Sweet!

My pirate name is:

Mad Jenny Kidd

Every pirate is a little bit crazy. You, though, are more than just a little bit. Even though you're not always the traditional swaggering gallant, your steadiness and planning make you a fine, reliable pirate. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.

Took me long enough

I think I've finally figured out why I've been so freakishly obsessed with my 'killer Survivor' story getting picked up. My anthology score happened because of people I met at conventions; if this one gets picked up, it's fully on my merit. They liked the story, period. Perhaps this will go a long way towards me feeling like an actual writer.

six more days!

We leave for Cali next Thursday, and I'm starting to get a little freaked out. I'm such a fucking homebody--I already miss the cats, for cryin' out loud. We're only going to be gone six days, and I've got a friend checking on them every other day, but I'm convinced that they'll be lonely, scared, and malnourished while we're away. Not to mention unloved and abandoned.

I went for a three-mile jog yesterday, which was good. I definately need to do it more often. The mini-tri is coming up in August, and for all my talk about doing it in under an hour, I haven't been putting in a lot of pavement time. Other priorities, I guess, such as writing and spending time with the husband and reading.

The writing front is okay. I only like one of the short stories I wrote this month, so I'm submitting that to an open anthology. The dark short-story contest will receive a re-configured old story of mine. I've resumed work on the book I let fall by the wayside to write more stories. I'd like to have a first draft done by August and a finished manuscript done by World Fantasy Con in November. Ideally, I'd like to have another book in the works by November, as well. Self-imposed deadlines are the hardest to keep.

A few random questions with answers

1. If your life were a drinking game, everyone would take a shot when ...

2. In the movie of your life, who would play you?

My answers:
1. I fart. A second possiblity would be when I curse.
2. Judy Greer

what would the soundtrack of your life sound like?

Here's mine:
1. Gloria/Laura Brennigan
2. Reubin James/Kenny Rogers
3. Thriller/Michael Jackson
4. Material Girl/Madonna
5. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun/Cindy Lauper
6. Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go/Wham
7. I Want Your Sex/George Michael
8. Sweet Child O' Mine/Guns-n-Roses
9. Bad Medicine/ Bon Jovi
10. Take It On The Run/ REO Speedwagon
11. Ragdoll/ Aerosmith
12. Summer Nights/ Grease soundtrack
13. Once/ Pearl Jam
14. Smells Like Teen Spirit/ Nirvana
15. God Shuffled His Feet/ Crash Test Dummies
16. Zombie/ The Cranberries
17. Stay/ Lisa Loeb
18. Don't Speak/ No Doubt
19. Can You Feel The Love Tonight/ Elton John
20. Everything You Want/ Vertical Horizon
21. Underneath Your Clothes/ Shakira
22. Take Your Mama/ Scissor Sisters
23. Harder to Breathe/Maroon 5
24. Black Horse and a Cherry Tree/ KT Tunstall

happy father's day

Goin' to my hometown today to buy my dad lunchn in honor of Father's Day. I don't think he really cares one way or another, it's just another day to him, but it's the 'daughter' thing to do. I always feel bad for Ken on days like this, because his dad has passed. Actually, now that I think about it, his dad's been gone for nearly seventeen years. Ken's lived as long without his father as with him. I wonder if he realizes it. Maybe I'll buy him a father's day card from the kitties today. Cheesy? Yep. But it will make me feel better.

I need to see a movie, already

Movies I want to see the summer:
Cars
The Da Vinci Code
X-Men
Nacho Libre (okay, who doesn't love Jack Black?)

Movies I haven't seen but need to see, apparently, to be American
Bad Santa
The Godfather Trilogy
Old School
This Is Spinal Tap

Movies I love that everyone loves
Ocean's Eleven
When Harry Met Sally
Pirates of the Caribbian

Movies I love so much I know most of the words
The Princess Bride
Scream
Pretty Woman
A Few Good Men
Maverick

goin' good

Stories are goin' good, I think. I've written a rough draft of one for the assasin open anthology, and I'm working on a "dark" story for a contest. That one is about half-done. Next I think I'll work on a script for the TV show "How I Met Your Mother" just for kicks. Not that I think anything will come of it ... but you never know. I don't even really know who to contact to submit the thing. I should probably do some googling and some e-mailing, see if what I can dig up.

