Can I get a "hell yes," people?

Looks like HIMYM is back for another season! This brightened my mood considerably.

A post of three parts

1. I got purling down. Ha-ha-ha! Now I'm half-way through a lovely pink-and-brown varigated-yarn potholder. Next, I will practice changing colors of yarn, and then work on a scarf. Today at Hobby Lobby I saw some cool lime-green yarn, which would be fun, but I think first I'd like to make a burgundy-and-gold Gryffindor scarf. Knitting is the new crack.

2. We watched Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle today. Funny stuff. There were some lame things--riding a cheetah, for example--but some really funny things, like Neil Patrick Harris snorting coke off a stripper's ass. Ken and I and a few friends are going to see Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay this week. Hopefully it doesn't suck.

3. We went to the theater and watched Iron Man last night. Great movie, awesome special effects, good plot. Robert Downey, Jr. rocked the role of Tony Stark, Gwenyth Paltrow made a good Pepper Potts, and Jeff Bridges looked good bald. I thought the actual story wasn't as good as Batman Begins but on it's own merit it's pretty good. I think it's worth paying full price. If you see it, stay through the end of the credits. There's a little scene that sets up a sequel. I know what you're saying: "Why should I stay for five minutes and watch a bunch of names scroll the screen when I could already be half-way home?" I'll tell you why: Samuel L. Jackson. 'Nuff said. Though I have to say it was cool watching the names roll by. There were a zillion (okay, maybe only a hundred) people that worked on the computer graphics, and I told Ken that soon we'd go to a movie and watch the credits to see our friend Jimmy's name. To which he replied, "Have you talked to Bridget lately?" and I had to say "Uh, no." This only proves once again that I am a bad friend.

I was wrong

Turns out I don't know how to purl, yet. Bah. I've got knitting down, but purling is like knitting backwards, and I'm hitting a roadblock. It's basically an essential stitch to master if you're ever going to make anything smooth ... so. More practice. And then! I will win and I will make a scarf and life will be good.

I'm doomed

I went and did it. I bought a pair of knitting needles and some yarn, and last night I got together with some co-workers and learned to knit. Okay, "learn" is a strong word. "Tried" is better. This morning I tried to do some more and failed to even get started. I tossed the needles aside and said, "bah! I have too much other stuff to do anyway."

And then I went online, found a cool beginner's website, learned a new way to "cast on", and went to town. I knitted two rows, purled two rows, and cast off. I wouldn't say it was easy--I dropped a few stitches and my finished product is pretty loose--but I think I'm actually getting the hang of it. I'll never knit my own sweaters, but if I can get good enough to work my way up to scarves, I wouldn't complain.

Like I needed another way to fill my days, right?

ETA the pictures.

Quality time with the spousal unit

Last night Ken took some time away from schoolwork long enough so we could see a movie. We watched Forgetting Sarah Marshall. There were some cute parts and funny parts and raunchy parts, and the Englishman was hysterical, but as a whole it wasn't cohesive as I would have liked. There were a ton of penis shots, which I found funny but annoyed Ken.

Soapbox: Jason Segal wrote the script and plays the male lead. He's naked a lot, which I think is supposed to be endearing because he's goofy and a little doughy and not at all buff and the two female leads (Kristen Bell and Mila Kunis) are both predictably skinny and hot. For me it just pointed out the sexist nature of Hollywood--sure, guys can be shleppy and headline a Major Motion Picture, but a goofy, less-than-perfect woman (think Judy Greer or Jeanne Garafolo) will usually be cast as the snarky best friend.

It's not nearly as good as Knocked Up or Superbad, probably because Judd Apatow only produced it, he didn't direct it. If you see it, either go to a matinee or wait for DVD. Definitely don't pay full price.

I went and did it

I bought the textbook I'll need to study for the Specialist in Microbiology ASCP exam. It ships May 1st. Between now and next spring I'll be doing one of three things with my spare time: writing, studying micro, or reading fiction. Oh, let's be serious, one of four things: gotta add "playing Guitar Hero" to that list.

It never really goes away, does it?

So today I had the day off. It's a gorgeous day, beautiful, sunshiny, no humidity, slight breeze, around 80 degrees. (Yes, Bridget, I know it's like that every day in LA. Shut up.) I colored by hair, finished a short story, contemplated getting Chinese food for lunch but then convinced myself to way until mid-afternoon, and got a manicure. I went into one of those strip-mall places full of Asian women who barely speak English because those type of nail places give better manicures that salons that charge twice as much. I allowed myself to enjoy being pampered for a half-hour. I tipped the woman generously, and left to enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

I got about halfway to my car before I mentally flayed myself for spending $17 on a frivolity. "Self," I said, "You could have spent $8 on this exact nail polish at the mall and used it for the next two years."

Why, why, why, do I feel guilty about spending money on things that aren't essentials? Why can't I get it through my head that just because I grew up poor doesn't mean I am now? Why can't I understand that I work hard for my money and so it's okay for me to have nice things?

I don't always feel this way. I'm fine with buying a computer or an iPod, and I have no problems paying for a gaming platform or a few books or a gym membership, probably because I know I'll get my money's worth out of them through use. But getting a manicure seems like such an indulgence that I beat myself up about it.

New Music Wednesday

For those of you who don't know, I'm a movie soundtrack junkie. Grease, Chicago, The Village, it's all good. Hell, I even own the soundtrack to Twister. If some crazed fan ever sent me the Last Action Hero soundtrack on CD, I probably wouldn't have them arrested. So, I'm getting ready to buy the soundtrack to Forgetting Sarah Marshall, mostly because Jason Segal from How I Met Your Mother is in the movie and performs on the soundtrack, but also because I plan to go see it this week. The first song on the album is "Love you Madly" by Cake. It's a spry little number, and it makes me wonder why I don't own any Cake albums. I said all of that to say this: if you had to buy only one Cake album, which one would it be? (That's right, I'm lookin' at you, Innuendo, but anyone can chime in.)

What's shakin'?

Everything, as it turns out. We had an earthquake this morning, 5.2 on the richter scale. Around 4:37 this morning, I felt the bed shake and a clinking noise. The noise was Ken's glasses hitting a drinking glass on his bedside table (I think) and the shaking was, um, the earth. Actually, my first thought was, "Is Kahlua having a seizure?" because, well, that's basically how Bailey died in front of us, and we all know how disorienting waking up from a dead sleep can be. I looked at the foot of the bed, but Kahlua wasn't there; he was sitting in the middle of the bedroom, minding his own business. Morgan lay sleeping at my side, and Moonshine was nowhere to be found. I said, "Is it an earthquake?" and Ken said, "No, it's the glasses clinking," because he had that whole disoriented thing happening, too. I was more "WTF?" than scared. It lasted I dunno, maybe 15 or 20 seconds, then it stopped. Ken promptly fell back to sleep. I lay awake for a bit thinking about the New Madrid fault line. I grew up in the St. Louis area, and they taught us about it in school, so of course the thoughts running through my head was "Holy crap, St. Louis is in ruins" and "Hope my family's okay" and "Ken's too busy with finals to be dealing with this now." (Ken works for an agency that coordinates Illinois law enforcement in an emergency.) This is the seismic zone that caused the quake today. If I have a handle on the way these things work, if New Madrid had a big quake, this fault line would be affected, too.

Don't worry, everyone is okay here. It was a weird 20 seconds, though. Clearly, the end is near.

This and that

So, today I mowed the yard for the first time. We had waving fields of grain, we did. I feel like I need to go bale the trimmings.

So I'm procrastinating from writing by watching Ghost Hunters. I love this show. These paranormal investigators go into a "haunted" place expecting to disprove the haunting. Sometimes they find actual abberitions, though. I particularly like it when they catch a spirit's voice on tape. It's usually disembodied and barely understandable, but always creepy. Good times.

Cubs are on. They are winning. Life is good.

Tomorrow I go to cycling and finish a short story. Friday I have dinner with friends. Saturday I may help a girlfriend with her daughter's slumber party. This weekend I start another short story. May is taken up with fixing and finishing my YA project.

Answers to your burning questions

1. Have you ever killed a man?
Um, no. Why do you ask?

2. With your own hands?
If I were to kill someone--and this is purely hypothetical here--I would use biological means. A little botulism toxin goes a long way, you know.

3. What, in your opinion, is the best way to transport contraband across state and country lines?
I would never transport contraband. But if I did, I'd have to say "Pay a mule to do it." Why get your own hands dirty? Wasn't I plain enough about how I feel about that in question 2?

4. Even if you're transporting explosives?
Yep.

5. Really?
Yes, really. Sheesh, people.

6. Have you ever stolen a library book?
No.

7. On purpose, or only because you found it under your bed years after you reported it lost and paid the fine?
Neither. I'm as clean as a preacher's sheets on this one.

