased as I imagined the small ripple—tiny waves forcing one after another to the sides.

Water.

The other sock came off with a tug and I picked up the buckets. Plenty of water and not much farther than our well. Not so far that I couldn’t make it, and one less worry for Daddy.

Though the bitter day numbed nearly every part of me, the walk left me thirsty. When I leaned at the edge of the well, a small ladle hanging from a string threw off a glint from its silver surface. I glanced up, catching the hurried clouds closing a gap of sun that had opened for less than a second. I studied the ladle again, then jerked around, pricked by the...nothingness.

Silence.

No bird. Winds stopped. Clouds immobile. Pure quiet.

Fuzzy thoughts floated around me, falling away when one sharp desire choked them—water. My chapped lips longed for liquid, the ache in my throat creating fissures that snaked down my chest.

Still thirsty. So thirsty. One drink, then fill the buckets. Plenty of time before Daddy gets back.

Daddy. The thought stopped me; I hadn’t heard a single shot since he left. But thirst overtook my unease.

I tied the rope to a bucket and threw it in. Pain seared my mouth and up through my nostrils, a dryness worse than any I recalled from the hottest summer day. The bucket clanked the stone walls, finally breaking the surface. I waited five seconds, then ten before pulling hand over hand. The bucket’s weight soon grew beyond my strength. I couldn’t understand it, a single bucket feeling so heavy. One of the combs loosened from my hair and fell, clicking twice against the stone before hitting the water. I briefly mourned the loss, but I needed to drink. Grunts and sobs spewed from me with each painful yank.

I paused, breathing in short gasps, trying to ignore the burn strangling my arm muscles. Resting my head to my wrist brought the images.

Momma would go first, then me, then Daddy. Weakest to strongest, but all succumbing. Dehydrating, starving…dying.

No.

I straightened, one final burst left. The bucket swayed and scraped the wall, halting when I hoisted it to the ledge.

For the first time in weeks, I smiled.

Beautiful, clear water, glistening like a mirror, gathered in the bucket. My sallow complexion reflected back. I took the ladle and dipped it full. Though it weighed little compared to the bucket, my spent strength made lifting it a chore.

Midway, a forearm’s length from my mouth, the ladle moved as though pushed from beneath. Effortless. My wilting arm no longer mattered. I tipped the first drops and they splashed my tongue, exploding moisture down my throat. Warming sensations oozed outward; clear to my frozen fingers and toes. I gulped, finished the ladle, and filled it again.

I blinked, a sudden energy overtaking my blood, pulsing it with force.

My strength returned, but different. Not renewed—better. I searched my reflection again. Me, yes, but healthy, beautiful—glowing. I wanted to run, jump, dance.

But I needed to get this water to Momma. Maybe she could heal. Maybe with this water we didn’t even need food. The strength, the power it gave me, surged like none I’d ever known. I lowered the second bucket, this time with ease. It came back up in seconds with the slightest tug.

I wanted another look at my reflection, my perfection. Wanted proof I hadn’t imagined the change. The water stilled and I gasped. A hideous creature with eyes of burning yellow and fangs meant to maim glared back. The hairy gnarled hand that touched my cheek sent a spark over my face.

A hideous reflection, but suddenly second in worry to my thirst. The yearning returned, yet altered. This pull, aching to the tips of my new hairs, came as a deep longing—uncontrollable. It required more than water. It lusted for bones, flesh, and blood.

The black bird circled once more, its song changed. A mournful tune trilled as its spiral flight came lower and lower. I turned, watching it dip and collapse at my feet with a final, strangled chirp. I knelt, wondering if the small creature could be the first to quench my need.

I reached for its feathered head, and a crack shot up my back, forcing me forward on my elbows. Blood dripped from my mouth, dotting the bird’s frozen eye. My limbs went numb. Life was draining from me; I felt it cascade outward on a swift, but gentle current.

“Cassie,” he said. I searched out his voice with my eyes, the only part of me I could move. My crumpled body shook without permission. “Oh, Cassie,” he said, with tears in his eyes. “You drank. I told you never to drink....”

I squinted through the gun smoke wafting into the sky and growled. But the creature departed me as I exhaled one last breath and whispered, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Where In The World Is Michele?

2011-05-11T08:11:00.000-04:00

Hey, friends!

This week, I'm guest posting for my good friend Draven Ames over at his blog, Another Slightly Scary Story. Please go here and read the short story I wrote titled, The Well. If you feel so inclined, please comment. If you like Draven's place, please follow, and you can also find him on Twitter @Dravenames.

Have a great week!

Don't Choke The Voice From Your Voice

2011-05-04T09:25:00.000-04:00

Ah, the elusive "voice" in writing. Everyone wants to know exactly what it is and how to get it, yet it seems all we can go by is an outsider saying we've got it or we don't.

This is only my opinion, but I think if your characters instantly gel to the reader, connecting and becoming immediately recognizable no matter what page of your book, you've got it. If the vibe of your story sets a tone, creating a world the reader escapes into and doesn't want to leave, you've got it. If you evoke all manner of emotion from your reader, you've got it.

So, great, awesome...you've got voice!

But, did you know you can lose it? Yep, and it's too damn easy. It can happen by:

1. Going against your gut. If you're a plotter trying to pants, or a pantser trying to plot, the stress can suck out your creativity. I'm a panster, needing to let the words flow as they want, allowing situations and characters to evolve and layer over time. It's not for everyone, but if I try to make notecards, outlines, and plot, plot, plot, I get irritated, stiff, and may as well be writing a textbook.

2. Following too many writing rules. Now, I'm not saying rules aren't good, but if I NEVER break one of the so-called "rules" (Don't start sentences with and or but, don't end in prepositions, you know the rest, blah, blah, blah...) guess what? Yup, back in textbook land. I need fragments, natural speech patterns, maybe a run-on sentence, who knows? Whatever works is what I need, not whatever is accepted as correct.

3. Too much feedback from too many different people. It's confusing, and if I try to be a pleaser, taking all these opinions into account and working them in, before I know it, there's nothing left of that original voice that was ME! I'm guilty, believe me. I've gone back, redoing a lot of things after changes turned some of my work into a stranger's. Feedback it great, but feel it out. Pick and choose carefully.

4. Refusing to kill a darling. Sometimes a character or scene just doesn't work. I know, I know, but you LOOOOVE it. I have come to realize that it may not be right at the time, for that story, or at all. If it's straining or changing your voice, cut it. One out of whack area can really throw a reader off. But, here's a secret: don't kill that darling, just put it in a drawer. You never know when it might be perfect somewhere else. I just learned that one recently. Do you know how happy I was to see my darling again? It's crazy, because I put it back in the same story, but in a different place after said darling napped for over a year in a file! My story, character, even I had changed, and that little gem (well, in my eyes, anyway) fit perfectly and stayed true to my voice. And hey, if you never use it again , you can still pull it from the drawer and give it smooches and loving gazes every now and again.

So, fear not writer friends. Find your voice, nurture it, and if you see any of these voice stealers lurking nearby, choke them before they choke you. It's YOUR story. Stay true.

Six Things That Changed Me

2011-04-27T00:24:00.003-04:00

I had a weird week...or maybe a normal week, but I took more notice of what was happening. I'm not sure. But this I know: six things changed me in some way. I gained knowledge, experienced emotions good and bad, took another step in existing. So maybe that's a normal week, yet this one, hmmm, I don't know. I felt like someone was tapping me on the shoulder, saying, "Look. Tune in. This is life."

1. Someone I hadn't seen in years passed away. The hardest part is that I know his parents quite well and they are suffering. They aren't in good shape physically, and I'm afraid of what this will do to them.

2. Someone I don't know all that well told me I'm important to her. It's hard to explain how that made me feel--worthy, accepted, slightly more confident...just better.

3. I curled up in a ball on the floor with one of my dogs and watched him sleep. He isn't supposed to live through the summer, and I just wanted to be next to him, scratching his chest the way he loves it. I became acutely aware of the ticking clock in that moment and let my "to do" list go for an hour.

4. I observed not one, but two young girls, proudly showing off their shiny new engagement rings at church on Easter Sunday. They both had the glow of young love and possibilities on their faces. I don't know either of them, but I wish them well. I hope they can get through the challenging times, and that those times balance out with the good. All marriages have both.

5. I sat with a friend and felt helpless. She is in her 90's and suffering tremendous guilt because her family has to take care of her. I learned that sometimes, the best thing you can do for someone is simply listen. I wanted to somehow fix it, but I couldn't. I let her cry, reassured her as best I could, and I listened.

6. I found a note on my pillow in scrawly seven-year-old handwriting that said, "I love you so much I can't stand it."

...and then, nothing else mattered. The rest of the world melted away.

How about you, friends? Anything happen this week that gave you pause? Made you stop for a minute and take notice?

Are Your Readers Dead? Follow the Excitement Scale

2011-04-20T12:34:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I hauled my butt out of the house. Really. I showered, dressed--that whole thing normal people do every day. I went to our newly renovated library (which is beautiful, by the way) and browsed writing books for a few hours.

I've been stuck in a rut, and I was looking for a piece of wisdom or inspiration. After I completed my requisite people watching, I picked up a slim volume titled You can Write a Novel, by James V. Smith, Jr. I really enjoyed this book as it was full of concise information, though it was heavy on plotting (um, have you met me?).

Mr. Smith follows the Master Story Model, known by many other names, such as the 3-Act Structure. His chart breaks down the 3 acts with rising and falling action at 9 different points. Most people are familiar with this or some variation. But here is where I had an aha moment when looking at the graph: The Excitement Scale.

The graph looks something like this:

Master Story Model

                         Act 1                                          Act 2       Act 3
       Point 1,2,3                                 Point 4,5,6,7,8       Point 9

The EX Scale

Thrilled                                                                                                     8
Excited          1        3                  5          7
Interested            2                                            4           6                                    9
Bored
Napping
Sleeping
Out Cold
Comatose
Dead

Following this guideline, a story should never fall below the top 3 spots on the excitement scale. This got me thinking about when I'm writing/editing, and slogging through certain areas saying, "I just want to get to the good part." Woops. Oh yeaaaaah! Wait a minute. ALL of the parts are supposed to be good. If I'm so bored I can't stand writing or editing a section it has NO business in my ms. This tends to happen with backstory and details we writers think are necessary, but maybe they aren't too BAM KAPOW.

After studying this chart, I'm reminding myself that even the smallest, most boring detail can be exciting and interesting if presented in the right way, and it should. I have no excuse not to make it so. As I start a shiny new wip, this idea will be foremost in my mind.

What about you, friends? Does every part of your story stay above the bored line?

Have You Reached A New Level of Rejection?

2011-04-11T13:21:00.000-04:00

People say you shouldn't blog or tweet about your queries, partials, fulls, and their subsequent rejections. *whispers* You don't want anyone to know someone turned you down. In one sense, I can see a certain wisdom in that thinking, and I have no plans to post my stats as a running commentary. But, I certainly won't pretend I've never been rejected. Honestly, I think I'd be asking for a beating if I did, and even the best writers of the world have been rejected, so why not own up to it? I HAVE BEEN REJECTED! There. I said it. Okay, I shouted it, but I wanted to make sure you heard.

Rejections are never fun, and everyone deals with them differently, but even as individuals, we go through a variety of stages including hurt, frustration, anger, annoyance, and despair. Today, though, I feel amazing. I'm smiling! Why?

I received a rejection.

How can that make me happy, you ask? Because I reached a new level in the rejection game. Instead of feeling any or all of the above listed emotions, I laughed at this most recent rejection. The first part of the letter was very poorly written. A certain someone had a fondness for the word your, and your, and your, and your...you get what I mean. And after the signature line...wait for it...came a pitch for me to check out a writing "how to" book written by someone at the agency. I didn't feel like I dodged a bullet with this one, more like a giant missile! I was so turned off, it was a relief to put a big fat X on my list next to this agency's name. They are most definitely not for me. I won't say who the letter writer was or name the agency, my goal isn't to spread juicy gossip...aaannnd, I just lost half of the people reading this. For the other half of you, thanks for sticking around!

