Polly wanna cracker? Er, how about a tortilla chip?
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
So Much To Blog, So Little Time
What can I say? Viva Mexico!! It's just such a shame that the drive takes sooooo long. Anyway, back to real life, real work, and real editing.
Okay, what's up with blogger??? Just tried to upload pictures--the "go to" when I don't have time for blogging--and it's not working. Grrrr.
Keep checking back. I'm off to Plan B.
Okay, what's up with blogger??? Just tried to upload pictures--the "go to" when I don't have time for blogging--and it's not working. Grrrr.
Keep checking back. I'm off to Plan B.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Off Again!
Those of you who've been paying attention, know we've entered the rarified atmosphere known as the kickoff to Randy's Birthday Season. Which means...yep...off again! And (sob, sob) I'm not taking my laptop so more gaps in blogging. I swear, I'll make it up to ya though.
Next week, after I post all the wonderful pictures and tell all the amazing birthday stories (one can hope), I'll be talking about editing hell again. Yes, I know we've been down that path before, but I've got more to say, dammit.
By the way, Jenny Craig and birthdays don't mix, so you can forget about a diet report when I get back. Just know that I've lost 6-1/2 pounds (can I help it if I'm the slowest loser instead of the biggest?) and I'll watch each and every one of 'em like a hawk. (And, sigh, be ready to renew my commitment upon return.) After all, there's that wedding coming up...
Wait...you HAVE been paying attention, haven't you?? Not MY wedding, my nephew's. Geesh.
No, if I ever get married, you're all invited. Yep, even you.
Next week, after I post all the wonderful pictures and tell all the amazing birthday stories (one can hope), I'll be talking about editing hell again. Yes, I know we've been down that path before, but I've got more to say, dammit.
By the way, Jenny Craig and birthdays don't mix, so you can forget about a diet report when I get back. Just know that I've lost 6-1/2 pounds (can I help it if I'm the slowest loser instead of the biggest?) and I'll watch each and every one of 'em like a hawk. (And, sigh, be ready to renew my commitment upon return.) After all, there's that wedding coming up...
Wait...you HAVE been paying attention, haven't you?? Not MY wedding, my nephew's. Geesh.
No, if I ever get married, you're all invited. Yep, even you.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
118-210-15-215-30-18
Lucky numbers? Nope. Just the route I took to Big Bear on Friday. There would’ve been a 330 in there too, but the road was closed for rehabilitation (which put an odd mental picture in my mind). So, according to Mapquest this particular journey gobbled up 147 miles and approximately 2-1/2 hours. Hm. Approximately. Going by Dictionary.com's second definition, we have: "nearly exact; not perfectly accurate or correct." Let's just say it took FOUR FRIGGIN' hours. One hour ALONE on a two-lane mountain road.
Oh well. The drive was worth it. Here's the lovely
place we stayed. You can bet we never stepped
foot on the tennis court, of course. In fact, the most
exercise we got was from walking up and down stairs.
And here I'd pictured us hiking or something.
Ha! What was I thinking?? By the way, that guy on the left is the cutest male we saw all weekend. Well, not counting the 6 foot tall bunny riding shotgun in the motorhome who, as he drove past, used a PA system to inquire if we'd ever thought about having sex with a rabbit....? Um, no.
Saw lots of these, too. Lots and lots of expensive bikes. I particularly like the way they zoom around hairpin curves tilting almost parallel to the road. You know, those folks--what my friend Marty calls 'organ donors'? All right, geesh. Give a me a break. Some of my best friends ride bikes--oh, wait. This particular friend recently BEGGED me to never mention her in my blog. Forget I said anything.
There's Juli and I at a place called Boo's Bear Inn (or something like that.) Please note that instead of ordering the PATTY MELT AND FRIES (which I was DYING FOR) I opted for a modest chef salad--dressing on the side. (Whine, whine)
On my way home, I made my own stab at organ donor status by snapping pics out the window as I drove. Here's
some sad evidence of last year's fire. Then I tried to get a sense of the steep drop over the side (I was at about 7,000 feet) but alas, my photo taking skills lessen by comparison with those of my driving . Last, but not least, is Rim Of The World High School (aptly named)--my step-bro's alma mater.
Oh, and P.S...getting those new brakes the other day was an inspired idea!
Monday, September 11, 2006
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Tired of Hearing About My Writing Career?
Not as tired as I am of blogging about it, ha ha ha.