8. Where were you on November 1, 2007?
Uh ... probably at work. Or at home. Possibly both, but not at the same time.

9. Can you prove it?
No. Dear God, now that I think about it, I may have been out of the country.

10. You had to think about that, didn't you?
Yeah. That's actually kind of a scary question when you really think about it. What if you really did need to prove what you did on a past date?

11. How much is it worth to you for me to pretend I didn't notice?
Not much, actually. I'm not easily embarrassed.

12. Have you spent years building up an immunity to iocane powder? (And if you know a faster method, will you share it?)
As a matter of fact, I do know a better way, but it involves a land war in Asia. You don't want to hear about it.

13. Name three different ways to start a fire.
Um ... hmmmm. A match. Dropping a chunk of pure sodium in a bucket of water might work to get some sparks going. Flint and steel.

14. Now try to convince me you only know that because you were a Girl/Boy Scout/Guide once.
I'm not even going to try. Anyone who knows me knows I'm no girl scout.

15. How many digits of pi can you recite from memory?
3.14 .... so, the first three.

16. Did you have to count out the digits on your fingers to answer that?
No.

17. Did you check online to make sure you remembered right before answering?
No.

18. Does all this talk about numbers make you uncomfortable?
Oddly, yes.

19. Or are you just wondering what it has to do with the rest of the meme?
Well, that, too.

20. Seriously, where did you bury the body?
Dude, I'm not telling you.

21. Where were you on March 16, 2036?
I'm definitely not answering that.

22. If all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you jump, too?
Hell, no. I'm probably the one that pushed them.

23. What is the ninja replacement score for your life?
Oh, jeez. At least three.

Neil Patrick Harris is my hero

Just read this over at msnbc.com. All I can say is, right on, Neil. Right on. I am one of those fans that looooooove HIMYM, and if the producers and studio fuck it up with stunt casting, I'm going to be severely disappointed. As far as I know, CBS has not picked it up for the fall line-up yet; if this show gets canceled, I'm waging a yellow-umbrella campaign. For those of you who hadn't heard, Jericho got canceled by CBS last year; the fans brought the show back by sending in thousands of pounds of peanuts. (Peanuts were an allusion to a "don't give up" anecdote in the show.) True, the seven episodes of the second season sucked pretty hard, mostly because I think CBS had no intention of keeping the series going; they merely wanted to wrap things up as quickly as they could. Anyway, if HIMYM gets canned, I'm so sending CBS a yellow umbrella. (Apparently a yellow umbrella figures heavily into the story of how Ted eventually meets the mother.) Who's with me?

ETA: Looks like Neil may be in a bit of hot water. I think I understand what he's saying: hey, Brit didn't do a bad job, but we don't need to rely on stunt casting because it's a damn fine show without it.

Bliss.

Today was a perfect spring day. Sixty-five degrees, breezy, sunshine-y all day long. Absolute awesomeness. I got some laundry done (yay), made a new crock-pot lasagna recipe (needs a little tweaking but yummy anyway), cooked no-bake cookies (always excellent), tried baking seven-layer bars (still cooling so the jury's still out), cleared the dead perennials from the flowerbeds (exposing new growth underneath, bonus), grocery shopped with Ken (double bonus) and walked around the woods near our house with Ken (triple bonus). All that plus I've made a little headway on the short story that's due May 1st. I honestly don't know what could have made this day any better.

Okay, okay, maybe an e-mail from an agent wanting to see a full manuscript. Other than that, though ... nothing. And, hey, the day's not over yet, am I right?

As Ken and I walked through the woods earlier today, I realized again how much I need to live in the country. We always talk about buying a house in the woods, and today just completely reinforced that notion for me. Friends of ours live in the country, and a few times a year they have bonfires. We go and eat food and drink wine and listen to the quiet and look at the stars and as we do all those things, I can actually feel my soul become peaceful, like I've found a piece of me that's missing. Today was a good way to recharge the batteries.

Recently discovered cat facts

1. Moonshine is almost brave enough to go into the shower when its running. Ken even shoved her in the other day and she didn't freak out too bad. Once she takes that plunge that will make us a two-shower cat-household. (Morgan's been taking showers for almost two years.)

2. Morgan loves to lick the glue on envelopes. He doesn't discriminate against old envelopes, either; if it's paper and it has glue, he licks it. This always makes me think of the Seinfeld episode where George's fiance Susan dies from licking too many cheap envelopes.

3. Kahlua doesn't chew his food. He also yodels before he barfs. It's an odd sound to hear at four in the morning.

Spring is in the air ...

... and so I'm getting the urge to redecorate and plant flowers. It's this time of year that I always curse myself for not planting bulbs in the fall. It's also the time of year that I tell myself this is the year I'm actually going to do the back flowerbed and plant lots of annuals and actually have a decent lawn. It might really happen this time. I can't really plant any flowers until around Mother's Day--they'll just get frostbitten otherwise--but I can repaint the master suite in the meantime. I'm thinking brown walls in the bedroom, teal blue walls in the bathroom, and curtains/bedding/accents with a mixture of both colors. I've found towels and curtains I like a Target; finding new bedding could be an issue, as could finding a shower curtain. I'll search around until I find something, but I forsee a weekend soon where I'm up to my elbows in paint. I can't wait. And then maybe we'll be grown-ups and buy an actual bedroom furniture set. Right now it's a mish-mash of childhood, garage sale, and hand-me-down furniture.

I've also been pondering re-doing Ken's den. He's actually just turned our spare room into his office; I'd like to surprise him with new paint and a few cool asian-feel pictures for the walls. I think he'd really appreciate that, and it wouldn't take much effort. Maybe the next time he's away on business.

Davidson's swan song

I like watching college basketball. During the season I usually only care about Big Ten teams, but during March Madness I'm all about the underdog. Today 10-seed Davidson played 1-seed Kansas for the last final four spot. Davidson's a great team, surprised every team they played, and Stephen Curry is a phenom as far as offense goes. They had a legitimate shot at making it ... and they lost 57-59. It was an excellent game, full of ups and downs and a close score the entire time (the biggest lead was Kansas by six at one point). Every one of those kids played with heart. They could have won. But instead we have 4 1-seeds as the final four. How boring.


On a different note, yesterday somebody backed into my car in a parking lot. This is the second time that has happened to me. I swear to God my next car will be lime green.

Excuse me while I try bulemia on for size

Check this out. While my inner teen says "yay!", my outer adult says, "come on." I mean, I'm glad they're reissuing the books, because they were favorites of mine as a kid and they'll do well in the current market atmophere. However, do they need to make girls feel any worse than they already do about their looks? Seriously. Is being a size six all that bad?

Industrial-strength crud

So, um, yeah. It turns out I have a sinus infection, an ear infection, and I'm working on a mild case of pinkeye. I'm on antibiotics now. Amoxicillin, thy name is love. I also get to do nasal irrigation with saline four times a day, which is just as much fun as it sounds.

My working theory is that I had the flu late last week and that opened me up for all the creepy-crawly goodness.

Honestly, I didn't think I had an infection until someone suggested it to me at work yesterday because other than my raw-from-wiping nose, I'm not in pain. Pressure, sure, and full of snot, but my face and ears don't hurt. My eyes burn a little but that's it. Oh, and I haven't tasted anything for four days, so I have no real appetite, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.

So I get to brave one more day of work (hopefully I'll get to leave early) and then spend all this weekend recuperating. I'm not even going to feel guilty about not writing. I'm going to sleep and read and watch comfy movies and listen to the thunderstorms we're supposed to have.

The cruds, I gots it

Avoid this year's strain of influenza at all costs. Seriously. It's nothing to fuck around with. All day Saturday I rotated between sleeping with a blanket, sleeping without a blanket, watching t.v., and walking back and forth to the bathroom. Talk about fatigue--the amount of energy it took me to walk from the living room to the kitchen to get a glass of water nearly did me in. And let's not even talk about aches and pains--at one point I took and shower and cut it short because the water falling on my body hurt. Sunday I spent the day blowing two quarts of snot out of my nose, but I had a bit more energy so I was okay with that. Today I stayed home from work, blew even more snot outta my sinuses, and even mustered the energy to surf the web, take a shower, and do a load of laundry. Tomorrow I might be nearly normal.

I hate being sick. I had plans this weekend--Chicago, Carrollton, and Peoria, two of them events that will not be replicated--and I didn't get to do a single one.

On a brighter note, How I Met Your Mother is on tonight. It's on the bubble for pick-up next year, so if you've not watched it, give it a try. Neil Patrick Harris needs all the viewers he can get.

Downtime

I've worked that last three weekends in a row, and what does that net me? A weekend off, right? Why, yes it does. Apparently I haven't been living right, though, because I've caught a cold. Right now it's in my chest as well as my head. All that laundry and writing I'd hoped to get done with weekend? Eh, maybe. Most likely I'll be camped out on the couch with a magazine and a book and a bottle of juice. The only downside is that so far, I haven't lost my appetite ... so no sickness-related weight loss for me. If you're gonna be sick, you might as well lose a pound or three, am I right?

