tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50321410869516756142024-03-13T12:00:12.223-07:00Laura Oliva BooksTender love stories. Tough people.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.comBlogger119125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-51215887136216450722014-12-07T07:00:00.000-08:002014-12-07T07:00:01.731-08:00Sunday Poetry: Once I Pass'd Through A Populous City<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">"Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes." -Joseph Roux</span></i></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Once I Pass'd Through A Populous City </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">by Walt Whitman</span></b><br />
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<i>Once I pass'd through a populous city imprinting my brain for future</i><br />
<i>use with its shows, architecture, customs, traditions,</i><br />
<i>Yet now of all that city I remember only a woman I casually met</i><br />
<i> there who detain'd me for love of me,</i><br />
<i> Day by day and night by night we were together--all else has long</i><br />
<i>been forgotten by me,</i><br />
<i>I remember I say only that woman who passionately clung to me,</i><br />
<i>Again we wander, we love, we separate again,</i><br />
<i>Again she holds me by the hand, I must not go,</i><br />
<i>I see her close beside me with silent lips sad and tremulous.</i><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-91500505600771506342014-10-20T15:54:00.005-07:002014-10-20T16:09:00.414-07:00Beautiful Strangers: On Writing Diversity (Pt. 3)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Part 3: So What The Heck Do I Actually Write?</b></span></div>
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<i><b>"Allow the diversity to exist. There is nothing wrong with it."</b></i></div>
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<b>-Jessica Lange</b></div>
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Hey there! I'm glad you're back for the final installment of my little series (read: ramble-fest) on writing diversity.<br />
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By happy coincidence, NaNoWriMo has partnered up with the grassroots organization We Need Diverse Books for the entire month of October. A huge shout-out to the NaNoWriMo <a href="http://blog.nanowrimo.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">blog</span></a>, where you'll be able to find even more awesome posts on literary diversity! Seriously, guys, this is worth checking out.<br />
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Now, one last time, let's recap:</div>
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In my <a href="http://lauraoliva-writinginthenight.blogspot.com/2014/10/beautiful-strangers-on-writing.html"><span style="color: #cc0000;">first post</span></a>, I talked about the lack of diversity in mass-market fiction, and put a call-to-action out to the people who have the capacity to change things: us! Writers of the world, diversify!</div>
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In my <a href="http://lauraoliva-writinginthenight.blogspot.com/2014/10/beautiful-strangers-on-writing_18.html"><span style="color: #cc0000;">second post</span></a>, I went back-to-basics, and looked at what the terms "stereotype" and "caricature" actually mean. Hopefully, now we know what to avoid.<br />
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So where does that leave us? Rather, <i>what </i>does that leave us? We want to populate our worlds with diverse characters, but how do we do that? What should we be aiming for in our writing? </div>
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The answer may come from a surprising place.<br />
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ECRP (Early Childhood Research & Practice), is a peer-reviewed, multilingual journal on early childhood development. Back in 2001, it published a fantastic article titled <a href="http://ecrp.uiuc.edu/v3n2/mendoza.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">"Examining Multicultural Picture Books for the Early Childhood Classroom: Possibilities and Pitfalls."</span></a></div>
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The entire article is worth reading, but of particular value to writers is the section "Using Theories of Race to Examine Children's Literature." It talks about the importance of "reading against the grain," also known as "resistant reading." This concept promotes reading with an eye towards recognizing stereotypes or biases on the part of the author. ECRP called it "interrogating" the literature.<br />
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The article offers several questions to guide readers in these "interrogations." Tweaked slightly, some of them are also excellent questions for writers to ask themselves about their own work.<br />
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Here are some of the most relevant questions (in my opinion). Any italicized commentary is my own:<br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">- Question #1:</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Are characters "outside the mainstream culture" depicted as individuals or as caricatures?</span><br />
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<i>This may be the most important question out of all of them, and it's deceptive in its simplicity. We start falling into stereotypes when we recycle old tropes or generalize about a given group. This is also known as lazy writing. </i><br />
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<i>Our characters should be believable as people, first and foremost. Everything else is just window dressing.</i><br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">- Question #2:</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Does their representation include significant specific cultural information? Or does it follow stereotypes?</span><br />
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<i>One of the reasons stereotypes are so common is because they're so </i>easy<i>. Again, don't get lazy. Put in the time, do your research, and both your characters and your writing will be all that much richer.</i><br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">- Question #3:</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Who has the power in this story? What is the nature of their power, and how do they use it?</span><br />
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<i>To these questions, I'll add one of my own: are the people with the power the people you would expect to have the power? If so, that's not necessarily bad. Like I said in my first post of this series, not every character needs to be a Beautiful Stranger (again, quoting Nisi Shawl). </i><br />
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<i>However, if there is room to do so, consider playing around a bit. If nothing else, you might end up with some characters/ situations you didn't expect... and that can be fun.</i><br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">- Question #4:</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">What are the consequences of certain behaviors? What behaviors or traits are rewarded, and how? What behaviors are punished, and how?</span><br />
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<i>In other words, are certain cultures/ lifestyles portrayed as "acceptable", whereas others aren't?</i><br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">- Question #5:</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">How is language used to create images of people of a particular group?</span><br />
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<i>Language is tricky. Used well, it can add flavor to a particular character or scene. Used carelessly, it can come across as patronizing and ridiculous. My advice is, a little dab'll do ya. Most readers tend to get lost in hyper-slang anyway.</i><br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">- Question #6:</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Who has written this story? Are they inside or outside the groups they are presenting? What are they in a position to know? What do they claim to know?</span><br />
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<i>Writers, this means us! What are we in a position to know? I would argue we can position ourselves to know more, but it takes some effort. And by effort, I mean research. </i><br />
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<i>Firsthand knowledge is always best, so however you can obtain that, do it! Read from firsthand sources (books, magazines). Go to a cultural festival. Check out the taqueria down the street where everyone speaks Spanish, and order something you wouldn't normally get (I suggest horchata). </i><br />
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<i>Make yourself a cultural ambassador. Your writing will be better for it. </i><br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">- Question #7:</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Whose voices are heard? Whose are missing?</span><br />
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<i>Are there places where you could add these missing voices in? At first, this will probably feel stilted. The more you do it, however, the more natural it will feel. And once you start seeing the added layers in your writing, I think you'll be hooked. I know I am.</i><br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">- Question #8:</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">What do(es) this narrative... say about race? Class? Culture? Gender? Age? Resistance to the status quo?</span><br />
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<i>In my opinion, there is no "right" or "wrong" answer to this question. Whatever your narrative is saying, just make sure it was your intention to say it. </i><br />
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<i>Not to suggest our books don't or shouldn't take on a life of their own -to the contrary, I find it incredibly exciting when that happens! I'm merely counseling vigilance and awareness.</i><br />
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I'll leave you with a final quote from Nisi Shawl, whom I also referenced in my initial post on this subject. In her fantabulous article <a href="http://www.sfwa.org/2009/12/transracial-writing-for-the-sincere/"><span style="color: #cc0000;">"Transracial Writing For The Sincere,"</span></a> she says:<br />
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<i>"Remember that difference is in the eye of the beholder. Black people don’t spend their whole lives thinking of themselves as black. We’re Ghanaians and editors and diabetics, and lots of other -ians and -ors and -ics. Use these self-categorizations to add points of audience identification to your characters."</i></div>
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I can't think of much to add to that.</div>
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I hope you've enjoyed this series! Thanks again for reading. If you're interested in more of my writing, I hope you'll stick around and check out the rest of the blog.</div>
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Otherwise, happy wordmaking!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-45367757218295623642014-10-18T18:46:00.000-07:002014-10-18T18:49:34.593-07:00Beautiful Strangers: On Writing Diversity (Pt. 2)<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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<a href="http://stereotypeblogger.blogspot.com/2013_05_01_archive.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8WzH1DTpMgtpb7VXGtr2S43HbSMBPp8NNAqiv2kSjLBLmK4vPF__yD_DTNCW-SEte6Ar9nFHjt7lHbvIt3z0qCH5ZtEzEL_1b3w2gayxNkUM4bQiUKiVTv3R09_dA8A5bJed8TDFVr4/s1600/stereotypes+2.jpg" height="102" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">What Are Stereotypes, Really? </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">(AKA, Know Thy Enemy)</span></b></div>
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<i><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”</span></b> </i></div>
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- Sun Tzu, <i>The Art of War</i></div>
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If you're here, it means <a href="http://lauraoliva-writinginthenight.blogspot.com/2014/10/beautiful-strangers-on-writing.html"><span style="color: #cc0000;">my previous post</span></a> didn't scare you off. Hooray! Before we dive in again, let's re-cap.<br />
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We've agreed the lack of diversity in mainstream fiction is problematic.<br />
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We've acknowledged we, as writers, have the power and the obligation to change this.<br />
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We've decided we want more diverse characters (main, minor, and everything in between) in our own writing.</div>
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So what now?<br />
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I've done a lot of thinking about this. If you're like me, you've spent so long walking on eggshells, it's hard to know where to start. How do you distinguish between the things you should handle delicately and the things that are, in fact, acceptable to print?<br />
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Here are just a few of the issues I've come up against in my quest to diversify my characters:<br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">* When writing about racial minorities, do you describe skin color? If so, when, how, and how much?</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">* If your character is a lesbian, can she have a butch haircut and wear button-down shirts? </span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">* If your character is gay, how masculine/femme can or should he be?</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">* Can your villain be a minority (racial, sexual, or religious)?</span></div>
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I realize these may sound silly, but they are all things I've genuinely questioned and struggled with. The last thing I want is to propagate what Ray Bradbury so eloquently called "the terrible tyranny of the majority." I want diversity in my books, but it's not enough for me to simply shoehorn in a lineup of tired caricatures and call it a day.<br />
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I want to get it <i>right</i>. How do we get it <i>right</i>?<br />
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First and foremost, I think it helps to have an idea how to avoid getting it wrong. How do you know if what you're writing qualifies as a stereotype? Sometimes it's glaringly obvious, but not all stereotypes necessarily sound like stereotypes. At least, not right away. What to do?<br />
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Let's start small.<br />
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The following is copied directly out of the <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/stereotype" target="_blank">Merriam-Webster online dictionary</a>:<br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">STE·REO·TYPE </span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">transitive verb \ˈster-ē-ə-ˌtīp, ˈstir-\</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">: to believe unfairly that all people or things with a particular characteristic are the same</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">1</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">: to make a stereotype from</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">2</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">a : to repeat without variation : make hackneyed</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">b : to develop a mental stereotype about</span><br />
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This might also be helpful:<br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">CAR·I·CA·TURE </span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">noun \ˈker-i-kə-ˌchu̇r, -ˌchər, -ˌtyu̇r, -ˌtu̇r, -ˈka-ri-\</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">: a drawing that makes someone look funny or foolish because some part of the person's appearance is exaggerated</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">: someone or something that is very exaggerated in a funny or foolish way</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">1</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">: exaggeration by means of often ludicrous distortion of parts or characteristics</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">2</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">: a representation especially in literature or art that has the qualities of caricature</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">3</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">: a distortion so gross as to seem like caricature</span><br />
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Lest you think I'm deliberately patronizing you, let me explain.<br />
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<a href="http://lauraoliva-writinginthenight.blogspot.com/2014/10/beautiful-strangers-on-writing.html?zx=64caf43345f6384c" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">In my last post</span></a>, I said overly-P.C. language has muddied the issue and confused people. I believe that's a bigger problem than most of us realize or acknowledge. We're so terrified of producing "stereotypes" and "caricatures" that we've lost sight of what those words actually mean.<br />
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It's time for some clarity. What is a stereotype, really?<br />
