My Mom Plays the Drums

After coming back from the dead multiple times, my dear laptop finally, irrevocably died.  I've scheduled the funeral AND my posts . . . for the next few days--thank God my friend let me use her computer.  I hope you'll like what I have planned.  I guess I'll be creating my W.I.P with good ol' pen and paper for the next while.  That's how I wrote The Golden Sky, so maybe this won't be so bad after all.
    
    On a side note, an AMAZING review just went up for Bible Girl.  You can find that here: Book Review: Bible Girl


    Now, onto the post of the day.

    I know this is a day late--since Mother's Day slipped away far too quickly--but if you haven't read about her before, I just wanted to tell you about my mom.
    She is amazing.  She's been a foundation in my life, someone who was there no matter what.  If I'm overly confident, it's because of her.  If I refuse to give up--it's because of her.  If I like my hair pulled back so tightly people think I've had a facelift . . . it's because of her.
    She's one of the most resilient, awe-inspiring people you could meet.  Her spirit shines sweet and kind.  She seems quiet and meek, but don't let that fool ya, inside she rages with hilarity and every day that woman makes me laugh.  One time Cade teased her too much, when he turned, my mom threw a dishrag in his face.  It was epic, better than when Neil walked on the moon!
    Well, when my mom was two years old, her father died.  Then, when she was three, her mother left her along with three of her siblings.  Their aunt and uncle raised them.  Things were hard, but my mother never gave up.  She refused to let things pull her down into the mud of life.  She knew she was meant to be something great--a success.  
    During her sixth grade year, all of the students took a test to see who qualified for the percussion program.  My mom passed with unrivaled talent.  I've always imagined the test.  
    In my imagination, the teacher stood by a full drum set and asked, "What's rhythm?"
    Some sap raised his hand.  "Isn't that when you tap your foot to the music?"
    Another kid with preteen pimples probably whispered.  "Is it when you clap at church?"
    I bet that's when my modest, twelve-year-old mother rolled her eyes.  She maybe walked to the front of the class room and hollered, "Listen here, children.  You wanna know what rhythm is?  Get a load of this!"
    Then she sat at those drums, and she played the heck out of 'em!  Saints watched from Heaven.  Jesus smiled because some-a-day He knew that Italian sweetheart would live for Him.  All those kids cheered at the end, because it's not everyday you realize, you're going to school with a legend.  I bet that was her first standing ovation--I BET!    
    So, my mom emerged as a sixth grade icon.  She became so fantastic, she used her skill to win Miss C. E. U., and later Miss Carbon County.  Then shortly after that, she won my dad.
    Here's a picture so you know I'm not lying about her beauty.  (If you doubted me--shame on you!)

    Later my dad swept her off those rhythmic feet, when he asked her to marry him.  They had three kids: a chemist, a mechanical engineer, and a blogger.

    So, I'd like to show you a video of my mother playing the drums.  
    Sorry about the shaky camera, I started crying a bit during this because I kept thinking about how lucky I am to have such a great mother.  Then, my mom smiled at me and I got a case of the giggles.  Blame it on 
P. M. S..  Blame it on lack of sleep.  Heck, blame it on LOVE!

    Oh, and every time I say "awesome" in this video, please imagine a different (more creative) word in place of it.  Maybe epic, fantastic, joyous.  I'm not good at public speaking.
    Without further ado, here she is folks:  

What's the moon made from?

Happy Mother's Day!
    I hope you're all having an amazing one.
    Today, I thought it would be fun to post an interview.  The Hippie and Scribe came up with most of these questions.  They couldn't wait to interview the author of

A Basilisk's Feather

Click the title to visit Carrie's blog--which I love!

Enjoy.  This is awesome.

1. If the moon can't be made of cheese, what do you think it should be made from?
 

Chocolate is an obvious suggestion. Dark chocolate, of course: milk chocolate is nice, but it doesn't taste so much of chocolate as just of sweet milky stuff. Eighty-five percent cocoa is the magic number: just enough sweetness to balance the bitterness. But then would it shine the right colour? White chocolate might be better for that, but it's not really chocolate. I think we might be on a non-starter here.
    Honey, maybe? Honey's wonderful stuff. Crystallised honey so it stays in shape. And because I especially love crystallised honey, even more than ordinary clear honey. It has a wonderful texture; I've been known to just eat it from the jar, by itself. It would crystallise anyway in the cold of space. Also chocolate and cheese both go off eventually but honey keeps forever.
 