My point is, I never thought I'd get to where I could laugh (and I mean loudly and heartily) at a rejection. It's a huge step for me. A turning point and a sign of growth. My tender heart has built up the necessary scar tissue, or at least a start. Who knows what will happen next time (though I'd love to believe there won't be a next time), but for now, I'm calling this one a win. I'll take one whenever I can get it.

What about you, writer friends? How do you handle rejection?

Do you Write Ugly?

2011-04-04T14:33:00.000-04:00

Every morning when I wake my son for school, the first thing I do is pick up his horribly smudged glasses and clean them. It's not that he can't do it, but he refuses to care about such things. By the time he steps off the bus several hours later, those once clear lenses are in dire need of another mist and polish.

The other day I asked him to remove his specs for another round of cleaning, and he complied, squinting into bright sunlight streaming through our 8ft slider. I took the glasses, but stopped, staring in awe at the light glinting off greens, golds, and a few flecks of brown in his eyes. The three colors melded into waves, mixing as he tilted his head in confusion.

"What is it, Mommy?" he asked.

"Your eyes," I whispered, "they're so beautiful."

I kept staring, and finally, the truth crystallized.

His eyes are exactly like mine. Exactly. Yet, I've always thought of my own as unremarkable, sometimes even ugly. So how can this be? How can I look into eyes the same as my own and see something completely different? Why does the beauty blur?

Because no one is a harsher judge on me, than me.

The same thing happens in my writing. I read books, short stories, poems by other people and think, "Wow, that was great. Crap, I need to give up on this writing thing. I'll never be any good." We've all done it--played the comparison game--and deemed our own writing as having been hit with the ugly stick. I, you, WE, need to stop it.

This doesn't mean we shouldn't seek to improve. Or stop revising, rewriting...whatever our work needs to be the best. But do we ever see ourselves clearly? Or is the voice of doubt always winning, hanging over our shoulder and waiting for a weak spot to grab? Only you can answer that question for yourself. I have a tendency to see everything I've done wrong, and not give myself credit for the parts that are pretty darn terrific. Not wise, and very self-destructive. So, I'm pledging to do better, searching for the good, while trying to balance it with the ultra realistic side of me. My goal is to clear my vision. Get focused.

I can write. I know I can. If I keep at it, something great may turn up in print with my name on it one day. Sometimes I just need a little reminder, Windex to clean the smears.

What about you, friends? Do you see yourselves clearly? If not, it's time. Let's find the good together.

Publishing Secret...Shh! Your Readers Know How to Read

2011-03-28T10:36:00.000-04:00

I don't claim to be an expert on anything. Well, okay, maybe an expert klutz. I'm good at accidentally injuring myself. The current state of my left knee and ankle are proof. But as for the rest of life and the universe, I'm a constant student. I like to share what I've learned, and details in books beating me over the head have been, as of late, well, beating me over the head.

I've had the privilege to beta read and critique quite a bit, and one of the problems I see happening frequently (in my own ms as well, though I *think* this was corrected) is repeated information. You see, we authors have a LOT going on in our heads. Our stories have twists, turns, layers, foreshadowing, and boatloads of details.

We make the mistake of repeating for many reasons.

Sometimes we get insecure. "Did I explain that well enough?"

Sometimes we get tired. "Hmmm, did I put that back in chapter 2? Ah well, let's stick in again. Just in case."

Sometimes we forget.

But most of the time, IMHO, our thought process is "No one will remember that the car was white, not red, unless I say it a few more times. They won't get the connection. I MUST KEEP EXPLAINING." Or, "This is so complicated, I have to spell it out."

Really? If it's THAT complicated, I'd either love to decipher it on my own, or it's too ridiculous and boring to bother.

One of my regular comments to friends I read for is, "Got it. It's all in the memory bank." That goes double if the story is one I REALLY get into. I'm paying attention.

So here is my non-expert advice: Give your readers credit. They like to read. They know how to read. If you keep pounding certain thoughts or ideas into their heads, they're likely to get frustrated, or worse, annoyed.

Please, authors, say it once and challenge your readers. Think of them as the intelligent people they are. They must be, right? After all, they chose YOUR book to read, and that automatically makes them members of the smart cookies club.

How about it friends? Guilty of being a "repeat" offender? (Okay, I know...groan on that one. I gave myself 10 lashes.)

Tumble

2011-03-22T16:22:00.008-04:00

A poem about the power of words to hurt

Lies and shadows
Beautiful words

Seductive

A poison brought

Woven through
Realities seams
Stealthy
Seldom caught

Lightly singing
Carrying subtle strength
Arcing
While shredding
Just beneath

Stripped of healing
Camouflaged venom

Biting

Silent, sharp teeth

Building on wind
Whispering more

Bloating

A fragile mind

Sprouting through cracks
Shooting arrows

Piercing

A gentle heart blind

End over end
Tossing a pebble

Careless

When they stumble

Kicking what's left
Over the edge

Blank faced

Watch your prey tumble

Do You Know When To Close The Book?

2011-03-15T00:44:00.000-04:00

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.~lyrics from Closing Time-Semisonic>> Listen here

Sometimes, endings are hard. Maybe for a good reason, like typing "the end" on your manuscript. Or maybe for an unpleasant reason, such as a friendship damaged beyond repair. Either way, how do you know when it's time?

With a manuscript, you add, polish, work off of crit notes, revise, revise, revise, (or in my case, practically rewrite the entire thing). A first draft becomes a second, then third, maybe fourth. At some point, you have to call it done and let the querying begin. Still, it's hard to let go. So how did I know I was done? Well, (A) I started making changes, then changing it back to the way I had it. I knew I was wasting time fiddling when I needed to leave it alone. (B) I almost can't stand to read it anymore. Honestly, I'm BURNT on this story. And finally (guaranteed no one will like this answer), (C) I just knew. Sound like a cop out? Maybe, but it's true. Sure, I'll make changes if need be, I'll tweak the occasional word choice that rubs me wrong, but I finally hit that point where I felt confident enough to query. It took me fifteen months and three drafts. If an agent or editor wants changes, I'm open to suggestions, but while I wait, I'm ready to start writing something new.

Friendships, I find that one so much harder. How do you know when to let go? How do you cut someone from your life? Just as I had to let go of my ms in the last few months, so has a friendship hit its final chapter. I'm saddened. So saddened. I should have let it go long before now, yet I hung on. I questioned whether it was time, what I should have done differently, why I wasn't good enough. Again, wasted time. When someone can't see beyond themselves, they'll never see you. In this case, the answer came down to the same feeling as my ms. I just knew. Problem was, I didn't want to admit it. With friends, it's harder to close the book. But I will. I must. I deserve better.

My advice is this: No matter what ending you are approaching, think it through, tune into your own feelings, sense the vibrations that lead the way. The answers are there. If you listen, you'll know when it's time.

Do you have a letting go story? Please share it. I'd be honored.

Raising the Stakes: Superficial Cuts, or Plunge the Knife Deep and Twist?

2011-03-08T12:31:00.003-05:00

Everyone knows, no matter what type of book they are writing, tension in some form propels the story. The levels of tension, or raising the stakes, vary in the ebb and flow of your story, but the question is, can you be mean to your mc? I'm talking about being REALLY mean, making them suffer.

I took a class last spring and one of my classmates admitted in the first session that she had a hard time making her characters struggle. The instructor asked her, "If everything goes perfectly for your character, why do I care? How can I connect and root for them?" So far, I think I've made most of my characters suffer quite a bit, but honestly, I think I need to do more.

I always try to learn from everyday situations, because I feel if I can infuse that knowledge into my characters and story, the believability of it will increase. I learned a lot from my travels last weekend. Sure, DFWcon was awesome, but I think I learned more about raising the stakes from my two "interesting" plane trips. I put my mc into my shoes, and thought about the sequence of events. The layers of tension kept adding and rippling. See what you think...

Here's what I had going against me:

Had to leave VERY early. (Strike one, not much of a morning person.)
Had to drive in the dark. (Poor night vision)
There was a blizzard going on.
I left the house with enough time to get there under "normal" road conditions

So, already, there was tension!

As I drove and repeatedly checked the minutes ticking by closer to my flight time, cars looking like flipped toys lay everywhere in the ditches. Yikes! *bites nails* Would I make it on time?

The blizzard conditions grew worse and I had to drive at a near crawl for a while. Let's just say, there *might* have been some cussing going on at this point.

Minutes still ticking...tick, tick, tick.

I had forty minutes until my flight, I wasn't positive where the new airport was, and then there was the pesky security line to get through. Damn! More tension!

But, a break! The weather started to ease up and the sun was considering shedding a wee bit of light on the situation. Finally, I was able to speed up. Guess what? BAM! I came upon a ton of traffic full of people who acted like they'd never seen snow...and I was down to twenty-five minutes before my flight!

At this point, no *might* about the cussing. I was positive I would miss the flight. Tension times ten!

I was muttering at myself, yelling at other drivers..."Where's the damn exit, anyway? Oh, crap, like it matters..."

But, wait! There was the exit! And the airport was RIGHT THERE! I could see it. "Get the hell out of my way, people!" **I'm normally a really nice person, btw.

I floored it over to the airport, decided to spring for long term parking because it's a lot closer, and hallelujah, the shuttle guy was there when I got out of my car! Woot! I thought maybe there was hope! Eighteen minutes to flight.

But, no! Layers, remember? I needed another challenge! The shuttle crept ( I mean CA-REPT) away, and this nervous dude on the shuttle asked why were moving so slow. The driver chuckled, " Don't know. Can't seem to git 'er to shift and go any faster." Nervous dude had a flight the same time as mine. Believe me, we locked eyes. Evil thoughts transpired.

"I'm cooked," I thought. "No way will I make it."

But, the thought fled when we pulled up to the doors. "Damn it, I'm running. I'm not giving up until the last second." So, I ran. I nearly knocked someone down and got a dirty look. Eleven minutes left. I had the scan and pat down at security, almost forgot my laptop in the security bin, and broke into a sweat sprinting to my gate. Eight minutes left.

I saw my gate, "Yes! There it is." And...no one was there. Not a soul. My flight was at 7:55 am and it was 7:50. Heart...sank. Game over? NO! This is a thudding pulse story! Add another layer!

My head was hanging, but movement caught my eye. I saw someone down the ramp. I waved frantically and he ran to the door. "Can I still get on?" I asked, out of breath.

"Yes," he replied, "but you have to run. They're about to close the door. There's no room in the cabin for your suitcase so you have to check it. Give it to the lady by the door. Now go! Run!"

So, I did. I ran, threw my suitcase at the baggage lady, and they closed the door behind me. The plane was completely full and I had to do the walk of shame to the back of the plane to my seat...the only empty one. Whew! I made it! It was a tension-filled scene! I learned a lot from that, and plan to use it in my writing from now on. No more superficial cuts. I plan to plunge the knife and twist!

And in case you're wondering, we sat on the runway for forty-five minutes after that.

Tell me friends, how do you raise the stakes for your characters?

Oh, and PS: The ride back was EVEN BETTER, if you can believe that. Stay tuned...

DFWcon: Plotting, Social Media and...Chocolate Covered Raisins

2011-03-01T10:58:00.000-05:00

Hello everyone! Yep, I lived through DFWcon, though it was touch and go during travel in both directions, but that's enough to fill another blog post. I had a great time, met some wonderful people, and learned a LOT! I can't possibly list it all here, but I'll give you the highlights and link you up in a big way to some great sites.

Let me start by thanking Jeff Posey and all of the MANY volunteers who put on a great conference in Dallas.

Saturday, I attended a rapid fire session on plot led by agent Weronika Janczuk of D4EO Literary. You can find Weronika on twitter @weronikajanczuk and helpful hints on her blog here. Some of the points that really stuck out to me were: 1.) Your first novel likely won't, and probably shouldn't be the one that gets published. 2.) You should spend at least 5-6 months on revisions to tighten after you write a novel. 3.) Your characters must act, be sympathetic, have a difficult journey, be imperfect. 4.) Eliminate mundane day to day activities and fake tension 5.) Be sure to engage all characters and keep increasing the stakes. There was SO much more, and Weronika packed it into an hour. I highly recommend visiting her blog.