I. Love. Judy. Greer.

I've loved her ever since she played the freaky outcast in Jawbreaker. I loved her before anyone knew who she was. An executive over at ABC finally got a clue and cast her as the lead in a new series called Miss Guided. (Though it might have been Ashton Kutcher that got the clue--he's the executive producer of the show.) She is just so geeky and real and honest and awesome. Don't believe me? Check her out here.

3.14

Happy Pi day, everyone! Watch out, world: the geeks are about to celebrate.

Today my niece is in town checking out the University. Ken and I were on campus for a bit to have lunch with her. While there, we saw two hot girls from the math club were selling pieces of pie in observance of Pi day. Yeah, you read that right: two hot girls from the math club. We wondered if they were actually members or if they'd been recruited for selling. Or perhaps they were smart enough to realize that the math geeks are going to be the ones makin' all the money after graduation and so decided to invest in their future and became Math Club Groupies.

At work the micro department observed pi day by bringing in pies. I was actually sort of bummed to have the day off ... but they promised to save me a piece of peanut butter pie so I have that to look forward to tomorrow. It'll make working Saturday a little bit sweeter, yes?

Odds and Ends

There's a rumor going around that it's going to be 60 degrees on Wednesday.

I. Am. So. Pumped.

Watching Raiders of the Lost Ark right now. I can't wait for the new one to come out in May. I'm a fan of Harrison Ford, of course, but I'm anxious to see if Shia Lebouf can pull of the role of the son.

Speaking of movies, last night a friend and I watched the Scream trilogy. The first and second ones are classics, but the third one fell a little short on plot and tension. It felt too forced. A big reason for that, I think, is because the third movie had a different screenwriter than the first two.

Lots going on this week. Gym on Monday, taxes on Wednesday, niece in town on Thursday and Friday for a campus visit, work this weekend. The new writing goal is to have a rough draft of the short story done by the end of the week. Fingers crossed and all that.

Book Reviews

Okay, okay, okay. I know I have a section of my website that's supposed to be for book reviews, but the spousal unit is way busy with school, so until he can update the site, this will have to do.

Dead To Me by Anton Strout
In the interest of full disclosure, I must say that Anton is a good writer-friend of mine (as you've already figured out from my posts here and here). I didn't know until I bought the book that my mentor, Kelly "Y" McCullough, blurbed it. I can totally see why he did; there are a lot of similarities between Kelly's and Anton's storytelling (first person, fast-paced, world-based.)
Dead To Me follows Simon Canderous, a guy who is psychometric. What's Psychometry, you ask? It's the ability to divine the history of an object just by touching it. Cool, right? Not so much when you touch a potential girlfriend's cell phone and learn enough about her last tryst to completely turn you off. However, this ability is great when you work for the Department of Extraordinary Affairs in New York City. The members of the DEA spend their under-budgeted, over-worked time solving crimes of the zombie-vampire-otherworldly sort. Simon's got a "misspent youth" past that lends a little bit of credibility to the character without making him unlikeable. The plot was at times a little jumpy, but the writing was crisp and funny and so I could go with it. I would recommend it if you're looking for an enjoyable way to kill a few evenings.

Happy Hour of the Damned by Mark Henry
I don't know Mark at all, but let me tell you, I can't wait to meet this guy at a con. Any married man that can write about clothing by name-dropping designers is tops in my book. Happy Hour of the Damned follows a Seattle woman named Amanda Feral who, unbeknownst to her and against her will, gets made into a zombie. Amanda is bitchy, shallow, materialistic, and selfish; all of this is okay, though, because Amanda is well aware of her flaws and refused to apologize for them. She is who she is and if you don't like it, fuck off. She quickly befriends Wendy (a like-minded zombie), Gil (a flamin' gay vampire) and Lisel (a succubus). Lisel sends Amanda a text message that simply says "Help" before disappearing off the face of the earth. Amanda and her friends try and find her and get tangled in a World Domination plot along the way. There's lots of fun world-building here, as well as gratuitous cursing, bulimia jokes, splatter-rific gore, and fashion. While the plot is a little jumpy (at one point I had to flip pages to refresh my memory about a character who turned out to be A Bad Person.) Amanda is wonderfully flawed, the tone is satirical and fresh, and there's footnotes. Reading this was time well spent, but stay away if you find eating homeless people insulting.

I win!

Sort of. I didn't get the story written today like I wanted to ... but whatevs. I'm having trouble bringing the funny; I think I need to flesh out the character a little bit more and try a different approach. Round two starts Sunday (I work tomorrow.)

Other than that, the day went pretty well. I got most of the laundry and grocery shopping done. I also watched Chicago, which is a favorite of mine. I own the soundtrack so I know all the songs by heart, so I sang along during the entire movie. I'm not afraid to admit I even danced around a bit. My cat Morgan weaved around my feet and meowed, so I guess you could say we were singing a duet. Okay, that sounded a lot more "crazy cat lady" than I intended, so maybe forget you read that last little bit.

Wanna hear something crazier? When I watch musicals or music videos or live music or a play, sometimes I get a little nudge in my chest: I wanna do that. It makes me wonder if I weren't an entertainer of some sort in a past life, or if I'm going to be in the next one. One can argue that a writer is an entertainer ... but it's not live. Well, unless you're giving a reading or something. But still ... something about getting up in front of people and really letting it rip, really putting yourself out there, intrigues me. The only acting I've ever done was the senior play in high school, and I was ... okay in that, I think. Not great. But not sucky, either. This all comes around to my theory that artists (writers, painters, actors, directors) have a lot in common.

Day off

Tomorrow I have the day off work, and I swear I'm going to be busier than if I went in. On the to-do list:
Laundry (yikes)
Write short story (lofty, but doable)
Run on the treadmill (gotta get some of this schlebby winter flab off)
Pay bills (yuck)
Make tax appointment (double yuck)
Make dinner (easy-peasy, in the crock-pot)
Maybe see a movie (not sure which one yet)

And you know, maybe read a book or something somewhere in there. We'll see how much gets done. Wish me luck.

Inspirational speaker

So Ken over the past few days had a work conference. I joined him--who am I to turn down a hotel room and food?--and it was a nice, relaxing time. Ken works with an Illinois agency whose purpose is to organize statewide law enforcement in the event of an emergency. There were lots of panels that dealt with terrorists, pandemics, bridge collapses, and the like. While I didn't attend any of those--I shopped and napped and read and relaxed instead--I did attend the dinner on Monday night. I am so glad I did, because I got to hear the guest speaker. I forget his name, but he was an insurance executive that was on the 105th floor of 2 World Trade Center on 9/11/01. His first-person account of the event was by turns terrifying and wrenching and inspirational. Mostly he talked about how every single decision that we make every single day is important, and that keeping your cool and being rational during a crisis can save your ass.

This guy was in a meeting when the first plane struck the other tower. He was in an interior room with no windows; the lights flickered, but that was all. They couldn't hear or see anything else. Soon after the volunteer fire marshal came and corralled them up, saying he couldn't leave until everyone left the floor. So they took the stairs down, down, down. He following people out onto the 90th floor lobby; at the time he didn't know why everyone left the stairwell, but he followed--maybe they had to take another set of stairs or something--but once he was out of the stairwell he saw that the 90th floor was all windows. He got to see the destruction for the first time. He remembered thinking, "It's a clear, beautiful day. How did that pilot miss?"

He commenced going down, down, down. Hits the 78th floor. A woman that he knew well was corralling everyone into the elevators--there was still power and all that in the second tower, so why the heck not, right? This guy didn't follow the woman he knew; something just told him not to. He continues to go down the stairs. Once he hits the 75th or 72nd floor (I don't remember which), he and his fellow descenders feel a huge ball of heat, hear a horrible sound, and the walls of the stairwell rocked back and forth at 30 degree angles. Debris fell. Handrails popped from the walls. He didn't know it at the time, but the second plane had just hit, and everyone he knew that had followed the woman into the elevators is dead. He mentions how the friction from the plane entering the building generated 2000 degrees F of heat; those people were vaporized. They literally didn't know what hit them. They were alive. And then they weren't.

He remembers how calm everyone was; the stairwell fit three people across and that's how everyone went down. People had taken off jackets, discarded laptops and other equipment, women had tossed their heels, but all of that had been pushed to the sides; it didn't block the road. Down, down, down.

At one point, he helped an obese woman descend. She said she couldn't do it. He said she had to. At another, a maintenance man's walkie-talkie squealed with a voice that said, "We're on the 82nd floor, we're stuck" and the dude trucked back up the stairs to help his friend.