2. What do you enjoy most about writing?

 
It's hard to say. I make up stories and I write, and they're pretty much two separate activities for me. Making up stories is something I'd be hard pressed not to do; whenever I'm not concentrating on something else I'm in one of my worlds. What I like best about that is meeting and getting to know new characters. I say meeting, not inventing, because that's what it feels most like to me. I don't get to just snap my fingers and decide how they are, I have to let them appear to me and they often don't turn out to be who I thought they would.
    Most of my stories are quite personal to me, but every so often I find that I want to write one of them: I have a list of about five or six Books I Plan To Write. What that's about for me is trying to convey the impressions and emotions that I get from seeing the events in my head. It's not always easy, and sometimes there are things that I know about that just don't make it onto the page, but finding just the right words to describe something is such a fantastic, rewarding feeling.
 

3. Do you think trees dance in the night at the same hour when fish walk on water?

 
Don't be silly. Dancing trees make the ground vibrate, and the vibrations spread to the water and disturb the surface, which destroys the surface tension so that any fish who are still out walking would immediately fall in.
 

4. Do you prefer completely evil villains, or those that have an element of good?
 

With an element of good. I like villains I can empathise with; I think it adds something to the story if you can see yourself, or the hero, doing the same in different circumstances - often they're really messed up in the head so it's hard to blame them for what they do and sometimes it can be heartbreaking to see them destroyed, even though that's what you were rooting for. I like stories that make you feel a lot. Some of my favourites are stories where it's hard to even work out who you is the good guy.
    I also much prefer a flawed hero to a perfect one; it's very hard to make a perfect hero without them ending up an insufferably annoying prat (like Luke Skywalker. I cannot stand that guy).
    Flawed heroes and villains with an element of good are also more believable, I think. Who in the real world is either perfect or has no redeeming or sympathetic qualities whatsoever?
    Although, a really nasty villain can be very effective sometimes and they are extremely fun to write. Cathartic, you know? I have a Viking named Stefan in my book who is a thoroughly unpleasant individual, a real sadist who just enjoys being horrible, and that was one of my favourite scenes to write, even though I had to put my poor old MC through some serious stuff.
 

5. If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?

 
I'd quite like to see some of the places where my book is set: Los Angeles is the main one, and there are also parts in Milwaukee, Chicago and St Louis. Google maps is all very well - and you can find some really funny stuff on streetview sometimes - but I'd love to actually be where my characters are.
The place I most want to go is Yakutia, in Russia. That's the place that the rest of Siberia considers remote, and it's full of the most wonderful, unspoiled forests and wildlife and pretty spectacular. It also has Lake Baikal, which all the American great lakes would fit inside with room to spare.
    They say Antarctica is the last great wilderness, but I disagree: I think a wilderness should have something more than ice, penguins, and a few seals around the edges. Antarctica's certainly barren and forbidding and little visited, but there's not a lot of wild anything. I'd give my vote to the barely explored parts of Russia.
 

6. Ham and eggs or pancakes?

 
Pancakes. I had pancakes for lunch yesterday. If you'd said bacon instead of ham it might have been a tough choice, though. And it would have to be proper crepes, the thinner and crispier the better, not those little fat scotch pancakes.
 

7. What's your favorite book?

 
That's a tough question. There are loads of books I like, and all for different reasons.
Something from Terry Pratchett's Discworld series would have to be a contender: probably Pyramids is my favourite. No-one can do satire like Terry Pratchett: I've read some of the books ten times or more, and not only do I still enjoy rereading them, I'm still noticing new jokes and references every time.
Also Lord of the Rings and A Song of Ice and Fire, but I couldn't even try to say which book I like best out of either series, let alone which I prefer overall. Both of them have very rich and complex fantasy worlds, with loads of detail, and I feel sure that both of them must have been (and presumably still is in the case of ASoIaF) a labour of love for the authors.
 

8. Is it magical where you live?

 
I think so. We have a rosebush in the garden that eats you if you're not careful, although I'm trying to train it. The cat occasionally goes berserk after looking at a patch of empty space, so it's possible we have a ghost. And the fridge seems to have no upper limit to its capacity. However much is in there it can always be repacked and turn out to be half empty, which is either magic or time-lord technology.
That's at home, but I'm only there in the holidays. Where I live in term time it doesn't seem to be magical. We think one of our housemates is a vampire, but the truth is that vampires are perfectly scientifically plausible.
 

