Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Technical difficulties


In more ways than one…
WordPress ate this entry. Blighter.
It was great, too because there was commentary about the guy who won the 200+ million dollar Powerball and why I can never win (it had something to do with God not wanting me to be an evil supervillian–people would think I’m cute and fluffy, but really… well, never mind), and how I realized I made a tragic, fatal, boo-boo in my contest entry with TRS. And this awesome bit about how I wanted to hide beneath a rock sans a long list of animals. It wouldn’t be right to retype all that, it just wouldn’t feel as meaningful to me now.
It was chock full of humor and wittiness (yeah, right). When I asked it to edit, it said I made no spelling error–a miracle and the first indication something wasn’t right. And then it wouldn’t go back from the proofread and when I tried to save the draft, poof, nothing, gone. Thanks WP, I hate you right now. But really, can you tell this blog is mostly verbal vomit with little-to-no thought going into it? ;)
To summerize:
I’ve probably confunded the judges who’ll read TRS because the obvious choice for TRS’ category was steampunk romance. There’s nothing remotely steampunkish in the first chapter. No mention of airships, brass goggles, clockwork devices or other. Perhaps it leans toward paranormal more than steampunk. Perhaps it’s something weird that invaded my overstimulated brain and wouldn’t leave. Maybe it’s just too weird to classify. I will effectively baffle the judges, who will proceed to recommend I find the nearest trash can, paper shredder and box of matches. Or at least the proper category.
I don’t care what anyone says, I think the guy who won the lottery deserved to win. Sure, maybe he’s really evil and already spending his money on crack and hoes. But more like, he’s an average guy who needed a break and now he can afford to pay his electric and get new teeth. It made me really mad when my co-workers made fun of him for not having front teeth. Hey, we can’t all be beauty queens, all right? I mean, I have my frontsies, but two of my jaw teeth have pretty porcelain coverings because a) I’m vain and b) all that brushing was off set by my love of hard candy. Maybe he has a Pixie Stix fix, huh? It might not be because of meth. And just because he has two or three kids all with different moms doesn’t make him… okay well it makes him careless, but not a bad person. Pobody’s nerfect, geez. When you point a finger at someone else remember there are three more pointing back at you.
Well, that’s all I’ve got. Unless you wanted to hear about the minor amount of success I’m having with C&C, but I’m not mentioning that because I’m pretending like I’m not working on it because I don’t want to acknowledge that it might be moving forward–finally–after all this crap I have with it. Sorry, that was a run-on sentence. Even as it progresses, I’m already having these doubts that the story maybe should’ve started different and then I think, well instead of starting C&C different, why don’t I just do a different story altogether? It’s frustrating. I need to win Powerball so I can sit in my office with all the lights off, become a recluse and plot stories all day long. Hey, mister, can I borrow $100,000?

