Southern Fried Chicas

Below are six topics. Respond to whatever interests you and ignore the rest.

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1. POLL A

Adverbs are:

1. Lovely descriptive nuggets

2. A lazy writer’s crutch

3. Spawns of Satan

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Okey doke folks, I am going to take my Tuesday off. It’s not that I haven’t had several brilliant ideas since last week, but the weekend proved to be long and draining—and frankly I forgot them all before I could even get to the computer (I really need to start carrying a notebook everywhere I go–oh maybe someone could invent some voice activated jewelry that could take dictation…).

A day off would be heavenly though, ever more-so I am so in need of a full-blown vacation. I want to get away. Away from here and all the duties/details I have to tackle at any given moment. To somewhere that I don’t have to worry about anything. I don’t know that there is a place that exists like that.  You see I am a worrier… I worry about everything all the time. It’s almost like a little buzz at the back of my attention span. Always present just not always as annoying.

Worries aside, I’d like to try to find that illusive luxury spot. I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii. Or any place tropical for that matter. I like the sun, the beach and the sound of the water. There are actually many other places I’d like to visit: Ireland, England, Greece, Italy, Egypt… just about any and all “destination” spots. However, I’m an not the most adventurous traveler. Some is lack of money, some is time … let’s be real, mostly it’s the money. If I have enough to go to Europe, I’d rather take the kids to Disney World. I am so much a bad traveler, I don’t even have a passport. When the dh and I got married, we went to Cancun—didn’t need anything more than my birth cert back then.

Back to today… I can be lazy, I guess, whenever so a day off is really not the right idea. I guess I’d really rather have a “Denise’s Day off” where I could not have my worries for a day, but then who would I turn in to and would that inherit a host of other problems that I would be even less rested than before I started.

Alas, I didn’t really take the day off after all. But gave you something to ponder: What would be your ideal day off? Or vacation? What would you do?

… and I hope everyone had a great (and safe) 4th.

It has been two weeks since I last confessed. WARNING: Self Pity, Ranty Narcissism Ensues. You May Want to Turn Around ‘Cause This Ain’t Pretty

I’ve hit desperate as far as my writing (publishing career) goes. Hopefully you won’t have any idea what I speak of. Desperate is an island of one where you are forced to deal with all your crazy and anxiety. On this particular trip of Desperate I’ve got nothing going on in my head that’s fresh and new as far as writing goes.

And at this point I have to accept I am now a has been.

Did you know my last published novel was in 2008? (Can I even call myself published anymore?) The last fresh and new novel I wrote was in 2009? Yeah, I’ve been editing, but I’m sure if left on my own I could edit until I’m mummified at my computer.

It’s not writers block. It’s has-beenism. I’m one of those writers who year after year edit the same stories and ride on the coattails of their last triumph. For months I’ve been trying to give a WIP mouth to mouth with ideas that would make the story better—no scratch that—ideas that could become a STORY period. It’s not even that I don’t have time to write. I’ve got more time than someone serving a life sentences in prison. (And at least they exercise.)

What makes this third ring of hell worse is that I know what I want to do. I have a plan. Me. With a plan. I’m motivated. I’ve got the ambition, but where in the hell are the words? Ok. I’ve got words but in nothing that I should be writing. (Yeah, I’m looking at you YA novel.) It feels like I’ve hit a patch of black ice and even though my hands are on the wheel I’m not the one in control.

* headdesk *

So, I, Melissa Blue, am a total has been. Next year if I’m still talking about the glory days or, goodness forbid, giving anyone advice on writing, please note I am a complete fraud. If I’m talking about actual writing, you know hands on keyboard even if it’s only brain dribble, you have every right to look at me with the side-eye.

What do you have to confess this week?

“I was standing there naked when my dead husband walked into my bathroom…”

Lillie St. Claire is a Talent, one of the rare few who can permanently dispatch the spirits of the dead that walk the earth. Her skills are in demand in a haunted country, where a plague of ghosts is becoming a civic nuisance…

(I first made the acquaintance of Ms. Lillie St. Claire, ghost-buster extraordinaire, through the wonderful Bernita Harris, talented author and frequent visitor to this site. Following the release of her first novel with Carina Press, “Dark and Disorderly”, I requested an interview with Lillie, which she was kind enough to grant).