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According to the above definition, "to stereotype" something means "to repeat without variation." In other words, if you're writing about a character who is, say, Muslim, and all your descriptions are recycled from media talk shows and the news, chances are your character is going to read like a stereotype. We've all heard this information. You are not providing anything new.<br />
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According to another part of the definition, the belief that "all people or things with a certain characteristic are the same" is also stereotyping. We've all seen those pics of the angry Muslim toting a submachine gun and stomping on an American flag*. I hope you don't need me to tell you such pictures are blatant stereotypes, and don't represent the majority of those out there who practice Islam.<br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">*<i>If this resembles a character you have or were planning to write, please visit a local mosque, talk to a few actual Muslims, and call me in the morning.</i></span><br />
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Now, for caricatures.<br />
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I have a love/hate relationship with caricatures. On the one hand, I have a drag queen in my noir romance series who is the most glitter-fied human being you will ever meet. Almost his entire character is caricature, from his bouffant beehive up-do to his pink silk pumps.<br />
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Note how I said "almost".<br />
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I think you really start running into problems when the caricature becomes the <i>entire </i>basis of your character. True, much of Cookie Mambo is caricature, but there's a lot more to him than just false eyelashes and fuchsia lipstick, and I'm having a lot of fun exploring that.<br />
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I'd also argue that there are appropriate and inappropriate usages of caricature. Look at some of the words in the definition: "funny", "foolish", "ludicrous". That suggests humor.<br />
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Not all characters are meant to be comic relief. Cookie Mambo is, and as a drag queen, caricature is literally his job. If that's not true for your character, I would avoid caricatures when describing them.<br />
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Phew! Still with me? This is a lot to digest, so I'm going to leave it at that for now. But never fear, I won't leave you hanging! There's still a lot more we haven't covered.<br />
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Stay tuned for...<br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b>Part 3: So What The Heck Do I Actually Write?</b></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-13738945910450443482014-10-17T20:08:00.000-07:002014-10-18T18:47:41.466-07:00Beautiful Strangers: On Writing Diversity (Pt. 1)<div style="text-align: center;">
Originally, the plan was to make this one post. As I sit down to write, however, it occurs to me a single post would barely scratch the surface of this vast, under-discussed topic.</div>
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Hence the "Part 1" in the title. Here, we'll get the ball rolling and identify what I see as a major problem in literature today: the marked lack of diversity. The next post (or two) will offer some suggestions and pointers on what we, as writers, can do about it. </div>
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Thanks for reading! I'm looking forward to the discussion...</div>
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<a href="http://healthyhomesteading.com/2010/09/what-are-good-egg-laying-chicken-breeds/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6cj31FvspCNCJxvzy6aGX_9XK2FUo7js_ycvb0CtAOqNrQT97vg0bo6qEuMvZjAWFlUPKmlxE0YfHCIWUPzBSW-nVMkD5eBXAZOriIjDePpJ-3kfEDm18Tvsvd3FsFBvO6U1pfsAAXzs/s1600/myeggrainbow.jpg" height="400" width="216" /></a></div>
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<i><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">"He who is different from me does not impoverish me - he enriches me... For no man seeks to hear his own echo, or to find his reflection in the glass."</span></b></i></div>
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<span style="color: white;">-Antoine de Saint-Exupéry</span><br />
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Diversity, race, orientation, prejudice: all these are sensitive subjects for writers and non-writers alike. With that in mind, I feel I should start off with a few disclaimers:</div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Disclaimer #1:</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i>I am not, nor do I claim to be, an expert on the subject of diversity in literature (or in general, for that matter)</i></b>. Way smarter people than I can and have tackled the philosophical, literary, and political aspects of diversity. </div>
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Rather, the purpose of this series is to examine what diversity means for me as a writer, to encourage other writers to venture outside their comfort zones, and to offer some solid suggestions on how and where to start.</div>
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<i><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">Disclaimer #2:</span></b></i></div>
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<i><b>I will not attempt to comment on diversity in countries other than my own.</b></i> I love you, citizens of the world, but let's face it, I neither know nor understand your particular cultural climate, at least not well enough to offer an opinion on it. </div>
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For that reason, any anecdotes I use or observations I make will be drawn purely from my own experiences in the continental United States. Hopefully you will still find them useful, no matter where you live.</div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Disclaimer #3:</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i>Some of what I say here may come across as politically incorrect. </i></b>It's not my intention to offend anyone, and I sincerely hope I don't. </div>
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That said, I believe overly-P.C. language has muddied the topic and left everyone confused. This subject is too important to sabotage with feel-good platitudes. I'm going for the jugular here. If that's a problem for you, I humbly suggest you utilize the nearest exit.</div>
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Still with me? Awesome! Now let's get real.</div>
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Confessions first: writing diversity has always scared the shit out of me. The reason for this (ready to get non-P.C.?) is that I'm white.</div>
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<i><span style="color: #cc0000;">*crickets chirping*</span></i></div>
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As a conscientious modern white woman, I have trouble saying stuff like that. Hell, I even have trouble referring to myself as "white". It connotes painful images of race riots and people running around in bed sheets, things no one wants to be associated with.</div>
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Before you get the wrong idea, I'm not going to start whining about "reverse-racism", or anything like that (for an excellent article that sums up my views on that particular subject, click <a href="http://feminspire.com/why-reverse-racism-isnt-real/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">here</span></b></a>). That's not my point, and it's not the point of this post.</div>
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My point is, I don't think I'm the only writer who has struggled with this, and rather than risk offending people, many of us have simply opted out of writing diversity altogether.</div>
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A quick scan of Amazon Kindle's categories for Fiction tells a depressing story. Of the major genres (Mystery/Thriller/Suspense, Science Fiction/Fantasy, and Romance), only Romance has sub-categories for non-white, non-hetero titles. On one hand, this isn't particularly surprising; the Romance genre has more sub-categories and sub-sub-categories than an IRS tax form.</div>
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Where it gets depressing is when you start looking at the numbers. I'll stick to Romance, both because it's the genre I write in, and because it's the only genre with any actual data. Here are a few numbers to consider (current as of Oct. 17, 2014). Please note, in the interest of simplicity, they have been rounded off: </div>
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<b><i># of titles in the Romance Genre:</i></b> <span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>212,000</b></span></div>
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<b><i># of titles in the African-American sub-genre:</i></b> <span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>5,000</b></span></div>
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<b><i># of titles in the Multicultural/Interracial sub-genre:</i></b> <span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>4,300</b></span></div>
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The LGBTQ categories don't do much better, though the popularity of M/M romance has skyrocketed over the last few years: </div>
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<b><i># of titles in M/M and Gay sub-genres*:</i></b> <b><span style="color: #cc0000;">12,000</span></b></div>
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<b><i># of titles in the Lesbian sub-genre:</i></b> <b><span style="color: #cc0000;">3,000</span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">* </span><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">On Amazon, M/M Romance and Gay Romance are categorized under the blanket heading "Gay Romance", despite the fact that there are significant differences between the two. For more information, check out Yaoi Research's article, <a href="http://yaoiresearch.net/2012/02/20/on-defining-mm-romance/" target="_blank"><b>On Defining M/M Romance</b></a>.</span></i></div>
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If these numbers have gotten you thinking, I'm glad. They got me thinking, too. But even these don't tell the whole story. </div>
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What about books not intended as African-American/ Multicultural/ Interracial fiction? Not all heroes/heroines will be --or need to be-- Beautiful Strangers (term coined -as far as I know- by SF author Nisi Shawl).</div>
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To me, the biggest problem isn't necessarily the dearth of culturally diverse sub-genre books. Rather, it is the insidious absence of <i>any </i>non-white, non-hetero main, minor, secondary, tertiary, or quaternary characters at all, period.</div>
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Which brings me back to my initial confession. </div>
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We're all afraid. We're afraid of rubbing someone the wrong way. We're afraid of "getting it wrong". We're afraid that for all our research, care, and best intentions, we're still going to end up with this guy:</div>
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I get it. Believe me.</div>
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The problem isn't being afraid. The problem is being controlled by our fear. In our desperation not to offend, we've inadvertently created a literary landscape that is glaringly one-dimensional. It's time to own that. And it's time to change it.</div>
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If that scares you, <i>awesome</i>. It means you're seriously considering leaving your comfort zone. That's the first step, and you should give yourself a pat on the back for taking it.</div>
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I'm going to end this segment with a bit of good news: </div>
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<b><span style="color: #cc0000;">WE'RE WRITERS, PEOPLE!</span></b> </div>
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If anyone has the ability, the brains, and the compassion to take this issue on, it's us. We see more, hear more, feel more, and intuit more than your average shmuck-on-the-street. It's what makes us so good at what we do. </div>
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It's why we do what we do in the first place.<br />
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So who's with me?</div>
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###</div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://lauraoliva-writinginthenight.blogspot.com/2014/10/beautiful-strangers-on-writing_18.html">Part 2: What Are Stereotypes, Really? </a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://lauraoliva-writinginthenight.blogspot.com/2014/10/beautiful-strangers-on-writing_18.html">(AKA, Know Thy Enemy)</a></b></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-39714763992064810172014-06-29T00:00:00.000-07:002014-06-29T00:00:06.194-07:00Sunday Poetry: Self Pity<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>"Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes." -Joseph Roux</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Self Pity, by D.H. Lawrence</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>I never saw a wild thing</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>sorry for itself.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>without ever having felt sorry for itself.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Best recited by the Master Chief (aka Viggo Mortenson) in G.I. Jane:</b></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-13495744873339310722014-06-27T18:03:00.003-07:002014-06-27T18:07:59.612-07:00Research Trip! Fort MasonThose of you who know me know I value my day trips.<br />
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Writing is a solitary business. Most of my time is spent at a desk, swigging cold coffee and tossing back Ibuprofen to combat lower back pain. What can I say? It ain't always sexy, folks.<br />
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Which is why I seize any excuse I can to venture out into, you know, The Real World.<br />
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I am fortunate enough to live near the city that has become my Muse. San Francisco is one hell of a town. Every time I go there (which I do, as often as time and gas prices permit), I discover something new, something wonderful, something that would be perfect in a book.<br />
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One of my recent trips took me to Fort Mason. This old Army installation is located on the waterfront at the edge of The Marina district.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtW8o4ses0DgOsmrcqoiDwqQH0J74uym11swg1yiKY5cFpcwMYudzzJpk3bB5fCTfAzh0v-Q7I9vN_fNL2_fLIZvDTLha478vcnQDZqr-n8yU2oo868Ada-lUYoxjco-25OY_-AjKDq4/s640/blogger-image-833696410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtW8o4ses0DgOsmrcqoiDwqQH0J74uym11swg1yiKY5cFpcwMYudzzJpk3bB5fCTfAzh0v-Q7I9vN_fNL2_fLIZvDTLha478vcnQDZqr-n8yU2oo868Ada-lUYoxjco-25OY_-AjKDq4/s640/blogger-image-833696410.jpg" /></a></div>
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Today, the old officers' quarters have been transformed into rent-able living spaces and a youth hostel. As you can see (below), there is also a lovely community garden (this is San Francisco, remember?)<br />
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(Below) Part of the city skyline from the recreation field at Fort Mason.<br />
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(Below) And more of the city skyline. This is a view out over The Marina and Cow Hollow districts. And of course, the Golden Gate out in the distance.<br />
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(Below) Another gratuitous Golden Gate shot, over the rooftops of Lower Fort Mason.<br />
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(Below) And another, from a slightly different position, and with the masts from the marina in the middle.</div>
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But the coolest part of the trip? Check this out (below): the abandoned entrance to the old San Francisco Belt Railway! I read about this online, and it was the main reason I wanted to check out Fort Mason. Well, I found it, and yes, it's every bit as awesome as I thought it would be!<br />
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Now, I'm what you might charitably call a "geek," especially when it comes to history. I've also traveled a fair bit. Most other cities I've visited are purely modern creations. History is bulldozed, paved over, shoved aside. While in many cases this makes perfect economic sense, it is, nonetheless, sad.<br />
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San Francisco is one of those magical places that hasn't tried to hide or cover up its colorful past. Rather than pave over history, the modern city of San Francisco is literally built around it.<br />
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You see it in obvious things, such as the still-functioning street cars and the obviously-old buildings. But you can also see it in more subtle touches, such as the long-obsolete etchings in the sidewalks on Market Street that mark where telegraph lines used to run.<br />
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With so many layers to peel back, I doubt I'll be running out of inspiration -or excuses to visit- anytime soon.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-31415409144836433662014-02-28T21:13:00.003-08:002014-03-06T13:52:35.790-08:00Plotting? It's Easy! Sort Of...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/312507661613893784/">http://www.pinterest.com/pin/312507661613893784/</a></span></div>