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Heart Racing


Bomp-bomp.
Bomp-bomp.
Bomp-bomp-bomp-bomp-bomp, etc.
No, really, I’m going somewhere with this. :) That little bomp noise, that’s my heart beat. It gets a little crazy when I think about it beating. If I can hear it, or if someone’s taking my blood pressure or listening to it then it beats much faster. Makes me nervous for people to listen to it. I don’t know why, it’s not as if they’re going to discover I don’t have a heart.
It didn’t kill me. I didn’t die. I didn’t come anywhere close to dying. I mean I got that anxious feeling where you kind of get light-headed, but mostly I was concerned with making sure the right .doc was in the attachment line, the docs were properly formatted and my name was on everything. Still, that little tiny, nagging fear gripped my heart as I pushed send to enter the Weta Nichols Writing Contest. Then I ran my eyes over TRS to make sure all was well–it was the one that needed more editing. And then Abel made me laugh. Oh, that Abel. Different and wonderful and nothing like him as every come from my brain or fingertips before. He made me feel better. I want to share him with the world because he’s so very unique. But he nor Romy nor the Rainbow Serpent herself are ready for the world. They are ready for a little ol’ contest though.
It’s done. The megabytes or whatever the .docs are converted to in order to be sent through the ify communication we call e-mail is sent. The entries are paid for, my debit card is down to a mere 63 cents (I love you, cash money), and they’ve zoomed through cyberspace to land in the contest e-mail inbox.
It’s done, too late to turn back and no chickening out. But… but… those are my babies. What if no one likes them? Shiny certificate. I made the attempt. I put in the effort. I tried and I did my best (was that my best? What if my best was really the worst?) and now I need to forget I did it at all and go about my life like I didn’t do it because it’s easier to pretend I didn’t than to waste time agonizing about it. Okay then.
Last night on our way home from the movie theatre, where we saw The Losers, which was hilarious and has a great soundtrack if you’re into rock and classic rock, we drove past a billboard sign that said Shepherd of the Hills is celebrating it’s 50th annivesary as an outdoor theatre. I worked there in ticket sales for one summer. It was my second favorite job and I loved it because I love history. I love my home in the Ozarks and the deep roots my people have here. My favorite job was the five summers I worked at the themed ride, Fire In the Hole, an indoor roller coaster with the theme of Bald Knobbers burning down a town.  I thought about the attempts I’ve made to write a romance set in the the Ozarks. I’ve written one chapter and nothing more, because I’ve been busy, you know, moaning about C&C and whatnot.
I was thinking that this year for NaNoWriMo, I will write my novel set in the Ozarks. I really got excited about NaNo in April last year, I’m pretty excited now. I like to have plenty of time to think about the plot and I need to do lots of research because frankly, some of the elements I want to use have  died down as modern conviences took over in this area. It’s fascinating stuff and kind of eerie when you consider watching a band of angry men in black masks with devil horns and torches riding out of the fog to create their own brand of “justice”. *shiver, running down the spine*

Monday, April 19, 2010

Unexpected adventure


Oh, we made it to Cassville all right. But we never made it out of the Wal-Mart parking lot.
The adventure, as it were, started out okay. There was that bizarre rainbow in the sky thing that wasn’t quite right. It was a rainbow, but it… wasn’t. It was just stuck in the sky in the opening of some clouds. No rain, just a lot of sun. We chalked it up to moisture in the sky. It reminded me vaguely of the devil rainbow. Devil rainbow, you say? Right. Last fall the sky was brilliant red after a rainstorm, the sun was setting as it’s prone to doing, and there was this rainbow. You could make out all the colors, but it was primarily red. Hence, the devil rainbow. This one though, just sort of hovered in the sky for half an hour and no matter which direction we turn it, it was visible. No ends, just that blob there. End times are a-comin’, my friends. You know, if you believe that. If not, then it was just a bizarre rainbow. Which is probably what it was. All I know is, I’ve been seeing a lot of them in the last year.
So PeeWee had his haircut and as promised, was allowed to come on the weekend outing in which we were visiting Roaring River again because I have this crazy idea it’ll be fun to climb a couple hundred feet into the air and look over this cave entrance. By the time we reached Cassville, I was covered in dog hair. We decided to stop at Wal-Mart–the largest chain retailers in America for those of you who don’t own one. I was going to get a new shirt and buy us some munchies. I had a heck of a time finding shirts, then had to deal with the lady that couldn’t figure out her debit card. When I got back to the truck, there’s husband standing on the passenger side looking frantic.
I thought he’d killed the dog.
PeeWee, bless his heart apparently had to potty. PeeWee can’t communicate in a language that humans clearly understand. Neither one of us thought anything about it because he tinkled before we left. There. Was. Poo. EVERYWHERE.
PeeWee is huddling on the toolbox looking like a refugee from an oilspill (or sewage spill, really). There was Husband trying to get the seat cover off the seat. There was me wondering what kind of message God was trying to send with the wonky rainbow. And wondering why I bother making plans because there’s always some kind of quirk that will no doubt ruin my day. We’re 60 miles from home with a poo-covered dog and nowhere to bathe him. Guess who got to ride home on mom’s lap in an old t-shirt? You guessed it.
Husband was mostly angry because I made him cut the seat cover off. He kept going on about how he lost a seat cover. Somehow I always end up riding home with poo-covered animals on my lap. Really? You want to complain about a $7 seat cover? Here, you hold the poo-covered dog and I’ll drive (okay, I won’t drive because I can’t drive a standard, but still!)! I guess it was my fault because I fed him a can of Skippy dog food instead of what he usually eats. Next time, don’t buy Skippy. Sometimes poo stories are funny. That time, it really wasn’t. Only me.
We got home, PeeWee had a bath and we went to see a movie instead, sans dog. My recommendation: 1) make sure dog goes poo before any long trips. 2) Save your money, wait until Hot Tub Time Machine comes to DVD or Blu-Ray. It was funny, but not outrageously high-priced movie theatre funny.