To that end...prepare yourself for another...roadtrip! This time to Big Bear...yes, the mountains! A place where I may actually need (gulp) a SWEATER at night. (For those of you in California, a sweater--pronounced swe' ter-- is a long-sleeved garment, usually made of wool or some other finely woven fabric, worn by people who are...COLD!)
*rubbing hands together*
I can't wait!
Don't even know what we're gonna do up there. Hike? (Yeah, right.) Lay by the pool? (More likely.) Eat, drink, and be merry! (Absolutely!)
(I know, I know. I might just have to leave Jenny at home. She hasn't been very good to me lately. Outside of a couple lapses--minor ones, I stress--over Labor Day weekend, I've been about 95% steadfast and yet still only have five pounds to show for all my sacrifice. Sigh. And it' ain't lookin' good for next weekend (birthday weekend! get those cards and presents ready!)...or a couple after that--nephew's wedding).
Oh, well...sometimes, a girl's just gotta live. Ya know?
Pictures to follow!
P.S. I'm feeling so accomplished. I actually got the oil changed in my car today. So what is UP with that "every 3000 miles" crap? Are they kidding? Personally, I say every 20,000 and you're good to go. Oh, and since my car shuddered every time I did something simple like slow down, I got the brakes fixed (replaced?). Figured the ability to de-accelerate (is that a word?) might come in handy as I race down the mountain.
To that end...prepare yourself for another...roadtrip! This time to Big Bear...yes, the mountains! A place where I may actually need (gulp) a SWEATER at night. (For those of you in California, a sweater--pronounced swe' ter-- is a long-sleeved garment, usually made of wool or some other finely woven fabric, worn by people who are...COLD!)
*rubbing hands together*
I can't wait!
Don't even know what we're gonna do up there. Hike? (Yeah, right.) Lay by the pool? (More likely.) Eat, drink, and be merry! (Absolutely!)
(I know, I know. I might just have to leave Jenny at home. She hasn't been very good to me lately. Outside of a couple lapses--minor ones, I stress--over Labor Day weekend, I've been about 95% steadfast and yet still only have five pounds to show for all my sacrifice. Sigh. And it' ain't lookin' good for next weekend (birthday weekend! get those cards and presents ready!)...or a couple after that--nephew's wedding).
Oh, well...sometimes, a girl's just gotta live. Ya know?
Pictures to follow!
P.S. I'm feeling so accomplished. I actually got the oil changed in my car today. So what is UP with that "every 3000 miles" crap? Are they kidding? Personally, I say every 20,000 and you're good to go. Oh, and since my car shuddered every time I did something simple like slow down, I got the brakes fixed (replaced?). Figured the ability to de-accelerate (is that a word?) might come in handy as I race down the mountain.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
The Backstretch
Could it be?? Could I really be headed for home??
Wouldn’t think so since I threatened to abandon Leftovers altogether just a couple of posts ago. And I was serious about that, folks. I was ready to throw in the towel and start something new. Something fun to write for a change.
Then I muddled through that SCENE−or as we in the romance biz call it, THE BLACK MOMENT−and now things seem to be falling together nicely again. I’ve written seven pages in the last couple of days.
Better yet…oh, wait. First I have to point out that standard manuscript formatting requires doublespacing, but I prefer to keep it to single while I’m writing. So occasionally, I stop and reformat to see what I actually have in terms of wordcount and pages.
Well, hallelujah! I have a book! Yep, the sucker translates to approximately 70,000 words at the moment−enough for some houses, though not all. So then I started mentally calculating what I *think* it’ll come in at and I realized….whoaaaa….while I wasn’t looking I somehow got near the end! I mean, about ten more scenes−maybe 15,000 words should do it. (Please note, I ALWAYS underestimate my scenes−but in this case, that’d be okay since I’m probably gonna hack out a lot of the first two chapters.)
Anyway…I’m majorly stoked.
Wouldn’t think so since I threatened to abandon Leftovers altogether just a couple of posts ago. And I was serious about that, folks. I was ready to throw in the towel and start something new. Something fun to write for a change.
Then I muddled through that SCENE−or as we in the romance biz call it, THE BLACK MOMENT−and now things seem to be falling together nicely again. I’ve written seven pages in the last couple of days.
Better yet…oh, wait. First I have to point out that standard manuscript formatting requires doublespacing, but I prefer to keep it to single while I’m writing. So occasionally, I stop and reformat to see what I actually have in terms of wordcount and pages.