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<i>“Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet
of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.” -Gene Fowler</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You have an idea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe it's a good idea. Maybe it's even a great idea. Your characters have started talking. You're ready to start writing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hold that pen, Slick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">How many times have you been down this path before? How many books have you started? Perhaps more importantly, how many have you finished? If the answer to that question is less than one, allow me to make a humble suggestion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Plot first.</i></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I've been down this road myself. I had already been writing for years before I finished my first book. That I never finished any of these earlier projects wasn't a huge deal to me. It was still just a hobby, after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When my son was born and I decided to get serious with my writing, I realized I needed to do things differently. In short, I needed to learn how to plot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I proceeded to read a shit-ton of books on plotting and story-boarding/mapping/voodoo/whatever. The lightbulb came on for me when I realized I wasn't going to find all the answers all in one place. I still believe that early research was important, but more for recon purposes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Since then, I've cobbled together my own approach from several of the books I read, including <b><i>The Romance Writer's Handbook</i></b> (Rebecca Vinyard) and <b><i>Writing A Romance Novel For Dummies</i></b> (Leslie Wainger). I found both useful in different ways, and cherry-picked different things from each.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Are you at a loss where to start? Looking for a simple, flexible way to plot your book? If so, stick close.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> <b><i>My (Unpatented, Super-Anal, Probably Thoroughly Unprofessional) Plotting Process:</i></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>*Note: I write romance novels. This is reflected in how I plot. If you write in other genres, you may still find this helpful, but you'll probably need to tinker a little more*</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">1) Create the characters.</span> I have some basic character sketch templates I fill out before I start plotting. It helps me get to know who I'm dealing with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">2) Plot the relationship trajectory.</span> I've read this referred to as the "Major Plot Points". They include any interaction between the hero and heroine that furthers their relationship (first meeting, first kiss, first sex scene, etc.).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">3) Flesh out the rest of the plot.</span> Think of it as "connect the dots", the "dots" being your Major Plot Points. What needs to happen to get from one dot to the next? This usually is where you insert your sub-plot, or the part of your book that doesn't have to do with the love story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then after all that's done...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">- Go back and insert where the scenes/chapters start or end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">- Go through, chapter by chapter, and outline everything (EVERYTHING) that is going to happen in that chapter, right down to when someone sneezes. Make note of any excerpts that pop into your head, any great pieces of dialogue, any description that needs to be woven in, that sort of thing. Keep all of this where you can refer to it easily (I have a notebook), and devote maybe one or two pages to each chapter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">- At the top of each page, define what your objective is for that chapter- increase sexual tension, flesh out characters, major turning points, etc. It helps you focus when you're actually writing. It's so easy to get carried away in the creative flow, it helps to have a visual reminder of what you're actually trying to accomplish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">- Finally, give yourself permission to completely change everything if you need to. I've noticed, especially after the first sex scene, the hero and heroine often go in a totally different direction than I had anticipated. It's a very organic thing, so make sure to leave room for the story and the characters to breathe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Does it work?</i></b> I've published three-going-on-four books since I started a little over a year ago, so I'll let you be the judge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Starting out is always tough, but sometimes it helps to know it was (and is!) tough for other people too. I had a tough time starting. I think it was because I hadn't figured out who I was as a writer, and didn't realize I'm the type who needs to plot my stories out first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you're still reading, I assume you're ready to get serious. I hope this post provides some clarity. Kudos to you for knuckling down, asking questions, and figuring stuff out! A lot of people don't take that step.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #222222; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Those are the people who end up writing journals, but not books.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-12958538226727642332014-02-23T00:00:00.000-08:002014-02-23T00:00:10.827-08:00Sunday Poetry: The Highwayman, Part Three<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>"Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes." -Joseph Roux</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge7bSdTLLrZWVpFeFFFjwhrsqWvxhQA2JnpRpfWKGvaunrF4WyLRMWckKsfb-RrX4rxtLb8kIJ42KvLtdNAv84OWWDacg0IOzFiAe4pVfW7UwZ1P9AUDYAA_FggvtEhhvYAuIVbmo6GX0/s1600/captain_moonlight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge7bSdTLLrZWVpFeFFFjwhrsqWvxhQA2JnpRpfWKGvaunrF4WyLRMWckKsfb-RrX4rxtLb8kIJ42KvLtdNAv84OWWDacg0IOzFiAe4pVfW7UwZ1P9AUDYAA_FggvtEhhvYAuIVbmo6GX0/s1600/captain_moonlight.jpg" height="278" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://lorilynn15.tumblr.com/post/4571494917">http://lorilynn15.tumblr.com/post/4571494917</a></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Highwayman, by Alfred Noyes</b></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in
the trees,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy
seas, <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple
moor, <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>A highwayman comes riding—<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>
Riding—riding—<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark
inn-yard.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and
barred. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting
there <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> Bess, the
landlord’s daughter,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-78694430954063338632014-02-16T00:00:00.000-08:002014-02-16T00:00:10.676-08:00Sunday Poetry: The Highwayman, Part Two<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>"Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes." -Joseph Roux</i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">"The Highwayman's Footsteps", Tristan Elwell</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Highwayman, by Alfred Noyes</b></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
PART TWO<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at
noon; <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the
moon, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple
moor, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A red-coat troop came marching—<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Marching—marching—<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale
instead. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of
her narrow bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their
side! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was death at every window;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And hell at
one dark window;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he
would ride.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering
jest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath
her breast!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the
doomed man say—<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Look for me by moonlight;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Watch for me
by moonlight;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the
way!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held
good!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat
or blood! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours
crawled by like years<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cold, on the
stroke of midnight,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was
hers!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the
rest. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her
breast. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive
again; <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Blank and bare in the moonlight;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to
her love’s refrain.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs
ringing clear; <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that
they did not hear?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The highwayman came riding—<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Riding—riding—<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up,
straight and still.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing
night! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep
breath, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her musket
shattered the moonlight,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with
her death.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who
stood <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own
blood! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to
hear <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
landlord’s black-eyed daughter,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the
darkness there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back, he spurred like a madman, shouting a curse to the sky,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier
brandished high.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was
his velvet coat;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When they shot him down on the highway,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Down like a
dog on the highway,<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace
at his throat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-50888382957051566712014-02-14T12:32:00.002-08:002014-03-24T21:47:08.577-07:00Bad Reviews Suck. Except When They Don't.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://something-everything-nothing.tumblr.com/post/64605125450/yavuzselimturan-nature-by-yavuzselimturan" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUFhDRU2DADrcQO5BVmYdzDzLhC56kVGJXuQwBjTqRA8_0dUY_0bcK5tYIZD8Raa1C_NLTDiBPxKO56_cmxibDlYhPAZlx_dXoiLwTev26BsUQFdjltiMhjtLi5c6iTSbVlmYjtN-oMLI/s1600/tumblr_muvkzz7K9W1s17tbvo1_500.jpg" height="400" width="257" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>“From my close observation of writers... they fall into two
groups: 1) those who bleed copiously and visibly at any bad review, and 2)
those who bleed copiously and secretly at any bad review. ” -Isaac Asimov</i></b><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I can't think of many authors who actually like bad reviews.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Understandable, right? I mean, no one likes to hear that the book they worked so hard on, their literary baby, didn't resonate once they released it into the world. Or worse, that its very existence outright offended someone.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm coming to the keyboard having received my very first bad review this week. And I'm not talking about one of those "nice try, better luck next time" reviews. The reviewer hated everything about the book, from front cover to back.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But I'm not here to vent. Or cry. Or bitch. Because guess what?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
There's nothing wrong with that.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
If anything, I'm glad they wrote that review. Because while it may have stung, it also forced me to do something I've never really had to do as an author: I had to do a little soul-searching.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
They were very specific about the things they didn't like. And nothing they said was wrong. Most of what they listed were things I had done with great intent. A couple weren't, and thanks to them, I have some new ideas on what to work on (and hopefully improve) in my next book.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But what about the things I knew about? The things I had done intentionally, that they didn't like? That's where the soul-searching came in.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
As authors, it's important to be able to take criticism. Many of us can't- at least, not well. But it's equally important to know where and when to stand your ground. Not everyone is going to like the books we write. Does that mean we should try to write to suit every audience?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Absolutely not.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Sometimes it takes a pinch in the soft place for us to decide to stand our ground. Stand by our characters, our style, our story. To write with passion means to risk alienating some people, some of the time.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So I appreciate that bad review. I'm grateful to the reviewer for giving my book a chance. I hope the next thing they read will be something they enjoy.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But if you'll excuse me, I have another book to write.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-32264404241668702672014-02-09T00:00:00.000-08:002014-02-09T00:00:03.196-08:00Sunday Poetry: The Highwayman, Part One<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>"Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes." -Joseph Roux</i></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/76842737363220999/">http://www.pinterest.com/pin/76842737363220999/</a></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Highwayman, by Alfred Noyes</b></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
PART ONE<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty
trees. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple
moor, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the highwayman came riding—<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Riding—riding—<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at
his chin, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the
thigh. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His pistol
butts a-twinkle,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark
inn-yard.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked
and barred. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting
there <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bess, the landlord’s
daughter,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and
peaked. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But he loved the landlord’s daughter,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
landlord’s red-lipped daughter.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning
light;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the
day, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then look for me by moonlight,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Watch for me
by moonlight,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the
way.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her
hand,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt
like a brand<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his
breast; <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped
away to the west.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-34418972471599498312014-02-07T18:44:00.002-08:002014-02-16T12:21:22.596-08:00Getting Wet: Recipe #5<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Tough times call for tough drinks.</i></b></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTx4pDVS7_luIn1hOmTE1P-bZAV9IHtlpS2NBfQA6P5nIZ723jt-qm2vSdhwIQloTK-f495yuapm3_rDMF-6LJJZNB1peKeX_NRcmnyT8V8OeSWmnPMUJ4h-Vfi-NdDGEgHC3s-deHrA/s640/blogger-image-740900213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTx4pDVS7_luIn1hOmTE1P-bZAV9IHtlpS2NBfQA6P5nIZ723jt-qm2vSdhwIQloTK-f495yuapm3_rDMF-6LJJZNB1peKeX_NRcmnyT8V8OeSWmnPMUJ4h-Vfi-NdDGEgHC3s-deHrA/s640/blogger-image-740900213.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
When life gives you lemons...<br />
<br />
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<br />
That's right. You make cocktails.<br />
<br />
Or rather, you make candied lemon peel to be used in cocktails.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzr4tLK7CnsxZu0B1zP7C_TvtBGknPyHb7U-b8aa4P1ZoFqz0ohZJ88VWhpqKt4PcEglW_oN8x5zX4ONjS7ttV1OJEKdpe5m2Yd8PHPh1QXBRWgU7iq54aUcYSea0uGedw-QVT9QeBa9I/s640/blogger-image--1002215504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzr4tLK7CnsxZu0B1zP7C_TvtBGknPyHb7U-b8aa4P1ZoFqz0ohZJ88VWhpqKt4PcEglW_oN8x5zX4ONjS7ttV1OJEKdpe5m2Yd8PHPh1QXBRWgU7iq54aUcYSea0uGedw-QVT9QeBa9I/s320/blogger-image--1002215504.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