Friday, April 16, 2010

Geography


Day two with only one contact in. My supervisor said, isn’t your eye any better? Making me even more paranoid. I want to put my sunglasses on and hang my head. Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled my bangs back. Well, it feels better so :P . And compared to how it looked yesterday , it looks at least 50% better. Stupid, infected eyeball. I really don’t like you right now. Twenty-ten isn’t being so good to me; first the ear infection, then the nasty cold, then the burned leg and now the eyeball. Can we move forward to Twenty-eleven?
I’m such a moron though, I only just realized Brisbane isn’t in Victoria *deep blush*. That’s okay, when I was in junior high, I thought Quebec was in South America. Obviously geography isn’t my strong suite, kind of like math. I fixed it in my doc folder, but it’s still messed up in my crit groups so if anyone sees it, ahem, don’t pay it any mind. I still have some work to do on it, around chapter five there’s a great chunk of about four days missing. I need some filler–that’s practically a curse word–for those days. I’ll come up with something. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to throw in a few more rows and a nice legend about the The Rainbow Serpent and Wagyl. And, gee, I don’t know, some sex? I completely forgot (maybe it was a subconscious thing) to write in any sex. The attraction is there, but I was so busy with the adventuring I just forgot. I like that the critters think it’s funny so far. I like the dramatic, but I wanted to do something different. Guess I achieved that.
Hopefully my eye will get much more better today and I’ll be able to put my contact back in. Then we can go do some adventuring of our own. I have a hankering to climb up to top of that cave at Roaring River. PeeWee wants to come too. He’s had his haircut and looks super cute. When I picked him up yesterday from the groomer, she was feeding him a large Milkbone. He got a little cranky when she took it away to hand him over. He wasn’t content until he was munching on it again in the truck. He eats more than any little dog ought to, I swear he has hollow legs. There’s not much in the way of food he’ll turn down.
Happy Weekend, all!