Well, hallelujah! I have a book! Yep, the sucker translates to approximately 70,000 words at the moment−enough for some houses, though not all. So then I started mentally calculating what I *think* it’ll come in at and I realized….whoaaaa….while I wasn’t looking I somehow got near the end! I mean, about ten more scenes−maybe 15,000 words should do it. (Please note, I ALWAYS underestimate my scenes−but in this case, that’d be okay since I’m probably gonna hack out a lot of the first two chapters.)
Anyway…I’m majorly stoked.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Did It Work??
Gee…kinda. ..I guess…maybe…
I ended up writing two versions of tri-part dialogue, each with a very different tone (which I suppose was revealing...?). In the first one, Angie (the step-sister) came off as an arrogant bitch. That seemed cliché and boring. In the second try, I made her sly and manipulative.
Writing without surrounding the spoken words with gestures, facial expressions, and internal thoughts didn’t feel comfortable at all, so I’m not sure the exercise is something I’ll adopt on a full time basis.
I DID get through the scene. It’s not great, mind you. Needs a lot of polishing and−je ne sais quoi−more zip maybe. Yeah, definitely more zip.
But it’s better than giving up…something I considered a bazillion times this weekend. (Huge sigh.) Don’t ever let anyone tell you good writing takes talent. I swear. It’s more about the mental blood, sweat, and tears.
By the way, anyone notice my latest foray into blog interference? I copied some code, managed to figure out where to put it, and voila. Now you can click on my publisher’s name (beneath Stealing Amy’s cover) to go directly to their website. Next thing you know, I’ll figure out how to take you right to PayPal.
Kidding.
I ended up writing two versions of tri-part dialogue, each with a very different tone (which I suppose was revealing...?). In the first one, Angie (the step-sister) came off as an arrogant bitch. That seemed cliché and boring. In the second try, I made her sly and manipulative.
Writing without surrounding the spoken words with gestures, facial expressions, and internal thoughts didn’t feel comfortable at all, so I’m not sure the exercise is something I’ll adopt on a full time basis.
I DID get through the scene. It’s not great, mind you. Needs a lot of polishing and−je ne sais quoi−more zip maybe. Yeah, definitely more zip.
But it’s better than giving up…something I considered a bazillion times this weekend. (Huge sigh.) Don’t ever let anyone tell you good writing takes talent. I swear. It’s more about the mental blood, sweat, and tears.
By the way, anyone notice my latest foray into blog interference? I copied some code, managed to figure out where to put it, and voila. Now you can click on my publisher’s name (beneath Stealing Amy’s cover) to go directly to their website. Next thing you know, I’ll figure out how to take you right to PayPal.
Kidding.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Trying Something New
Remind me not to write a relationship-heavy book again. This one’s really kicking my a$$.
When I stalled out a couple weeks ago, I decided to step back, take a deep breath, and think about where I was going with the darn thing. Then, during the drive to Palm Desert (long drives are GREAT for this) I realized I’d committed a fatal error. I’d let my heroine run away from the most dramatic conflict in the book. Um, much as I would probably have done in real life.
So…delete, delete, delete. Let the dog walk himself. Rose stays in the scene to confront her step-sister.
Only, I didn’t have a clue what they’d say to each other. And Sam’s there, too. His stakes are just as important, but different. How would the three interact?
Usually it’s time for a bath when I have these questions. (Baths are only second to driving for summoning the muse.) But that hasn’t worked so far.
I’ve tried playing the scene out in my mind before I drop off to sleep at night.
Still nothing. Or next to it.
So I’ve been paying attention to movies lately. And certain scripted TV shows where dialogue is everything and there’s not a lot of time to tell the story except through the words. A good movie or TV show milks every word for what it’s worth.
That’s what I wanna do.
So, here’s the plan. I’m gonna write just the dialogue. As though the scene’s in a play, not a book. This is called layering and I’ve tried it a couple times. Later, when the words are right, I’ll “layer” in the speech and action tags. The busy stuff around the dialogue. I’m guessing the scene, if done properly, will benefit most by leaving it pretty bare.
Wish me luck.
When I stalled out a couple weeks ago, I decided to step back, take a deep breath, and think about where I was going with the darn thing. Then, during the drive to Palm Desert (long drives are GREAT for this) I realized I’d committed a fatal error. I’d let my heroine run away from the most dramatic conflict in the book. Um, much as I would probably have done in real life.
So…delete, delete, delete. Let the dog walk himself. Rose stays in the scene to confront her step-sister.