The Gong Show was a highlight. Queries were read aloud to five agents who gonged out the query as soon as they would have stopped reading. Roni Loren wrote a great post on what we all learned from this exercise, and believe me, it was eye opening. You can find her on Twitter @RoniLoren and find her amazing post here.

I pitched *gulp* and it actually went very well. The organization of the pitch sessions impressed me. The volunteers did a great job of keeping time and making it fair for all.


This is where we sat to wait and "attempted" to calm each other down.

Jamie Harrington led an informative session on social media called Pay It Forward. Her suggestions were to try out Twitter, make a facebook fan page, and USE them. The best use of these tools is to be friendly, helpful, and generous when it comes to communicating and promoting your colleagues. Jamie also suggested forming a group with other writers who are close to the same stage as yourself in the publishing journey. I agree! The support garnered from these groups is priceless. You can find Jamie on Twitter @jamieharrington and read her blog here.

Elana Roth, an agent with the Caren Johnson Literary Agency led a fantastic session on queries and put us through the exercise of reading 20 real queries in fifteen minutes. We were allowed to request five from the stack. All I can say is, wow! Nothing has ever done more to drive home how important a short, snappy query is when you are seeking publication. Tight is an understatement when it comes to the wording needed in our queries. You can follow Elana on Twitter @ElanaRoth and at the Johnson Literary site, which you can find here.

There was loads of other info, and lucky for you guys, everyone from DFWcon wants to share. If you're on Twitter, search the hashtag #DFWcon, and have a good pen ready.

I also recommend going to the DFWcon website for info on all of the many wonderful agents/editors/publishing professionals who attended. I've never been among such a diverse and fantastic crowd at a conference. You can find that site here.

This conference had it all, including chocolate covered raisins. When I felt tired and on the verge of crankyville, the good old raisnette came to the rescue, and really, what's more important than chocolate?

So you see...it was all good.

Why YOU should be excited that I'm going to DFWcon

2011-02-24T09:08:00.000-05:00

It's conference time, friends! Can I get a hell, yeah?

I'm setting out THIS Friday for DFWcon (That's the Dallas/Ft. Worth Writers Conference in case you didn't know.) I have to leave wayyyyy early. Did I mention I live an hour from the airport? Well, I do, so there you go. Put that together with my early flight time, being there an hour early for the ~~feel up~~ security check, and extra time for random "where am I going/what am I doing" time suck, and I will be leaving in the dark. Did I also mention that my night vision is, ummmm, poor? Yup, it is. Going to be a fun drive. Just in case you thought I'd likely make it unscathed and on time anyway, it's supposed to be snowing.

Suitcase and laptop...check!

Anyway, I'll get there, and then...let the FUN begin. And why, you ask, should this excite YOU? Well, so glad you asked. You should already be quivering in anticipation of my PCP. No, I'm not talking about drugs, I mean the Post-Conference-Post!

I'll be taking every available class and scribbling entire legal pads worth of notes. I'll be meeting agents and editors, swapping stories and information with fellow authors, and absorbing every drop of knowledge I can. And you, dear friends, will hear ALL about it when I return. Please come back for an EPIC PCP!

And psst, just so you know, there might possibly be pictures...and cookies. Okay, maybe just pictures.

Have a great week, friends. If you are going to DFWcon, please say hi. Can't wait to meet you!

The Bracelet

2011-02-17T12:05:00.000-05:00

I wrote a post a few months ago about my love of YA books and my long memory when it comes to the teen years. My good friend Alyson Peterson (intern extraordinaire for Pande Literary, see her awesome blog here), loooves my teen stories. Honestly, she LOVES them. She's been begging me to post one for, well, forever, so AP, this is for you. This being the week for lovers sending Valentines, I present a story somewhat rooted in the holiday cherished by many and abhorred by more...

The Bracelet

The year was...nevermind, the year isn't really important. Let's just say it was back when George Michael burst on to the scene and you know, before his bathroom "situation." I was in high school, age seventeen to be exact, and I had a boyfriend. Let's call him John. John didn't go to my school. Actually, John didn't go to school at all. He was a dropout with some "trouble" to his name, no drivers license, and an affinity for Pall Mall cigarettes. (yes, filter-less) I know, right? Winner! Who wouldn't be going for this? Damn, I could pick 'em! But see, John had a certain charm, a certain dark Italian look about him, and a very certain like for me, which was about all he needed at that point.

I met John when we worked together at a restaurant, though we didn't speak much until attending a party full of co-workers one night. Beers were consumed, John referred to me as beautiful, and somehow, after that ta-da: coupleland. We dated for a few months, and then came the biggie in any teen relationship, Valentines Day. *swoon* I used my hard-earned cash to buy John an ID bracelet. *snort* I know! Remember those? That's right, buddy, a linked sterling silver monument to our love. This was the real thing, baby. I paid EXTRA for engraving. The top bore simple block letters with his name. A good idea, now that I look back. He probably needed a reminder...idiot. But anyway, ahem, where was I?

Oh yes, the engraving. I'd give anything to remember what I had engraved on the inside. I know we'd all have a good laugh. But, damn if I can remember. Yep, I'm old. Or, I may have possibly blocked it from my mind. Who knows? Just imagine a mushy saying of some sort with a high gag factor. So, I gave John the bracelet and he professed his love for me with a gold heart pendant. A tiny (I mean TINY, as in microscopic) diamond sat in the center. But, to me? Akin to the Hope diamond. I loved it.

And so it went. February passed into March, April, May, but the shine started to wear off our relationship (though not off my necklace. Real gold!). Many things led to our declining amour, but mainly, um, John? Jerkwad to the nth degree. Lo and behold, prom time approached, and it was assumed that John would go with me. Annnnd, here it comes...approximately one week prior to the big night, it happened: he ditched me, and not in person. The phone ditch. Ugh! But, not a sad development so much as an inconvenience for the prom. I wanted to ditch him yet lacked the guts.

Ever the trooper, I wrangled up a last minute prom date (I'm not sure about sharing the prom story, but FYI, it's one of Alyson's favorites. I mean EPIC.) and I heard that John had a new girlfriend...as in seconds from the moment of our break-up. (Ok, so obviously she was around PRIOR to our break-up, but whatevs) We'll call her Hannah. I found out about the two of them because she went to my school. I know what you're thinking, and I say, EXACTLY! This guy made the rounds! Ah, my first experience being dumped for a younger woman. (A junior to my senior status). Hideous, I tell you!

Oh, the drama! Horrors!

Alas, young love comes and goes, and obviously, I lived through it, but sometimes, even when you don't want someone anymore, rejection still hurts. Then you start to move on and forget about it until...those idiotic things you did come back to haunt you. The week after I got "the call" from John, I saw Hannah at school prancing past my locker, books in hand with her sleeves rolled up. See where this is going? You guessed it. She was wearing...drum roll please...the bracelet. The one I worked for...sweating and slaving, coming home reeking of grease for. Funny enough, every time sun glinted off that shiny metal, the sting I felt had nothing to do with jealousy.

Nope. I had one thought: "Damn, I worked hard for those tips! There's money I'll never see again."

Young love...ain't it grand? ;)

Murderous Thoughts: Becoming a Slasher

2011-02-09T09:44:00.003-05:00

I've always tried to be a good, law-abiding citizen, a helpful friend, a model employee. Oh, and did I mention organized? Yep, I can be ridiculously organized. My writing life is like another side of me. I'm a scattered, crazy person with word clouds constantly floating over my head. My excess wordage has always been a problem, so I have turned to the dark side. I'm a murderer.

My ms didn't want to go on a diet and work out, so I had to break out the machete and carve those abs. That pesky ms backtalks like you wouldn't believe. Tough love just wasn't working. I had no choice but to get violent. My bloated ms is now 40k words LESS than it was in the first draft. You read that right. Take a moment...40k.

Did I over describe, ramble on about nothing, use a wee too many adverbs? Yes! But my biggest problem was too many characters and subplots. More than one person told me it was a lot to keep up with, and they were right. So now, my trim, slim ms is in the final polishing stages, and I wanted to share an exercise that helped me along the way: The Six Word Story.

Every time I wanted to condense a scene or paragraph, I asked myself what point I needed to make, and which words didn't help me achieve that. Practicing six word stories helped me boil down essentials and cut wasted breaths for my readers. If you haven't heard of this, it's exactly what it sounds like, and it strikes fear into the hearts of us tree killers.

Ernest Hemingway wrote a complete story in six words: For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn.

If that doesn't blow you away, I don't know what will. Here are few examples I thought of (and I'm no Hemingway, people, so bear with me).

Popsicles dripping. Brows sweating. Tiny smiles.

Rose petals billow down. Closed casket.

Sirens. Barely muffled by thin walls.

She offers her heart. He declines.

When trying to come up with an entire story in six words, I saw that a few powerful punches say so much more than blathering on and on. Come on friends, give it a try. Please leave me a six word story!

And if I haven't told you lately how much you mean to me, here it is <33333

Blow

2011-02-01T01:56:00.003-05:00

A poem for all those who asked...Thank you

I'm held in your hand

Tightly

Winds swirl, ripples swell
Minutes tick
Time evaporates in a breath

Lightly

Grass sways, sky grays
Burning wick

You only want pieces of my

Soul

Cracked limbs, crushed leaves
None taken
Use up what serves your purpose
Whole
Spiral clouds, laddered rays
I'm forsaken

Shriveling more each day

Aching

Frozen flower, midnight shower
Silent mourn
All a twisted game

Shaking

Blackened rainbow with no end
Spirit torn

Running to exhaustion

Only

Lightning blazes, thunder cracks
Hazy glow
Will you release my

Lonely

Seeds resting on your palm
Just blow

Whipping the WIP

2011-01-23T23:06:00.000-05:00

Uncertainty screams at me

It calls me out

It steals my peace

Who am I in this crazy world

What can I offer you

-Lyrics from Made by Caleb Rowden

Uncertainty plagues me -- daily. I write and write, each moment wondering if it will ever be good enough. If anyone will ever care about anything I have to say. For a long time, I thought if I just kept it all to myself, I'd be safe. The day finally came when I realized I needed to share, even if anxiety swallowed me whole. I knew I wasn't living if I kept my secret.

Ever so slowly, I have shared my work, and look at me -- still alive, not even a broken bone. Only the occasional crack to my heart. When I received a full rejection with a revision letter back in September, it was a bummer, but also a bit of a relief. "Oh, good." I thought. "Now I can go back to my writing hole for a while and hide some more." And, other than blogging, that's what I did. I had an excuse, borrowed time not to put myself out there.

Guess what? Looks like time is nearly up. Tick tock. I have been revising/rewriting for months and *gasp* I'm almost done. The wip will be whipped within 4 weeks. I questioned whether or not I could put my story back together after hacking it to bits, but I dare say I have. I'm proud of it. I'm getting ready to stand in the sun, squinting and waiting with the rest of my fellow authors, begging for a sip of publishing refreshment. I'm hitting the 2011 query trail.

Am I peaceful right now? No. But, my heart still beats, I still have dreams, and I'll keep writing, hoping one day someone will share a little of my inner world and something about it will make them think, laugh, scream, or even cry. Hoping to make them feel. Books can be magical, taking you out of your everyday existence. Let's see if I've cast a spell...*fingers crossed*

If you're in the middle of querying or about to, raise your hand. If not, say hi anyway. I'd love to hear from you.

On Writing Naked and The Glamorous Life

2011-01-12T11:43:00.000-05:00

I heard a story the other day about a woman who experienced some trouble with her computer. As most of us would do, she rang up customer service of xyz computers (I can't remember which company it was) to ask about getting the problem fixed. The technician she spoke with said they needed permission to access her computer remotely (which she gave), so they could diagnose the problem.

Funny thing happened on the way to the repair shop. It seems a roomful of technicians were able to turn on the computer's camera to watch this woman (who happened to be naked), and well...a little party went down at geek central.

I don't know if this story is true, but it got me thinking about what kind of show someone would get if they watched through my computer's camera, and well, it ain't pretty. It's not because I write naked (which I don't because A. I'm cold all the time and B. I don't even like to see myself naked, much less having a stranger sneak a peek through my window.) No, it gets ugly around here, and honestly, just plain weird for other reasons on writing days.