Monday, April 12, 2010

Metaphors


Cursor blinking. Waiting for the next letters or symbols to fill up empty white space. Sorry little buddy, you’re gonna be waiting a while. The more spring warms the earth and encourages the blooming of beautiful green plant life, the less I want anything to do with writing. I’m more interested in playing in the sunshine and exploring.
We spent Saturday at Roaring River State Park admiring the trout, big and small. I climbed a trail to get vertigo-inspiring photos of the fish hatchery. You can see all the pics here. I woke up this morning wishing I’d climbed higher (this from the person who can’t climb a 10ft ladder) and made it to the top of the cave to take pictures from up there. Husband said if it’s nice next weekend, we can take Pee Wee. He didn’t get to come this time because he needs a summer cut in the worst way–he’s shedding enough hair to produce another little dog. He loves to travel. I wish we could take Bandicoot too, but she gets carsick and I don’t have enough lap for both of them.
So, the word count for this weekend: mmm, maybe 1300. And only about two hundred of those were for C&C. ORA’s Weta Nichols Writing Contest deadline is drawing near. I hate the first chapter of C&C so much that I have almost no desire whatsoever to enter it. I’m just afraid if I don’t, I’ll kick myself later. I’m sooooo bored with the whole thing I don’t even want to open the document. I’d almost rather chew my own arm off than look at it ever again
Once many long years ago, I had a horse. I went on a trail ride with the horse. At the end of the day, it was pouringrain and time to go home. Someone offered to trailer the horse home for us. The horse didn’t want to get into the trailer. Horses are smarter than people sometimes. He didn’t want to get into the trailer because the floor was wet and there was a strange horse in the trailer. When my dad pulled on the reins to lead the horse in, it balked. When I say balked, I mean that horse leaned back, almost on his haunches and refused to move–1100 pounds of flesh and bone and smarter-than-the-people brains. It took three guys to move that horse. When the horse got into the trailer, he immediately slipped, the other horse freaked out, kicked him in the head and lost a shoe. My horse was okay, except for the cut above his eye. It could’ve been a lot worse. The second time they tried to put him in the trailer, he got in, but much more carefully. That’s me. Standing at the edge of the methaphorical trailer, balking because I don’t want to get kicked in th head.
I think because I finished TRS, I’m just not motivated to write. I’ve been toying with two other story ideas. I thought about writing another steampunk and then I thought about a historical. The downside is, I don’t know much about ships and I’d have to you know, learn about them, sort of. I’m not really interested in writing about ships and I’m a little ify about not writing stories that involve cowboys. I like the old west. I want all my stories set there. That was my mistake *big sigh*. Stupid convict story not set in the old west. I almost hate you. There’s a saying where I came from that goes: your eyes must have been bigger than your stomach. It means that you put too much on your plate and can’t eat it all. I put too many words into my processor and can’t finish them. I don’t even want to fix the spotes that the critters have pointed out to fix, no matter how easy it would be to do it. #$%$^@!
Saw Clash of the Titans over the weekend. I wasn’t real impressed. I thought the characters were too thin and I don’t mean they had eating disorders. I didn’t believe them. “Oh, no, I was adopted by a fisherman, but I don’t know where I came from or what my purpose is!” Get in line, pal. Cry me a river. At least it had a happy ending. It’s been about 17 years since I saw the original, so I have no idea if it ended the same way or not. You can tell I really enjoyed the first one ;) They showed the golden owl thingy and Persius was all “What’s this?” and the soldier guy is all “Oh, it’s nothing, leave it here.” And that was it. I mean, why even mention it if you’re not going to tie up that loose end? And really, Hades is threatening to destroy your village. I’m thinking, okay, bye. Leaving now. When I’m comfortably settled in my new home and someone brings it up, I’m going Oh, yeah, Argos? I remember that place. Just a shame what happened to it. I mean, if you know the gods are angry and about to destroy the city, why would you even stay there? Common sense anyone? And why, if Zeus is ticked at the mortals is he giving weapons to Perseus? He knows Perseus is mad at him and determined to hurt him, so whyoffer help? Don’t give me that schpiel about parental love, either. And how, please explain, how did Zeus not know his own son was still alive? I mean, he obviously impregnated the king’s wife on purpose. The king had his wife killed, but not the bastard child… Um, what? So Zeus wasn’t looking when they dumped the casket containing the dead queen and living child into the ocean? He was so hellbent on punishing the king, he just decided not to pay attention after he mutilated the man? Oh, yeah! It was in the script, duh! I also thought the animation done on Pegasus was a little crappy. Let’s make Medusa and the Kraken rock so no one will notice the lame horse movements. I’d give that movie about a D+, on a good day. And they’re talking about making a sequel. Heaven help us.