Only, I didn’t have a clue what they’d say to each other. And Sam’s there, too. His stakes are just as important, but different. How would the three interact?
Usually it’s time for a bath when I have these questions. (Baths are only second to driving for summoning the muse.) But that hasn’t worked so far.
I’ve tried playing the scene out in my mind before I drop off to sleep at night.
Still nothing. Or next to it.
So I’ve been paying attention to movies lately. And certain scripted TV shows where dialogue is everything and there’s not a lot of time to tell the story except through the words. A good movie or TV show milks every word for what it’s worth.
That’s what I wanna do.
So, here’s the plan. I’m gonna write just the dialogue. As though the scene’s in a play, not a book. This is called layering and I’ve tried it a couple times. Later, when the words are right, I’ll “layer” in the speech and action tags. The busy stuff around the dialogue. I’m guessing the scene, if done properly, will benefit most by leaving it pretty bare.
Wish me luck.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Dateline Palm Springs
So I’m leaving the Auga Caliente Casino in Palm Springs (well, Rancho Mirage to be precise) at 1:30a.m. (Hey--it's just around the corner from my hotel--how I could I NOT pay a visit? And, no I didn't break the bank, but I came out ahead thanks to a last minute $100 jackpot.) Anyway, I get 
in the elevator with a nice, young couple speaking Spanish. (Them, not me.) As we ascend to our parking level, I notice something odd.
“I’m bleeding,” I say sheepishly, holding up my finger.
They smile in agreement and continue their conversation.
The doors slide open; we exit--the Spanish-speaking couple to the right, me to the left. I glance down. I’m now DRIPPING BLOOD all over the parking garage.
What the hell?
I mean, dripping.
I get to the car...well, I can’t just get in and drip blood all over the leather, can I? I glance inside. No tissue. No toilet paper. Only the newspaper article Blogreader Joe gave me on Sunday. Haven’t read it yet, but oh well.
I daub my finger all over Buenos Aires. Again. And again. And again and again and again.
I suddenly start worrying that God has a plan...that when I break down on that unlit road leading back to my hotel and the serial killer gets me, there'll be a trail of DNA. I find myself wondering if years from now some lunatic will claim to have mixed his genetics with mine.
And still it drips.
I mean, I haven’t even really gotten in the car yet, and I can see drops of blood on the seat. Finally, I find the closest facsimile to a Band-Aid I have: a Citibank receipt.
I wind it around my finger and it sticks nicely. I drive back to the hotel.
I make my way to my room. By this time you might fear I’m faint, but geez. It’s just a finger. DRIPPING, mind you, but still....just a finger.
Stoically, I get inside, march to the bathroom, put on my glasses and stick my finger under water. Ick! Big ol’ flap of skin hanging off it.
Which just goes to show. Never borrow a razor from your sister-in-law before you get to a hotel. And never, EVER, put it in your purse for later.
in the elevator with a nice, young couple speaking Spanish. (Them, not me.) As we ascend to our parking level, I notice something odd.“I’m bleeding,” I say sheepishly, holding up my finger.
They smile in agreement and continue their conversation.
The doors slide open; we exit--the Spanish-speaking couple to the right, me to the left. I glance down. I’m now DRIPPING BLOOD all over the parking garage.
What the hell?
I mean, dripping.
I get to the car...well, I can’t just get in and drip blood all over the leather, can I? I glance inside. No tissue. No toilet paper. Only the newspaper article Blogreader Joe gave me on Sunday. Haven’t read it yet, but oh well.
I daub my finger all over Buenos Aires. Again. And again. And again and again and again.
I suddenly start worrying that God has a plan...that when I break down on that unlit road leading back to my hotel and the serial killer gets me, there'll be a trail of DNA. I find myself wondering if years from now some lunatic will claim to have mixed his genetics with mine.
And still it drips.
I mean, I haven’t even really gotten in the car yet, and I can see drops of blood on the seat. Finally, I find the closest facsimile to a Band-Aid I have: a Citibank receipt.
I wind it around my finger and it sticks nicely. I drive back to the hotel.
I make my way to my room. By this time you might fear I’m faint, but geez. It’s just a finger. DRIPPING, mind you, but still....just a finger.
Stoically, I get inside, march to the bathroom, put on my glasses and stick my finger under water. Ick! Big ol’ flap of skin hanging off it.
Which just goes to show. Never borrow a razor from your sister-in-law before you get to a hotel. And never, EVER, put it in your purse for later.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