A delicacy this delicious can only be enjoyed one way. You guessed it: with alcohol. If you have the candied lemon peel, you need just a few other ingredients (and if you don't have the candied lemon peel, what are you waiting for?<b> <a href="http://allrecipes.com/recipe/candied-lemon-peel/" target="_blank">It's easy</a></b>).<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Laura's Lemon-Gin Fizz</b></span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM2Nthp7EK0hx-rXwEc3vJNGjeSqzdZMTqtrvsjnnSzwfC4WWGHZELo6HYxOpUMYLfk85kJR72CgWxZU_VJXgiacs_5fdLvIMOeMnRIyB3gpx2AWHA0De7wnszQ7fGRsFMgIy6ke4APYQ/s640/blogger-image--1016846199.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM2Nthp7EK0hx-rXwEc3vJNGjeSqzdZMTqtrvsjnnSzwfC4WWGHZELo6HYxOpUMYLfk85kJR72CgWxZU_VJXgiacs_5fdLvIMOeMnRIyB3gpx2AWHA0De7wnszQ7fGRsFMgIy6ke4APYQ/s640/blogger-image--1016846199.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
In a shaker, combine...<br />
<br />
1 jigger Gin (any, but I prefer Hendricks)<br />
1 tsp Candied lemon peel (with syrup)<br />
3 jiggers Tonic water<br />
1 dash Blood orange bitters<br />
ice<br />
<br />
Shake vigorously until cold.<br />
<br />
Strain into your snootiest glass.<br />
<br />
Sip or slug, depending on how long a week it's been.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-1556489592092092972014-02-04T13:40:00.000-08:002014-03-01T12:40:30.632-08:00Adventures In Head-Hopping: What To Do, What Not To Do, And Should You Attempt It At All<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Fellow writers, it's time we had The Talk.</span></i></b><br />
<br />
You know the one I mean. It's the talk every writer has had at some point or another, either with an editor, critique partner, beta reader, or friend. It's the "time-to-take-yourself-seriously-as-a-writer" talk.<br />
<br />
It's the Head-Hopping Talk.<br />
<br />
Before we get too far, allow me to define this increasingly obscure literary phenomena for any who don't know what it is. Simply put, <b><i>head-hopping is when the writer uses more than one character's point of view within one scene.</i></b><br />
<br />
Now, then.<br />
<br />
There are a lot of excellent articles out there about why you should never, ever head-hop in your writing. I agree with many of them. Head-hopping-gone-wrong is an epidemic in the literary community, especially with the explosive growth of indie publishing. Done badly, it's the mark of an amateur. Done well, it's still not for everyone.<br />
<br />
But is head-hopping the evil stepmother we've all been told it is? I don't believe so. And while I realize this is not a popular stance to take, I'm going to attempt to defend it anyway.<br />
<br />
I'll use my own journey as an example. That's right. I've used head-hopping in my own writing. I hardly consider myself an expert on the subject, but I have learned a few things about what doesn't work and what does. Because yes, it <b><i>can </i></b>work.<br />
<br />
Many people are already familiar with head-hopping's pitfalls. Here are a few of the most common complaints:<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">- It's confusing.</span></i></b><br />
This is often true. Some (usually novice) writers will use two, three, four different viewpoints within a single scene, sometimes within a single paragraph. I'll be the first to acknowledge this is maddening to read. It can also get real confusing, real fast.<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">- It's awkward.</span></i></b><br />
Keeping track of multiple POVs within a scene is no easy thing, especially if the writer doesn't make it clear whose POV you're in at any given point. I can't think of anything more jarring than humming through a scene from the heroine's point of view, then moving to the next paragraph and finding the hero thinking about his cock. Or something.<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">- It prevents readers from bonding with the characters.</span></i></b><br />
This is one of those truisms that gets trucked out so often, it's almost become a cliche. That doesn't however, make it in-valid. If you're continually bouncing between characters' POVs, it can be hard to get to know either or any of them well enough to care what happens to them.<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">- It's amateurish.</span></i></b><br />
I saved this one for last because it's one I have mixed feelings about. Yes, head-hopping can sound amateurish. But so can every other form of writing if it's written by, well, an amateur. I find it difficult to accept a writer can improve at every literary device <b><i>except </i></b>head-hopping. Sorry. I just don't buy it.<br />
<br />
This is usually where posts about head-hopping stop. Head-hopping is terrible, it has no literary value, it's impossible to do well. By now you probably realize I disagree with all those assessments. I promised I would defend my thesis. So here goes.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Most writers never learn to head-hop properly.</i></b><br />
<br />
Did head-hopping fall out of vogue because writers don't know how to do it right, or do writers not know how to do it because it fell out of vogue? An interesting chicken-and-egg sort of question, but the point remains: many writers who head-hop are doing it wrong.<br />
<br />
This post is about letting it all hang out. To that end, let me present an example from my first book, All That Glitters. I head-hopped with both intent and abandon in this book. The intent was not the problem (if you're going to head-hop, it should be a conscious, deliberate decision).<br />
<br />
The problem was the abandon. See for yourself (POV shifts in red):<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Case Study #1: All That Glitters (my first book)</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>She leaned in and pressed her lips to the letters. He tasted like salt. She looked up. He was at rapt attention. She raised herself to her tip-toes.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">Ethan crushed his lips down over hers.</span></b> He needed this. Needed her.
He hadn’t realized how badly until he’d watched the Bering Sea swallow
her whole. All the adrenaline that had
built up in his system surged out. He
took everything she offered, and pushed her to offer more.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><i><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">Ava ran greedy hands across his chest, over his
powerful shoulders, up the back of his neck, and buried them in his hair.</span></b> Desperation clouded her senses. </i></span></div>
<br />
Yeah, I know. Risky move, calling out the faults in my own work. In my defense, the entire book didn't read that way. But a lot of it did. And it was because I hadn't learned some of the most basic rules of head-hopping.<br />
<br />
So after an example like that, is it possible for "promiscuous viewpoint" to find redemption?<br />
<br />
I believe the answer is yes.<br />
<br />
I mentioned the Basic Rules Of Head-Hopping. Here they are, listed in what I consider to be order of importance:<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Rule #1: Don't use more than two (2) points of view within a scene.</span></i></b><br />
In romance novels, these are usually the POVs of your hero and your heroine. That doesn't mean you can't write from the POVs of your other characters, but you should <b><i>NOT </i></b>try to cram them all into one scene.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Rule #2: </i></b><b><i>Make it obvious whose head you're in when you change points of view.</i></b></span><br />
There should always be a cue when you leave one character's thoughts and enter another's. I'm relieved to say I always had a sense of this, which you can see in the example from my first book.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Rule #3: </i></b><b><i>Don't change point-of-view more than once within a scene.</i></b></span><br />
This could actually be an addendum to Rule #1. Too many POV changes within a scene is both confusing, awkward, and amateurish. Start with one character, change POVs once, and finish out the scene with the second. It flows much smoother and leaves less room for the reader to get lost.<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Rule #4: Don't change point-of-view in an awkward place.</span></i></b><br />
There are good places to change POVs, and there are bad places to change POVs. Where those places are is largely subjective, and depends on your story. But you're a writer. Odds are that means you have an ear for language. Use that ability to divine where a POV shift will enhance your story. Failing that, there's always voodoo.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, I learned these rules before I put out a second book with the same mistakes as the first. Which brings me to:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Case Study #2: What The Body Needs (my second book)</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i>Something close to panic started to
build in her chest. It barely dimmed
when she unlocked her truck. His
eyebrows raised. She stopped. "What?"</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i>"That's a lot of truck."<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i>Jak stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i>He shrugged. "Means that's a lot of truck."<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i>Jak climbed in. "Nothing is going to happen to me at the
city planner's office." She looked
down at him. "Why don't you just
take the rest of the day off?" </i>Give me some space to figure all this out.<i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">Marcus gritted his teeth. </span></b>Damn it, she wasn't making this easy. Not that he entirely blamed her. His system still hadn't recovered from the
shock of seeing her again. "Can't
do that."<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i>He walked around the front of her
truck to the passenger's side, mildly surprised she didn't try to run him
over. He tried the door. Locked.
He rapped on the window, saw her smug look through the glass. She started the engine.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
This was the only POV shift that took place in that scene. It occurred at a pivotal moment between the two characters, and allowed me to explore their reactions after their unorthodox meeting. To break that interaction into two scenes would have felt clunky and contrived, and to only represent one side of it wouldn't have felt right, either.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
That is what head-hopping can do for you. It doesn't have to be confusing. It doesn't have to be awkward, or amateurish. And rather than distance you from your characters, it has the potential to bring you closer to them while they develop at the same pace.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
I realize this post isn't going to change everyone's opinion about head-hopping, and that's just fine. But if I've done anything, I hope I've inspired you to give this oft-misused literary device another look. Maybe it deserves the bad rap it's gotten.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
Then again, maybe it doesn't.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-61436899437536407722014-02-02T10:22:00.001-08:002014-02-04T14:50:43.742-08:00Sunday Poetry: The Call Of The Wild, by Robert W. Service<div style="text-align: center;">
<b></b><br />
<div style="display: inline !important;">
<b style="font-style: italic;"><i>"Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes." -Joseph Roux</i></b><br />
<b style="font-style: italic;"><i><br /></i></b>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Call Of The Wild, by Robert W. Service</span></b></div>
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Have you gazed on naked grandeur<o:p></o:p></div>
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where there’s nothing else to gaze on,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets
blazon, <o:p></o:p></div>
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Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Have you swept the visioned valley<o:p></o:p></div>
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with the green stream streaking through it,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Have you strung your soul to silence?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then for God’s sake go and do it;<o:p></o:p></div>
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Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Have you wandered in the wilderness, the sagebrush
desolation,<o:p></o:p></div>
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The bunch-grass levels where the cattle graze?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Have you whistled bits of rag-time at the end of all
creation,<o:p></o:p></div>
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And learned to know the desert’s little ways?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Have you camped upon the foothills,<o:p></o:p></div>
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have you galloped o'er the ranges,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Have you roamed the arid sun-lands through and through?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Have you chummed up with the mesa?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Do you know its moods and changes?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then listen to the Wild -- it’s calling you. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Have you known the Great White Silence,<o:p></o:p></div>
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not a snow-gemmed twig aquiver?<o:p></o:p></div>
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(Eternal truths that shame our soothing lies).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Have you broken trail on snowshoes? mushed your huskies up
the river,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dared the unknown, led the way, and clutched the prize?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Have you marked the map’s void spaces, mingled with the
mongrel races,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Felt the savage strength of brute in every thew?<o:p></o:p></div>
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And though grim as hell the worst is,<o:p></o:p></div>
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can you round it off with curses?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then hearken to the Wild -- it’s wanting you. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Have you suffered, starved and triumphed,<o:p></o:p></div>
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groveled down, yet grasped at glory,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Grown bigger in the bigness of the whole?<o:p></o:p></div>
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"Done things" just for the doing, letting babblers
tell the story,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Seeing through the nice veneer the naked soul?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Have you seen God in His splendors,<o:p></o:p></div>
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heard the text that nature renders?<o:p></o:p></div>
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(You'll never hear it in the family pew).<o:p></o:p></div>
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The simple things, the true things, the silent men who do
things --<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then listen to the Wild -- it’s calling you. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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They have cradled you in custom,<o:p></o:p></div>
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they have primed you with their preaching,<o:p></o:p></div>
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They have soaked you in convention through and through;<o:p></o:p></div>
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They have put you in a showcase; you're a credit to their
teaching --<o:p></o:p></div>
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But can't you hear the Wild? -- it’s calling you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
Let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide
us; <o:p></o:p></div>
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Let us journey to a lonely land I know.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There’s a whisper on the night-wind,<o:p></o:p></div>
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there’s a star agleam to guide us,<o:p></o:p></div>
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And the Wild is calling, calling... <b><i>let us go</i></b>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-11049927207367653582013-12-18T08:00:00.000-08:002014-01-30T05:31:38.156-08:00First Look: The Devil's Playground<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><i>Enjoy this first look at my new romantic suspense, </i>The Devil's Playground<i>!</i></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2q9uNnyk1CyNTMeI1RINET6VhJ7vKcqHgwgj9-TTZfgCZMHC4I5XDP0nw-bg_T3Erci4AR5UYyJ1PFTcyhX6DihrlSxHVnyTT7IKtHLIlNuBf5qRZD0MInZC46kuTE1Dh9s70QLcQnas/s1600/6689411_m+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2q9uNnyk1CyNTMeI1RINET6VhJ7vKcqHgwgj9-TTZfgCZMHC4I5XDP0nw-bg_T3Erci4AR5UYyJ1PFTcyhX6DihrlSxHVnyTT7IKtHLIlNuBf5qRZD0MInZC46kuTE1Dh9s70QLcQnas/s640/6689411_m+(1).jpg" width="425" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>Professional
burlesque dancer Francesca "Frankie" Strong has learned the hard way:
on San Francisco's cutthroat party circuit, crime has a way of going unnoticed.