Later--and I don't remember where he said he was, maybe the 30th floor?--he saw some firefighters and police officers on their way up. He said the men were silent, but their faces said it all. They were going to fight a fire they couldn't contain; they were climbing to their deaths. And they went, without complaint or question.

On the fifteenth floor, a worker--maintenance man, maybe--sang "God Bless America" and between each line shouted encouragement to all the descenders. The speaker likened it to the musicians that played while the Titanic sank, and he could just imagine what the singer's superior had told him: keep their spirits up, make them laugh, do what it takes to get them out of the building. The speaker left through the lower mall and out the street. He spoke about the smoke and falling debris and red blotches from the falling bodies. Eight minutes after he exited the building, it collapsed. He said he can hear the sound of the building falling mixed with the noise of a million people screaming at once every day. He was able to get a subway to Penn Station, take a train to his parent's home in Philly, then drive to his home outside Chicago. He attended Wednesday night Mass at his church with his wife.

He ended the speech by thanking the room full of law enforcement officers for everything they do and reminding everyone once again that every decision you make every day makes a difference. I have never felt so inspired and insignificant at the same time.

Grrrr ...

So my ancient TiVo did not record "Lost" tonight. It should be recording this very second but it isn't. Ken and I went out to dinner and hung out at the bookstore for a bit. I looked forward to watching "Lost" while zipping through the commercials. The rest of my night is ruined, I say, ruined! Yeah, yeah, I know. I can watch the episode online tomorrow night or wait a week and watch it before the new episode next week. But it's not the same.

I'm so calling the cable company tomorrow to upgrade our service. Take that, ancient TiVo!

And the Oscar goes to ...

Oh, yeah, the Academy Awards, baby. Every year I say, "Self, I'm going to have an Oscar party next year. I'll get some friends together and we'll dress up and drink wine and eat fancy cheese on expensive crackers." And then every year I watch them on the couch in my pajamas with a bowl of snacks in one hand and the TiVo remote in the other. Ah, well.

Watching the Awards via TiVo is really the only way to go. I start an hour or so after the broadcast begins and fast-forward all the commercials and boring and/or political acceptance speeches (of which there will be plenty this year, guaranteed). I usually have caught up to the broadcast by the last 45 minutes or so, which is kind of cool because I get to find out who won the big awards at the same time as the rest of the world.

I used to really get into the fashion-police type shows that typically air the week following the Oscars, but not so much anymore. I can only take so much negativity before I want to yell at the TV "get a life already, move on!" Sure, I like look at People or eonline.com with friends and talk about the fashion as much as the next person; I just don't need to hear a Joan Rivers clone bitch about how "fat" someone looks or how "last season" this dress is.



On a completely unrelated note, the weather simply must get better soon. If we get anymore snow or "wintery mixes" I'll scream. I want nothing more than to go for a jog outside and plant flowers and soak up a little sunny warmth with my bare arms. Someone pass the serotonin.

You say it's your birthday?

Well, it's my birthday too, yeah!

I think I'm the only woman in America that loves her birthday. I have to admit part of it is the me-me-me quality of the day. As I get older, though, the celebration of life factor is part of it as well. I got to have another year to play around on Earth, and God willing, I'll have lots more. It probably doesn't hurt that I look younger than 33, too. :)

Today I'm running on the treadmill, maybe going out for breakfast, window shopping, then heading to Biaggi's for dinner. I've been craving butternut squash ravioli for a while, so I'm having that and foccaccia and wine and perhaps some chocolate cake.

Tomorrow at work we're celebrating me and another co-worker's birthday with Papa Del's pizza, cookies, and german chocolate cake. For those who haven't had it, Chicago-style pizza is like eating a loaf of chewy/crispy bread loaded with cheese and a gallon of tomato sauce. It's heavenly. And then I'll be going to the gym tomorrow night after work, no excuses.

Bookstore shenanigans

Anton rubbing spines with some fellow authors. We tried to take a picture of him next to Pat Rothfuss, but the bookstore seemed to be sold out of The Name of the Wind ...

Our Intrepid adventurers buy a book

So the other night I found out my friend Anton Strout's book had landed in bookstores. The official publishing date is Feb. 26th, but unless your name is Rowling, pub dates don't really mean much. Anyhoo, once I heard the news, Ken and I hotfooted it to the bookstore.

6:55: *I go to the information desk and wait*
6:55:30: *Ken goes to the stacks to see if it's there*
6:56: Nice information lady comes to the desk. I ask "Do you have ..." While Ken pops out of the stacks waving the book.
6:56:05: I squeal and run to join Ken at the stacks!
Kelly: Oh, look, they've got a bunch here!
Ken: We need to take pictures. Did you bring the camera?
Kelly: Of course. *Brandishes camera*.
Ken: *Fiddles with electronic device* It'd be funny if we did a little movie.
Kelly: We can totally do that! *fiddles with electronic device* Now hit the button like you're gonna take a picture ...
Ken: *hits button* *screen goes blank* Ummm...what did you do?
Kelly: What did I do? *fiddles with electronic device* Crap, I think that batteries are dead.
Ken: *fiddles with electronic device* Yep.
Kelly: Gimme your keys, I'm going to Target.
7:00: I drive to Target, obeying all traffic laws.
7:02: I run across parking lot, purchase batteries, and run across the parking lot again.
7:04: Drive back to the bookstore, once again obeying all traffic laws.
7:05: I hit the stacks and have a moment of panic because I've lost Ken.
7:06: Ken finds me.
7:06:20 Maniacal picture taking-ensues.

I'll post some pics later. Right now blogger's being fussy and I don't have time to mess with it. (See next post).

The Wonder of Science

Ken has had chronic heartburn for ... sheesh ... years. He's taken Prilosec quite successfully for that time, but now his doctor wants to find out what the heck is going on. Today he gets to be knocked unconscious and have a camera shoved down his throat. I don't think it'll be all that bad, but the last time Ken had anesthesia he had sort of a bad reaction and was sick for a couple of days. That was for a gallbladder surgery, though, and so I hope they don't have to give him as big of a dose today. Fingers crossed and all that.


ETA: We're back home now and Ken is sleeping it off. Nothing serious, but they did find some polyps in his stomach that they've sent for biopsy. The doc seemed to think they were benign, so I'm not worried.

Guitar Hero III news

I just got through five new songs plus the Tom Morello battle on Hard. My left hand and wrist are shredded but I'm a happy camper.

And now to put some words behind me on the WIP. This should be fun, considering my left hand is nearly worthless.

NIU Shooting

Apparently the Northern Illinois University Shooter lived in Champaign and attended the University of Illinois. This is the area where I live and work. My gym is just a few blocks from the shooter's apartment. We may have shopped at the same places or eaten at the same restaurants. The idea that someone I may have passed on the street is capable of opening fire in a classroom sickens me.

Why NIU? Why not UofI? Why not anywhere? The crazies live among us; the scary part is we can't always tell the difference between the crazies and the normals.

One of the Virginia Tech victims attended high school in Champaign. We have a street named after her now.

Housecleaning

You've probably noticed I've cleaned the place up a bit. Now that I've got an *ahem* official website, Ken had to change some settings and such to make both blogs fit into the page format. That said, I've decided that I'm going to make the blogspot blog my personal blog and the livejournal one more writer-oriented. Hey, I might be a professional, but that doesn't mean I still can't be zany on the internets, right? For now I'll have tabs for both blogs on the website.

The best husband evah

For Valentine's Day Ken surprised me with my very own website!!!! It's pretty bare now but it's up and running and looks awesome. Go on over to www.kellyswails.com and have a look around.

Food Porn

I don't cook often. When I do it's like grilled cheese or an easy pasta dish. If meat's involved it's a pretty good bet that a crock pot's involved, too. I'm not a good cook by any stretch of the imagination.

Oh, sure, I bake a lot, but that's just chemistry in action. It must be the scientist in me. I love knowing that if I measure precisely and follow the procedure, it'll turn out right. And, let's face it: anything with fat and sure is all sorts of awesome.

So, while I am an award-winning baker, my cooking is ... meh.

Which brings me to the Valentine's Day meal I've prepared for tomorrow. I've assembled the lasagne and apple crisp (two follow-the-procedure dishes) so they can just be thrown into the oven after work. I've got the accoutrements of garlic bread, ice cream, and salad waiting in the wings. We'll eat like kings! We'll eat like princes for the next two days! And then by Sunday we'll curse the Italian grandma that invented baked pasta! And that's assuming I haven't screwed anything up!

Progress

Topped 15,000 words tonight. I'm deep into Chapter Eight, which I hope to nearly finish tomorrow. I've also done a few loads of laundry and baked a batch of brownies.

My work here is done.

