Labor Day Funnies

I'm not really laboring this labor day, though I'm trying to get to 71,000 words on Live and Let Fly. Trying, but not very hard, mind you. Besides, Vern and Charlie did soemthing stupid, which always slows me down as they try to figure out how to get out of it.

Anyway, here are some funnies I've picked up over the past couple of weeks, thanks to my DH Rob.

The Anti-LOL Cat

My friend Gray is running for President on an anti-campaign. He said I could be vice if I promise not to do anything. Works for me:
http://www.inews3.com/play.php?first=Gray&last=Rinehart

And finally, a Terry Pratchett story on why you can't cheat death, even with quantum physics. http://www.inews3.com/play.php?first=Gray&last=Rinehart

Happy Labor Day! Enjoy!

My Novel's Journey: Yahoo! Muses

A lot of times, e-mail, the Internet and especially Yahoo IM can distract me from writing. However, when I am stuck, there's nothing better than bouncing an idea off a friend, and e-mail, Yahoo groups or IM is the best way for me to do it. With the stuff I write, that means that the "lucky" writing friend will share a conversation like this with me:

Karina Fabian: Need a metaphor to finish this sentence: I strolled out, head held high, reminding myself that I was the top of the food chain even if I did feel like the bottom of
shayk1951: the outhouse?
Karina Fabian: want a food/animal thing to keep the theme
shayk1951: Oh, okay
Karina Fabian: I thought "of the dumpster I ended up ralphing in."
shayk1951: that sounds good.
Karina Fabian: a dung beetle's breakfast plate?
shayk1951: Ooooh, yeah! I like that one better
Karina Fabian: nice way to say sh*&
shayk1951: yep, it is

Fortunately, I have a few very understanding friends.

I can depend on Ann Lewis, my best friend (who I've only met once in person, incidentally) to give me great advice. She can narrow in on a problem, suggest just the right word or find things on the Internet in record time. This week, I needed to describe a nice modest but fancy ball gown for Grace to wear while undercover at a party, and she found me a place that named the different kinds of necklines. I never even thought of necklines as having classifications!

Sharolyn Wells is great for encouragement, hugs and (as you can see above) bouncing ideas off of.

With Rebecca Butcher, I indulge the wilder side, more profane of my imagination (which I tone down for the book.) She's got a quirky sense of humor, too. This week, we brainstormed titles for Rhoda Dakota's finale song for the dance scene. Vern had just as an unfortunate but funny experience, and I wanted a song to fit the irony. Together, we came up with "Undercover Lover, Do You Know Who You Are?" It still makes me grin.

These are my three IM "regulars," but there are several others who get the unexpected message from me: "Need a word..." "What do you think of..." "Got a minute? I'm working on..."

For those who put aside their projects for those few minutes. Thanks.
Writing does not have to be a lonely biz.


Word Count: 66,513. I took yesterday off to play with the boys.

Fave Phrase: Vern (in his human guise) and Grace are working undercover in separate teams and pretending not to know each other, but need to pass information. In this scene, they are at a dance, and during a waltz, Grace passes him a mini memory disk. While the details of the dance were fun to write, I like this paragraph best because Vern really told me how much he loves Grace.

When the song ended, she let go of me quickly and headed back to the table. I didn't mind. With eternity to live, one thing dragons treasure above everything else is a good memory. I'd just danced as a human with my best friend. That was about as precious a treasure as I'd ever get.

The Fairy Dancers: Linda Donahue, Julia Mandala and Julia Burchard

Today, I present to you the Faerie Dancers, Linda Donahue, Julia Mandala and Julia Burchard. The trio have been performing for many years now at various conventions, and these photos are from the world SF convention in Denver this year. Linda is a friend of mine and offered to share them. Below is what she said about dancing and writing:


We love to dance for the exercise and we love to perform for the fans. It's just our way to add another dimension of entertainment at local conventions. Juli and I were dancing at conventions before we were attending as writer panelists. And now we have a sort of cross-audience of fans. At a recent convention I'd attended a panel and forgotten my name plate. I apologized to the audience and a lovely lady in the front said, "It's all right. Your fans know who you are." At the time, I'd assumed she meant those who read my stories as this was a writing panel. But afterwards, while we were talking and she took one of my bookmarks, she said, "What have you written?" So it turns out, she was one of my dance-fans who'd seen the show the previous night. Now that brought a smile.


About the pictures, we do a sort of belly dance performance--although we blend in jazz, ballet and even some of my tai chi into our shows. We're a fusion style. Belly dance is a very old dance and was originally for women and by women, taught from mother to daughter in part to strengthen her body so she wouldn't die in child-bearing. It's roots are very old and in countries that oppress women, it is often the one thing that lets a woman be "elevated" above a man. In case you didn't know, belly dancers first started using canes and swords as props to poke fun at men and dancers in these cultures are "divas" or "goddesses." Furthermore, the older the dancer the more respect she commands. That's why, if you hang out in or with belly dancers, you might hear a reference along the lines of "At 50, every dancer becomes a goddess/diva." Anyway, it's not the hoochie-coochie dance some people think it is. It requires a lot of muscle strength, balance and coordination. All the minor "shimmy" movements are actually done by selectively clenching muscle groups and relaxing them. It's like pilates in that sense. If done right, belly dance combines the best benefits of pilates, yoga, aerobic and weight bearing exercises.

Oh yes, I'm in the purple wig. Julia Mandala is in the black & pink wig. And Julia Burchard is in the blue. These costumes feel weirder to me because they show so much more leg than usual. But we were trying to go for the sort of Amy Brown fairy--but without actual corsets so we could dance a little more easily. I'm the oldest of the bunch as I'll be 49 in December. Julia B, at a mere 30, is the youngest.