9. What's your favorite color and why?

 
Turquoise. No particular reason; I just like the way it looks. I've always liked blue colours, probably partly because when I was little I was very much the tomboy and insisted on loathing anything 'girly'. I wouldn't have been seen dead in pink. But I also just like them, and turquoise especially.
I wonder sometimes if everyone perceives colours differently - we couldn't know because the only way we can describe them is by their names - and whatever your favourite colour is you see the same way I see mine. Or not. Who knows?
 

10. What's your first memory?

 
I can't remember!
I have two very early memories, and I don't honestly know which came first. I must have been about two or three in both of them. One is of having a black eye after walking into the corner of a table. I still have a tiny scar next to my eye.
The other is of waking up screaming the night after my birthday - I couldn't even tell you which birthday. My best present had been a push-along/ride-on fire engine, and that night I had a dream, probably brought on by too much cake, that I was eating it, and I couldn't stop myself, until there was just the steering wheel left. Then I woke up.
It's amazing what sort of bizarre things seem perfectly plausible and unremarkable in dreams. Only the other night I dreamed my curtains talked to me. They said there was a spider on my neck, and I had been awake and frantically searching for it for several minutes before I realised it couldn't be real!

I VERY GOOD SPEAK THE ENGLISH: Fishducky Friday

I love Fridays--here's the famous Fishducky!

Granted, English is a very difficult language for foreign speakers, especially Asians, to learn.  I give them credit for trying.  Not only must they learn an entirely new vocabulary, but the sentence structure is entirely different & the spelling is often weird.  (George Bernard Shaw once contended that you could spell “fish” GHOTI.  The “f” sound could come from the “gh” in “enough”, the “i” from the “o” in “women” & the “sh” from the “ti” in “nation”.)  I understand that the Japanese need jobs as much as Americans do.  That being said, I STILL think that a native born English speaker should be hired for writing their service manuals.  Let me give you two examples of why I feel that way.

I bought two kitchen chairs from Overstock.com.  They were the “retro” diner style, with bent aluminum legs & red vinyl seats.  They came unassembled.  The following is a review that I sent to Overstock: “The chairs arrived quickly and are very comfortable.  Assembly was relatively easy IF you followed the pictures.  The written instructions were as follows (& this is a direct quote): Assembly way to request attention: all screws don’t first lock to tighten, until back cushion to lock tight after that, this chair all screws lock to tighten, then success.”  For some strange reason, my husband had difficulty following the instructions, although I read them to him very slowly & enunciated carefully.

  

The other example of fine (?) Asian manual writing: A newscaster on TV was trying to report a story, but he was laughing so hard that it was difficult for him to do so.  He finally was able to say, “This is from an instruction manual for a certain unnamed Japanese product.  There is a word in it that needs to be corrected.  We can’t tell you what the word that they actually used is, but we’re pretty sure they meant ‘SCREW’ part A into part B!”

I studied Japanese for a while in night school.  I didn’t expect to become fluent & I didn’t.  I just like to learn.  I used to do my homework at my son’s trumpet teacher’s house while he had his lesson.  I guess he picked up some of it.  In his Jr. High School band class, the teacher said he wanted all the kids to count to “four” aloud before starting to play.  Matt asked him if the language mattered.  The teacher said it didn’t.  He WAS a little surprised when my white Jewish kid counted, “Ichi, ni, san, shi!” (Side note: One of the men in my class was a US customs inspector who worked in the Asian section at the Los Angeles airport.  He figured it would give him an advantage if he could understand the passenger’s language, especially if they didn’t expect him to.  He told us about one incoming passenger who kept scratching his legs.  It made the inspectors curious enough to examine him.  It turned out that he had 20 or so watches that he was trying to smuggle into the US.  The metal expansion bands were pulling on the hair on his leg & driving him crazy.)

How about Spanish?  We were in a small town in Mexico where no one, it seemed, spoke English.  I was trying to buy a small statue of the Virgin Mary for a friend.  By about the 10th shop, I had stopped even trying to be understood in English.  I haltingly asked, “Senor, le hace tiene una pequena figura de la Virgen Maria?”  He showed me some & we were speaking slowly in Spanish.  My husband was in the back of the shop looking at marble chess sets.  He called to me, “Ask him if he has any larger chess sets.”  The man immediately answered, “No, senor.  Those are the largest we have!”  I asked him why he didn’t tell me he spoke English earlier.  He told me I looked like I was having too much fun trying my Spanish—& I think he was right.