When her best friend is brutally attacked, she's determined not to let the case
fall through the cracks, even if that means crawling through every alley and
back room in San Francisco to find the truth.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>Undercover cop
Johnny Marsden is in desperate need of a win.
His career on the rocks, he's infiltrated the infamous nightclub Cafe Outré, rumored
front for San Francisco's Chinatown mafia.
Johnny has never seen anything
like the glitter-and-sin-encrusted world he's now a part of. He's certainly never met anyone like Frankie Strong.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>Realizing they'll
get farther together than on their own, Frankie and Johnny forge an uneasy partnership. Neither expects the heat that
flares between them. Neither is ready for what it could mean. Together, they run down a trail that
leads directly to Chinatown, and a faceless terror its residents refuse to name.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>Frankie's only
interest is in protecting her friend, and she's willing to make a deal with the
devil to do it. But Johnny suspects the
attack was part of something larger, something darker... and he's right.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>***</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<h1 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">CHAPTER ONE</span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> </span></h1>
<br /><br />"Move over, would you? I need to put on my mustache." <br /><br />Francesca Strong sifted through the jumble of glitter and makeup products littering the top of her vanity. Then she turned to the balding, six-foot-two man applying yet another layer of lipstick beside her. She handed him a small bottle. "Here." <br /><br />The man snorted, but obediently set down his lipstick. Frankie swallowed a chuckle. Leave it to Cookie Mambo to take "over-the-top" over the top. His lips were slathered a deep fuchsia color. Pink cream blush streaked his pale cheeks, and his yellow and turquoise eyeshadow looked like it had been laid on with a palette knife. <br /><br />Ah, show business. <br /><br />She tried not to breathe while Cookie opened the bottle and painted a thin line of adhesive over her upper lip. The acrid scent of acetone burned her eyes nonetheless. She flashed him an appreciative half-smile, careful not to move her face too much. <br /><br /><i>Bianca used to help you get ready. </i><br /><br />Frankie blinked. Her smile faded. Why was she thinking about that now? She started buttoning the crisp white tuxedo shirt over her black pasties. The starchy material itched. She ignored it. <br /><br />Cookie finished, and passed her a small box. "Need a hand?" <br /><br />Frankie popped it open. "I got it." She peeled out the thin, startlingly realistic pencil mustache inside and gingerly pressed it above her lip. <br /><br />He caught her eye in the mirror and batted his thick false lashes at her. "How's my makeup?" <br /><br />Frankie relaxed and flashed him a teasing grin. "You're the prettiest girl I ever saw." <br /><br />A loud, brassy swing number pulsed through the dressing room's closed door. The band was on earlier than usual. Frankie double-checked her shirt's stiff French cuffs. In went her cufflinks. The glittering stones in the centers mirrored the deep red of her lipstick. She stood, hooked her thumbs under the suspenders dangling from the waist of her tuxedo pants, pulled them up over her shoulders. <br /><br />She turned back to Cookie, wriggling her nose to keep the mustache from stiffening. "Catfish said he's pushing the Queens back next week. What's going on?" <br /><br />Cookie shrugged. "Some new act he brought in. A knife-throwing team. Not my thing, personally. Too sideshow, you know?" Frankie chuckled. Cookie's expression grew devious. "Word is, the guy's a real ladykiller. 'The Blade'. That's his name." <br /><br />"How original." <br /><br />Cookie started to speak when the door to the dressing room swung open. Frankie looked up sharply. Her stomach sank. "Oh. It's you." <br /><br />Of all the people she least wanted to see before a show. Her heart gave a stubborn flutter. She locked her chest. Maybe she'd needed what they'd had before, but she'd been younger then. Stupider. Weaker. <br /><br />Now she was finally ready to move on. <br /><br />A rubenesque woman with skin the color of roasted coffee and teased-out black hair leaned back against the door. It shut with a click. Her eyes didn't leave Frankie's face. "Been missing you, Firebug." <br /><br />Frankie turned back to the vanity. Her cheeks felt hot. Next to her, Cookie was arranging a towering blond beehive atop his bald head. He caught her eye in the mirror and cocked an eyebrow. She shook her head as imperceptibly as possible. <br /><br />"I saw that." The woman sauntered towards her, taking her time to examine the jumble of silks, velvets, and feathers scattered around the room. With each step, the slit in the side of her royal blue evening gown gaped a little wider. <br /><br />Seemingly oblivious, she trailed a finger along a blood-red corset hanging on a rack. "Mmm. You should wear this color more often." <br /><br />Frankie didn't move. The woman came up behind her. Frankie kept her eyes down, refused to see the sumptuous cleavage, the muscular, shapely leg framed in the dress's deep slit. The woman stuck out her lower lip. "Where you been lately?" <br /><br />Cookie cleared his throat. "Bianca, maybe you should-" <br /><br />Bianca turned on him. "<i>You </i>stay out of this. And get that goddamn fright wig out of my face." She focused back on Frankie. Her voice dropped. "I miss our act. Catfish said you were the one wanted out. How come?" <br /><br />She ran one smooth, artistic finger down the side of Frankie's neck. Frankie jumped. "I already told you..." <br /><br />"You told me nothing." Bianca stepped away. "'Move on'? What does that even mean?" <br /><br />Frankie's fingers froze on her bow tie. She looked Bianca's reflection dead in the eye. "Please." <i>Don't make a scene. Don't make this worse. </i><br /><br />Bianca's face hardened. She whirled on her heel and stomped back the way she'd come. She paused, hand on the doorknob. "You know you can't shake me that easy, Firebug. We got history, you and me. We got a connection. You can't just turn it off." <br /><br />Frankie's lips tightened, but she didn't answer. Bianca gave a final huff and swept out of the room. The door banged shut behind her. <br /><br />Frankie allowed herself to breathe again. She felt Cookie's steely gaze. "Just, don't, all right?" <br /><br />Cookie's face didn't change. "Thought things were over between you two, is all." <br /><br />Frankie sighed. "They are, it's just... complicated." She might hate it, but Bianca was right. They had a history. Few people knew her as well as Bianca Black. Few people knew what she'd had to do to get where she was. <br /><br />The ones who did weren't inclined to keep her secrets the way Bianca had. <br /><br />Cookie looked up from strapping on his size fifteen platform heels. "You know what you need?" <br /><br />Frankie rolled her eyes. This should be good. "No. But I bet you'll tell me." <br /><br />"You need to get laid." Cookie stood, took a couple test steps. He winked. "Maybe you could see if 'The Blade' will show you his blade, catch my drift?" <br /><br />Frankie groaned. "Thanks, but that is the absolute <i>last </i>thing I need." <br /><br />She walked over to where her tuxedo jacket was hanging ready, paused to touch the satiny fabric of the red corset hanging next to it. She jerked her hand back and tugged the jacket off its hanger. "Help me with this?" <br /><br />Cookie held it for her while she slid her arms into the sleeves. "Hey, I'm just doing my job as your friend. Everyone else has a life outside this place. But not you. Do you ever go anywhere? Do anything?" <br /><br />"Sure I do," Frankie lied. She turned around and struck a pose. "How do I look?" <br /><br />Cookie pursed his dazzling lips, reached out and straightened her bow tie. Then he stepped back and nodded. "I'd do you." <br /><br />Frankie laughed and headed for the door. "Thanks." <br /><br />Cookie's voice echoed out behind her. "Break a leg!" <br /><br />She closed the door and headed into the wings, weaving her practiced way through the darkness and mayhem that had become her life. She glanced around, and her stomach flipped. She tried to convince herself it was just pre-performance jitters, but deep down she knew that was a lie. Frankie sighed. <br /><br />If her luck held, she would finish her act and go home, and not see Bianca again. <br /><br />*** <br /><br />No one had told him it would be like this. <br /><br />Johnny Marsden stared into the mass of feathers, rhinestones, and sweaty, naked flesh revolving around him. He dodged a tattooed, barely-clad pixie with lurid pink hair, politely ignored the nasty look she sent him before she disappeared around a pile of rigging. He blew out a breath. Even the circus couldn't compare to this. <br /><br />Well, it might, if the circus was pumped up on speed and Viagra. <br /><br />Johnny shoved his hands in his pockets and tried not to touch anyone. No one paid him the slightest notice. A troop of platinum blondes in various stages of undress bustled by, headed for the stage. It took Johnny a moment to realize one of them was a man. <br /><br />Behind them was an octogenarian swathed in a Pepto-Bismal-pink feathered dressing gown and staggering under the weight of an immense hat. She muttered to herself in what sounded like Russian, but when she noticed Johnny staring, her irritated "What?" was barked in perfect English. <br /><br />Johnny raised his hands, and she moved on. <br /><br />He flattened as far back against the wall as his six-four frame would allow. Somebody up top had one sick sense of humor, throwing him into a place like this. Cafe Outré. At least the name was accurate. He hauled in what he thought would be a deep, fortifying breath, instead nearly choked on the smell of acetone and body odor. <br /><br /><i>Just do your job, and get out. </i><br /><br />"Well, look who we have here. If it isn't Johnny Apocalypse." <br /><br />He knew that voice. Johnny plastered something he hoped would pass for a smile on his face and turned. "Catfish, you old son of a bitch. Long time." <br /><br />The man behind him was nearly as tall as he was; whip thin, with a slick, coppery pompadour and a handlebar mustache that curled dramatically at the ends. With his pinstriped zoot suit, he looked like an extra in an old gangster movie. <br /><br />It was an effect only mildly disrupted by his lavender vest. <br /><br />He flashed Johnny a grin. A gold molar winked in the side of his mouth. "Couldn't believe it when you called. The Blade, back after a five-year hiatus?" He crossed his arms. "I heard you'd retired. Made off with an oil man's wife, or some shit like that." <br /><br />Johnny's lips twisted. "Good story, right?" <br /><br />"So what really happened?" <br /><br />Johnny only shrugged. "Truth is stranger than fiction, my friend." <br /><br />Catfish didn't press him. "Where's this new girl you swindled into working with you? I was looking forward to meeting her." <br /><br />Johnny winced inwardly. His new partner should have been here by now. If she was smart, she'd gotten cold feet and bailed while she still could. "She should be here any day now. Family emergency." <br /><br />"Mmm." Catfish didn't even try to sound interested. Onstage, the band was starting to wind down. He straightened his purple tie and nodded to Johnny. "That's my cue. See you on the other side." He melted into the shadows and the crowd. <br /><br />Johnny glanced around. Still, no one paid any attention to him. He pursed his lips. He was relatively sure he'd seen an office down the back hallway. An office meant records. Records meant evidence. And evidence meant he could get the hell out of here. He turned... <br /><br />...Only to ram into a warm, solid body. Something clattered to the floor. Johnny looked down at the same time a slender, attractive man cursed vehemently. A pair of bright gray eyes glowered up at him. "Jesus! Watch where you're going, would you?" <br /><br />The man's features were fine, his face sensual. Johnny blinked. Then it struck him. <br /><br />This was a woman. <br /><br />Her face was like white marble, with strong cheekbones and a feminine chin. She pressed two fingers to either side of her Errol Flynn mustache. Satisfied it was still in place, she bent down to retrieve what she'd dropped. <br /><br />Johnny reached it first. It turned out to be a stylish, gold-tipped presentation cane. He held it for a moment while he studied her. He'd never seen a woman in drag before. She pulled off a tux better than most men he knew, every detail impeccable. A black fedora was jammed over her ebony hair. The mustache over her bowed upper lip was unnervingly sexy. <br /><br />She cleared her throat, and he realized he was staring. He handed her the cane. "Didn't realize anyone still used these things." <br /><br />She rolled her eyes and tucked the cane under her arm, straightened a loose cuff. Then she fixed him with that gray glare again. "You're the new knife-thrower. 'The Blade', isn't it?" <br /><br />Johnny tried on his most charming smile. "In the flesh. Johnny Apocalypse. And you are...?" <br /><br />"None of your business." The woman turned her attention to her other cuff. "Damn! I lost a cufflink." <br /><br />Johnny crouched down with her, made a show of searching the floor while he watched her scrounge for the missing cufflink. She turned away from him, and the way her rear end wriggled made his mouth water. "Easy, Slim. You got something against knife throwers?" <br /><br />She glanced back at him. "Not at all, Steve." Her tone was acerbic. "Just the ones who don't pay attention where they're going." <br /><br />Johnny bit back a chuckle. So the woman knew her classic movies. Another mark in her favor. "Maybe I had better things to pay attention to." <br /><br />A blush pinkened her cheeks. It shocked him even more than the mustache or the cane. She quickly looked away, pounced on something just out of his sight. "There it is." <br /><br />She stood a little too quickly. Johnny stood too, and realized with surprise she was only a few inches shorter than he was. Her fingers fumbled around the delicate cufflink. He held out his hand. "May I?" <br /><br />The expression on her face came close to panic. She glanced around, clearly hoping to find someone else, but the area around them had emptied. Helpless, she placed the cufflink in his outstretched palm. <br /><br />Johnny slid the cool metal pin through the slit in her cuff. The starchy material was laced with her heat. He forced himself to breathe and sneaked a glance at her face. Her eyes were down, watching him work, long black lashes dusting her cheeks. <br /><br />Something tugged at his chest. How long since he'd been this close to a woman? He already knew the answer. But he didn't think about her anymore. Best not to. Not when all the good memories were overshadowed by the way they'd said goodbye. <br /><br />Johnny sighed. He was a son of a bitch. He snapped the link into place, then, unable to resist, let his finger brush the inside of the drag king's wrist. Her skin was sinfully silky. Just beneath it, her pulse jumped. <br /><br />Well, wasn't that interesting.<div>