Retail therapy

Today I went shopping and totally blew my wad at the bookstore. "The Muppet Show" season 1, Apocolypse 2012, and two books by Lilith Saintcrow found their way into the proverbial shopping cart. Next week I have four glorious days off work, one of which is my birthday, and I intend on spending the time reading and writing and watching nostalgic TV. Hopefully it will take my mind off the empty e-mail inbox. Or at least slow my incessant checking. We'll see.

Ken and I are going to sign up for the local mini-triathlon this year. No, we really are this time. So I suppose I can't spend all my time holed up on the couch. At least some of it has to be spent on a bike and a treadmill.

Two things to make the work week go faster: Jericho on Tuesday and Lost on Thursday. Well, I'll probably end up watching Lost on Friday because of Valentine's Day. Ken wants to make a big multi-course meal to celebrate. Salad, pasta, garlic bread, cheesecake ... oh, yeah. My jeans feel tight already.

The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss--book review

The Name of the Wind is a tale that answers the question "How would a legend tell his story?" Kvothe is a man with a past. He's known by many names--Kingkiller and Kvothe the Bloodless among them--but now he has fashioned himself as a innkeeper named Kote. He's in hiding from his enemies--we don't know who they are--but a man that calls himself Chronicler has found him and wants to transcribe Kvothe's stories. It turns out that even the most unbelieveable tales have a kernel of truth in them, if you dig hard enough. In this first volume, we learn about the events that shape our hero and drive him to the man he will become. While its structure is framed--our movements back and forth in time are marked by shifts between first and third person--it's essentially a first-person epic fantasy told after the epic events have happened. It's the first volume of a trilogy, and so while we learn a lot about the world and its inhabitants, many events and relationships are only foreshadowed. The prose is wonderful, as is Rothfuss's world-building. Fans of sciences such as chemistry and biology will find lots to like here. It's hard to find an author that, after reading 250,000+ words, you're dissappointed to finish the last page. Not because the story was bad, but because the story has to end at all. I can't wait until the next volume hits the shelves so I can live in Kvothe's world again.

Aargh

I have got to stop checking my e-mail every three seconds. Agents will get back to me when they get back to me. Not before.

As noted on the progress bar, I'm up to 14000 words on Through the Portal. Not great, but not bad considering I spent over a month tearing my hair out on a short story. Oh, and I have those other shorts to write, too. I'm not going to let myself stress out over it, though. I'll keep chipping away at it--five hundred words here, two thousand there, a page or two between loads of laundry ... and before you know it I'll have a rough draft done. Right now I'm thinking it's not quite magic-y enough, but I figure I can add that in later. I tend to build my world around the characters instead of the other way around. Whatever works, right?

Jewelry goodness

One of my writer buds (Brad Beaulieu) is married to a wonderfully creative woman that designs jewelry. You can buy her wares here. They're funky and retro and very reasonably priced. Valentine's day is just around the corner, you know ...

Cold hard cash

Today I received a check for my short story "Three Wishes" for the Terribly Twisted Tales anthology. What to buy, what to buy, what to buy ...

I think a piece of jewelry might be in order, as is Rock Band.

A few discoveries

So a few weeks ago Ken decided he wanted to make the spare bedroom into his den. This meant that we spent a Saturday sorting through and throwing away junk. Quite cathartic. I found two things buried in the closet: my fake ID from college and two folders full of my old writing. Finding the ID was fun. It's so horribly bad that I can't believe it ever worked anywhere. It's also a nice reminder that at one point I actually was too young to buy liquor. As for the writing ... oh, man. Some of it's pretty wretched ... but some of it's not so bad. There's essays as well as fiction dating back to high school. There are at least two stories missing; one written in the sixth grade about a man and a woman on a space ship that watch the destruction of Earth from space and one written my freshman year of high school about a sociopathic teenager that kills girls who have the nerve to date her ex-boyfriend.

I've decided to take a page out of Lyda Morehouse's book (she's a member of the Wyrdsmiths writing group--yeah, the same Wyrdsmiths that's on the blog roll over on the left) and throw up a few excerpts now and again. My first selection is dated January 13, 1993 and is the opening paragraph to a story called "Another one for the Scrapbook."

He was having those feelings again. It took him by surprise, really. He usually didn't have these feelings until Springtime. He had often compared these feelings to the "I-have-the-munchies-but-I-don't-know-what-I-want-to-eat" feeling. You know, you know you want to eat, but not what. He knew he wanted to kill, but not who. Not yet.

Okay, terrible, right? But not. The writing suuuucks, but the elements are there. I have the warm fuzzies.

Hold all my calls

With the Golden Globes a wash and the Oscars questionable due to the Writer's strike, I'm all about the Screen Actor's Guild awards tonight. I'll be on my couch in my jammies with a bowl of popcorn.

Conventionitis

Here's the list of cons I know I'll be attending:

WisCon (Memorial day weekend)
World Con (August 6-10)
Gen Con (August 14-17)

This will require I take two weeks off work in August. Oh, darn. Technically I can't ask for the time off until February but--fingers crossed--it shouldn't be a problem. I'm not above bribery attempts to make it happen.

I'd also like to attend World Fantasy Con in November, but we'll see. The above cons might tap out the whole vacation fund.

I've also got good news to share regarding Gen Con. I've been asked to sit on a few writing panels! I'm excited and nervous. Excited because it's a milestone of sorts; nervous because strangers will look at me like I'm a real writer. For now I'm going to try not to think about it lest I get too freaked out. I'll also be giving a reading, so I need to think about what I want to read.

A Writer's Conundrum

There are many aspects of the writing life that I didn't expect when I started writing seriously. How to think like a writer. What do to with all the ideas that flood your brain when thinking like a writer becomes second nature. The nuts and bolts of the craft. Meeting other writers and finally feeling like I belong somewhere. Finding mentors. Bonding with fellow rookies so we can make the journey less painful. Supporting your friends by buying and reading their work.

It's this last bit that's given me some trouble over the past four months or so.

Sometimes when you meet someone you know immediately that you'll be friends. Last year at Gen Con I met Pat Rothfuss. I found him to be warm, kind, intelligent, and funny. His first book had just been released and had been generating a good amount of buzz in the industry. His dust jackets carry some serious blurbage. I didn't care about any of that--I just knew that I wanted to be friends this guy with the funky beard that could laugh at himself and others with equal abandon. And of course I wanted to support him so I bought his book. I didn't get to it right away. And then I found out Pat had been nominated for a Quill Award. And his Amazon ranking was in the top 1000. Fans wrote him truly moving letters about what his book meant to them.

I read the prologue five times. I couldn't read any further. I wasn't that I didn't like it or that I didn't find it interesting. The dust-jacket blurb reeled me in further every time I read it. I wanted to read it. I wanted to love it. It took me a while to figure out why I couldn't get past the first page.

I'm a deep reader. What I mean by that is, I invest myself fully into a story or book or series. When I read Robert Jordan's books, I dream I can channel. When I read Harry Potter, I dream about meeting Voldemort face-to-face. When I read Scott Lynch I dream I'm con-artist; when I read Steven Brust I dream I'm a knife-throwing assassin; when I read Kelly McCullough I dream I can whistle in code. I laugh out loud. I cry. I tense up at the scary parts. My heart beats faster during sex scenes. I've been known to throw a book out of anger. I wonder what daemon my friends would have if we lived in Phillip Pullman's world. I've posted on message boards. I've written Steven King a fan letter.

And this is why I couldn't read Pat's book. I was afraid I'd like it too much. Somehow I couldn't reconcile being friends with Pat while being a geeky fan. I didn't want to idolize him. I wanted to be able to buy a round of drinks and talk about politics and pop culture and his blood fued with Anton Strout without thinking in my head, "Dude, you're sitting next to the guy who wrote The Name of the Wind." It bothered me, because let's face it, if I were any sort of friend at all I'd read the damn thing. But the nature of Pat's success coupled with my tendency to geek out over books I love ... well. The picture it conjured didn't look pretty.

Finally I couldn't take it anymore. I e-mailed Pat and told him my thoughts. He responded right away (and I paraphrase here): "What's wrong with being a fan and a friend? I don't have many of those." I'm not lying when I say it felt like I'd just gotten permission to love his book. And oddly, permission to hate it, as well.

I'm on Chapter Five. I'll let you know how it turns out.

New Stamps!

I totally geeked out at the post office yesterday over their new Star Wars and SuperHeroes stamps. I bought a sheet of each. So fun!

The short story is in several reader's hands. We'll see what they have to say. I'm going to work on the book for the rest of the month and then start on the other shorts I have in the back of my head.

Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card

Dear, sweet Jesus. This book rocked. First off, the story is simple yet complex. The prose is clear and concise. Card cuts to the core of truth about the group dynamics of children--and I dare say, adults--with a few well-turned phrases. He showed me how siblings could love and hate each other at the same time. He made me believe that Ender could command a military offensive at the age of ten, just as I believed Ender's 12-year-old sister Valentine and their 14-year-old older brother Peter could influence world events over the internets. I believed that a kid could be made into a machine. I believed a machine could still love. Sure, there were a few things that were a little off--relativity and space travel among them--but I was willing to suspend disbelief long enough not to care. This one is near of the top of my "favorite books" list. Highly recommended.