Italian, then?  My son-in-law had recently arrived in the US from Italy.  He was taking an ESL (English as a Second Language) course & had gotten a job as a stock boy.  He came over one day & said, “Mom, this guy at work keeps asking me questions around lunchtime & I don’t know what he’s saying.  I looked up the words & couldn’t find them in the dictionary.”  I asked him what the words were.  He told me, “jeet” & “wajeet”.  If he hadn’t mentioned that it was around lunchtime, I’m not sure I could’ve helped him.  I told him the guy was asking, “Did you eat?” & “What did you eat?”.

  

Piu Italiano (More Italian): My daughter was teaching English to air traffic controllers in Italy.  I told her to be VERY sure they at least understood “UP” & “DOWN”!  When her youngest daughter was about 2, we all went to a dance recital (in California) to watch her 4 year old sister perform.  The theater went pitch black between the dance numbers.  When the lights came back on, it delighted my little granddaughter.  Every single time, a big smile came on her face & she loudly cried, “ECCO!”  (There!, or Look!, in Italian.)

OK, French, but this is the last one:  My husband is a VERY intelligent man, but somehow he can’t seem to learn foreign languages.  (Maybe he should have written instruction manuals instead of going to law school.)  I had to do all his translating for him in France, which I really didn’t mind doing.  I have to admit I DID get some strange looks when asking where the men’s room was.  We were in a restaurant BEFORE the days of women’s lib.  I got us a table, ordered dinner for the two of us, asked for some bread, got Bud some extra water (with ice) & requested the check.  I’m sure our waiter told his coworkers he was going to give it to the pushy broad with the fat guy!

Adieu, adios, ciao & sayonara----fishducky

 

A Magical Day We'll Never Forget

I went to great lengths to make yesterday special.  It was our last day on vacation.
    So, here's the map "someone" delivered to our hotel room.


 

    When we found the two trees that grow as one, three deer stepped from the woods!  The Hippie seemed shocked as she whispered, "We went on a treasure hunt.  Well, this is the real treasure." We watched those deer for a long time. Surprisingly, Doctor Jones and the Zombie Elf hushed--that alone was magical. Those kids are NEVER quiet.

 Sorry my cell camera is such a dream. At least you can kind of see them? 

    After that, the kids found some prizes Cade and I hid the night before.  I know the 'prizes' might sound dumb, but our kids were thrilled.  We hid seven different items including a frisbee, silly teeth from the dollar store, water bottles for each of the kids, water and special flavors of Kool Aid packets. The treasures were each shown on the map with an X--how cliche, right?

    We walked up the winding road to a Y intersection.  A field rested ahead.  It looked like nothing special from that angle . . .

  But once on the other side, I knew we'd suddenly see this trail leading to a church at the base of a cemetery on a hill:
  

    I timed everything just right.  We wouldn't see the path, not until the church bells rang twelve times.  At that point, the kids would look back at the church.  Then they'd see the "magical" path.

 

    When all of that happened, they were so excited, they ran.

 Here's the Zombie Elf and the Scribe behind him. 

    Vibrant butterflies flew around us.  Flowers grew everywhere and I couldn't help laughing since some people say those gorgeous flowers are weeds.  That reminded me of life.  Sometimes we take the most beautiful things for granted.

    Then the path, which only appeared at the perfect time, wrapped around a quaint Catholic church.  

    The second half is what I'll never forget.  

    We crossed two tiny bridges.  The kids were the bravest heroes ever known, about to visit a haunted cemetery AND LIVE. 

 The Zombie Elf and Doctor Jones with their silly teeth in. This moment . . . this one makes me smile. Here's the first bridge, where they laughed so hard.
And the second. The Scribe and the Hippie.  

    After a long time playing on the trail, we made it to the cemetery.  The map instructed us to look for the most striking tree.  The Hippie--that genius--found it right away.  Cade and I had already hidden a box of Whoppers and a little excerpt from the Bible by the tree.  It was about Adam and Eve--because they're awesome--they're our ancestors and a tree is in the story.  When I finished reading about fruit, snakes and poor choices, the kids gazed at me and then the 'striking tree.'