1.) I'm usually in PJ's the entire day until I ~~feel like~~ am forced to leave the house. I may or may not be in Guiness pajama pants and a ratty hoodie at the moment. But, hey, I do balance it out with really cute underwear. My best friend's name is Victoria and she has a secret. Shhhh! My husband whole-heartedly approves of this friendship.

2.) If I'm going to be in PJ's, why wear make-up? As for hair, when I write, I constantly run my fingers through it, grab handfuls, and essentially have it sticking in a thousand directions all day. I'm a frustrated creative, people, I don't have time for good hair!

3.) Anyone watching would also find me talking to myself...a lot. When I'm struggling with a line or plot point, I have a little convo with myself, or possibly a character (that's not weird at all, right?), and sometimes said conversation escalates into a full blown argument. There are laughs, tears, you name it. I become a side show freak like you've never seen.

4.) My out in public dainty eating habits go down the tubes. I either forget to eat, or I'm scarfing chips and M&M's by the handful with crumbs trailing down the front of my shirt. Every now and again I blow across my laptop keys to rid the overflow. And, of course, if I've decided to down a Pepsi or two, do I really need to hold in that trucker belch if no one is around? Sexy, no?

5.) I zombie stare at the computer for a solid hour while I try to figure out one line, and/or I fall asleep and hit my head on the keys.

You know what? Making this list has completely changed my mind. Now that I think about it, this is so entertaining, I think I will broadcast myself writing and charge for it. Somebody out there would give me a quarter. What do you think, friends? Isn't writing glamorous?

First Light Will I Scream

2011-01-05T00:44:00.007-05:00

For as long as I’ve understood the spoken word, I knew this day would come. He’s whispered it to me every night of my life, hovering above my bed in curling wisps, a haze of smoky wetness. Always the whispers. But only on bleached nights of the full moon would his tendrils form into a hideous mask, his grisly features razor sharp when he hissed the words.

Fifteen. One second into your fifteenth year, you are mine. All mine. Only mine.

I am fourteen years, three hundred sixty-four days, eighteen hours, and fifty-two minutes old. I know the minute I will die.

I’ll do it alone, my bed as a coffin. But I have to wait. To suffer. To leech life from my pores, leaving the space he demands. He won’t allow a gush. A flood. Instead, a slow torturous trickle. The end of me must come when the sun blinks over the hill, pink and orange perfection lighting up my last breath. The union of his rapture with my sorrow. I will be in him forever, and he in me.

I can’t stop it.

My knees are at my chin, nightclothes ragged from rubbing them between blistered fingers each night in useless worry. Sheets rumple around my ankles. I no longer believe in their steely protection from his mist -- that childish hope long evaporated.

Nothing can save me now.

The hours pulse by with each stuttered movement of the clock's second hand. The trickle continues. My life floats away one frame at a time in reverse. It’s released in droplets, but they expand enough for me to snatch pieces of each memory before they are whisked away. In the flashing dreams I fade, nearly invisible by the last, while the conscious pain increases to dizzying, unbearable heights.

A bird sings outside my window, a lonely call to another.

I’ve let go my knees, fallen back…or maybe he pulled me. I'm almost empty now.

Thirty-six minutes and eight seconds left. Nine, if I count the one he's promised.

I wonder how it will happen, his entrance through the dry, shriveled holes? Will he disperse into millions of silent, invisible pieces? Will I feel it?

My sheer white curtains billow in on a warm current. A last attempt. A wish on a star for a savior to discover my window. To reach me before the last tick of my life and fly in on gossamer wings. To cast the ultimate miracle. The wish of an innocent, if not a fool.

The bird. Is the sun here? No, but soon. Very soon. It’s getting harder to breathe. I'm writhing in the stickiness of my essential fluids now pasting sheet to skin.

I wanted to reach fifteen. Wanted love's first sweet kiss to graze my lips. But I only get one second.

Not enough.

He feeds on the chosen ones. To believe the lies, we are to be grateful. I'm not a believer. All nobility to this act is lost on me.

Eight seconds, seven, six...

Dust motes tumble down the first ray. A beacon through the windowpane from the glorious life-giving sun searing directly into my mouth. Wake me, wake me, wake me. Don't let it be true.

But it is.

First light.

So Long Self

2010-12-28T23:09:00.011-05:00

Hello, friends!

I've missed you so during this holiday season. I hope your writing is going well.

This is my last blog post of 2010, and I'd like to ask for a favor. A simple request, if you please? When the clock is ticking into the first second of 01/01/11 and you're planning a resolution for the coming twelve months, consider doing better for someone else. Maybe instead of vowing to exercise, eat healthy, and quit smoking (all good things, btw, but mostly done for self), resolve to do better by others. To be better. To treat people with kindness by abandoning the "What's in it for me," or "I'll do it when I don't have anything else to do," attitude.

Stop making promises you'll never keep, giving empty apologies when you have no plan to follow through, and making excuses for why your wants always take first place.

I'm right there with you, pleading guilty as charged to the above listed crimes. I'm still working on it--struggling when I want to be selfish. I make mistakes. But, each day I try. I strive to do more for another than I do for myself. Sometimes it's appreciated, sometimes not. Sometimes the favor returned, other times...well, you get the point. Yes, occasionally all I get is walked on (or even stomped on) for my efforts, and, yes, it hurts, but pain exists in life no matter what we do.

It's not about keeping a scorecard. There's no need for one. The reward comes in saying, "Everything isn't about me." In saying, So Long Self <--Listen here

Whether we've met in person or online, I hope I've done or said at least one thing to make you smile. I can't measure the joy I receive from making someone's day better.

Love and peace to all in 2011.

We Have a Winner! GREY DOGS: ZOMBIE SURVIVAL Goes to...

2010-12-23T09:00:00.000-05:00

Thank you so much to all those who visited the blog, and especially to those who took the time to leave a comment. I am thrilled to announce that the WINNER of GREY DOGS: ZOMBIE SURVIVAL by Ian DG Sandusky is: Mike @anubis9! Congrats, Mike! I'll be in touch shortly. For all those who didn't win, but MUST have this book (you know you want it) click HERE !

Please visit Ian on Twitter @ISandusky and at his website HERE!

If you purchase GREY DOGS: ZOMBIE SURVIVAL and are so inclined, please leave a review on Amazon. All feedback is appreciated!

Thanks friends and Happy Holidays to you all!

Michele

Meet author Ian DG Sandusky and enter to win GREY DOGS: ZOMBIE SURVIVAL!

2010-12-16T19:14:00.012-05:00

Welcome, friends! You picked a great time to visit the blog. Today I'd like to welcome author Ian DG Sandusky. Ian wears many hats as a student, bar manager, and freelance writer, but add fiction phemom to that list with the launch of his debut novel, GREY DOGS: ZOMBIE SURVIVAL from Severed Press. He kindly agreed to stop by and answer a few questions and one lucky winner will receive a signed copy of his book! Keep reading to find out how to enter.

Thanks for giving us a few minutes, Ian.

MS: Can you explain the premise of GREY DOGS: ZOMBIE SURVIVAL, and what makes it different from other zombie novels out there?

IDGS: GREY DOGS is a novel detailing the events of the zombie apocalypse, as many out there have in the past and will continue to do in the future. However, GREY DOGS: ZOMBIE SURVIVAL is unique in that while it possesses all the blood / guts / gore / shock value that other zompocalypse novels pride themselves upon, it isn't the centre of the narrative. There's no Rambo to slide on in from the helicopter and make everything right. Hell, there's not even really a character who's prepared mentally or otherwise for the events that transpire - just some frightened, unextraordinary people that will have to learn to be extraordinary. Or die.

MS: Your main character, Carey Cardinal, is more everyman than super hero. Why was that integral to your story?

IDGS: Carey Cardinal's decided lack of 'superhuman' traits, both in the realm of the physical and the moral, are integral to GREY DOGS because he's identifiable. We can all see parts of ourselves in what he's been through, whether we're liable to admit it to others - or even ourselves - aloud. There's a lot of things about ourselves I think we all wish we could change, which makes someone like Superman or James Bond so attractive. However, facing down these demons is something we all have to do every day - seeing that mirrored in a character that still has a fighting shot at the end of the world may prove to be revealing.

MS: Who are your literary influences, why, and name three of your favorite books.

IDGS: Stephen King, Tom Clancy, Margaret Atwood. The big three, in my books. Mr. King, because he got me hooked on horror literature, and I likely wouldn't have started writing without his inspiring narratives. Yeah, figure that one out.

Mr. Clancy, because he was the first author I read out of my age range as a kid. Some of his stories have affected me more deeply as a person than anything else ever has.

Ms. Atwood, because she's Canadian, and she's amazing. You don't have to be a spring chicken to write some of the most socially relevant material for any age range.

Favourite books - Without Remorse, Tom Clancy. The Stand, Stephen King. Catcher In The Rye, JD Salinger.

MS: Name three things every writer needs to succeed, in your opinion.

IDGS: Thick skin. Everyone, including yourself, is going to try to shoot you down when you start writing. Rejections will continue throughout your entire career, so you have to be ready for it.

Focus, or lack thereof - depending on the situation. You need to be able to sit down and get the manuscript done, but you also need to be able to goof off and entertain yourself when need be - writing is one of the most isolated pursuits out there, and keeping your sanity depends on being able to turn your 'writing self' off at times.

The ability to function on little sleep. Start writing a novel, you'll see what I mean.

MS: Plotter or pantser, and why?

IDGS: Plotanser. I pants my way through an outline, then embellish and modify as I go along through the manuscript itself. I've never been able to work out plot/subplot arcs by pantsing alone (successfully, anyway), so I need a degree of structure to hold up my ideas before I can let loose with an imagination boogie. That's trademarked, y'know. The dance.

MS: You have a sequel to GREY DOGS in the works, WAITING JACKALS. A brief teaser on that?

IDGS: Ah yes, WAITING JACKALS. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. WAITING JACKALS takes place immediately following the events of GREY DOGS, with the remaining cast firmly in place. Let's just say the gang run into a few people they never imagined encountering ever again, but finding the ones they don't run into plagues their minds a little more strongly. Oh, and there's zombies. Lots of 'em. All shapes and sizes.

MS: Any other projects in your writing queue or completed?

IDGS: I've got two other manuscripts besides GREY DOGS and WAITING JACKALS currently wrapped. CRIMSON LETTERS FROM KANDAHAR PROVINCE is what I call 'contemporary military horror,' but really its just one damn twisted piece of psychological horror literature. I'm not sure if that one will ever see the light of day, 'cause it's without a doubt the darkest thing I've ever written. Besides that, I've got BARE - a stripper-chic thriller full of doubt and deceit, and that one's out with agents at the mo' as well. Next up, I'm beginning drafts on my first YA project, tentatively named FIVE WORDS IN BLACK. It's an exciting one, at least to write.

MS: Where can all my lovely readers pick up a copy of GREY DOGS?

IDGS: GREY DOGS is available through all major online retailers - you can hit this link right... HERE!

Great! Thank you so much for taking the time to stop by, Ian. Now, who wants to win a signed copy of GREY DOGS: ZOMBIE SURVIVAL?

It's EASY to enter! Just leave a comment with your email or twitter handle so we can reach you. Contest ends at 12:01 est on 12/23/10. Open to residents of US and Canada only. (sorry, other friends) Winner will be chosen at random on 12/23/10 and notified asap!

(PS: I've already read it, and let's just say, WOW! I loved it and can't wait for the sequel.)

You can find Ian on Twitter @ISandusky and check his website HERE!

Thank you and Happy Holidays!

Michele

Mind The Gap-Avoiding Character Pitfalls

2010-12-13T19:50:00.005-05:00

So, there you are, dear author, typing away, slaving for hours over your baby. You've come up with these awesome characters (Cuz, ya know, you're MADE of awesome so how could you not?). You think you've built upon them, lovingly adding layers and dimensions to flesh out your story. "These are the greatest characters the world will ever read!" you say. "They'll have a fansite dedicated to them."

The day comes when you send out your wip to test the waters. Oh, you can't wait for feedback. "Let the gushing begin over my characters dipped in gold and rolled in diamonds! They're so purdy and shiny! Where are my shades? My eyes!"

