Sunday, July 21, 2013

A sneak peak



When I was about six or seven years old I went to a summer camp.  We played games and did arts and crafts in the morning and thirty minutes after lunch we swam in the swimming pool.  There was a little girl there, a year or two older than me, who told me she was my guardian angel.  She was shaped like a box and had beautiful long brown hair that her mother kept in pretty barrettes and bows.  Her complexion was a bit darker than mine and she had a pretty smile.  I think part of me wanted to believe her.  She tried to convince me, telling me that she walked up a long set of stairs to get to Heaven to report to God, but even at that young age, logic took over and I called her out on her bullshit.

That summer, I almost drowned in the pool.  If she was my guardian angel she was off to a rocky start. 

True story. 

I don’t think of that summer camp that often, but when I do I remember almost drowning and my so called, box-shaped guardian angel.

Where did that logic go?  Now, a lot of my brain time is spent making up stories just like that shitty one she told me.  Correction, mine are better!  In my heart of hearts I wish I would hear the whir of the Tardis, heralding the arrival of the Doctor.  I wish Sam and Dean Winchester would come tell me that I’m the only one that can do ‘something’ and that it’s time to kick butt.  If a box-shaped woman approached me today and told me she was my guardian angel I might just start asking some serious questions instead of telling her she’s a freaking liar.  Well, unless she looked genuinely insanicus and I knew she was a crazy person hell-bent on doing something really terrible to me or people I know.  Or any one!

Don’t get me wrong, I was a dreamer growing up but as I’ve gotten older I feel more open to the possibilities that ‘the truth is out there’.  But I want it to be a nice truth.  Not a creepy ‘you’re gonna die’ type truth.  That would just suck. 

MaryJanice Davidson has something on her Facebook page that says, “I’m a professional writer.  I tell lies to total strangers for money.” 

During my formative years I fought to distinguish real life from fantasy.  Now, my adult-self yearns for fantasy.  Safe fantasy.  

I’m telling you this just to give you a peek in to my writer-mind.  I think of the strangest things and then I get excited about it because I want to share it with you.  Sometimes, I get a little weirded out because I’m not sure if I’m the only weirdo who thinks these off the wall thoughts. 

So, if you ever seem me doodling like a fool in my little blue book, just know that I saw someone do something terribly ordinary and that it has sparked an extraordinary idea in my awesome, thinking, writer brain.  

And then, just wait for you.  You’ll find out about it sooner or later.  

Spoilers.  

River Song kept her secrets in a little blue book and it was filled with wonderful secrets.
 

Coincidence… I think not!

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Guess who's back!

Don’t call it a comeback!  I’ve been here for years!! 

Alright, so I’ve been MIA for the past ten days and you probably didn’t even know I was missing.  Those two nozzles in Target could have Taken me.  Only those of you who keep up with my blog will understand. 

I’ve been happily procrastinating and Chasing Angels (the next part of Hunted by Angels) is due the end of this month.  I’ve also been editing (staring at the computer screen) Bound, trying to get it ready so I can start querying agents.  And my darling daughter has eased her way back into our bed.  Whoa to me!  (And my husband)  She sleeps like a mad woman.  She’s only 26 pounds and she has taken over the entire bed.  My little Mushka (that’s what I call her) started waking up in the middle of the night and I took the lazy way out: I put her in the bed with us so I could go back to sleep.  Mushka can walk and roll all over my husband’s head and he never even wakes up.  I have the ‘Mother Gene’.  I hear everything she does.  Every breath.  Every snore.  Every time she lifts her head, I sense it.  But this is neither here nor there.

Actually, it’s very here.  I only got about two hours, and I’m being generous here, of sleep last night and I have to work today.  And then I’ll go home, do tons of stuff and then try to write later on tonight.  Write.

Writing. 

It’s something that I love to do and it brings me peace.  Why does it seem like it’s the last thing I actually get to do?  Do you suffer from the ‘I want to be a successful published author but everything else seems to come first’ syndrome?  Is it just me? 

You do it too, don’t you?  You sit and play that cursed Candy Crush, begging for lives and chocolate candy balls!  You sit and mindlessly flip through channels, swearing up and down there’s nothing on television, but you sit there for an hour anyway trying to find something to watch?  Hey, I’m with you.  As much money as I pay for cable, there should be SOMETHING that I want to watch!!  There should be a channel dedicated to me because… I’m getting away from myself.  Writing.  Write. Right.

Come on fellow writers!  Let’s band together and encourage each other to write.  To create.  Down with the Bloody Big Head…I mean down with time consuming, meaningless stuff. 
Let’s do this.  I’ve got deadlines to meet and a child to get back into her crib.  

Wish me luck!




Saturday, July 6, 2013

The road to yours truly




When I was in the sixth grade, my Social Studies teacher thought I couldn’t read.  In fact, she almost had me put in the ‘special’ classes because of this thought.  But, I could read.  Quite well.  My mother is a teacher.  Let’s go a little further in to this, just for a few seconds. 

We lived in a not so great neighborhood while I was growing up and the people that lived there, and the people I went to school with, called me ‘white girl’ because I spoke proper English.  I really didn’t have a choice.  You did not use slang in my mother’s house.  You had to be on the porch where she could see you by sunset and you didn’t stand on corners.  Her philosophy on those who stood on corners:  they aren’t real men because real men work during the day and are too tired to stand on the corner when they get off of work. 

I completely agree.

Back to the teacher who thought I couldn’t read.  She pretty much thought I was stupid and told my mother to have me read to her at night.  My mother had no other choice than to get to the bottom of whatever the hell was going on with her non-reading daughter.  My sixth and seventh grade English teacher was the first one to figure it out.  “She can read.  She’s just shy and reading in front of the class makes her stutter.”  He also told my mom that we had to find out what I liked to read and then do book reports on those books. 

Booyeah!

So, my English teacher gave me a Goosebumps book and I stood at the front of the class room and rattled on and on about these awesome books.  This lead me to buying The Silver Kiss at a school book fair.  It’s a tragic love story about a teenager and a vampire.  

A few months later I asked my mother to take me to see Bram Stoker’s Dracula.  

I had fallen in love.  I don’t think I knew love then, not really, but the theatrical version of Bram Stoker’s book had somehow drawn that feeling out of me.  Vampires were beautiful and awful and loved so hard that death couldn’t keep them.  After seeing Interview with the Vampire about two years later, I found out that they were also funny and vengeful and dangerous. 

I wrote my first short story a few months later called Roslyn Jones.  Let’s just say it involved me, dirty hat, a bullwhip and New Kids on the Block posters.   

We will never speak of this again.

That’s how I found my love for all things supernatural.  I’ve tried to read other genres and I’ve found books that I do love, Alice Clayton’s Wallbanger is hilariously sexy and funny, but paranormal fiction just keeps calling me back.  I write paranormal fiction and I’m able to create worlds and species that keep me, and hopefully you, entertained. 

They say you never work a day in your life when you do what it is you want to do.  I work every.  Freaking.  Day.  I go.  To work.  And one day, soon I hope, I’ll be writing (not working) from home as a full-time writer, kicking out books that people count down the days for.

I'm traveling down that road right now.  It’s coming.