    It was so surreal.  Playing with my kids.  It might sound silly, but sitting among those graves of dead strangers, it reminded me of everything I've lost--of everything I've gained.  Yeah, life isn't easy, but it's worth it, if you can push through the hard times, just to find the good ones around the corner.

    "Why was something from the Bible here?" the Scribe asked, breaking my thoughts.  "Aren't we on a hunt for treasure . . . like pirates? Aren't pirates kinda against readin' the Bible?"

    To be honest, I hid the scripture because I felt like a sucky mother when my mom asked the kids who Mary was in the Bible.  My kids had NO CLUE last week.  The Hippie said Mary was a blind beggar Jesus healed.  Really?  REALLY?  Yep, that's my fault.  

    Anyway, I was about to become an idiot and lie to the Scribe--right after reading the Bible.  Then I noticed the Hippie's sparkling eyes.

    "Isn't it obvious?" the Hippie said.  "It was here, by the tree--in a hidden cemetery--because we just found the Tree of Life!  We're the luckiest kids in the universe."

    As the Zombie climbed onto a headstone, I was about to scream for him to get down, when a man on a mower drove into view and gave my zombie a mean look.

   "Oh my gosh!" the Hippie squealed, oblivious.  "I bet that man is the keeper of the cemetery.  He promised to spend his whole life guarding this tree.  Maybe he's even the one who gave us this map!"  She grinned so big.  "He might even be an angel." 

    That mowing man, he got so many compliments and all he did was give us a mean look.  To think, we went looking for ghosts and instead we found a lawn-mowing angel . .  with a mean face.

You can see the tree on the right.  Yes, the Tree of Life is an aspen.

  

    As we walked down the trail, the Scribe pulled me aside.  "I love you, Mom.  Thanks for all you do.  That was so fun."
    "What do you mean?  I didn't do anything."

    She winked at me.  "I knew it was you the whole time, but that made it even better.  We have parents who love us.  We're lucky.  Thank you."

    I have to admit that as she ran ahead to help her siblings, I cried because it meant so much.  My kids may not know everything about the Bible.  They may have thought Mary was a blind beggar.  They may think the Tree of Life is an aspen, but I'll tell you one thing, at least they know they're loved.

    Moments like this make life worth it.  I'll hold this memory dear.  Forever and always.  Because life is short.

P. S. If you'd like more information about Zeke, my son who passed away, please click here: 

 "The Golden Sky"

Going on a treasure hunt!

Melynda's interview went so well! If you'd like to listen to that, here it is:

Listen to internet radio with Journal Jabber on Blog Talk Radio

We're still in Wyoming and today we're going on a treasure hunt.  I've rigged everything pretty well.  This morning, after Cade left for work, someone knocked on the hotel door so loud they woke up all of the kids.  By the time the Hippie and Scribe finally opened the door, the person had fled and left an old book with this note in it:

And this map:

    Something amazing happened yesterday.  After Cade got back from work, he took me around to hide little treasures near the trail we made.  Along the way, we went behind a catholic church and found a hiking path that leads to the cemetery!  It's the most beautiful little trail.  I can't wait to show you pictures of this.  The kids are going to love it.

    Well, I better get going.  The kids are so excited to follow the map to a haunted graveyard.  It says that a secret path will reveal itself every day at noon when the clock strikes twelve.  All right--I'll admit it--I'm having way too much fun. I'll post pictures tomorrow.

Lander, Wyoming: A Haunted Town

We're still on vacation in Wyoming.  There are many beautiful places around here.




 Photo credit  Photo credit  

    But one place in particular caught my kids' interest.  As they played in the park yesterday, they noticed a cemetery on a nearby hill.  "We should go there," the Scribe said.  "Butch Cassidy and his gang came here.  Maybe someone famous is buried up there.  I bet it's haunted!"

    I laughed.  "You crack me up.  You really want to visit a cemetery?"  

    "Only because it's haunted."  

    So the kids continued playing.  At eleven o'clock a church bell rang--loud and clear eleven times--my kids were so busy playing tag and having the time of their lives, they didn't even notice the bell and how close it was to lunch.

    We finally left the playground about a half hour later and started walking uphill.  "This is gonna be epic!  A real, live haunted cemetery.  Just imagine which outlaws are buried there!" the Scribe practically squealed.

    It wasn't until we hit a dead end that I started having some fun with the idea.