Q: Why DO zombies generally shamble and stagger?

Raine, you would ask about that! I’ve been trying to forget about the zombie episode. (But you remind me, I must hit up Acting Chief Sullivan to see if I can get my shotgun back.)
I suppose it’s because their joints have locked up and their tendons have tightened and since they don’t have much in the way of brains, messages don’t travel along their nerves to their muscles that well.

Q: The work you do would terrify most people. Why do you do it? Is it more for the living, or the dead?

There are times my job terrifies me. I could compare exorcism to bomb disposal, you never know when one is going to blow up in your face. But it is my job… and I’m one of the few who can do it in reasonable safety. The living, certainly, but sometimes, old crimes cry out and one can bring justice to the dead. And that’s why I also have a contract with Waredale PD. Sometimes I can find where the bodies are buried.

Q: We all love a large helping of sexual tension in our storylines. But you really must explain how you resisted the advances of Mr. Johnny Thresher, and what in the world kept you from jumping his large, hawt bones.

Probably simple fear. I didn’t know that much about him–there hadn’t been the opportunity to learn much about him. He could have a significant other for all I knew. At that point I didn’t trust my judgment about men, thanks to Nathan. The conditions were extraordinary in any event with sabotage and riots and pipes bombs and grave robbings, I hardly had time to think. It certainly wasn’t that I didn’t want him–danger itself is enough to trigger a sexual imperative, but I didn’t want to be used for someone’s agenda and I wasn’t certain just what John’s agenda was.

Q: Is it possible for you to use your abilities to harm the living?

Most definitely. I could fritz someone’s pacemaker, for example. That’s why there is a certain prohibition about touching for a Talent.

Q: Please tell us about those wonderful bracelets of yours.

They are ancient and heavy, solid silver 2′ wide clasp or “cuff” bracelets, inlaid with copper knotwork and gripping beasts and inset with garnets. My guardian claimed they were my mother’s but would not tell me more. I can work without them but they add “boost”–and confidence.

Q: Talent, Freak, paranormal expert, ghost eliminator. What frightens Lillie St. Claire?

The increase, not only in wraiths and spirits, but in the appearance of other less-than-benign paranormal entities such as the Sluagh, the unforgiven and unsantified dead. Talents have to rely in part on the dangerous and often contradictory remedies from myth and legend to disperse and dispel creatures from myth and legend–it’s all we have in some cases. And that makes trial-and-error a deadly proposition.

Q: May we look forward to more stories about you? Preferably many more?

Thank you. A few stories may be found in the Weirdly anthologies from Wild Child Publishing. But there are a few loose ends to tie up–the curse stones being only one. I’ve a backload of cases, actually. And I’ll certainly have to figure out what to do about John Thresher, so Dark and Dangerous is in progress.
***** ***** *****
Bernita Harris
The Adventures of Lillie St. Claire
DARK AND DISORDERLY – Carina Press, June 2010
blog:http://www.bernitaharris.blogspot.com/

Below are ten topics. Respond to whatever interests you and ignore the rest.

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1. OUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

With the film adaptation of the third installment of the Twilight saga, Eclipse premiering this week, Galley Cat posted an article featuring some reviews of the novel that spawned the movie.  Here’s one from Dear Author.  They also cited a report they did last year on Stephen King’s controversial comments about Stephanie Meyer.  From Galley Cat February 2009:

“While promoting his new book, Stephen King Goes to the Movies, King sat down with USA Today, unloading his opinions about other popular writers.

Here’s a juicy excerpt:
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“Both Rowling and Meyer, they’re speaking directly to young people. … The real difference is that Jo Rowling is a terrific writer and Stephenie Meyer can’t write worth a darn. She’s not very good … Somebody who’s a terrific writer who’s been very, very successful is Jodi Picoult. You’ve got Dean Koontz, who can write like hell. And then sometimes he’s just awful. It varies. James Patterson is a terrible writer but he’s very very successful.”