The edition I read had a lengthy introduction. I've read (more like devoured) author intros as long as I've been reading books. This one was a particularly good one in that Card mentioned the book had been used in the classroom in several different ways: military leadership classes, literature classes, religious discussions, etc. He wrote something that touched me deep to my writer core, and I share it with you here (I'm also going to put the quote at the bottom of the page, for those that venture that far): "The story of Ender's Game is not this book, though it has that title emblazoned on it. The story is the one that you and I will construct together in your memory. If the story means anything to you at all, then when you remember it afterward, think of it, not as something I created, but rather as something that we made together."

It is done ...

The rough draft is complete! And now the real work begins. And, a title. Hopefully I can get this done over the next couple of days so my intrepid beta readers can get their grubby hands on it.

Life is good.

Did the familial holiday festivities yesterday. Gifts+food+time spent with family=full tummy+low grade headache. Actually it wasn't too bad, but all that driving in one day sort of drains me. Today Ken and I ate breakfast out before I finished the rough draft of a short story and did a little laundry. Now I am going to nap just because I can. later I will tackle Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card. I've never read it, but Ken just finished it and said I have to read it. Plus, lots of authors say it's one of their favorite adolescent reads, and so I'll give it a shot. Probably it will just make me feel inadequate but what the hell. I'm always in for a good story.

Next up on the writing front: editing the short. Work on two other shorts between bouts of Through the Portal. Perhaps start another round of agent requests for Stormy Weather. Try not to feel guilt at not getting all this done overnight.

Kitty pics

Because, you know, it's been a while.

There's a leak in the dam!

So I think I've finally hit on the right way to approach this short story I've been working on. I've started it four different times; the first three, I'd get about 1,000 words in and decided I hated it. And not just "ugh, this a tough paragraph to write" or "ew, I don't like this passage, it's got to go on the rewrite" but "dear sweet Jesus, this sucks. I'm gonna go wrap presents/do laundry/scoop cat litter." Today, faithful blog readers, I'm 1300 words in and I can't wait to get back to it. The tone is right, I'm learning a bit more about the character, as I write I'm getting ideas for what comes next and how to fix what I've already written so that what's coming makes sense ... ah, writer bliss. I tell you, it's a wonderful thing. I have tomorrow off and it's entirely possible I could finish the rough draft.

Happy New Year, Peeps!

Ken and I spent NYE with friends before we attended a schwanky to-do complete with passed gourmet finger food, a coat room, and dancing. We played Rock Band at a friend's house, where I discovered I'm not too bad at singing (!) but I suck on drums. At the soiree, I drank and danced while Ken plied me with said drinks, watched me dance, and gambled fake money at some gaming tables. It was a good time, but I'm tired, my legs and feet hurt, and I'm a little hoarse.

Today I took down the Christmas tree. We're going into town to watch Illinois play in the Rose Bowl, an then I'd like to come back and write the short story that's been eluding me. I have a deadline that is creeping up ever-so-quickly, and my performance anxiety is starting to kick into high gear.

My goals for the year are to write more and read more. Specifically, I'd like to finish two novels and five short stories this year while reading twenty books. This, of course, while losing ten pounds. Sometimes I feel like I'm pulled in a dozen different directions, and I'm not even a parent.

My New Favorite Song

"Paralyzer" by Finger Eleven. Enjoy it, peeps.

Post #300

Aren't you glad you're here for this momentous occasion?

On the writing front: back to the grind today after taking some time off around the holidays. Over 600 words on the antho short story. I think I've finally stumbled onto the right idea. Now it's just a matter of putting it on paper and getting the tone right. It feels good to be back in the saddle. After this story is done--I'd like to have a rough draft done this week--I'll work on a story for the market I posted about a few days ago. That one sounds like a lot of fun and I've already got a good idea for that. After that I'll work on a pirate short story for yet another anthology I've been invited too. Yes, you read that right--I've been asked to submit a story for the next Blue Kingdoms anthology. It's not due until March, so I've got plenty of time. Good thing, too, because I don't have a good idea yet. Of course, between all this is work on the YA book Through the Portal. I've got plenty to keep me busy.

Oh, good news about the Blue Kingdoms anthologies. Walkabout Press has been working hard to make the books available on Amazon.com. If all goes well, you'll be able to buy a copy of your very own over the Internet after the first of the year. This is such good news for everyone involved. It'll bring much-needed exposure to the Blue Kingdoms world and the authors that have gotten to explore it, not to mention Walkabout Press. I'll keep you all posted about that development.

Oh, yeah, I got another agent rejection today. Never fear. I'm too busy writing to worry about it much.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all my blogland peeps. Stay safe and sane, and I'll see you all on the flip side.

I Am Legend--movie review

Ken and I saw I Am Legend on Friday Night. It was ... good. Will Smith did an excellent job protraying a man on the verge of insanity. The special effects were cool; the vampiric humans were scary and the deserted New York was impressive. There were a few themes that weren't fully developed (I'm told they were in the book) and there was a time-shifting method of story-telling that wasn't that effective. My vote: go see it, but don't pay full price.


The movie was good, but our theater experience sucked. For one thing, we saw a 7:00 p.m. showing, which was probably our first mistake. Our second mistake was not moving when the frat brothers behind us couldn't shut up during the previews. The dudes laughed and heckled their way through the movie, which made it hard to be as emotionally wrenched as I wanted to be during a few painful/suspenceful scenes. Also, a few girls in front of us kept saying things like "Oh my gosh, oh gosh, that did not just happen," during tense scenes. It took all my will not to either strangle them or yell at them. Who raised these people to not shut up in a movie theater?!? I want to see several movies in the coming weeks--Charlie Wilson's War and National Treasure among them--but now I'm rethinking it. If we do go, it'll be at 4:00 p.m. on a Wednesday.

Market gem

Here's something from CatCurious press:

There are two sides to every story...And we here at CatsCurious Press think that our readers deserve to read BOTH!A Call for Submissions... of the Faery Taile Kynde!CatsCurious Press will open to submissions starting January 1, 2008 for all well-written, humorous fairy tale re-tellings! But there's a catch -- these stories must be written from ONE POV only... the protagonist's.Why would we be so strict, you ask? Because Jim C. Hines, author of 'Goblin Quest', 'Golblin War' and 'Goblin Hero' has already gotten on board to write a counterpoint story! That's right -- once I have plowed my way through the slush, Jim will review my favorite stories and then choose ONE from among them to write a counterpoint to.The end result will be a double-sided book with two covers (one featuring artwork for Jim's story, the other featuring artwork to coincide with the protagonist's point of view). Stories will be printed upside-down from one another -- flip the book over, and start fresh from the top! I can't wait to see the end result!Here are the requirements:Story length must be between 5000 and 10,000 wordsStories must be single POV, from the protagonist's point of viewStories must be humorousStories must appeal to a broad range of folks -- from twelve years old to adult (so no raunchy humor, please!)Submission period: January 1st, 2008 to midnight March 31st, 2008Any fairy tale is fair game!The payment? $.05 per word (up to $500 maximum) and seeing your name next to Jim C. Hines'!


Come on, you know you want to give it a shot. I know I am.

Time for you to shout out, peeps.

Time for a little meme cribbage:

I know very little about some of the people that read my blog. Some people I know relatively well. (Some I know too well. You know who you are.) I read your journals, or we have something else in common and we chat occasionally. Some of you I hardly know at all. Perhaps you lurk, for whatever reason. But you visit and I thank you for your interest in my words.But here's a thought: why not take this opportunity to tell me a little something about yourself. Any old thing at all. Just so the next time I see your name I can say: "Ah, there's so and so...they listen in rapture to the love-music of she-turnips." I might feel compelled to mock your musical taste, but I'll certainly remember you.I'd love it if every single person who reads would do this. Yes, even you people who I know really well. Then post this in your own journal and see what gems of knowledge appear.

Brother Odd by Dean Koontz

Just finished this book last night. I've been a fan of Dean Koontz since his "recombinant DNA" sci-fi/horror days. He's mellowed out in the past ten years or so, and this book is a reflection of that. While not a trilogy, Brother Odd is the third book featuring Odd Thomas. Odd can see dead people, and that's just as much of a pain in the ass as you'd imagine. He's had a hard time recovering from a horrific event (detailed in the first book, Odd Thomas) and so has escaped to a monastery to find peace. Several of the monks have colorful pasts (one is even a former mafioso). The nuns are sly as foxes. And someone or something means to harm them all. In the course of events, the very nature of God and creation are put in question.