     "Why is this sign here?" the Scribe asked.
     "I think it's private property," the Hippie said.  "But who in their right mind would buy a cemetery?"
     "Well, let's think about that.  If the cemetery is just up this hill, and someone else does own it, why would they buy a cemetery?" I asked.
    "Maybe the REAL Justin Bieber is buried there," the Hippie said.
    "Or Michael Jackson," I said.
    "Wait," the Scribe said, "Michael Jackson is dead?"
    Where in the heck has she been?
    "I bet the worst outlaws are there."  A smirk lit the Scribe's face and she turned to her siblings.  "Or a vampire bought this land.  He buries all of his victims in those graves so when they come back to life, no one will be there to stake them!"  As I looked at her I realized the whole thing was an elaborate scheme she'd concocted to scare her siblings.  I had to get the one-up on her.  Sometimes people need a taste of their own medicine--sometimes it sucks having a writer for a mother.
    "Scribe," I whispered.  "It might sound crazy, but this town, this place . . .  There's something weird going on here--it's all too familiar.  Why would a cemetery be blocked off?  What are they hiding?"  She shook her head and continued listening.  "Once, I heard a story about a ghost town.  Evil ghosts would come from the graves and haunt the older buildings in town.  But we can't be there.  In that town, when the sun was at its peak in the sky, the church bells would ring exactly twelve times.  That's how people knew the ghosts would be coming."
    "Really?" the kids asked.
    "Yeah."  I looked upward--like a flippin' ninja--because I'd timed it just right.  As we turned to walk back down the hill and the kids shuddered about ghost towns, that's when the church bells started ringing.
    Once . . .
    Twice . . .
    I swear, even I got chills!
    The kids started counting after that and with each sound their fear and excitement grew.  "Nine . . . Ten . . .  Eleven . . . Twelve."  
    The last bell rang out long and hard, then silence fell.
    "Oh. My. Gosh!" the Hippie squealed.  "This place IS haunted."
    The kids talked about old Butch and everything they've learned about the west.  They went on and on about when we went to Deadwood, SD and saw places Buffalo Bill and Annie Oakley visited.  They turned the conversation back to Butch, said he was only in prison once, near the place we're staying right now.  
    When we had finally walked back to the hotel, the Scribe looked at me.  "I don't believe any of this, not really.  That's why I'm going to google it--because you tease, but google ALWAYS tells the truth."
    She gasped at each page she found.  Stories upon stories like this, The Lander Bar Ghost, filled the pages.  Apparently Lander, Wyoming has been listed in the top three most haunted places in the West!
    So, we're having fun with this.  We might go visit some of the "haunted" buildings in town--including the Cowfish which has been written about multiple times.
    And for tomorrow, I found the real entrance to the cemetery; it's on the other side where it isn't blocked off by private property.  Anyway, Cade and I bought some old-looking paper and other things.  We're taking the kids on a treasure hunt that will lead to the cemetery.  I hope the kids will have a ball reading a treasure map and going on a real adventure.

 
    A Reminder . . .
    Melynda Fleury will be on Journal Jabber tonight. I'm so excited to hear her interview!

Because it's magical like a *&%$!

    We're on vacation in Wyoming.  I love it here, seriously.  We drove all day yesterday and once when we stopped at a gas station, I got out and breathed the beautiful air.  Almost everyone there wore boots--which was epic.  Pure, rich dirt covered the mountains.  Cattle ate the yellowed grass in a nearby field.  People waved at me like we were friends!
    Anyway, it felt so good being out of the city, as I paid for my coffee, I smiled at the cashier and said, "Wyoming . . . it's like a good orgasm because some things are just magical."
    YOU should have seen her face.  She was the only person who didn't fit the Wyoming I'm used to.  She had piercings and short hair.  She stared at me and then burst with laughter.  "You know, you're right.  I've never heard it put quite like that, by someone who looks . . . so proper.  You're right though, even if you did just shock the hell outta me."
    I nodded, then smirked skipping from the gas station.  Okay, maybe I didn't really skip--on the outside.  But I did on the inside because that's what I live for: Wyoming AND the shock factor.  You know what, they're both like good orgasms!

    Well, I'll still be blogging this week, since I'm addicted so bad I'm not even scared to admit it.

    In closing, I have a question for you . . .
 

Should I release my story "Homeless in Hawaii" on my blog?
	Yes, two chapters a week (which will include cliffhangers).
	Yes, one chapter a week.
	Yes, four chapters a week (no cliffhanger chapters).
	No, I want to read it all at once in December.
pollcode.com free polls

Dangers of Story Plotting in Restaurants

Adrienne deWolfe has agreed to guest post here today!  I'm so excited.  Enjoy.