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So… my kid comes in and he’s changed the lyrics of some song—please don’t ask ’cause I truly have no clue what it was, his brothers did and apparently it originally had some bad words and some stuff I don’t wanna know he knows, ya know…

Anyhoo… Other than being teenage-silly, it was quite good. Now this child, when he was 8 was a fabulous storyteller and I really thought he’d carry on with it. But alas, he found sports and his world was complete and not in need of things as frivolous as reading and writing (well, he will read sports books—he’s a stat-knowing child!). I am not in despair yet, he’s only 13 so there is still time, and the fact that he will read the sports books, he’s not completely devoid of the written word. And then he comes in with his version of this song. A little spark of “just maybe…” tweaks in the back of my head. He still has a finger in creating. Hell he’s always been a creator, as have all three of his brothers. From Mangas to traditional comic strips and tv/movie script ideas to songs. They all like to “make” things up–try explaining copyright laws to kids when they want to use this character or that for their new “project”. But regardless of the potential lawsuits, they keep at it. Keep creating the next thing, the next idea. That is one thing none of them are ever lacking… IDEAS. As the youngest of the four is so fond of telling me… how terribly creative he is.

It’s funny, growing up I don’t know that I ever thought of myself as “creative”. I’ve always written. I had a newspaper at the age of eleven that my friend and I made the neighbors buy. And sewing and crafts are something I’ve known how to do for as long as I could remember. But I thought that was normal. You just “did” things. Likewise with my mother. She taught me to sew. She did crafts galore (I have so many pieces of 70s crafts she’s done–mostly that I inherited from my grandparents so it’s especially sentimental… but I digress). Again, it was just something she did. Always. Now as a profession (which she fell into somehow–she started out being an English teacher) she’s a graphic artist.

The generation before her, they did it mostly out of need. My grandmother sewed, but it was dresses and whatnot for my mom and her sisters. She knitted/crocheted, but it was to make blankets, pot holders and doilies–okay maybe she didn’t *need* the doilies, but still… I honestly can’t say if my grandmother ever made something crafty when my mom was young because she wanted to. Dunno…

My dad, same way. Uber creative. Both my parents were marvelous photographers.

Still, it wasn’t until I became an adult that I learned that not everyone did sewing and crafts and photography that went beyond vacation pics. Not everyone wrote (okay , so really, the writing was something I kinda fell into w/o my mom’s influence, she did it, but I didn’t know at the time). It made me a little sad. I thought, “how boring” things must have been. But eh, people amuse themselves in different ways. I’m not an outdoorsy person (at all) so a hiker probably thinks my time spent making this or that was “how boring”.

I married a talented/crafty person. The dh wrote screenplays and used to build sets for plays at school (high school and college–it paid for his senior year). He was an actor from double digits on. Acting is its own world of creating, and I have an overly-dramatic kid or two. My kids didn’t really stand a chance *not to* create some way. Only time will tell how this plays out. But I for one am looking forward to watching it reveal itself.

Too bad math didn’t works its way down into me from my parents–it must be one of those things that skips a generation, my kids are awesome at math (or they got it ALL from their dad) and I suck at math! On a side note, it’s funny ’cause just the other day my mom proclaimed, “I don’t know how you could be my daughter.” Why, you might ask… because I didn’t know what kind of bug was sitting next to me (no, I didn’t squeal–but it was damn hard!)

What did you inherit? Did the creating come from your genes? Did you inherit something else?

“PUBLISHING IS NOT A BUSINESS…IT’S A CASINO”

I’ve heard this from more than one author (Jennifer Crusie is the one I remember), so I can’t say for sure where it originated.

But it reminds me of the one time (yes, ONE TIME—feel free to laugh) I DID visit a gambling house. It was on a business trip, and a few co-workers and I caught a little yellow bus to an isolated little desert casino.

Never having done it before, I was completely lost. I’d only brought $25 with me (yes, feel free to laugh), and my companions quickly disappeared into the throng inside, leaving the newbie on her own.
So, I decided to immerse myself in the atmosphere before trying for whatever big jackpot had my name on it.
I treated myself to a tall, watered-down drink. Wandered around, listening to the noises, watching the gamblers, the employees, the occasional muscle walk by.

It was like being shoved into a strange new world. There was a man with a small purple bucket full of coins, who seemed more interested in guarding the three machines he was playing than watching his money. There was a woman half-leaning against a man beside her, and they chatted about how they came every week on the same night to the same machines. And when he left to hit the head, she sat still and unmoving until he returned, at which point she resumed playing.
A few folks wandered the floor like I did. Aimless. Most of the people seemed to pay very little attention to anyone around them. They were extensions of the machines, totally absorbed in what they were doing, as if playing hard enough for long enough would vanquish the machines. People staring, glassy-eyed, determined, sad, pumped-up, almost painful to watch.
Those are my recollections of “the casino”.