And then you hear back from a beta, crit partner, agent, editor, or random person you snagged on the street. Guess what? You're characters are...meh. Why? There are many reasons, but by far I think all problems travel from many outlying roads to two sections of the writing highway. Your character(s) can have not only one of these issues, but *sigh* both! Time to do some figuring...and recalculate.

1. EXTREMES: Your character is cliche, too perfect, too flawed, or just too...whatever. Too much of anything is bad. (Ok, except maybe chocolate, but that's a different discussion entirely.) People are complex. When you shove a character into a stereotype, interest immediately plummets from ten to zero. The reading public already knows this character. Why read on to learn more? No one is perfect, why make a character that way so they seem unrealistic? As for flawed characters, even the worst could use one small redeeming quality. It goes a long way toward making them seem even MORE evil and gives the reader a push to keep going.

2. Characters acting, well, out of character: I can't say how many times I've gone back to read over some chapters and thought, "What? That character would never say or do that. That doesn't even make sense!" You get to know your characters better as your book progresses, and sometimes you don't realize they aren't as well defined at the beginning until you get to the end and go back.

Where I still struggle (and this may never end), is finding balance in my characters so they react appropriately to the situation, but remain true to the personality I forged for them. Ever have someone say, "Well, yeah, I can see why character xyz reacted that way, but it's boring/I don't like them because of it." Say what? How do I fix that? Talk about balance! I'm working on that right now. An agent commented that my mc would understandably be scared/nervous in a tense situation, but that the character became too whiny and unlikeable...ahhh, hoping to work that one out.

So, writers, what do you think? What are your character pitfalls?

...and just because I typed the word EXTREME in caps, it made me think of this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-h4A7bF8wQ

Why I'm Telling the Writing Rules to Shut Up

2010-12-05T15:03:00.022-05:00

Lately I've been feeling very stifled in my writing...stumped, writer's block, whatever you want to call it. I'm writing, but the words aren't pleasing me. Honestly, I hate most of them. All writers go through these slumps, good days and bad, but last week this particular time in word hell caused a driving pain in my head. I kept asking myself, "What is it?" (And by that I mean I threw things, kicked my laptop bag, and yelled obscenities.)

I started digging, and though I don't have the perfect answer, I solved at least part of the problem.

The first thing I did was close my wip. I picked up one of the four books I'm reading (I know it's weird, but that's just me) and immersed myself in someone else's world. Time to let my story rest. I started at the halfway point of a book I had been struggling to finish, and decided I was reading to the end no matter how late the hour. Before long, I found myself jotting notes, shaking my head in exasperation (not at the author, but at myself), and saying, "Ah, you are such a dope! Here's your problem!"

What was it? I have been spending WAY too much time worrying about the "rules." I wrote freely when I wasn't aware of the rules, but the more I've learned, the stiffer my prose has become. As I read this bestseller (which had beautiful writing and a well-woven story, but, for me, had no surprises and got a bit boring in places), I saw so many no-no's I wanted to scream, "But, look! Right here...and here...and here! Wrong! ...right?" A quick list, just to let you know what I found:

**Buried dialogue
**run-on sentences
**Loooong paragraphs with little white space
**Sections where absolutely NOTHING happened
**Word choice (this was a YA) that I have a very hard time picturing many teens using
**Extended sections of inner thought that felt endless
**terms like "the fact that"
**"looking around" and "I looked around" <---heck this happened in two consecutive sentences! And other "I saw" "I heard" etc. etc.

But, you know what? IT'S OKAY! None of these things stopped this book from coming out a winner in sales and with critics. This author's style had a unique voice, and don't we all hear "I want voice," from agents and editors?

I realized I should be breaking a few rules if I plan to write anything interesting.

Many writing rules exist with good reason. Don't get me wrong, I want to write well, and my goal isn't to purposely break every rule out there, but I've decided to let it flow, write in a way that works for me. However that comes out when someone decides to tally up rules broken, so be it. I hope they're making their list while reading my debut novel.

What say you friends? Are you a rule breaker or on the writing straight and narrow?

Beta Reading: It's Not Just a Job, It's an Adventure

2010-11-28T15:31:00.000-05:00

If you write, chances are you have been asked to beta read a time or two. If you're like me, you excitedly reply, "Yes, of course I will," and watch your inbox with anticipation.

...and then it arrives.

ME: "Oh, damn, now I have to open it. Please, please, please be good."
*nervously pacing in front of laptop*

"I want to say good things! What if it sucks? But I need to be honest, otherwise I'm no help at all."

*many deep breaths*

"Okay, here we go. It'll be fine."

*double click*

I start to read, and my reaction is either:

A. Wow!

B. Oh no, no (please) no!

C. Somewhere in between.

Beta reading is tricky business, but I personally think everyone should try. Not as a "have to" so you can request others return the favor, but because there is so much to learn from the process.

Such as:

1. Writing Tics: Those pesky tics we all have that either don't bother us or go unnoticed in our own writing, but stand out with lights and sirens in another ms. I pick out repeated use of the same words, awkward sentence structures, and tendencies to over describe by the fistful in a "fresh to my eyes" ms. The more I take notes, the more I recognize all the places I am guilty of the same transgressions. "Woops! Time to get out the magnifying glass on my own stuff."

2. Dialogue: Reading other authors clarifies what makes good, intriguing dialogue and what sounds stiff, off-beat, or plain wrong for the character and situation presented. I feel like I have a dead string of Christmas lights in my head that flick on one by one as I say, "Uh oh. I do that. Now it's so obvious that I shouldn't. Fix, fix fix!" or, "Aha! That's how it should be done!"

3. Pacing: Each time I feel pulled out of the read or bored with a scene, I take note of why. We've all had rough patches in our mss that we couldn't inject with excitement no matter how hard we tried. When I see this happening, sometimes an easy fix comes to mind and I suggest it. I LOVE anyone who can do the same for me. I mean serious LOVE. I'm obsessed with worry over boring my reader. Conversely, when the story is just screaming along and I can't stop reading, sometimes I have to remind myself to slow down. I want to grasp what sucked me in to such a degree.

4. Inspiration. I'll admit, when I first read an ms that I find AMAZING, I feel slightly down and think, "Why can't I write like that? I want to BE that good!" But, after a quick mental slap, I see what I am is inspired. I DO want to be that good, and soaking in wonderful words, phrasing, and a story that transports me somewhere else gives me a shot of writing espresso.

5. Appreciation. Every time I pour over an ms, take tons of notes, and carefully stitch together my feedback to be honest, constructive, and helpful (I hope), I have true appreciation for the time and attention another author gives me when they do the same.

Beta reading can be a tough gig. I don't always like (or even understand) what I read, but I haven't let a few bad experiences stop me and I'm so glad I didn't. Education comes from the good, and the...not so good. I've read some REMARKABLE work, some so-so, and a tad of huh? in the last few months. (All just my own opinions, of course.) I learned from them all, and my writing is better for it.

Tell me friends, what do you think of beta reading? Necessary, fun, torture, or all of the above?

Rejection,Revision, and the 5 Stages of Grief

2010-11-15T23:14:00.003-05:00

Raise of hands...who has received a rejection, form or personal? *raises hand* Fun, aren't they? Quite delightful. There's the query rejection, the partial rejection, and then (ugh) the full rejection. I recently noticed how my last full rejection mirrored the grief process and how I had to go through the 5 stages to arrive at a place where I could move. (You know, and not stare at my computer with my mouth hanging open and a drool rag handy.) It was a true loss, and one I had to work through, but fortunately, people smacked me back into reality quickly and I traveled from 1 to 5 in record time. Still, I didn't miss a a step, with some lasting mere hours, and others, days.

1.) Denial: I was in denial for at least a day. TOTAL denial. What? She didn't really mean that. She'll think it over and realize my ms is way better than she first thought and give me a call any day now. Really, and day now...tick tick tick

2.) Anger: Oh, yeah. I got miffed. What the hell? What is wrong with these people. Can't they just get over my excessive word count and move on? Sheesh! There's good stuff in there! Dig a little!

3) Bargaining: I loooove a bargain and I'm GOOD at finding them, so this one came easy. Ok, look desert dry brain, give me some words, great words, and I promise I'll never ask again! Please, just this one last time. Help me fix it. I have a revision letter, all I have to do is follow. Help me out. I have candy, money, you name it!

4.) Depression: Yep, I was down. Down on myself, my writing, basically the universe. I wallowed, people. WALLOWED. I suck...which isn't really different from at least part of a normal day, but this is a deeper level of suck. She TOLD me I suck...even though my rejection said no such thing. In fact, it was about as a good a rejection as anyone could ever get. I saw that...once I pulled my head out of Sorryformyselfville. And so, this led me to Stage 5.

5) Acceptance: I was rejected, yes I sure was. I own it, baby! But what to do next? Having pushed through the stages, I prepared to move forward. That's exactly what I did, and continue to do. My update is this: I'm approximately 45% done with my rewrite and feeling quite good about it. My crit partner, Ian Sandusky( the best CP ever) @ISandusky (check out his book and website here ), is cheering me along, giving me great feedback, and inspiring me to keep going. And I wouldn't get through each day without my main girl Alyson Peterson @Crzywritergrl (check her blog here ) . She's head cheerleader, bandleader, and doer of all good things. They are made of equal parts awesome, and I'd be lost without them and back at number 4. Thank you to them, and all my writer friends. I love you, sweeties! And now, to that other 55%, so I can finish, send it out, and start the whole process over. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Legacy of Words

2010-11-10T19:55:00.000-05:00

I was lucky and knew all 4 of my grandparents into my early twenties, but there's still something about the years I've been without them that makes me sad. I didn't get to know the other them. The young them. The them that had a whole other life before they married and had my parents. The them that had wants and dreams. I don't know what those dreams were, or if they ever reached them. Everyone changes as they age, and sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to be one of my grandmother's school mates or neighbors. Would we have been bff's? I'd like to think yes.

I have a lot of pictures and I've heard many stories, so I've done my best to piece together what made my grandparents into who they were, but I still know there are parts to them that will always remain a secret. I think of how little my (way in the future) grandchildren might know of me.

Virginia

They won't know that I was a quiet, self-conscience child, an awkward, shy teen, or a young woman who questioned her ability to ever be good at anything, especially mothering. They might do the same as I did -- look at pictures, listen to stories, and wonder about what really made me tick. For a very long time, I didn't know myself.

Thelma

Ben

Steven

By the time I have grandchildren, the day of the blog might be over. Who knows if the printed book will still be around (or if there will ever be one to my name), but somewhere, somehow, I hope a piece of writing exists with my name on it so that they can read it and say, "This was part of grandma." My legacy of words. I hope they can know that one of my greatest hopes and dreams was to become a writer, that I gave my heart and soul to writing not because I thought I might find fame or make a lot of money, but because that was me, a writer. I want them to know I did something I loved just for the joy of it, so they can look into their futures and do the same.

Can Your Male-Female Characters Be "Just Friends?"

2010-11-01T10:20:00.062-04:00

Everyone remembers the scene in When Harry Met Sally when Harry tells Sally that men and women can never be friends because sex always gets in the way. Harry is proven right, sort of. Harry and Sally do become friends, but eventually, it proves to be the building blocks to a romance, and yes, they become lovers. But what about real life, which writers draw from to craft their fiction? Are men and women ever really platonic friends?

The answer is yes, but how often is that portrayed? How many books do you read or movies do you see where a female lead has a male friend, but he's gay (or male lead/lesbian friend), as if this were the only way they could have a platonic relationship? Of course, in so many stories, the "we're friends but I've always been in love with him/her" is another plot device. The underlying longing by one half of the friendship drives it and changes the dynamic, even if the other person doesn't know they are desired. So many times, it leads to the desired one realizing that he/she's best friend was the "one" for them after all and they live happily ever after, getting their best friend and lover all rolled into one.

I've been toying with ideas for my next ms and I plan to explore a male/female relationship where *gasp* not only are they best friends, but there are no crushes, they aren't a broken up couple who have become friends, and there are no "oops, we're only friends, but we got drunk one night and had sex and now it's weird." My two characters are going to be friends...plain and simple. I think it's going to be an awesome relationship full of opportunities to explore what two people can mean to each other in a deep, yet platonic way. I can't wait!