Brainstorming:  

Dangers of Story Plotting in Restaurants

By Adrienne deWolfe

So there we sat, two innocent but extremely vocal writers, brainstorming the story plot of my Paranormal Romance in a restaurant.  We’ll call this eatery “Benny’s.” 
    On this particular day, Patty had graciously agreed to reschedule her afternoon's itinerary of laundry-folding and sock-matching to act as my brainstorming buddy.   
    When I get stuck and can’t make sense of the convoluted story plot for my Paranormal Romance (Wolfspell, Autumn 2012), I bribe Patty with lunch. Patty is a Romance novelist who aspires to be published in Fantasy fiction and is well read in every genre.   For this reason, Patty has served as a guest speaker in the story plotting lessons that I teach in my online course, How to Write a Romance Novel that Sells.
    As a published novelist (and brainstorming professional), Patty understands how the rusty wheels turn in the minds of New York editors.  This is an important trait in a story plot consultant.  But Patty’s most important credential is her sense of humor.   To put it mildly, Patty is a hoot!
    Picture the scene as my story plotting accomplice and I prepared for our brainstorming mission: 
    Patty and I drove to the restaurant in separate cars.   We arrived incognito (no pens, no notebooks).  We were seated at a central table, in the busiest section of the eatery.  We decided to pig out on hot fudge brownie sundaes to improve our facility for story plotting.
    It was approximately 1:00 p.m. on a weekday, during the latter half of Lunch Rush.  Fellow diners were crammed into booths and tables that were roughly 12 inches from my elbow.  Servers were squeezing by with humongous trays loaded with BLT's, chicken salad, and the daily soup special.  
    During the following story plotting incident, I’d like to note (in my defense) that I was guzzling my third cola. The sugar-loaded, caffeinated kind.
My conversation with Patty went something like this:
A:  I need to get rid of (G).
P:  Who’s this guy again?
A:  You know.  The one who slept with (L).
P:  Oh yeah.  Now I remember.
A:  I hate him!  I need him to die!
P:  As long as there's plenty of motivation . . .
A:  Oh, there's motivation, all right.  I'm sick of him.
P:  You thinking about bullets?  
A:  Naw.  Something slow and torturous.
P:  How ‘bout putting a box of scorpions under the sheets? 
A:  Eew!
P:  Suffocation by pillow?
A:  Risky.   He'd be a flailer.  
P:  Worried about phlegm on the Egyptian cotton?
A:  Get serious!
P:  Uh . . . right.   How 'bout death cap?  
A:  I don't have time to research fatal mushrooms.  'Sides.  Poison's much too tidy. 
P:  No guts, no gory, right?
A:  (Laughs)  
P:  Well, if you want to kill him in a grisly way, make it big and splashy.  Like a grenade down his pants.
A:  That’s it!  Exploding body parts.  No traceable corpse . . .  I like the way you think!   He’ll go out with a bang!  Thanks, Patty!  An explosion would be a great way to kill him.  I can’t wait to get home!
    At this precise moment, the restaurant hushed.   At least forty pairs of eyes drilled into me.  Mouths were gaping.   Forks were hovering.  Chocolate syrup was dripping from the dirty dishes that our server was balancing above my shoulder.
    Patty never missed a beat.  As cool as the proverbial cuke, Patty looked up at our distraught server and drawled, “Check please.  My friend has a busy day ahead.”
    Now you can appreciate why I call Patty when I need to brainstorm the story plot of my Paranormal Romance novel.  Patty's the perfect partner for making a scene – and writing one.

---

About Adrienne deWolfe


Originally published by Bantam and Avon Books, Adrienne deWolfe’s 5 Romance novels have earned 9 fiction-writing awards, including the Best Historical Romance of the Year.  Currently, she is in the middle of a virtual book tour for her new ebook, How to Write Wildly Popular Romances, which has been released in conjunction with her online writing course, How to Write a Romance Novel That Sells (which starts May 21.)  Adrienne invites you to enter her raffles for great prizes (including autographed collector's items) by visiting her website, WritingNovelsThatSell.com.  Follow Adrienne on Twitter, Facebook, and Google Plus.

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Wayman Publishing Signs a New Author: Pat Hatt

Pat Hatt has joined the Wayman Publishing team!  I am so thrilled.  He has some amazing books already out.  Plus, I love his blog.