Last week Ken and I got new flashy-dashy camera phones. I can't wait to take incriminating pictures of my friends for my own personal enjoyment.

And I lost two pounds this week. I've starting running again, so that's how that happened. Working out is key to keeping the lard off my ass. Some people can do it with diet alone ... not me. Gotta keep it up.

This has got to stop.

For the past week--ever since I submitted my killer Survivor story--I find myself compulsively checking my e-mail. I think it's because I really like the story and have high hopes that it will be accepted. The editors said they would respond by the end of June. I have to find a way to get over this obsession--there is a contest and an open anthology whose deadlines are the end of June, and dammit, I'm submitting to both of them if it kills me. Checking e-mail every half-hour is cutting into my writing time.

shameless author plug

I'm going to try and get fancy here and post a link to one of my writer-friend's book. Here it is. It's his first book called WebMage, so everyone one reading this blog (that's right, all five of you) have to order it right now so he has awesome debut-novel sales.

I got your back, Kelly Y.

da kitties

musings

So last week I got an e-mail from one of the women in my book club. A few months ago I had announced I was having a short story published. This woman, I'll call her Xena, has apparently always wanted to write a book and so finally worked up the nerve to ask for my advice. (I say worked up the nerve because it did take her a few months to contact me, after all. And it's a big leap of faith to tell people you want to be a writer.) We're meeting for drinks and dinner tomorrow night. On one level I feel like I'm the worst person she could ask--I'm a publishing-world rookie, what do I know?--but on another I feel like I've got some good advice to give a newbie. I'm thinking of swinging by the bookstore before we meet so I can pick up a copy of Stephen King's "On Writing" to give to her. In my mind I can picture us as writing buddies, like we'll meet once a week at out-of-the-way coffee shops to write and inspire one another. That would be very cool.

Which brings me to my next musing. To someone like Xena, I'm a writer. I've written three books, I'm having a story published, my current goal is to submit a story a month to various places, I'd like to have another book written by November. In my mind, though, I don't feel like a "real" writer. How do I know this? I'm trying to decide if I should apply to have a reading during World Fantasy Con in November--maybe the story that will be published, maybe something else--and the rookie in me says that I'm not qualified yet. I don't have enough of a resume to give a reading. Why would an agent want to hear my words? I'm nobody. But then I tell myself that everyone starts somewhere, that an agent would come hear what I've written because I'm a nobody and he's looking for new talent, that the only way to be a "real" writer is to act like one. I keep oscillating between the two. Maybe after dinner with Xena I'll be so jazzed that I'll apply for a reading slot before I have time to question myself. The margaritas will grease the way, probably.

It hurts to blog

This year I've joined a summer softball league, and Sunday was our first practice. Actually, I think it maybe our only practice. Anyhoo, I hustled. I jumped. I threw. I ran. I batted. I got sunburned. And I woke up the next day pretty stiff and creaky. Monday was our first game. I hustled. I ran. I batted. I threw. Tuesday I woke up feeling like I'd been hit by a truck. It hurt to walk down steps. It hurt to walk up steps. It hurt to laugh. I hurt to drive. I'm so fucking old.

An interesting side note: I ended up in the ER after practice on Sunday for reasons completely unrelated to ball. I've had a recurring stomach pain for the last couple of years. Sunday after dinner it hurt so bad I was doubled over and on the verge of tears. Ken convinced me to go to the ER, where I was told I have an ulcer. What the fuck. The list of foods/drinks I'm supposed to stay away from is basically a list of my favorites: spicy foods, carbonated beverages, citrus fruits, and alcohol. I guess this means lemon drop shots are out. I say chocolate martinis and white russians are still in; any liquor with milk can't be all bad. Stupid ulcer.

Finally finished up the Survivor short story. Next on deck are two short story contests/open anthologies for June. One is a dark fantasy contest, word limit 4000 words. The other is a sword-and-sorcery assasin anthology. I have all sorts of thoughts swirling in my head; I just gotta pluck out two and get crackin'.