Lucky for me, I have plenty of real life to draw from. I've had many male friends, but none so close and utterly platonic as my college friend Steve. He was my best friend, closest confidant, shoulder to cry on, and I'll admit we drank together...a lot. Steve and I used to sit in my dorm room in the dark listening to music and talking about life. We literally stuffed ourselves into a single dorm cot and sometimes even slept there all night, but nothing sexual ever happened. That came about by us setting ground rules at the very beginning. During one of our first talking about life sessions, he stopped in the middle of our conversation and said rather hesitantly, "Uh, Michele, I just want to make sure, you don't like me like 'that,' do you?" I assured him I only thought of him as a friend. Since we were clearing the air, I asked him the same question. He busted out laughing and said, "No way!" I recall saying something like, "Just checking, but you didn't have to laugh, ya goober." He hugged me and messed up my hair like an annoying brother and we never talked about it again. We spent so many hours together talking about everything, and I have to say giving each other a perspective we wouldn't have received from a same sex friend. As with many friends, time and distance separated us, and I'm sorry to say we lost touch, but I still value that friendship to this day.

As I develop these shiny new characters, I plan to use my memories and current relationships to (hopefully) portray a bond that comes from respect, admiration, and just plain old like. I want to thank all the dude friends who have molded my life. I think my characters will be better and deeper for the time I have spent and will continue to spend with these amazing men and learning from them.

So friends, tell me, who is/was your best opposite sex friend, and what did you learn from them?

** BONUS That famous scene from When Harry Met Sally that makes us all snicker here

Word Bloat, Darlings, and Flying Body Parts

2010-10-17T13:11:00.000-04:00

If you've followed my blog, then you know I'm deep into a major rewrite. I mean MAJOR. Things are moving right along, but as I sift through what I have, what needs to go, and what lines of brilliance I need to pull out of my...somewhere, I thought I'd share some of the problems and mishaps of my journey to help others avoid them, or at least provide a head-nod moment when they see themselves doing the same. I love togetherness!

1. WORD BLOAT: My good friends know I use this term all the time. It's my #1 downfall. If there's a way to say something, then damn it, I will find 6 more ways to say the same thing. This wouldn't be a problem if I didn't constantly spat with the delete button. I write, and write, and write...then agonize over what to keep.The term is "tighten," and I'm cinching my belt. Man, I hate diets.

2. KILLING DARLINGS: This is a direct result of word bloat. I have SO MUCH, and I love it all, at least in the beginning. I'm really good at rationalizing that it all needs to be there, but thank goodness for betas. They remind me that, no, it most certainly does not all need to be there, and sometimes it's not all that great anyway. Time and perspective go a long way toward ripping those darlings from my clenched fists. I'm approaching the murder of several scenes and beloved characters with trepidation. It may take some serious strong-arming to force me to pull the trigger. Doh *releases breath* I know it MUST be done. *chants* TIGHTEN, TIGHTEN, TIGHTEN!

3. FLYING BODY PARTS: Finally, here is where I think all writers have hit a snag or two, yet I think we can all look back at these mistakes and laugh. I'm speaking of describing physical movements. Mine started with too many sighs, enough shoulder shrugs to rip a rotator cuff, and so much lip biting my mc's mouth would look like she ran a cheese grater across it. Don't even get me started on eyebrows. Sometimes we lose track of these things, and need other eyes to remind us. I'm working all of those out, but I've saved the best for last. One of my characters is a "hand talker," often gesturing as she speaks (based on a friend of mine). I'm not even sure how many times this occurred, but I kept typing "she said, throwing up her hands." A beta note read "She vomited her hands?" Um, no. That's not what I meant. Thank you, dear betas. I love you!

So, tell me, friends, what are your biggest challenges in smoothing the bumps in your wip?

What Flavor Is Your Query?

2010-10-11T16:35:00.000-04:00

Hate writing queries? Redone yours, oh, say...a million times? Query writing isn't for quitters, but they do come in many flavors. Do you see yours?

What Flavor Is Your Query?

1. Vanilla-All required ingredients are there, but it’s kind of boring.

2. Reduced Fat No-Sugar Vanilla Yogurt-Worse than vanilla, you removed any voice or oomph, and left your poor query limping along.

3. Oreo-A dark crunchy beginning and ending, but a soft center that kills your chances.

4. Pralines & Cream-A query so nutty, the cream won’t be enough to fix it.

5. Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough-A little too raw. Finish cooking it before sending it out.

6. Wild and Reckless Sherbet-No real structure. Your paragraphs, heck even your sentences, go willy-nilly all over the place. Could put you in query jail.

7. Jamoca-So hopped up that the reader thinks you are on something.

8. Rocky Road-An endless up and down climb that never gets around to pitching your plot.

9. Nutty Coconut-Self explanatory. See a therapist, then start over.

10. Rainbow Sherbet-A query so bad, there's no pot of gold at the end...more like a drunken leprechaun.

11. Snickers-What agent/editor does when you send a query so crazy that they immediately send it to Slush Pile Hell for a blog comment.

12. Mint Chip-Cool with chunks of sweet plot points, but still a little green.

13. Cotton Candy-So sweet, it’s sticky. Too much gushing to the addressee and not enough plot.

14. Gold Medal Ribbon-An A-1 superb job. Polished to a perfect shine.

15. Icing On the Cake-Not only did you write a 14, but you ended with a perfect line that sealed the deal. If you aren't at number 15, start over until you get there.

Okay friends, do you see your number? If so, tell me which one you are (or were), and how many drafts it took to get it right!

When It's Time for Re-Vision

2010-10-04T11:41:00.001-04:00

Ever know you need to do something, but pretend like you don't, to avoid being uncomfortable? *Raises hand* "Me, over here." *Waves wildly* So, it's time for me to get out of avoidance mode and (wo)man up.

I've already spent hours upon hours revising my novel, but this week I came to a very important decision: It needs re-vision. New eyes. Some serious feedback on all of its good points and flaws left me reeling and overwhelmed for a few hours, but with the help of the best friends anyone could ask for (who happen to be AWESOME writers), and some time in pondering mode, I have decided to rewrite my entire novel. Yep, the entire thing. Parts of the old draft will creep in, many of the characters will be the same, the premise is the same, but much of it will be told with new, clearer vision. I'm going to come at it from new angles, eliminate dead wood, and inject life in places where I lost my way the last time around.

After I map out my changes, I'm opening a crisp new document, and starting at page one.

Coming to the decision was easier than I imagined it would be. When I thought over the many changes needed to make this book the best it can be, the answer came in flashing neon: Re-tell the story, and do it better. It's a good story, I truly believe that, but when I'm done, it's going to be great. I truly believe that, too.

I opened a fortune cookie last night that said, "The reward of a thing well done is to have done it." I think that fits perfectly into how I feel right now.

I'm not the first person to start over, and I won't be the last, but it's going to be an interesting ride. Want to join me? If you listen to this song, it explains my relationship with writing...I'm Hangin' By A Moment http://youtu.be/VvAx2qagtlQ

(Okay, and I admit, I like to watch the video because I maybe, might , possibly, sort of have crushies on the singer. He's so pretty...)

Anyway, got distracted for a sec there, tell me, have you ever started over on a novel? If so, how did it work out?

Immature Maturity-It Helps in YA

2010-09-27T08:47:00.000-04:00

I am often asked, "Why do you like to write YA?" Poor, unsuspecting people. They tend to cringe when they realize their question is akin to throwing a match on dry wood. As in, *ahem* I have plenty to say.

I love YA for so many reasons, the main one being, my memories of those years are embedded minute by angst-ridden minute in my psyche. I remember every boy I liked, every girlfriend who propped me up or shoved me down...every situation I found myself in and the decisions I made. (Yes, many stupid ones.)

I remember it ALL, and in some ways, I have refused to grow up. This is a handy trait to have when you need to transport your brain into teen thinking. Being immature pays off, baby!

My teen years had good times and bad, and there is no way I'd want to go through it again, but I love creating characters and putting them in that exciting, uncertain time of life.

I love...LOVE and putting characters through the highs and heartaches that come with it. Remember those intense moments when nothing else in the world seemed to matter? Those moments when you felt happy for no reason, or in the depths of despair over the loss of what you were sure was the love of your life? *sigh* It could all happen in one day.

I look back upon those days, which were a "few" years ago, and wish I had some of the knowledge and confidence I have now, but then again, it was all part of the learning process. For my characters to grow, they need to be in situations that require decisions be made, and they need to make mistakes...just like I did (and continue to do).

My hope is that I'm doing teens justice when writing about them. I've continued to interview and hang out with teens, as well as asking them to read my ms. I value their input and opinions highly. Although my memory vault is quite full, I couldn't write without my helpers. I act the same around everyone, just being me, and a teen recently said to me, "You're so fun to be around. It's like I'd never guess how old you are."

To which I replied, "Thanks! Hey, wait a minute...."

Less Plotter Than Pantser and a Very Bad Dancer

2010-09-20T10:17:00.000-04:00

This is my genetic make-up: 3/4 pantser 1/4 plotter. (Oh, and I am a horrid dancer. I mean HORRID. I can't even walk through a doorway without running into it, so imagine someone that klutzy trying to dance.)

These are for my 3 left feet, because saying I have 2 really doesn't cut it.

But I was talking about writing, wasn't I? Note to self: don't write blog posts when hopped up on caffeine. Right...writing...moving on. Last week was a tough one, writing-wise. I couldn't get started, had no ideas worth a single sentence, and I jealously watched people tweet about how much writing they were doing. And I do mean I watched for HOURS.

So, there I was Saturday night, riding in the car on my way to dinner. I saw a huge crowd of people waiting at a bus stop. (I live in a college town. This is not an unusual sight, especially near the mall.) Our car had to stop in front of the crowd, and for some reason, it seemed like every person standing there was staring at me. I looked into their faces and thought, So many stories...wish I could get out and ask them questions. But, we moved on, and though I hadn't planned it, a story formed in my head. Little whisperings in my ear that should have been notes for the beginnings of an idea. I didn't write anything, but instead, closed my eyes and let the thoughts solidify.

On the way home, it happened again. I was looking out the window, a guy on a bike looked over at me, our eyes locked for a second, and the whisperings started. Another new, completely different idea. Again, I wrote nothing down.

When I arrived home, I fired up my trusty laptop and started typing the first scene...of both stories. I was spazzng, jumping back and forth between documents, squealing with excitement. These characters that I hadn't met an hour prior were talking like crazy to each other. I couldn't stop it, and it was hard to type fast enough. This is often how my stories start.

I've always wanted to be a plotter (really, I mean it), yet I keep falling off the wagon and going back to my pantser ways. The 1/4 plotter part comes in later -- sort of -- when I write things like "maybe this, maybe that," and when I get there, I decide. Many people find this a horrible way to write, and maybe it is, but I can't seem to get past it.

Before I get much further, I'm going to *try* and outline these stories more than I have done with others in the past...maybe get up to 50-50. But, if it doesn't work out, then I know my way is just my way. I'll be the person everyone chuckled at during a recent conference. The speaker was talking about outlining, and said, "Dear God, if you're one of those people who opens a document and just starts typing on the fly, you have my sympathy."

Ah, well, at least somebody cares.

What about you, writer friends? How do you start a new story?

One Size Book Does Not Fit All

2010-09-14T21:51:00.000-04:00

I feel like any day that passes without me learning something is a waste. The lessons don't have to be huge, but they should give me a nugget of information I didn't posses the day before. Last week, I learned a biggie.

I'm looking for new books all the time, and since joining Twitter, I've picked up many books recommended by tweeters, versus a bookstore browse or suggestions from friends. What I love about the reading and writing community, is their support of each other and their love for excellent stories. With this in mind, I recently picked up a book (which I won't name, because that's not the point) that had gushing reviews and several tweets from other writers who adored it. I ran home, vibrating with excitement, and dove in.

Then I put it down.

During the next few days, I picked it up, read a few chapters, and closed it again. I still have a bookmark at the halfway point.