Friday, April 9, 2010

Arrgh, Matey


Arrrr, matey. Avast ye landlubbers and whatnot. Polly wants a cracker and some Admiral Nelson’s. Ahoy and blow the man down. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum. That song that creepy kid in Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End sang.
Bored with my current life, I’ve decided to forego all the conventional jobs and head straight for the unconventional. Which is a wordy way of saying: I want to be a pirate. Tragically, my piratey accent is more than a little sucky, but I’m sure over time it’ll improve, ye blackhearted dawgs. One year, following the PoTC craze, I went to a Halloween “party” (I used quotations to let you all know it wasn’t a party. It was a terrible, terrible sham of a party where people sat around talking about boring stuff and I wanted to go home) dressed as a pirate. This little girl, who had come back from trick-or-treating, looked at me in my striped pirate skirt, my dark hose with black roses running along the legs, my sword, tri-cornered hat and blingy pirate jewelery and said, “What are you supposed to be?”
Being the mature adult that I am, I answered–voice dripping with sarcasm–”I’m a pirate, what’re you?” And made a face at her. I think she was a witch or something. Nasty little brat. Anyone with half a brain could see pirate. I mean hat? Sword? Pirate clothes? Hello! Maybe it threw her off because I wasn’t wearing an eye patch.
In the early days of my romance novel consumption, I avoided at all costs storylines containing pirates. I thought it would be a bloody bad deal to be stuck at sea, always wet and when not wet, coated with crusty layers of salt. And stinking of fish–ick! Not to mention the possibility of scurvy and shipwrecks and other, meaner pirates. Or being marooned with hungry natives. Treasure? Who wants to run around chasing the promise of buried treasure? Geez, you might as well trot around looking for leprechauns and rainbows and pots of gold. How dumb.
I have to admit, I liked the box office flop Cutthroat Island. I can’t find my copy. Husband says it’s hidden under the table supporting the DVD player, but I secretly think he threw it off over the hill so he’d never be forced to watch it again. He groaned when I told him I wanted to see the second PoTC. Pirates? Really? I had to convince him to watch the first one and he had to watch it twice just to fully understand what was going on. Sometimes I think pirates take a little getting used to.
So. I’ve decided to forego anymore landlubbing. I’m going to set sail and become a feared and renowned Pirate King. I think I’ll stick to the Caribbean and the British West Indies. I shall call my ship the Wandering Rooster ala The Rainbow Serpent, in which the FMC’s father discovers the lost treasure of the El Gallo que Vaga in one of his previous journeys. In the end, I’ll probably end up calling it a lot of other names that will required lots of symbols. Upsides to the pirate life:
1) I can sail the seas as I please.
2) I can plunder enemy ships and make port to salvage their goods.
3) I can make port and ransake the towns before moving on to salvage previously mentioned goods.
4) Year-round sun tan.
5) Fresh air, beautiful sunrises/sets.
6) Peons to order around.
7) Three words: Walk the plank.
8 ) Awesome clothing and accessories!
9) All the rum I can drink.
10) Every day is like a Disney cruiseline vacation. (Don’t think we’re not including the Midnight Buffet)
Oh, but wait. Downsides to piratism:
1) The wireless connection might be a little ify in some places.
2) They haven’t invented the waterproof netbook.
3) I get seasick.
4) Hurricanes.
5) I don’t like rum. (You don’t like rum?!)
6) Sharks.
7) Shipwrecks.
8 ) No dentists–have you seen some of those pirates’ teeth?
9) Limited showers because of limited fresh water.
10) Cursed treasure.
Well, there’s that idea down the drain. But I think my little dogs would look awesome with bandanas and eye patches. Arrrr, fear the Dread Pirate Dogs PeeWee and Bandicoot! I’ll just have to put on the pirate outfit and swashbuckle around my front yard, I guess. Wait, do you hoist the masts or the sails? Perhaps you rig the mast? Right, this is why I’m a desk jockey ;)

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Pondering Children and Blobs


Today I went to a baby shower. Haven’t been to one of those in a coon’s age. It was okay, but it’s always a little awkward to be around people who have children because I don’t have any. They always tell these funny stories about their kids and I’m like, um, my dog did this. It’s a little bit weird when you’re trying to explain how cute you think baby booties will look on your mini aussie. I get a lot of funny looks. Baby showers kind of make me wish I had a baby, but really what would I do with one? Oh, yeah they’re cute when they’re little, but they do grow up. I always feel kind of odd around kids that can have perfectly normal conversations. I mean, things are so different from the way they were when I was growing up. I didn’t have a cell phone until I was 17 for crying out loud and you better believe it didn’t have anything fancy like texting or internet. And knowing how me and Husband are, any offspring we produced would be little hellions for sure. :D Although if the miracle ever does happen, we have names all picked out. I just feel kind of sad because my brother can’t have children and I’m a girl, so our bloodline is pretty much dead. As all you historical romance writers know, the goal was to have heirs. I mean, it’s a big deal to be able to carry on your husband’s line, but what about the woman’s side?
I was informed yesterday that my beloved four-leaf clover tattoo will eventually become a blob. I’m heartbroken. A blob? I paid $85 to eventually have a blob? Here I was worrying about how much it would hurt to have it touched up and now I have to think about the blob. Great. That really put a damper on the possibility of another one. Yeah that’s waaaaaaaay down there on the to-do list now.
Speaking of the clover, I found my first three, that’s right, three, on Thursday afternoon at Husband’s parent’s house. That’s pretty exciting. I should have taken a picture of them. I looked down and there was one staring me right in the face. Not two inches away was another one. Then a few inches to left, a third. Pretty good when I was only goofing off looking for them.