"United 93"

I have conflicting feelings about whether or not I should see this movie. I feel that as an American, I need to see this film so I can honor the passengers and their sacrifice. But I don't think I'm strong enough as a person to go see it. I just don't think I'm ready.

Everyone remembers where they were when Kennedy was assassinated, when Princess Diana died, and when the planes hit the twin towers. It's one of those events that etches itself into the collective conscious. It bonds us together because we all watched and grieved together. For me it's too soon to go back.

Thank your Laboratory Professional

Yeah, yeah, I know this post is a bit late ... but last week was National Laboratory Professionals Week. I was on the lab week committee, which is a lot of work and a lot of fun. Lab week at Carle is pretty cool--lots of food, games, and prizes all week--and this year was no exception. I'm particularly excited because one of my ideas was well received. We decided to raffle off a few $50 dollar gift certificates and donate the money raised to charity. The Lab Week committee has tried to raise money in the past, but no one ever donated. Dangle a spa gift certificate in front of them, however ... and they go crazy.

My short story is in the hands of a few choice readers. I've gotten some pretty harsh criticism back from one, but it was good. He told me exactly what he didn't like and exactly how he thought it could be better. It helps that he sweetened the harshness with phrases like "it's obvious you have talent" and "you've built too good a story to take the cheap way out." Silver linings. Hopefully I'll hear back from the others in the next week or so.

Probably on Monday I'll start on a new story. This idea came to me in a dream, actually. What if one day some one knocked on your door and told you that you could go back and change one decision you've made. The caveat is that it can't be an obvious life decision, like where to go to college or who to marry. It's got to be seemingly innocuous. So of course you say yes and you decide to wear blue instead of pink one day in grade school. And it changes your life. So now you're in your new life, and it's great. But you know what you've lost, so you want to go back. Or, you're greedy and want to change another choice to make your life even better. But the rules state that each person only gets one shot. How far would you go to get another chance?

Or, maybe I'll write the contract dead people have to sign once their dead. I made a allusion to that in one of my stories, and ever since then I've thought it'd be neat to write that contract. What do they have to agree to? It seems a little cliched to sign it in blood, especially since they're dead, they don't have blood anymore. Yeah, maybe I'll do that one.

another one bites the dust

I'm about 2/3 of the way finished with another short story. I'm submitting to an open "dark humor" anthology, and so far I'm happy with how the story is turning out. It's a satire on Survivor, written in screenplay format. It's been so much fun to write. The editors will either love it because it's out of the box or hate it for the very same reason. I'll probably submit it in a few weeks, but I won't hear anything until the end of June. Fingers crossed. After that, I'd like to write two short stories a month and submit them to various places. Get my name out there and hopefully get a few more sells for my resume before World Fantasy Con in November.

Goin' to Cali

Well, it's official. Ken and I are joining friends of ours on a trip to Los Angeles. It's a scouting trip--they're moving out there in September, and so we're going to help them look for apartments and jobs and such. It's going to be a good time. A day or two at the beach, a day in the mountains, I can't wait. It's going to be interesting, though, since we've never vacationed with another couple before. It'll either make us friends forever or enemies. Probably friends forever because B and I aren't into petty bullshit. I'm jazzed.

Prep

I just finished reading the book "Prep" by Curtis Sittenfeld. It's about a middle-class teenager going to an eastern boarding school for high school. The author nailed a lot of things about being middle-class in a rich world, being insecure when everyone around seems so sure of themselves, and general teenage angst with boys and friends. One of my big gripes about the book: the protagonist played herself to be a victim for four years, and I just can't see where someone would allow that to happen. She wanted to go to boarding school, and the whole time she's there, she feels that she can't fit in, and goes to a lot of trouble to be alone. She is sad and angry most of the time, but won't allow herself to quit and go to a different school. She wants to fit in but would hate herself if she did. There's even a line towords the end about how she only feels like she looks like a boarding school kid when she's away from the school.

I don't think as a teenager I was that angsty. I related to a lot of the book--a lot of the experiences the protagonist had were the same ones I had when I went away to college--but I only wallowed in self-pity for a half of a semester. There's no way I could have done it for four years. She denied herself a lot of happiness, then was pissed off that she had been denied this happiness by others.