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<b><i>Want more? </i>The Devil's Playground<i> will be available for purchase January 1st, 2014. Mark your calendar!</i></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-68798249496067515132013-12-11T19:33:00.002-08:002014-06-27T18:22:37.391-07:00Research Trip! Warm Water Cove, San Francisco<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMFYLgrZl8qs6Eml2x-QIuY3e0c0X0fIgM3r59Q0FsgsmI3npv16H2od4S28kCdptOg-uBWHulX-p_bLHSMrl9dnMmdvqHvLsJT3eSWoy6MH3UBi2QnskfGMxdJlnmaG52X7HM2Dht4YQ/s640/blogger-image-423634986.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE1DvNobqvzs2NAuiC93Y7Y8pX_2zsI-7x7ke2r7Cu7oVpvyUv0AowDA0rrzp2dR27i9QxrVNdktCL17Ah8vGe_1Y3_Li4EEzs50s15sVckcktAY32vw0_1pMKESlcA3VjYA3wjlLnkS8/s640/blogger-image--1172422655.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Ogling ruins is a way of meditating on our own inevitable deaths... A humbling reminder that, yes, it all does return to dust..." </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>-David Byrne, JOURNAL 3.26.06</i></div>
<br />
There's a lot to be said for city planning.<br />
<br />
It started with the ancient Romans, the first civilization in history to create cities on a grid, with straight streets and geometric neighborhoods. The lack of such planning was one of the hallmarks of the Dark Ages, and its reemergence signified the return of order and peace in the Western world.<br />
<br />
It is also highly overrated.<br />
<br />
Need proof?<br />
<br />
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE1DvNobqvzs2NAuiC93Y7Y8pX_2zsI-7x7ke2r7Cu7oVpvyUv0AowDA0rrzp2dR27i9QxrVNdktCL17Ah8vGe_1Y3_Li4EEzs50s15sVckcktAY32vw0_1pMKESlcA3VjYA3wjlLnkS8/s1600/blogger-image--1172422655.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE1DvNobqvzs2NAuiC93Y7Y8pX_2zsI-7x7ke2r7Cu7oVpvyUv0AowDA0rrzp2dR27i9QxrVNdktCL17Ah8vGe_1Y3_Li4EEzs50s15sVckcktAY32vw0_1pMKESlcA3VjYA3wjlLnkS8/s640/blogger-image--1172422655.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I give you Warm Water Cove. </div>
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Located in the Dogpatch neighborhood of San Francisco's Potrero Hill district, this "park" was once a favorite haunt of punks, junkies, vagrants, and other anarchist types. Vibrant graffiti blazed on the surrounding walls. People gathered along its jagged shoreline to zing golf balls into the Bay, or meditate on the extensive collection of tires half-buried in the sludge below. </div>
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It was a place devoid of planning. Untouched by city officials. Unmarred by civility. Graced with its own harsh culture and terrible beauty.</div>
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Until society decided to take it back.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg779Op8XVq9pcEoC3vVTet5rZCirc5s3TtWPAZEA57Th1RzZsFjjFwPJ-Vu19xIYIAMpSN7qVAq65KswL6xawWigoupc3x_lkVXl86Onk4_nDC_i90Nxi_LP9tJGXrtyCLH2GEiqOpNWA/s640/blogger-image-1092263255.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg779Op8XVq9pcEoC3vVTet5rZCirc5s3TtWPAZEA57Th1RzZsFjjFwPJ-Vu19xIYIAMpSN7qVAq65KswL6xawWigoupc3x_lkVXl86Onk4_nDC_i90Nxi_LP9tJGXrtyCLH2GEiqOpNWA/s400/blogger-image-1092263255.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>(above: The Toxic Golf Course)</i></div>
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Armed with a sense of civic duty, volunteers marched into the park and painted over the Graffiti Gallery. Native plants were painstakingly transplanted into the rock-hard ground. Bums were kicked out, trash removed, used hypodermic needles picked out of the chaparral.</div>
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Some called it an improvement.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBE5HK7XmgmBYXPNpC-FIC7GIbQXcmjtFjMie17Sr0CjEgEzEj9Sa-npIgPoLSShr858yAexZmTocu_QjSBIDwSPz7UCBAlw1yP03_RUUHKxCegLQqSHyEJKVIlZQOsxg6myXafKlcrA/s640/blogger-image-1092926447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBE5HK7XmgmBYXPNpC-FIC7GIbQXcmjtFjMie17Sr0CjEgEzEj9Sa-npIgPoLSShr858yAexZmTocu_QjSBIDwSPz7UCBAlw1yP03_RUUHKxCegLQqSHyEJKVIlZQOsxg6myXafKlcrA/s400/blogger-image-1092926447.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>(above: remains of the Muni Graveyard)</i></div>
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And it almost worked.</div>
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Warm Water Cove is an industrial wilderness. It always will be. And like all such places, it has its own unique ecosystem. Life shouldn't be able to exist here at all. The water is dark and oily, the soil dead and devoid of nutrients. </div>
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But life is tenacious. The so-called "native" plants are slowly being muscled out by the ugly, rangy weeds that always held pride-of-place. Broken glass shimmers from the carefully carved paths that snake around the park. The Graffiti Gallery, though still a shadow of its former glory, is being reclaimed inch-by-inch. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMFYLgrZl8qs6Eml2x-QIuY3e0c0X0fIgM3r59Q0FsgsmI3npv16H2od4S28kCdptOg-uBWHulX-p_bLHSMrl9dnMmdvqHvLsJT3eSWoy6MH3UBi2QnskfGMxdJlnmaG52X7HM2Dht4YQ/s400/blogger-image-423634986.jpg" width="400" /><br />
<br />
<i>(above: Graffiti Gallery, 2.0)</i><br />
<br />
I am pleased to report the attempted gentrification of Warm Water Cove has failed, at least for now. There was one thing the city planners didn't account for: the sheer audacity of the wild soul. But all around it, condos are springing up, and yuppie culture is taking root. Civilization encroaches.<br />
<br />
Is this a good thing?<br />
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<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTjmYJH3RWQaw_vilVMYkqN-GojrDsBvHkLWHysJjOHa5V-_LhX9DvyMbkDENeMgbqHoI3BoO_oP4I5JxLDWzlgWROBHSDEzA5YdwhGWKWQzcuuEhs_6LfrGvodBASAAyJMVmqaa3LwTA/s640/blogger-image-2051378002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTjmYJH3RWQaw_vilVMYkqN-GojrDsBvHkLWHysJjOHa5V-_LhX9DvyMbkDENeMgbqHoI3BoO_oP4I5JxLDWzlgWROBHSDEzA5YdwhGWKWQzcuuEhs_6LfrGvodBASAAyJMVmqaa3LwTA/s400/blogger-image-2051378002.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<i>(above: Tire Beach)</i></div>
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The human mind needs chaos, maybe even more than it needs order. We need places safeguarded from the whitewashing effect of civilization. Places where we can retreat. Take our wildness out from under our jackets, admire it for a little while. Warm Water Cove used to be such a place. There aren't many left.</div>
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Strange though it sounds, I hope it stays dirty and cold and raucous and rank. From what I've seen, odds are good it just might.</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-79278388853364106472013-11-18T15:05:00.001-08:002013-11-18T17:28:43.249-08:00Snow White Goes To The Dark Side...<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="mirror, mirror, on the wall..." height="640" src="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/c4/05/bb/c405bb7c6e751ac410f0abbd2c69756f.jpg" width="424" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/c4/05/bb/c405bb7c6e751ac410f0abbd2c69756f.jpg</span></div>
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>...Well, sort of.</b><br />
<br />
Ever wonder about fairy tale villains? I've always thought they were much more interesting than the heroes. They have so much to lose. They are so deliciously... evil.<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
With that, I'm thrilled to announce a little side project I'll be working on. Authors <a href="http://authoralexandrawebb.blogspot.com/?zx=537b3fe49fe86c99" target="_blank"><b>Alexandra Webb</b></a> and <a href="http://miabishop.wordpress.com/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: #990000;">Mia Bishop</span></b></a> have graciously invited me to be a guest on their blog, Twisted Tales. I'll be joining a group of talented, deliciously deviant fellow authors, all of whom have one mission.<br />
<br />
Take a fairy tale. Twist it into something... else.<br />
<br />
Wondering what someone could possibly do to fairy tales that would turn them into erotica? So am I! Stories to be (re)written include <b><i>Alice In Wonderland</i></b>, <b><i>Sleeping Beauty</i></b>, <b><i>Cinderella</i></b>, <b><i>Hansel And Gretel</i></b>, <b><i>Red Riding Hood</i></b>, <i><b>Rumpelstiltskin</b></i>, and mine, Snow White.<br />
<br />
More specifically, <b><i>The Wicked Queen</i></b>.<br />
<br />
Which brings me back to fairy tale villains.<br />
<br />
Being pure evil works well on paper, but not so much in real life. Real life villains have pasts, goals, breaking points. Maybe the Wicked Queen wasn't wicked. Maybe she was human. Wounded. Abused.<br />
<br />
Want to know more? Find my page on Twisted Tales <a href="http://wickedlytwistedtales.blogspot.com/p/wicked-queen-snow-white.html" target="_blank"><b>here</b></a>.<br />
<br />
Posting begins December 1st, and will continue for four months. My first post is December 6th. Hope to see you there!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-44509240782752286452013-11-17T08:02:00.000-08:002014-01-20T11:41:39.938-08:00Brains... And The People Who Eat Them<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today Writing In The Night belongs to the <span style="color: lime;"><i>zombies</i></span>.</span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you haven't heard of the new e-publisher Definition House, you're missing out on another revolutionary turn in publishing. Definition House is engaging readers in a whole new way by using crowdfunding to publish books. Their inaugural campaign focuses on <span style="color: lime;">Ryan Hill's zombie novel, <i><b>Dead New World</b></i></span>. </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here's the rub: </span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="color: lime;"><i>Zombies aren’t mindless
anymore.</i></span></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">They follow orders. And
if Holt and Ambrose want to kill some undead, they’ll do the same. But when a
routine mission goes horribly wrong, the best friends’ lives are flayed to the
bone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now there’s only one
light in the darkness of Holt’s life, and when she’s taken, he’ll do anything
to get her back. Even if that means defying orders and using his best friend as
a weapon. Holt and Ambrose risk all to save her, but what they discover among
the hordes threatens to remake humanity. Again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 107%;">
In the end, will there be anything left to live for
in this dead new world?</span></div>
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</div>
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<br />
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/bHHTm3Ibosg" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #c00000; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: lime;">A glimpse into zombie types in print and on the big screen. In these
undead worlds, it’s all about the brains… Whether you’re destroying them or
eating them.</span><span style="color: #c00000;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f">
<v:stroke joinstyle="miter">
<v:formulas>
<v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0">
<v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0">
<v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1">
<v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2">
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<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight">
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</v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:formulas>
<v:path gradientshapeok="t" o:connecttype="rect" o:extrusionok="f">
<o:lock aspectratio="t" v:ext="edit">
</o:lock></v:path></v:stroke></v:shapetype><v:shape alt="Dawn of the Dead" id="Picture_x0020_2" o:spid="_x0000_i1030" style="height: 126.75pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 90pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="Dawn of the Dead" src="file:///C:\Users\LAURAO~1\AppData\Local\Temp\OICE_40BFE725-43E1-45E9-84F5-A04382C0F334.0\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.jpg">
</v:imagedata></v:shape><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dawn
of the Dead</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Becoming a zombie:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Anyone
who dies—no matter how—turns into a zombie. If bitten, the person will die
within a few hours.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Intelligence:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Instinct
and some memories. Although, later zombies are able to reason and learn
rudimentarily.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Speed:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Rigor mortis
slow…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">How to kill a zombie:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Must.