I loved Odd Thomas--the book and the character refused to leave my head for several days. I read Forever Odd, the second book in the series, but it didn't leave much of an impression on me one way or the other. I fear that Brother Odd will be the same way. The idea had potential, and if the story had featured any other protagonist, I probably would have really enjoyed it. For me, the first book in the series was so amazing and heart-wrenching and beautifully simple that the others just can't compete. Unfair? Perhaps. Will it keep me from reading another book with the same character. Probably not. I'll keep chasing perfection.

Housekeeping

One more rejection for SW.

Note that I've changed the comment settings. While I still don't allow anonymous comments, I do allow "openID" comments, which means you can use your livejournal url to comment here. I'm not sure how it works, but it seems pretty flashy-dashy to me. Give it a whirl, won't you?

Christmas memories

1. Ken asked me to marry him on Christmas Day, so that's obviously my favorite. We were living together at the time, and so it was our first post-college Christmas. We opened gifts before eating a nice breakfast of french toast, sausage, and orange juice. As I cleaned up the breakfast dishes, Ken said, "Hey, Santa left you another gift." I walked into the living room to find a little Precious Moments birthstone chest. I opened it and there was the ring. I looked at it for awhile and finally Ken said, "It's an engagement ring." That broke my amazement enough for me to tell him yes.

2. Decorating sugar cookies with mom and dad. Dad would bake them, mom and I would decorate them. Dad didn't usually want any part of the decorating business but he'd watch. He'd also purposely burn the last batch so he'd have cookies to dunk in coffee. His sugar cookies were of the puffy soft variety, and I loved them. I need to ask him for that recipe; somehow I don't have it.

3. Stealing Christmas lights. This would be when I was a teenage houligan, probably around 14 or 15. Remember the old-school lights that if one bulb burned out, the whole string shut off? Well, a group of us walked around town and pulled one light off of random strands of lights. At least, I pulled them out; I figured it'd be easier for the owners to find the reason their lights went out. One member of the party only loosened one light so the homeowner would have to twist every light to find the defective one. Ah, youth.

Planetary alignment question

Is Jupiter in retrograde Capricorn or something? Okay, I have no idea what that meant, but listen to my day.

First thing this morning--I'm talkin' 7 a.m.--I had a periodontist appointment. I have a 12 mm pocket behind my distal #14 molar, and it had to be scraped clean and stitched down so the gum could reattach to my tooth. Good times. I told the doc I didn't need Darvecet and would just use ibuprofen. He gave me some amoxicillin and special mouthwash and sent me on my way.

So I finally get to work a little after 8 a.m. We had our computer upgrade yesterday and today was the first day for most people to work on the actual live system. Sure, we'd been working on the test side for months but it's just different when you're actually live. I'm the Superuser for Micro, and so it was pretty important that I be there. Then around 9 a.m. I got a phone call from Ken--when he started his car the cabin filled with smoke and so he didn't want to drive it. Could I take a long lunch so we could car shop? I got very lucky because we had extra people on hand for the upgrade and so I was able to leave work around 10 a.m. Ken drove a Saturn Vue, then we had lunch ....

.... where I tried to eat chunky soup in a bread bowl. No dice. I ate the soup without chewing and passed off the bread bowl to Ken. Mouth pain at a definite peak, so I popped more ibuprofen before we hit another car dealership ...

... where we spent four hours looking at two cars. The dealer let Ken bring home a Hyundai Sante Fe for the night. Ken's leaning towards the Saturn, but at least this way he'll have a way to get to work tomorrow.

When we got home, I found another agent rejection in my mailbox.

So. My mouth hurts bad enough that I can't eat solid food, we have to buy a car, I didn't get to the gym tonight, and I haven't written anything in three days. All I want to do is curl up under a blanket and suck on a piece of cake.

Blatant commercial rip-offery

Three collapsable cat carriers: $36
Three rabies vaccination tags: $30
Three rabies and distemper vaccinations, plus distemper boosters and well-kitty visits: $159
One peed- and pooped-in collapsable cat carrier: Free
One cat scratch: Free
Three kitties with a clean bill of health: Priceless

A side note: Moonshine is a petite 6.25 pound kitty, but she is ALL CLAW. Shove her in a carrier at your own peril.

Milestone

I reached 10,000 words on the WIP tonight. Last night a funeral scene tried to make me stumble, but tonight I owned it. That whimper you hear? That's the scene begging for mercy.

Lifted weights, too. If I can walk tomorrow I'll be a happy girl.

Christmas Spirit

I had a moment of sadness when I hung up the stockings because I had to leave Bailey's in the crate. So I hung up the fish-shaped stocking instead. It made me feel a teensy bit better.

Since Ken and I are doing the whole "Biggest Loser" business at the gym, the cookies are going to work tomorrow. Ken doesn't like sugar cookies and the fun for me is decorating them, so it's all good. Note that I gave the gingerbread man with a broken leg a little bit of red-icing blood.

New post ...

at the Writer's symposium. Go clicky the linky on the left.

accomplished

It's only 2 p.m. and I've already been to the gym, mailed Christmas cards, and survived the grocery store. I say "survived" because we're at the beginning of an ice storm the place was nuts. I didn't see any fights break out or anything, but I think I personally bumped into about 20 people. I don't know why everyone was there--yeah, we've got an ice storm coming, but it's going to be 52 degrees tomorrow. It's all going to melt, people!

Ken and I were at the grocery store because we've joined a "biggest loser" program at our gym. This morning we got weighed and measured, which motivated us to buy lots of fruits and veggies and fiberous cereals. I'm actually pretty jazzed about it. Between working out and writing and reading and internetting, I won't have time for much else. But let's face it, what else do you need?

Raise the roof!

Got a request for a partial tonight. Score another for the writer!

What the ...

How the hell did it get to be almost December already? I don't get it.

funk

Today I feel blah. I wrote 600 words on the WIP and tried to start the anthology story, but I'm just not feelin' it. I had intended to put up the Christmas tree tonight, but I'm not feeling that, either. Christmas cards? Meh. Laundry? Ditto.

Another rejection ...

But the zoduko website is down and so I can't update the meter. Ah, well. I'm not that down about it, though; the editor said the tale was well-written and that I should consider her again. You can bet I will. However, I fear this editor has seen most of my shorts I have out in circulation. Humph.

It just occured to me I should write a few shorts set in my Stormy Weather world. For one thing, it might be fun to explore different aspects of the world; for another, it'd be cool to have a few stories in circulation if the book actually ever sees the light of day. A few of the stories that are circulating now are set in my Gemstone Prophecy world, and they were a lot of fun to write.

So, a list of current and future projects:
Through the Portal
Anthology short story
One or two shorts set in SW world


I've got a lot to keep me busy. Sheesh. It would be so great to do this full-time. Sure, I'd probably be broke, but the more you write the more ideas you get, so I'd always be busy.

17.5%

7,000 words.

That meter won't be moving tomorrow. Going back home to see dad and then eat a belated Thanksgiving with mom and her husband. I'm bringing the pumpkin bars. I feel fat already.

Happy Thanksgiving, peeps

A time for reflection before I head off to the gym. I'm thankful for:
My husband, who keeps me sane.
My job, because I'm never bored and the people are cool.
My middle-class lifestyle. I grew up poor, so the idea that I live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood and can buy whatever we need without thinking about it too hard is absolutely wonderful. Note I didn't say "want." It's nice to want things.
My writing. Every day I learn something new; every story I produce is better than that last.
The blogging community. You guys keep my chin up.

It must be the glue

What is it about sealing the envelope on an agent submission that makes the contents instantly suck?

Ah, hell. Word on the street is this agent responds quickly to partials. I'll know soon enough.

Nine hundred words today on Through the Portal. I think they all sucked, too.

This is Kelly's brain on adrenaline.

Tonight, I got an invitation for an anthology and a request for a partial for Stormy Weather. I am so frickin' excited I can barely think. Of course, the agent could reject me and the story might not ultimately be accepted, but tonight I'm on cloudy nine. Past that. Cloud fifty-three.

Oh, yeah, baby

Nine hundred words today, as well as a critique and laundry and lounge time. I still have a few hours left to play Guitar Hero III and watch a movie! Woot. This story is just frickin' flowing from my fingertips--for now at least--and I'm riding the wave while it lasts.

Sign me up!

$4140.00The Cadaver Calculator - Find out how much your body is worth.

Talk Dirty to me ...

Or not. Maybe it's best to keep quiet sometimes.

Courtesy of my husband Ken. He's got a blog now over at krswails.livejournal.com. Go on over and give him trouble.

Leaps and bounds

1700 words today. Better yet, I feel pretty good about them. I wrote a little bit of sibling rivalry and angst followed by a torrid hook-up session in a locker room. Next up: death and mayham. Go me!