I've spent many hours dissecting why I continue to set this book down. The thoughts keep swirling through my head. But, but the reviews, the tweets...and the blurbs on the back. The writing is good. What's wrong with me? Am I missing something? Why don't I like it?

The answer is so easy. I can't believe how long it took me to figure it out.

Why don't I like it? I. Just. Don't.

I didn't connect on some level with the character and the writing. This has nothing to do with it being a "good" book or a "bad" book. As I said, the writing is good, just not for me. Obviously, many other people did connect with it, and I'm thrilled for the author.

What do I take away from my experience?

When an agent or editor rejects my ms, yes, it may be because it has issues, and I will work my butt off to make sure that isn't the reason. But, it may also be that they simply don't "feel it" in the same way I am not feeling my current read. It's an intangible. One that can't be controlled.

People's tastes vary as much as their personalities, and that's a good thing. The world needs variety. I'm going to do my best to embrace the people who would diss the novel I've written, because it may be that with all the signals bouncing around in the world, ours crashed into each other and didn't mesh.

It's going to happen, but they'll move on to reading another book...and I'll move on to writing another one, hoping to connect the next time around.

9/11-- A Day of Gratitude

2010-09-09T13:15:00.026-04:00

A few weeks ago, my son received a birthday party invitation. The date of the party said September 11. It's on a Saturday this year. A party day. I shouldn't have been surprised. It's been 9 years, and to most people, it's just another day. Life goes on.

Every year around the 1st of September, I start to brace for the news reports and TV shows that discuss and recreate the events of September 11, 2001. It's getting easier as these reports lessen with each passing year. But September 11 still gets me teary and emotional, though when I tell you why, you'll see, it's a combination of anxiety over what almost was, and gratitude for what is.

I was 32 weeks pregnant with my first child and spending my 2nd official day off after quitting my job as a social worker. I had just moved with my husband to a new house 4 weeks prior, and I needed to continue unpacking and setting up the nursery.

My husband had left the day before on a 2-week trip for work.

I slept in that day, then settled in to watch the news. A friend phoned to see how I was doing, and we chatted while I watched the TV. During our talk, I saw the report of the first plane hitting the World Trade Center. The first one...when everyone thought it was an accident. We continued talking, as we had been known to do endlessly, and the 2nd plane hit. I remember telling her, "This was no accident."

As is usual for most people, I thought, "This is terrible, awful, but it has nothing to do with me."

I was wrong.

As the conversation continued with my friend, she asked if my husband was in New York, since he sometimes traveled there.

I said, "No, he's fine. He went to Washington. He'll be at the Pentagon today. There's no safer place than that."

We hung up, and I went to work on the nursery, but left the TV on.

It wasn't long before I heard that the Pentagon had been hit by a plane. I tried not panic; thinking of the size of the building, all the different places inside my husband could have been that were undamaged...any reason that meant he was fine. I even thought he may not have been there yet...maybe his meeting was scheduled for later in the day.

Many things were happening, and I'm glad I didn't know about them until it was all over.

My husband was at his meeting. He was a in a conference room 75 feet from where the plane hit. He was with a group of people who, like him, did not have enough familiarity with the building to know how to get out easily.

When the plane hit, the building shook, pieces of ceiling came crashing down, and they were told simply, "Get out."

The halls quickly filled with black smoke. The floors had crumpled so that those trapped were forced, on hands and knees, to climb up and down over twisted rubble. There was a moment of elation when someone found a stairwell door, only to open it and find the stairwell gone.

They couldn't see or breathe and didn't know where to go. They sat. And waited to die.

Anyone who believes in angels won't doubt that the voice my husband and his group heard that day was that of an angel.

He was a Pentagon security guard who knew his way around. He couldn't see them, but called to them and said to keep coming toward his voice. They did, climbing their way through, as he waited at risk to his own life to guide them out. Every person from that conference room made it out alive.

When I finally heard my husband's voice, about 10 hours after the plane hit, I burst into tears at what he said.

"I almost didn't get to meet my son."

Many families didn't get to see their loved ones after that day. Many didn't meet unborn children, and I pray for those families.

We were so very lucky.

Every time I see my husband with my almost nine-year-old son, and the daughter who arrived two years later, I think of what almost wasn't...and I'm grateful for what is.

Blog awards

2010-09-04T19:20:00.003-04:00

OMG! I got a blog award! My 1st response was, "Me? Are you sure?" I am sooo grateful to Michelle L Johnson for this recognition. Many thanks to her. I am thrilled that my little blog may have made someone's day!

.
The Rules for The Versatile Blogger Award:
1. Thank and link back to the person that gave you the award.
2. Share seven things about yourself.
3. Pass the award to fifteen bloggers that you think deserve it.
4. Lastly, contact all the bloggers that you’ve picked for the award.

One Lovely Blog Award Rules:

Accept the award, post it on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award and his or her blog link.
Pass the award to 15 other blogs that you’ve newly discovered.
Remember to contact the bloggers to let them know they have been chosen for this award.

Seven things about myself, in no particular order:

1. I never ate peanut butter as a kid because I hated it. Now I can't get enough. (Weird how tastes change as you age.)

2. If I were a Spice Girl, I'd be Sporty Spice. I love track pants and running shoes. (I don't run, go figure.)

3. I once took a dexterity test as part of a job interview and was ranked at the level of surgeon.

4. I currently hold the position of Popcorn Kernel. (Don't ask)

5. I'm married to the real MacGuyver.

6. I can't see worth a darn, but my sense of smell is nearly super human.

7. When I try to iron my clothes, they end up looking worse than when I started. Not sure how that happens.

And the award goes to...

Alyson Peterson-Crazy Writer Girl

Demery Bader-Saye-Write Away Everyday

Jessica Lemmon-Smile, Feel Good, Pass It On

Carolina Valdez-Miller-Carol's Prints

Helen Sayers-helensayerswrite

Jeannie Moon-The Voices In My Head

Daisy Harris-Daisy Harris Dive Into Romance

Nicole Ducleroir-One Significant Moment At a Time

Shawna Thomas-Shawna Thomas: Just Another Day In the Life...

Julie A. Linsdey-Musings From the Slush Pile

Erika Andrade-E's Writing Pub Hub

Erica Chapman-laugh.write.play

Maggie Secara-Rose, with Thorns

Amalia Dillin-Good to Begin Well, Better to End Well

Please check out these wonderful blogs. Thanks to everyone who has stopped by to see me!

The Excuse Box-Squash It

2010-09-01T10:43:00.000-04:00

Got writing excuses? Welcome to the club, but can we ban together and pledge to work on squashing those excuses? I do so much better when other people push me. I stick to a diet if it's a competition, and I get pumped up to walk when my neighbor asks me to walk with her. I'm all about supporting fellow authors in their pursuits and hope you will now raise your hand and repeat after me:

1. I will not say I don't have enough time to write. No one has enough time, but if writing is my passion, I will find the time and get it done. I don't have to look hard to find plenty of time-suck activities that would free up writing time if I dropped them, or even cut back.

2. I will stop saying it's a lost cause, that I'll never be any good, so why work so hard. Seems simple, my writing won't improve if I don't keep working at it, but I have to give myself a regular reminder that EVERYTHING is a work in progress, including me as a writer (and a person).

3. I will not blame negative feedback on a "stupid beta who doesn't know anything." Everyone is entitled to their opinion, even if I don't like it. Blaming the messenger doesn't get me looking deeper into my work for flaws.

4. I will not let some rejections or contest losses break my spirit. There is no excuse for giving up a dream.

5. I will stop saying I can't write without candy nearby. The unavoidable sugar coma always slows me down anyway, and wait...scratch that. We all need at least one, right?

Writing Candy #2

2010-08-26T10:40:00.004-04:00

It's time for Writing Candy, where I press together my two favorite past times, writing and eating candy! I'm off candy right now and feeling half crazy from the detox. If I can't eat any, at least I can write about it. My candy for this installment is the "Taste the Rainbow" goodness of Skittles. Rainbows make me think of my 7th grade meteorology class and our lecture on ROY G BIV. (For those who don't remember, that's red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.) To better myself as a writer, here are some of the things I strive to include in my day while eating Skittles. (Back when I was allowed to eat Skittles. Who am I kidding? My detox will likely be abandoned by the time you read this.)

R-Eat a red Skittle and read, read, read! I'm usually reading at least 3 books at once. My current trio includes a YA contemp, a piece of classic lit-tra-ture, and a thriller. I try to read something out of one book per day, whether it's a paragraph, or half the book.

O- Eat an orange Skittle and orate. Reading my work aloud makes a difference, and I'm talking about using character's mannerisms, accents -- everything. Those perfect (in my mind) sentences pop up their ugly troll heads when I start reading. I'm left tripping and stuttering, wondering who the heck wrote that piece of...

Y-Eat a yellow Skittle and YELL! I get ~~a little~~ very frustrated at times, and a good yell helps me get the creepy crawlies out of my system. You know what I mean, those things crawling around your brain that sound like words, good words, great words, but your brain holds them hostage and you can't get them down in the right order. A good yell can unscramble them, or at the very least keep me from feeling like I want to stab myself with a pen.

G-Eat a green Skittle and GO! I have to remember that thing called writing and actually do it. Get off my email, Twitter, Facebook, even all those wonderful blogs, and just write. When I power down from everything else, it's a miracle! I get real work done.

B-Eat a blue Skittle and brainstorm. I like to come up with several ideas, open documents for all of them, and write a sentence or two to get them started. It's a good way to let my thoughts take a detour when I feel bogged down by my WIP.

I-There isn't an indigo Skittle (which is just wrong), but to celebrate the I, the word is improvise. I get stuck on scenes, characters, dialogue, EVERYTHING, just like all writers do at times. When this happens, I improvise. I play the what-if game with the problem I'm having and write notes on the what-if's. After I look at my possible solutions, one of them is usually a winner. (Until I go back to O)

V-Eat a violet (okay, purple) Skittle, veg, and promise. Sometimes a good 30 to 60 minute veg is necessary, even crucial, to getting the thousands of thoughts fighting in my head to stand at attention in a nice straight line until it's their turn. After my veg, I promise to get right back to work and quit eating candy.

Okay, back to work now and I swear that was not a Skittles bag you just heard rattling...it was Twizzlers.

Dogapalooza-2010 Sheltie Rescue Picnic

2010-08-22T12:32:00.004-04:00

A few of these aren't Shelties, but all are welcome!

A tiny little guy who loves to play chase. Go Colts!

Somebody figured out where the hamburgers were cooking!

The chef made a lot of friends.


Yellow bandanas mean we're up for adoption!

For more pictures, bios, and recent updates from their fosters, go to http://www.sheltie-rescue.org/

A Shot In The Arm-Writer Style

2010-08-20T07:44:00.003-04:00

Dear Writer Friends,

Yesterday, I got a real shot in the arm (tetanus), and well...it hurt! Today I'd like to give you the kind of shot in the arm that keeps you going and makes your day better. We all go through good times and bad, and I'd like to think we are there for each other to uplift as well as celebrate. Here's a quote that I hope helps you today if you've received a rejection recently, feel like your writing is suckish right now, or generally feel like this whole writing thing just isn't working out how you planned:

"What can any of us do with his talent but try to develop his vision, so that through frequent failures we may learn better what we have missed in the past."

William Carlos Williams-poet 1883-1963

Happy writing to you all! Never give up!

Michele

Writing Rituals...No Blood Involved

2010-08-14T17:53:00.004-04:00

Every writer has a ritual, whether they know it or not. Some rituals are the planned obsessive kind, like an athlete wearing the same socks for every game, while others spring up without our permission. My personal ritual came about without planning. This funny thing happens whenever I start a new project -- the first and last lines pop into my head. I may have no idea what will be in-between those two lines, but the beginning and ending always come. A recent chat with writer friends brought up this topic and they were fascinated by my ritual. My response was, "Doesn't everybody do that?" I got the look and figured that was a no.