Destroy. Brain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><v:shape alt="Shaun of the Dead" id="Picture_x0020_3" o:spid="_x0000_i1029" style="height: 127.5pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 90pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="Shaun of the Dead" src="file:///C:\Users\LAURAO~1\AppData\Local\Temp\OICE_40BFE725-43E1-45E9-84F5-A04382C0F334.0\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image002.jpg">
</v:imagedata></v:shape><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Shaun
of the Dead<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Becoming a zombie:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">A
zombie bite kills after a few hours, and then reanimation sets in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Intelligence:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Instinct
and memories.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Speed:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Rigor mortis
slow…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">How to kill a zombie:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Must.
Destroy. Brain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><v:shape alt="28 Days Later" id="Picture_x0020_4" o:spid="_x0000_i1028" style="height: 127.5pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 90pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="28 Days Later" src="file:///C:\Users\LAURAO~1\AppData\Local\Temp\OICE_40BFE725-43E1-45E9-84F5-A04382C0F334.0\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image003.jpg">
</v:imagedata></v:shape><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">28
Days Later<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Becoming a zombie:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Any
contact with an infected person’s blood and the victim becomes infected within
seconds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Intelligence:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Instinct
(aggressive rage) only.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Speed:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Human-like with
a higher endurance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">How to kill a zombie:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Anything
that would kill a human.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><v:shape alt="Autumn" id="Picture_x0020_5" o:spid="_x0000_i1027" style="height: 128.25pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 90pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="Autumn" src="file:///C:\Users\LAURAO~1\AppData\Local\Temp\OICE_40BFE725-43E1-45E9-84F5-A04382C0F334.0\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image004.jpg">
</v:imagedata></v:shape><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Autumn<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Becoming a zombie:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">A
world-wide plague killed 99% of the population within days. A third of those
reanimate after a few hours.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Intelligence:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Only
animation at first, then instinct, and possibly later some intelligence. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Speed:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Rigor mortis
slow…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">How to kill a zombie:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Must.
Destroy. Brain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><v:shape alt="The Walking Dead" id="Picture_x0020_6" o:spid="_x0000_i1026" style="height: 138.75pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 90pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="The Walking Dead" src="file:///C:\Users\LAURAO~1\AppData\Local\Temp\OICE_40BFE725-43E1-45E9-84F5-A04382C0F334.0\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image005.jpg">
</v:imagedata></v:shape><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Walking Dead<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Becoming a zombie:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Anyone
who dies, no matter the reason, becomes one. A zombie bite makes the victim die
after only a few hours.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Intelligence: </span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Instinct
only.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Speed: </span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Rigor mortis
slow…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">How to kill a zombie:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Must.
Destroy. Brain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><v:shape alt="Marvel Zombies" id="Picture_x0020_7" o:spid="_x0000_i1025" style="height: 135.75pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 90pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="Marvel Zombies" src="file:///C:\Users\LAURAO~1\AppData\Local\Temp\OICE_40BFE725-43E1-45E9-84F5-A04382C0F334.0\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image006.jpg">
</v:imagedata></v:shape><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Marvel
Zombies<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Becoming a zombie: </span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">A
zombie bite causes death and reanimation within seconds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Intelligence:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Full
intelligence, skills, memories, and powers (if applicable) from previous life.
Absolute lack of morals. Feeding is the only goal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">Speed: </span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Same as in
previous life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: lime;">How to kill a zombie:</span></span><span style="color: #c00000; line-height: 107%;"> </span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Must.
Destroy. Brain.</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">And because I know you want more information, here are the social media links for both</span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Definition House and Ryan Hill:</span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 17px;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Stalk Ryan on...</span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">...<a href="https://www.facebook.com/ryanhillwrites" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Facebook</span></a></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: white;">...</span><a href="https://twitter.com/J_Ryan" style="color: #cc0000;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Twitter</span></a></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: white;">...</span><a href="http://www.ryanhillwrites.com/" style="color: #cc0000;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">His Website</span></a></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 17px;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Stalk Definition House on...</span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">...<a href="https://www.facebook.com/DefinitionHouse" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Facebook</span></a></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">...<a href="https://twitter.com/DefinitionHouse" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Twitter</span></a></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">...<a href="http://www.definitionhouse.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Their Website</span></a></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-67710952867030691152013-10-25T16:58:00.000-07:002014-02-16T12:21:22.601-08:00Getting Wet: Recipe #4<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Tough times call for tough drinks.</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="Whiskey Cocktail" src="http://cocktailtimes.com/whiskey/top_primehouse_sazerac.jpg" height="333" width="400" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://cocktailtimes.com/whiskey/top_primehouse_sazerac.jpg">http://cocktailtimes.com/whiskey/top_primehouse_sazerac.jpg</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Wow, it's been a while since we've shared a drink, hasn't it? All I can say is, cut me a break. I've been writing.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
That said, the Sazerac is just too good to keep to myself. I admit, my personal recipe is a tad different from the classic, but it's still pretty damn good on a cold autumn night.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In any case, let he who has never improvised a cocktail cast the first stone.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Laura's Sassy Sazerac</span></b><br />
<br />
splash some absinthe into an old-fashioned glass<br />
<br />
swirl to coat, then dispose of the leftover absinthe (either down the sink or down your gullet)<br />
<br />
to a shaker with ice, add 1-2 jiggers good whiskey (I usually use Bulleit bourbon, but a purist would use rye)<br />
<br />
shake until cold, then strain into the old-fashioned glass<br />
<br />
add 1-2 dashes blood orange bitters (or regular bitters)<br />
<br />
stir in 1tsp granulated sugar (I like extra-fine, but regular is fine too); mix well<br />
<br />
shave in a long strip of fresh lemon peel (minus the white pith- just use the yellow zest part)<br />
<br />
<b>Drink like a boss.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-43239862580370616232013-09-28T17:14:00.000-07:002013-09-28T17:14:31.873-07:00When Did "Romance" Become A Dirty Word?<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt=" " height="640" src="http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/cb/a8/58/cba858934ab95ac7a7c0ece205d0b653.jpg" width="396" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://500px.com/photo/6936441?from=popular"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://500px.com/photo/6936441?from=popular</span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"I had a romance novel inside me, but I paid three sailors to beat it out of me with steel pipes." </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>-Patton Oswalt</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
What does the literary community have against romance novels?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This is a question I've been asking myself more and more lately. When was the last time you heard anyone professionally affiliated with the book world seriously discuss or review a romance novel? I mean, a romance novel that wasn't 50 Shades Of Grey?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Anyone? Anyone?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Every time I hear a professional reviewer, critic, or commentator deign to mention romance, it is with a smirk, a snort, or a disparaging remark. At best, romances are dismissed out of hand. At worst, they are called "fluff".</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When did "romance" become synonymous with literary dross? Have people forgotten the numerous classics that are also -gasp- romance novels? Here are a few to refresh our collective memories:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
-<b><i>Pride And Prejudice</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
-<b><i>Sense And Sensibility</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
-<b><i>Wuthering Heights</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
-<b><i>Jane Eyre</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
-<b><i>Lady Chatterly's Lover</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
-<b><i>Anna Karenina</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
-<b><i>Romeo And Juliet</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
-<b><i>Much Ado About Nothing</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
-<b><i>The Taming Of The Shrew</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I grant, there are plenty of romance novels out there that meet the definition of "fluff". But I don't understand why people treat that as a bad thing. Many of Shakespeare's romantic plays were "fluff". Does Shakespeare count as "literary dross"?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
If so, this is news to me.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
There are also plenty of other romance novels that use love stories to delve into deep human and political issues. Why are these not taken seriously? What better way to understand these issues than through the one thing we all have in common?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Seriously, is this just me?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-80517374027609568632013-09-11T11:04:00.000-07:002013-09-14T16:10:12.805-07:00Memory<div style="text-align: center;">
Some anniversaries you don't want to remember, but know you can never forget.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="#911 #9-11" height="400" src="http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/e3/9c/62/e39c620f98ac7e6b08ba760cafff87e4.jpg" width="400" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>"The world breaks everyone, and after, some are strong at the broken places." </i></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>-Ernest Hemingway</i></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-80500519472295368282013-09-09T19:08:00.000-07:002014-02-04T08:37:35.660-08:00Decisions, Decisions: When To Go With Your Gut, And When To Stick To
The Plan<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="http://www.palzoo.net/file/pic/gallery/7184_view.jpg"></div>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"I </i><i>love</i> <i>it when a plan comes together!" -Hannibal</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I like plans.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Meal plans, chore plans, wardrobe plans, travel plans. When it comes to my writing, I'm a plotter. I rarely start anything without having a plan first. Plans are delightful. Plans work for me.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br>Except when they don't.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It all started when I was almost finished with my most recent book. The plan was, it would be the first book in a trilogy. I'd even started planning the next two books, but hadn't gotten very far (read: I knew the primary, secondary, tertiary, and quaternary characters, the titles, and the plots).</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But then I had this idea.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
You know the Greek myth where the goddess Athena springs, fully formed, from the head of Zeus? It was like that, only instead of a Greek goddess (I'm pretty sure Sherrilyn Kenyon has the rights to those), this was a story.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Okay, seven stories.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It was a tough call. I was already invested in the trilogy, and what I had in mind for the new series was a massive project. My brain rebelled against shucking an entire notebook's worth of work to start over on something else. I had to stick to the plan.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
That's when it struck me. <i>Wait a minute. I'm an indie. Whose plan do I have to stick to, exactly?</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Planning is great. It's the only reason I'm able to crank out books at the pace I do. But sometimes, your plans hamstring you.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Sometimes, you have to go with your gut instead.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Curious about my new project? For a sneak preview of the first book, check out its <a href="http://pinterest.com/lowritermama/preview-the-devils-playground/" target="_blank">Pinterest board</a>.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-61644065345959681102013-08-28T11:11:00.000-07:002013-08-28T19:42:18.192-07:00Good News, Everyone!<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="Professor Fransworth from Futurama spouting his catch phrase "Good news everyone!"" src="http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/62/c5/bc/62c5bc36889db6d8bbbb0fd72d858a2a.jpg" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It's a Launch Day Extravaganza!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Sunday, September 1st, marks the launch of my newest book, <i><b>What The Body Needs</b></i>. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I know! I'm excited too! And I've been thinking to myself, "Self, what could you do to make this even more exciting than it already is?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Not bloody much, let me tell you.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But then it struck me. <b><i>I'll make it free on Launch Day!</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I hope you'll join me over on Amazon.com this Sunday for my Launch Day Extravaganza. It's going to be great! And if anyone wants to bring drinks, well, I won't say no...</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-14742349103987588482013-08-26T21:22:00.000-07:002013-08-27T22:16:04.503-07:00What The Body Needs: Epic Cover Reveal!<b><i>What The Body Needs</i></b> has a cover! And not just any cover: a really, really, awesome one!<br />
<br />
Thanks as always to my Epic Rockstar Designer Jesus, also known as Zen Mateyka. Because of him, my work looks way classier than it probably is.<br />
<br />
So without further ado...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Before you ask, yes. The book really is that hot. Can't wait for September 1st? </div>
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Me neither.</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17517488783849807001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5032141086951675614.post-33559706092891111652013-08-22T10:09:00.005-07:002014-01-30T05:26:32.185-08:00Thursday's Children Blog Hop: Onward And Upward (And An Excerpt)So, Thursday's Children is winding down.<br />
<br />
A shame. I've had so much fun and met so many awesome writers! Thank you Rhiann Wynn-Nolet and Kristina Perez for creating this little community for us. You guys are awesome, and I'm excited for the devious brainchild you've come up with now!<br />
<br />
But, enough crying. In honor of the last Thursday's Children Hop, I decided to publish the first bona-fide excerpt of my new book, <i><b>What The Body Needs</b></i>. Enjoy!<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>At first, she only saw dark.