Pat Hatt can be found in the East Coast of Canada. He hates writing these things but doesn't mind talking in the third person. He dabbles in a little of this and a little of that, not afraid to attempt something new.
    He is owned by two cats, one of whom has his own blog, It's Rhyme Time. Yeah a rhyming cat, who knew? He would be considered a both person when it comes to cats and dogs.
    He is also quite the movie and TV buff. As you can probably tell does not take himself seriously and has more stuff in his head than is needed. As you can tell he is quite childish too which is why he will have many children's books come due.

Blog: It's Rhyme Time

Twitter: Rhymetime24

Boo and the Backyard Zoo--Coming Soon from author Pat Hatt and Wayman Publishing!

Check out this amazing artwork.

Now, take it away, Pat.

So Pat got offered to guest post here. But that is not going to come due I fear. For Pat is too boring and would have you all snoring. He wanted to talk about taxes which would probably make you want to murder him with pitchforks and axes. So the cat will save the human once more and take over the guest post at Elisa’s shore.
But what does the cat have to say? Same thing he does every day. A whole lot of this and a whole lot of that pretending it is not nonsense galore like at my mat. Nonsense Galore hmmmm that would make for quite the encore. Let’s pick those two words and see if I can crap out a few turds. Oh that was a bad visual there. I will keep that talk down since I am at another’s lair. So on with the show as I pick two words and give them a go.
Nonsense Galore
In a rinky dink store.
Near Blippity shore.
Items were stacked from end to end,
Whether it was an old or new trend.

Things were getting grim,
As it was stuffed to the brim.
So the staff had a sale,
Bringing about this tale.

Frolo Frog,
Bought himself a bog.
It was a replica of course,
Unlike that rocking horse.

Which Preta Pig,
Snapped up along with a wig.
Cost a cool loonie,
That is not moony.

It’s simply a dollar,
For a non-Canadian caller.
Trilip Tramp
Got himself a stamp.

With a name like that,
He must be a rat.
While six toed crocodile,
Updated his shoe style.

I hope it wasn’t a friend,
He chose to wear in the end.
The rinky dink store,
Finally closed its door.
The staff found it bare,
Which was truly rare.
As nonsense galore
Had always cluttered the store.

They danced a mile,
Glad to have nothing to file.
One stepped on a stone,
Causing the rinky dink store to groan.

It came alive,
At ten after five.
On that faithful night,
Yapping to everyone in sight.

Saying its tummy was bare.
And were they not aware,
That it needs to be full,
To keep back Frumpy Bull?

Seems the rinky dink store,
Did so much more.
As it housed the bull of lore,
That years ago plagued Blippity shore.

Before they could answer back,
They heard Frumpy Bull sound the attack.
He burst through the wall,
Continuing his call.

He bounced them around like ball,
Not noticing Pete Too Tall.
He did look like a statue though,
So unless you are a peeping crow,

He might blend in,
With the walls of tin.
Pete Too Tall went through town,
Telling everyone what was going down.

His stride was so large,
In seconds he made it to Blippity barge,
The end of the shore,
Truly isn’t much there to explore.

Out they all came,
Feeling to blame,
For this whole mess,
Making their trinkets worthless.

Frumpy Bull bounced the staff,
Continuing to laugh.
Until he was whacked with a bog.
Then some fire log.

Before too long,
He was singing a new song.
Stuck in nonsense galore,
As it once more filled the store.

Frumpy Bull cried out,
Giving one final shout.
The same old “I’ll get you” encore.
When he was bounced through the store.

Once more in the wall,
No longer able to give a call.
For he was bricked up once more,
Thanks to the rinky dink store.

For now that it was full,
Of things from bogs to wool.
To a flower shower.
It once more had the power.

To keep Frumpy Bull in check,
Preventing another ship wreck.
And any other harm he’d cause.
The crowd finally gave applause.

Finding the trinkets were nonsense after all,
Never needed at their hall.
And they had helped protect their shore,
By filling the rinky dink store with nonsense galore.

There we go. How was that for a nonsense flow? Took a whole twenty minute to do and now the cat must use the loo. What that too much info for you? At least I didn’t use poo. Oh crap! We’ll blame that on that Pat chap and just say this guest post has come to pass before certain things start coming out my little rhyming umm, you know the word it’s something crass.

Experience spring, have a fling.