One scene in particular touched a nerve. Her parents visited during parents weekend for the first time during her junior year, and her feelings of shame and protection towards her parents were something I remember myself doing to my parents. When they would visit me at school, I'd want to rush them through a tour or not spend time in the dorms. My friends would see them and know they were poor, but that's not why I didn't want my folks to linger. I didn't want them to be surrounded by the wealth that I was surrounded by on a daily basis and feel less of themselves. I wanted to protect them from being humiliated and feeling what I felt when I first went away. It probably played off that I was embarrased by them, and I can't say that wasn't part of it, but mostly I never wanted them to feel out of place in a world that I felt increasingly comfortable in.

A few years ago I read a great essay in Unte Reader written by a man who had grown up blue-collar but was now white-collar. The overlying theme I remember is that there's a segment of the population that shares his conundrum: you have one foot in both worlds, and so you don't truly belong to either of them. There's guilt if you leave the blue-collar world behind and resentment if you turn your back on the white-collar world you feel you've earned. I feel this most acutely whenever I go back to my hometown to visit my parents. I wonder if that will ever change.

Is it bulimia if you only do it once?

I have just had one of the most memorable weekends I've had for awhile. Ken and I attended a Swanky Wedding in Chicago. It was on the northshore, and included: gift baskets for hotel guests, passed hordeurves while waiting in line to see the bride and groom, monogrammed towels in the bathroom, an open bar, personalized mini champagne bottles that doubled as place cards, waiters with white gloves, a five-piece band that sang during the four-course, sit-down dinner, and a reception with over three hundred guests. I have no idea how much the whole thing cost, but I would not be surprised to find out it was more than my annual salary. The whole affair was made bearable because the families involved are family-oriented, caring, genuinely nice people. The bride made me feel like she was glad I came when she doesn't even know me, and the mother of the bride made it a point to tell me the following morning that everyone had such a nice time dancing with me (which I think is polite-speak for "fucking slut, dirty-dancing with strangers for two hours", but whatever. I love to dance and I had a great time. So what if I'm remembered as the "crazy dance chick" at all their family functions for the next ten years?).

The downer for the weekend? Ken contracted food poisoning, probably from Staph aureus on some salmon he had for lunch. I have never heard anyone be so violently sick before, and I hope never to hear it again. Cleaning up projectile vomit is no fun, but my job makes my stomach stronger than most, so I was able to deal.

I've thought alot about success and money and love over the past few days. I won't make six figures in the foreseeable future, and I can't fathom having a second home. I'm 31 and I don't have my first million in the bank. Does that make me less of a person? Doesn't loving my job and helping save lives count for anything? Would I love my husband more if he brought home more bacon? Is spending my free time pounding on computer keys in the hopes the stories I produce move people in someway a big fat waste of time? The answers I came up with are: no, yes, no (but I'd dress better) and hell no. Take that for what you will.

the saga continues

So, the dumbass camera people sent us the wrong charger. Fuckers. Allegedly they're sending us the right one. Yeah, whatever. Saturday I bought a universal charger for the fucking thing, so Sunday I got to play with my new toy. It looks like it takes great pictures. I haven't downloaded any yet, mostly been playing with settings and such. Now I totally want to go for a drive or go on vacation and take pictures of Ken and I in America. We're going to a wedding in Chicago on Saturday so that will have to do. Turns out Kahlua is a camera hog--whenever I point the camera at one of the other kitties he walked right in front of the lens. What a ham.

Writing is going well. I've started on the three wizard story. I've decided this time to go sort of off-line with it. I've written an outline, but I don't really like it, so I think I'm just going to write the characters for awhile and see where they take me. It might end up crappy, but whatever. That's what rewritting is for. I'm also working on a submission to a dark humor anthology. It's a satirical take on a futuristic "Survivor" type of reality television program. I'm a self-professed Survivor geek, so I'm having fun with it. Deadline's not until the end of May but I'd really like to get it done in a month or so. Having two projects going at once is kind of nice--if one isn't working for me today, the other one will, so it's easier to get a few pages of something done each day.