Dark hair, dark jacket, dark pants, dark shoes. Dark eyes glittered from a hard face. Eyes fixed squarely on her.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jak stared down into her glass. Too late.
He'd already caught her. Out of
the corner of her eye, she saw him smile.
It was visceral.
Devastating. The kind of smile
that could get a woman to make all kinds of bad decisions. Jak pounded back the last of her drink.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"Not often you see a woman taking straight
whiskey."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jak tried to ignore him.
He slid a barstool closer.
"Bourbon or scotch?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>She gritted her teeth.
"Bourbon."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The man's smile took on a darker note. "That's my girl." He lifted a finger to catch Sam's
attention. "A bottle."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Sam slid over a bottle of Jak's bourbon. He caught her eye, opened his mouth to speak,
when something else distracted him.
Brow furrowed, he strode away briskly.
Jak sighed. She was on her
own. She turned to the stranger. "I buy my own drinks." <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"Sure you do, honey." He tossed back his shot, refilled his glass,
tossed the second shot back too.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jak's eyebrows went up.
"Most people only drink like that when they're trying to forget
something."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The man picked up her glass and filled it to the brim. Without a word, he slid it back to her. Jak stared at it for a moment, then tossed it
back.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The man smiled again and poured them each another. Jak's eyes narrowed. "If you're planning on getting me drunk,
it's going to take more than a few shots."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>He tipped his glass to her.
"I've got the whiskey if you've got the time."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"And if I don't?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>His eyes were piercing.
"You do."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jak's heart pounded.
Damn it, what was wrong with her?
It wasn't as though she'd never been hit on before. That was
what he was doing, wasn't it? She
couldn't quite tell. Maybe his voice,
those eyes, that smile, were giving her the wrong idea.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>She glanced at him again, more openly this time. He wasn't just dark. He was wild.
Hair a little too mussed. Shirt a
little too rumpled. That leather jacket
had seen a few too many hard rides. His
jaw looked capable of taking a punch, and his nose had clearly taken
several. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>But his lips were fascinating. A thin scar drew the top one into a perpetual
sneer. They were neatly carved, oddly
sensual. Out of place in his harsh
face. Jak fought the delicious shiver that
went down her spine. Lips like that had
experience making women scream.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>No, she definitely had the right idea.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>She'd never needed a drink so badly in her life. Jak stretched for the whiskey bottle. His hand closed over her wrist. She froze, splayed across the bar in front of
him. It was disconcerting. Intimate.
She forced herself to meet his eyes.
In the dim light, she couldn't make out their color. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The corners of his lips lifted. "Buyer pours."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>She cleared her throat.
"Oh." She wracked her
brain for something else to say.
"Thanks." His hand
still imprisoned hers. She looked down
at it pointedly.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>He ignored her. His
thumb traced a slow circle around the inside of her wrist as he poured them
each a shot with his other hand. His
skin was rough, warm. Jak swallowed
hard. A smile twitched at the edges of his mouth. Damn.
He must have felt her pulse jump.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>She took a deep breath and withdrew her hand. He let it slide out from under his and raised
his glass. "Your health."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jak tried to ignore the tingle where he'd touched her. "What about </i>your <i>health?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Even his chuckle was dark.
"Trust me, yours is worth more than mine."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jak snorted. "I
doubt it." She drank anyway. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The man drank, eyes never leaving her face.
"Interesting." He
refilled her glass. "Want to talk
about it?" A mocking note edged his
voice.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"What? No." </i>Not
with you<i>. Jak swirled the whiskey
around in her glass. She looked up to
find him watching her again. "Yes?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The man shrugged.
"Just wondering what goes on in a head like yours."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jak stiffened.
"What are you talking about?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>He looked at her a moment longer, then returned to his
drink. "Calm down,
honey." He glanced back at her. "Your honor is safe
with me." His lips twisted, as if
in appreciation of a private joke.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jak stared at
him. Had he moved closer, or had
she? She glanced back at where she'd
been sitting. Christ. She had.
From her new seat, she could smell the heady mix of leather and smoke
that seemed to emanate from the man's every pore. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>She resisted the urge to lean over and breathe it in. Instead she studied her whiskey, suddenly
unsure whether to drink it. When was the
last time she'd been drawn to someone like this? Was it her?
The alcohol? Or something else
altogether?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>She cleared her throat.
"You been in town long?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The man's eyes sharpened.
"Who said I'm from out of town?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jak forced herself not to cringe, sipped her drink instead. "Never seen you here before. And there's a motel next door. Doesn't take a genius."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>He inclined his head.
"Score one for the lady."
He focused back on his glass. Jak
waited. He didn't look up again.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Her eyes narrowed.
"You're a criminal." If
that wasn't just perfect.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The man sipped his drink.
"What makes you say that?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jak pushed her glass away.
"You're not from here. You
hardly seem the type to be visiting family." She shrugged.
"So you're here on business.
If it was good business, you'd be in a better hotel. Those bags under your eyes-you don't sleep
enough. Probably work at night." She sat back.
"And you drink too much. Guilty
conscience?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The man stared at her, expressionless. Jak's blood iced over. "I'm right, aren't I?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>He took another drink.
A shadow of pain flickered across his features, so fast she nearly
missed it. "And why would I admit
it if you were?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Now she was curious.
"Like I said, people who drink like you do are trying to forget
something." She peered into his
face. "What are you trying to
forget?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The man didn't answer.
He drained the last of his drink and tossed two twenties on the
bar. "Rest of the bottle's
yours." With that, he slid off the
stool and disappeared into the crowd. Between the bodies, Jak saw the side door
swing open. The outside lights glinted
off his leather jacket as he slipped out.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>She sighed and reached for her glass. Sam tore himself away from the blond man he
was talking to and made his way back to her, a concerned look on his face. "Was that guy bothering you?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jak snorted. Now he
asked her. She shook her head and tried
to ignore the strange heat pooled deep in her belly. "Nah.
Who was he, anyway?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Sam shrugged.
"Never seen him before. Came
in and started drinking almost," he checked the clock on the wall behind
him, "Christ, almost four hours ago now.
Said his name was Marcus, I think?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"Marcus."
The syllables rolled off her tongue.
Marcus. It sounded elegant. Patrician.
It didn't fit the dark man at all.
"He say what he was doing here?"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"No, don't think so." Sam started wiping a water ring off the scarred
wood. He glanced back at the blond,
focused on Jak again. "The amount
he had to drink, I'm amazed he remembered his own name."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jak sighed. She
looked back at the door Marcus had disappeared through. His presence seemed to linger around it,
animalistic and magnetizing. She sighed
again. She was going to regret this.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>She hopped off her stool and waved to Sam, then quickened
her pace and disappeared into the crowd before he could say anything. Satisfied there were enough people around the
door to block her, she stole out the same way Marcus had gone.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The night air bit her cheeks and cut through her canvas
jacket. Jak rubbed her arms and blinked,
eyes adjusting slowly to the dim light.
The pungent aroma of cigarette smoke pricked her nostrils. She turned in the direction it was coming
from.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>A heavy, muscular arm swept her back and pinned her to the
wall of the building. Jak's mouth flew
open, but no sound came out. She did the
only thing she could think of and drove her knee towards what she hoped was a
sensitive target.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Marcus caught it. His
dark eyes flashed. "That," he said,
"was not very ladylike." His
voice was so low it might have been a growl.
Smoke wafted off his breath.
Usually she hated the smell, but now it only intensified that mysterious
feeling in the pit of her stomach.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jak shifted.
"I-"<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>His eyes bored into hers.
"You shouldn't be here."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I know<i>.
She swallowed and tried again.
"You left so fast." She
felt like she was strangling. "I
was concerned."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>He made a disbelieving sound deep in his throat. "I bet you were." His eyes skated over her face, lower. He shifted closer. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Jak fought back a shiver.
She couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
She wasn't sure she remembered how.
Deep in her gut, something primal throbbed in time to her pounding
heartbeat. The sounds of traffic from
the street faded to the blood rushing in her ears. She forced herself to meet his gaze.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>He shook his head, eyes never leaving hers. "Nice girls like you shouldn't follow men
like me into dark alleys."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The world was spinning.
Whether from the whiskey or something else, she wasn't sure anymore. A warning siren blared in the back of her
head. </i>Bad decision<i>. </i>BAD decision<i>. Jak ignored it and squared her jaw. "I'm not that nice."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Marcus's face was so close she could see the lines weathered
into his forehead. His lips peeled back
from his teeth in a predatory smile.
"Good."<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Then his mouth closed
over hers.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">***</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Farewell, Thursday's Children! May you slip gently into that good night. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, onward and upward!</span><br />
<br />
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