Soon after our discussion, I conducted a ~~scientific~~ random poll. No surprise, there's the usual music in the background, I need my coffee answers, while for others it's time of day, sitting in the same spot, using color-coded index cards, eating certain snacks, or even the same breakfast for those early bird writers. But the ritual that still has me scratching my head, is not being able to write a word without a title. Wow, I would never get one sentence strung together if I couldn't start without a title. A speaker at a recent conference said he must write his rough draft long hand...as in pen and paper. Writer's cramp, anyone? This is me bowing down to anyone who can hand write tens of thousands of words.

So tell me, writer friends, what are your writing rituals? I'm curious to know what gets you in the writing frame of mind.

A 3-Day High -- My MWW Conference Top 10

2010-08-09T09:04:00.040-04:00

The Midwest Writers Workshop Conference is over (boo-hoo), and what a time I had! I met wonderful people from all over the country, attended some great workshops, and learned more than I could fit in one blog post. Narrowing down my top ten favorites was hard, but here is what I learned, observed, and filed away for the future.

1. Marcus Sakey's 6-point plan for writing suspense is awesome, and according to one attendee, so is his hair. During a Q&A, she asked him if they could trade, followed by another attendee who asked him about...let's get back to the 6 points:

A. Tell a story-Your MC must start with a conflict, go places, and face obstacles.

B. Make things worse-No matter how bad things are for your MC, add another twist.

C. Make your reader uncomfortable-The reader should care about your MC.

D. Tension comes from personal stakes-Your character must have something to lose.

E. EVERY character in your story must want something.

F. Make the end satisfying-The reader should feel it couldn't end any other way.

This is a very brief description of what we learned over several hours. Marcus Sakey is a knowledgeable and engaging speaker. Loved this session!

2. From agent Dr. Uwe Stender (TriadaUS Literary Agency): Never promise one story in a query or synopsis, then deliver another. Agents immediately feel duped. Let me give an example: Pretend you pitch a thriller which turns out to be a chick-lit/paranormal/sci-fi hybrid that you don't want to try and explain...you know, cause once they read it they'll understand. <----Don't do that.

3. Some people have a lot more guts than I do...like the woman I met who registered late, had no pitch session, and wrote in her name on the bottom of the list. Dang, I was in awe, but knew my weenie self couldn't have done that. I signed up ahead of time (the old-fashioned way). She did do the pitch and got a request for her ms, which proves the "no guts, no glory" theory.

4. From agent Suzie Townsend (Fine Print Literary Management): Synopses are evil, yet necessary. (Yes, an agent called them evil! She's on our side, guys.) In answer to my question about writing a YA with a male MC and getting it published, she explained that it's possible, but tricky. A boy as an MC must be balanced, but swoonworthy, because the majority of YA readers are girls. They have to be able to connect with him. Swoonworthiness noted!

5.Try to meet as many people as you can (i.e. stay on site). Drat, I missed the Saturday lunch, and apparently there was a lively discussion at one table amongst some paranormal writers who claim to really see and hear ghosts. I had to pick that day to feed my Penn Station craving. *headslap*

6. Yes, you should have your pitch ready before you get to a conference. I was asked by an agent to give one on the spot during lunch. After I pushed aside my shock and choked down my salad, I actually did it, and OMG, got a request!

7. From agent Amy Boggs (The Donald Maas Literary Agency): It's okay to do a comparison pitch, just don't compare your book to one of the biggest biggies. (You know, like Twi-something and H.Potter...I know my code is hard to crack, but try.) I always thought comparisons should NEVER be done -- lesson learned.

8 From Jane Friedman of Writer's Digest: Heck, I wouldn't even know where to begin. Do yourself a favor and SCOUR her blog from top to bottom. http://blog.writersdigest.com/norules/

9. A writer's conference is like a box of chocolates, you never know...wait, I didn't mean to put that down. Never mind.

10. Don't be afraid to ask questions, even if you think they are dumb. The writing community is one of the most supportive and generous groups of people you will ever meet.

The Midwest Writer's Workshop Conference is one of the best, in my opinion. Give them a try next year! Conference dates for 2011 -- July 28-30.

I'm Not A Librarian, But I Play One on TV

2010-08-04T10:04:00.014-04:00

At the beginning of every school year, the call goes out for parent volunteers. Parents groan, throw away requests for help, and dodge the school faculty even if it means diving into the bathroom or running to their cars. (I swear I haven't done this...much)

I'll admit going on field trips isn't my favorite, and if I volunteer in the classroom the teachers tend to offer me the messiest craft possible or ask me to help their most unruly group of kids with a "big" project.

Last year was different, sorta. I did go on field trips and spend some time in the classroom trenches, but then there was the library. My children brought home a lovely green sheet of paper asking for library volunteers and my antennae went up. I thought, hmmm, the library? Why, that's that wonderful place full of books with plastic covers, and bar codes, and paper...I had to wipe my chin. "Sign me up!" I said. And I waited.

I started getting whiny when no one called me right away. "Am I not good enough? Not qualified? What's the deal," I said. My mother gently reminded me that I wasn't interviewing for a job. "Be patient," she said.

Turns out, our school librarian, a wonderful woman named Sandy, has zero help besides parents and she had no time to call me. She's working under some tough conditions with huge budget cuts and this year we suffered the loss of the RIF program. Sandy did call when she had a chance and we hit it off in, oh, approximately five seconds. I started my library tour of duty the following Monday and never looked back.

I learned the computer system and the organization of the books, and by the end of day one I was on a library high. There's nothing like helping a five-year-old find the David (David Shannon) books or any of the Henry and Mudge series (Cynthia Rylant), but what really got me going was the little guys and gals who could barely see over the top of the counter lugging up Artemis Fowl (Eoin Colfer) or Harry Potter (JK Rowling). The excitement in their eyes and the anticipation in their voices was enough to make me squeal every Monday. We finally stopped shelving Diary of a Wimpy Kid (Jeff Kinney) because it never stayed there long enough to make the trip worthwhile.

Every parent has limits on their free time and we all have to choose how to spend it. I wouldn't trade my library time for a big fat paycheck because I got paid in smiles, hugs, and the reward of seeing children fall in love with reading. For all you parents who have been training sprints over the summer to run from the volunteer squad, think about saying yes to the library if you can. You'll get so much more than you give.

You Might Be A Tweetaholic If...

2010-07-27T08:22:00.002-04:00

1. You start answering face to face questions with a #. "Whatcha been up to?"
"Oh, I've been #amwriting and #amediting a lot, but I'm #amvacationing next week."

2. You can't be bothered to answer the phone. ("If it was important they'd be tweeting me, damn it. I'm busy reading Mel Gibson's latest rant and coming up with a way to work the word guffaw into one of my tweets.")

3. You stop reading bios and follow people if you like their avatar. (That's right, I know you've done it. Just stand up now and state your name so we can start on the first step of recovery.)

4. You start thinking people you've never met don't like you when they don't respond to your friendly tweet. ("Was it something I said? Curses, I just know they're going to unfollow me for that stupid remark!")

5. When you MUST be offline (gah, scary) you daydream about clever tweets that will turn you into a beloved supah-sta.

6. Instead of being annoyed by the Tweetdeck chirp, it turns you into a Pavlovian dog drooling every few seconds for a tweet, err treat.

7. Wip? What Wip?

8. U forget how 2 spl b/c using whole wds takes >140 chars.

9. You drink a Red Bull so you can keep up with conversations on #askagent, #litchat, etc.

10. And finally, you turn into a math whiz, obsessing over numbers, numbers, NUMBERS! How many followers, how many tweets, ooh, look how many they have, only 2 more to 300 should I tweet and beg for more? I need MORE NUMBERS!

The Pre-Conference Buzz

2010-07-20T09:53:00.009-04:00

I've got it bad, the pre-conference buzz. Eight days from now I will hit the road, ALONE, and spend three glorious days with writers, agents, and publishers talking about all things bookish. I'm headed to the Midwest Writers Workshop Conference in Muncie, IN and do you think I'm just a little excited? Weeeeee!

As if staying in a hotel, no cooking, and no laundry weren't enough, I won't be refereeing any fights (hopefully), watching cartoons (well, maybe), or eating chicken nuggets (definitely not). My three days are mapped out and should go down like this:

Day One: Intensive Session with best selling author Marcus Sakey. He will be presenting How to Keep a Stranger Up All Night: Secrets of Suspense Writing. Ooh! Sounds delicious. I can't wait and will post all the juicy tidbits I learn.

Day two am: Agent Q & A followed by Secrets to Getting Published
Sweet, plenty of good stuff there!

Day two pm: Crud, this is where the choices get tough. With so many good workshops, I'm sure to miss something good. I need a Ben-10 watch so I could be Echo-Echo and go to all of them at once.

The evening will be capped off with, what else, a writing contest. This conference just gets better all the time!

After I catch my breath from day two, it's on to the *sniff* final day where I'll be teary thinking about it all coming to an end.

Day three is jam-packed with more workshops (more decisions to make, darn it) and will wind up with the Manny Awards presented for mss in 4 categories. (I submitted for fiction, fingers crossed for me? pretty please?)

Somewhere in there I have an agent pitch scheduled, and if I can reign in my energy and not send her away screaming, I hope to do a decent job. (Will also be nice if I don't faint or throw-up)

Watch for my posts to see how it's going and I'll share all the ins and outs of MWW 2010. It's going to be a blast!

Don't Judge A Crit Partner By His Book Cover

2010-07-14T08:44:00.000-04:00

When it comes to critique partners, I have heard and read many times that it's important to seek out a writer from your genre. That makes sense to me, it's not bad advice. I write YA, and getting together with someone from my tribe who is in tune with the ways of YA novels would have plenty of benefits. But, and here's a big but (and I don't mean the one I'm sitting on), that isn't the only option. Sometimes oil and water mix.

I met my critique partner, Pete, through a short story class and we could not be more different. He's male, a sports writer by day, and he writes horror. I'll admit that I wondered how this partnership would work out when we started, but to my surprise (and probably his, too), we work well together.

For starters, we were honest. He told me he doesn't read YA, and may not "get it" in places. I told him I don't read a lot of horror, so he was worried I would find his work too gory or intense. For me, a good story is always intriguing and intensity never hurts so I was game to dig into his ms. With our confessions out in the open, we agreed to give it a try.

We started exchanging chapters and let me tell you, we laugh a lot. He tends to shake his head and say "Is that the way teen girls think?" I smile and nod because he doesn't know the half of it. Regardless of the question, I'm always glad when he asks because I'm forced to evaluate the sentence, character, or whatever. I question him as well, and sheesh, have I learned a few new things about how men think.

Everyone needs their plot logic and character motivation questioned. Pete does that in a way someone similar to me wouldn't, calling me on the practicality of certain plot points. He recently hounded me about what I thought was a very minor character and made me realize how crucial she is to my story. Pete also brings me down to earth, pointing out when things get, as he puts it, "a little over the top" in the mushy romantic spots and he's great at dialogue, letting me know when mine is reading stiff. His perspective is so different that I find his critiques priceless.

At our last meeting Pete told me that while YA is really not his thing, he's interested in my story and wants to get to the next chapters to see what happens. To me, that's the ultimate compliment since he is reading way outside his favored genre.

So, in praise of the "opposites attract" theory, I say don't limit your options. You never know who might be the perfect critique partner.

Writing Candy #1

2010-07-08T20:49:00.016-04:00

This is my inaugural post of Writing Candy, a random whenever-I-feel-like-it series where I contemplate how my two favorite things, writing and candy, seamlessly become one (as they should). Today's inspiration comes from my favorite of all time, the no longer available super scrumptious Marathon Bar. Ahem, and here it is...

Writing is like a marathon. You must be prepared for:

1. Daily training

2. Learning to keep a steady pace

3. Snacking to keep you going

4. Hydrating to keep you going

5. Pushing through the wall

6. Pain and exhaustion

7. Ignoring the people that sprint past you

8. Blisters and muscle cramps

9. Crawling across the finish line if you have to

10. Finding satisfaction in the fact that you finished, even if no one notices but your mom

And the good news is, the above mentioned candy will assist you in getting through 1-10. (Well, maybe not the hydrating, but it'll make you thirsty and get your sorry butt to the fridge.)

And now that I have completed this post, I will celebrate with the step-sister of the Marathon Bar, a Caramello. Thank you and please come again.