Did I eventually win anything? Yes. Sixteen dollars, lol. The alarm on my slot machine went berserk, and I desperately looked for a button to shut it off, thinking I’d done something wrong. A kindly woman nearby laughed at me and said, “you won, honey! Be happy!”

Good thing she told me that, or I might never have known.
The money was enough to buy a hot dog and another drink, so that was winning. And after I’d had enough of the noise and fuss, I went outside to wait for my co-workers, perching on the steps of the bus and enjoying the quiet and the full desert moon. And that made me happy.

I suppose I’d have to question whether I have what it takes to be a real gambler. Bells and whistles and buckets or not, a casino’s a pretty weird place to be.
But with a bus at the ready, a soft moon sailing just outside, and sense enough to avoid letting it break you…it’s an interesting place to visit.

This week I’m keeping it short and simple. Three questions:

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1. What’s the best writing/career advice you’ve ever received?

2. What’s the worst?

3.  As for your career, is there something you would do different if you had to do it all over again, or are you pretty much satisfied with the road you’ve traveled?

And now for something totally off topic. Stuff you never thought you’d see in print…….

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 Yesterday in Mel’s post, my confession was that I haven’t been writing. There’s no one reason and yet there are a hundred excuses–and that’s all there is: excuses. I’m not blocked. I’m not stuck. I’m just not doing it. The book I’m working on is mostly plotted. Or as plotted as I ever do and still manage to write the book. I’ve said many times before, I can’t plot too much or I lose interest. Oddly enough, that’s not the case with this book. The ideas are swirling around in my head, I just have next to no motivation to sit down and write the dern thing.

I’m not completely idle–with four kids home during the summer, I am never not doing something, but I always feel like I should be doing more (yes, I can do more… it’s a vicious cycle). Still, I do feel guilty not getting more writing done. I’d like to say that I have a “normal” writing routine but I don’t think that I ever have. It’s kinda like plotting out the story to me, if I get in such a regular routine, I feel like I am in a rutt or ever trapped so I try to keep it varied. But in doing so, I don’t have the discipline or the regualrity to fall back on when I am not 100% in it mentally–again w/ the cycle!

The only *cure* for any of this is sitting my butt down and getting to work. And seeing how I set myself a challenge of 25K for the month of June, I am WAY far behind, not so much it isn’t doable, but every day I don’t try is that much more I have to do the next day. I can do it, but I guess only time will tell if I actually do it.

Anyone else not doing what they are supposed to or want to? And for a complete Dr. Phil moment, “How’s that working for you?” The 25K challenge is still on, for those who want to participate, and as of right now, if you’ve done anything, you’re sooooo whooping my butt!

Oh, and… I got my new cover… YAY!  WRONG TURN, RIGHT COWBOY   releases Aug. 17, 2010

Blurb: 

Gillian is off the grid and on the run, determined to protect her daughter from daughter from the girls’ murder-convict father. One wrong turn later, they’re lost in Wyoming—and Gillian is in danger of getting lost in a cowboy’s strong arms. Quint knows a wounded animal when he sees one. He’d love to get at the sexy, secretive woman’s core, but she’s hell-bent on moving on once her car is repaired. Then danger emerges from the smoke of her past, threatening not only their fragile relationship, but their lives.

It has been too long since I last confessed.

1. I’m currently without Internet. As a former Internet addict, I’m quite surprised at how much I don’t miss it. The really, really surprising thing is that what I do miss are the random things you can research. A sudden need to know where the word history of “fruit” .

2. Summer vacation is rolling into it’s second week and my children are still alive. YAY for small things.

3.  It’s summer and I get urges to go around my house in nothing but undies. See I have a water cooler, which is rendered moot after it reaches 100 degrees so my “urge” is completely justified.

4. Yesterday my daughter’s father was brought to tears when he read the Father’s Day card she wrote him. I know it’s only Monday, but that was the best part of my week.

5. No, like seriously I’m HOT.

What do you need to confess?