So I've been in a funk lately about all my rejections. One of the writers I met at WFC offered to take a look at Stormy Weather, so I sent it off. I expected her to take a week or so with the critique, but she got back to me within 24 hours. She loved it, had lots of good things to say about it, and said the first chapter needed work. I agreed with that; it's just I've re-written the first chapter three zillion times (at least, it feels that way; it's actually more like four or five times) and I can't figure out why I can't get it right. Anyhow, I believe her exact words were "You're no amateur" and so my ego got a much needed boost.

bloggin' from panera

So I'm writing from a bakery/coffeeshop this morning. I'm surrounded by hazelnut coffee, retirees, and free wi-fi. We'll see how many words I produce before I pick Ken up for lunch.

Ah, yes, lunch. Today we're car-shopping for Ken during his lunch hour. His Contour is close to biting the dust, so we're going to give a few cars a spin and see what he likes. We're checking out Saturn and possibly Nissan or Honda. Probably more shopping will ensue over the weekend. I'm all about getting a hybrid but Ken's wavering on a hybrid, a two-seater, or a truck. We really don't need another sedan so really, he can get whatever the heck he wants. He mentioned a Mustang but I think he's too young for his mid-life crisis car.

ETA: Yeah, baby, just wrote 900 words. Maybe I should come back to Panera after lunch ...

Pictures of the falls

The wonder of nature, baby.

Support the WGA

A great post on the Hollywood writer's strike.

*sigh*

Just received a rejection e-mail from the agent that had requested the partial.

It's pissing rain outside.

I want to stay home, bake a cake, snuggle under the covers, and watch television all night. But, no. Tonight I will go to the gym. And then I'll shower, bake a cake, sunggle under the covers, and watch television all night. How I Met Your Mother, Chuck, and Heroes, here I come.

I'm up to 2000 words on TtP. I'm nearly done with the first chapter. It's actually coming along rather nicely.

Wiscon 2008

So, I went to make my reservations for WisCon in Madison, Wisconson, tonight, and the conference hotel is already full! So I'm making an internet shout-out: Anyone have an extra room? It's probably to soon to know for sure ... but if someone out there can help me out, that'd be great.

Sometimes efficiency sucks

You know what the worst thing about sending out a bajillion agent queries at once? You get four rejections in one day.

Talk about a funk. Buying new nail polish is not going to cut it tonight.

I could talk about how the current WIP is up to 1500 words (after two writing sessions!) but not even that is enought to cheer me up.

Return of the SASE

Got a form rejection from an agent a few days ago. No worries.

Tonight I begin the Fabulous New Book. Starting is the scariest part.

Reporting live from her living room ...

Hey, everyone! Back in the comfy environs of Illinois. Now, without further ado ... the ubiquitous Con Report.



Wednesday

Ken and I left town around 11:00. We were in no hurry since we weren't driving to Saratoga but to Niagara Falls, Ontario the first night. We rented a car and a GPS system to make the trip easier. Our GPS's voice was male with an Australian accent, so we named him Rusty after Russell Crowe. (Aside for Bridget: Rusty completely kicks Betty's ass even though he insisted on driving through Indy instead of around.) The drive was uneventful except for one place about 20 miles from our house. It's a strange Bermuda-triangle type area that inexplicably has fatal accidents once every two weeks or so. Some dumb-fuck 80 year-old decided it'd be a good time to drive a camper and nearly drove us off the interstate. So of course I'm jumpy the entire rest of the day (Oh!! Watch that merger! He might come within 20 yards of us!) which made Ken happy, let me tell ya. We arrived in Canada around 10:30 p.m. The border guard was bored and gave me and Ken grief about not having passports or birth certificates (you don't need those to cross the border by car until February 1, 2008, by the way). I know it's their job to ask questions and be suspicious (You're from Illinois and you're going to New York. Why are you coming into Canada? Just sightseeing? Really?) but it still made me feel like a criminal. He let us go after harassing us for a bit and we made it to the hotel by the falls without incident. Awesome, awesome hotel. If you go to the falls, stay at the Embassy Suites. We had two nice-sized rooms, a bad-ass jacuzzi, two sinks, and a separate room for the toilet and shower. We made it in time to secure our complimentary bar drinks; Ken had a Molson and I had a mediocre Riesling. Then, sleep.



Thursday

After we woke up, got cleaned up, and secured some breakfast, Ken and I explored Niagara Falls. It was chilly but sunny, and we got some great pictures. The upshot was that there were no crowds, so we were able to stand right by the fence and linger without guilt. The area seems like it's a good tourist destination smack in the middle of the boonies; we discussed vacationing there with another couple for a few days. I wouldn't want to spend a whole week or anything, but a long weekend would provide ample opportunity to shop and explore the whole area and gamble at the casino without feeling bored. We left Canada at around noon, and after a mild interrogation at the border were I had a moment's panic because I almost forgot where I was born, we were on our way.



The drive to Saratoga was enlightening for two reasons: New York State's completely rational approach to tolls and rest stops. On the Google directions I noted we had toll roads and so I did what any Illinoisan would do: I grabbed a metric ton of change and put it in the center console. You see, in Chicago, if you don't have an E-Z pass, you'll pay 75 cents, drive a few miles, pay 40 cents, drive a few more, pay 65 cents, etc. Not so in New York. You go through the toll at the beginning of the interstate. They give you a card with the pay rate for every exit. When you get off the interstate, you pay the rate based on when you got on the interstate. It's a very logical and sane system that Chicago could employ. Which brings us to the rest stops: they're huge and beautiful! Each one is a big building with two to four fast-food restaurants, huge bathrooms, and a gift shop. There's also a gas station at each one. Quite lovely.



Once we arrived in Saratoga, we checked into the second hotel of the trip and then drove to the convention center. We immediately ran into fellow writer-peeps and swept them away for dinner at an Italian Bistro across the street. After dinner we hit the Zombies Love Brains party where we ran into to more people we knew. We secured a prime location (next to the cooler of free beer and the air conditioner) and sat and laughed and met new people. One such person was Patricia Bray. She was one of the hostesses and had secured a gross of the coolest metal lizard-shaped bottle openers. Oh, yeah, don't worry; one of those babies came home with me. Ken and I left the parties well before they shut them down and headed to bed.



Friday

First thing we checked out of the second hotel and into the third hotel of the trip. This was the conference hotel, so it was much more convenient and all that. We inadvertently stood up a group of people for breakfast; the clock in the second hotel had apparently already been set for Standard Time, and so while we though we'd arrived ridiculously early, we were 20 minutes late. It turned out okay, though, because we ate a local diner, hung out with the Fangs Fur Fey people in the bar, attended a reading, and perused the art room. We saw this awesome print from Todd Lockhart called War of Angels. I would not be surprised if a copy showed up on one of our walls within the next few months. Just gorgeous. Friday night we ate dinner at a pizza place that advertised Chicago-style pizza. I've had lots of Chicago-style pizza in my time, my friends, and let me tell you that Marino's in Saratoga Springs isn't it. Good pizza, don't get me wrong, but Chicago-style it ain't. The crust was too thin by half. After dinner we hit autograph room. I got a few books signed, laughed with some friends, and stalked Scott Lynch, so it was all good. Afterwards we hit the parties. We had a wickedly strong blue drink and more free beer. Let me just tell you that's it's way too easy to drink too much at WFC. I didn't get drunk and do anything stupid, but I saw a few people get awfully close to that line.



Saturday
The atmosphere was way subdued Saturday morning. You could tell that two days of partying had taken its toll on the attendees. Ken and I went to breakfast with the people we had stood up on Friday. We met a few new cool people, ate gravy, and occupied a table for a few hours. We hung out in the lobby, met more people, hit the DAW party, ate dinner at a cool fried-chicken place, and then hit yet more parties. We got invited to a jazz club, and I really wanted to go, but by this point Ken and I were just ... done. Past done, even. Burnt. We headed for bed and took advantage of the extra hour of sleep.

Sunday
Took all morning to say the long train of goodbyes. Bought yet another book ('cause the duffel bag full of freebies wasn't enough, you know) and procured a few more signatures. I bonded with someone over Paula Danziger's work. We left Saratoga around 11:30 and got home around 2:30 in the morning. Remember we slipped an hour back when we crossed over into Illinois and so the trip was around 14 hours or so. Long trip, but we took several breaks and consumed approximately 5 bajillion milligrams of caffeine. Oh, a warning: if you order iced coffee through the drive-through at midnight, they don't screw around. We made it home in one piece and slept it off.

And ... that's it. I leave you with a few choice quotes from the weekend:

"I'm ... intoxicated."
"Do you need to use my lizard?"
"You two should kiss."
"My breath could bleach your hair."

bloggin' from Saratoga

A full con report will follow, I promise. I'm just too pooped now. However, I leave you with this nugget: I totally went all fangirl on Scott Lynch tonight. Yeah, that's right, that Scott Lynch. He was only a little scared, I think.