My Novel's Journey: Location, Location

What's a super-spy thriller without exotic locations?

I knew for Live and Let Fly, that Vern and Grace had to travel to some unusual places. After all, what self-respecting Evil Overlord puts his base of operations in, say Pueblo, Colorado? (My home town, so I can make comments, thank you.)

I have two EOs--one who does things evil and well and the other who's, well, a six-sigma flake with delusions of TQM Grandeur.

Six-Sigma, aka Ronald McThing, needed someplace fun, someplace unexpected, someplace...in Idaho! Yeah! Idaho! But not just anywhere in Idaho, oh, no! Somewhere small, out of the way and with a fun name. I searched the World's Atlas and came up with Arco. I loved it: the Evil Overlord from...Arco!

Arco turned out to be a great choice, for it not only offered some nice buttes where McThing could make his insidious complex and toy museum, but it's also the site of America's first nuclear reactor. Hey! Guess what you need to make your own Gap? A nuclear accident! And why waste good funding and spend all that time on paperwork for building something new when you can buy out the old one, hold secret experiments and "oopsie!"? (Please don’t e-mail me all the holes in that plan. It's McThing's strategy, not mine. He's also pathologically afraid of Smurfs.)

As it turned out, I didn't get to do as much in Arco as I'd intended. Everyone got far more violent than I expected and Vern was in no shape for sight-seeing. However, I did get to mention the Arco Airport. McThing will fly out of there in his corporate jet. Of course, it was such a small airport, I didn't know if it could handle a corporate jet, and the FAA stats are just so much numbers to someone who doesn't even know how much her luggage weighs, much less a small jet. So I called the first number on the FAA site for Arco and got the chamber of commerce. When I explained the situation, the lady gave me the number...

...for the drug store!

"Talk to Steve. He's on the board and he can answer your questions," the lady assured me. He did, too, even setting me on the right track to find a jet. I settled on the gulfstream 550 because it has the better range to take McThing to his boss, the Evil Overlord Frank Li in...

The Exotic Island of Bandar Baru!

If you go to your handy atlas, you will not find Bandar Baru in the index. I've made it up to avoid any international incidents. So how do you make up your own island?

Determine needs: I wanted a small island nation, homogeneous population, with a volcano and subsequent religion of volcano god worship, which makes it ripe for a Faerie demigod to come in and set up religious housekeeping. It also had to be a playground for the rich.

Determine location: If you pull up a map of the currents in the Indian Ocean, you'll see a nice dead zone along the Tropic of Capricorn. I thought that would help it stay off the main trade routes. I wanted to minimize the Western influence until very recently (air travel).

Determine history: I gave them a disaster, so the US and other nations could come help them and they'd then turn their economy into tourism, only have that ruined by a volcano that can't decide when to erupt. This, of course, revived the old religion of Apikema, the volcano god.

Determine details: Since I'm a seat-of-the-pants writer, I'll figure a lot of these out as I go, but I have found a couple of things useful: the Indonesian/English dictionary online lets me create a reasonable-sounding foreign language by playing with the actual words. (Bandar Baru means "new port," which will have significance.) I'll probably get names from the same source or go to the handy White Pages for Sumatra and Madagascar. I get a lot of names that by looking in foreign phone books, incidentally. For the rest, I'll pull up some travel brochures of similar islands in the area, and rely on my own experience as a fabulous jet-setter.

Give me a minute while I stop laughing.

Word Count: 54,700. I finally managed to get through the plodding part. (Write. Write. Write) and had a fun scene where Grace turns Vern human so he can go with them to Bandar Baru.

Fave Scene: Which has nothing to do with this post, but it's fun. Vern turns human. (BTW: Tap out the sequence and see if you recognize the song.)

Eight...two sixteenths, eighth, quarter eighth, eighth, eighth. Eight...two sixteenths, eighth, quarter eighth, eighth, eighth. Eight...two sixteenths, eighth, quarter eighth, eighth, eighth...

"I don't think it's working." I didn't know if I was disappointed or relieved.

"Keep going. Don't break rhythm. This is an unusual spell. You have to let it get into you."

Eight...two sixteenths, eighth, quarter eighth, eighth, eighth. I started tapping with claws on all four limbs.

"You know, I don't really like that idea."

"You don't have to go."

"No. I'm fine. But I don't think it's--ergh!"

Suddenly, my whole body heated up and got all...gooey. Then I felt like I was being forced into a trash compactor, or maybe a mold that was too small.

"Vern?"

I got heavy, boulder heavy, and fell to the ground. I didn't understand how I could make such crashing sounds when I was so much flubber. Then I started feeling a little more solid, but lighter, which panicked me--or would have if I weren't so distracted by being gelatinous.

Confessions of a Catholic Writer and Geek

Sometimes, as a writer, I address some odd or disturbing subjects. Sometimes, my characters do odd things--like my dragon, Vern, doing some act of violence and thinking it's really kind of funny. As a Catholic, I often wonder how in the world I am supposed to confess that? Apparently, I'm not alone in wondering how to address geeky transgressions in the Confessional. Check out scificatholic.

I can only imagine how my confession would sound:

Me: Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I wrote a scene where my Catholic dragon bit off a guy's hand. I did make him go to Confession--

Priest: A Catholic dragon?

Me: Oh, yeah. He's a good one. Only one head, no reference to Revelations, as he would say. The problem is, it's really a very funny scene--

Now a priest who is really in tune with me would say something pithy like, "You've got to hand it to him?" and I'd be laughing and having to confess all over again.

So I have to confess, I usually stick to the real-world sins and hope God understands about the flights of fancy.

When Writing is Like a Long Drive

We went on vacation for two weeks, four days of which were spent just driving between North Dakota and Colorado. Drive. Drive. Drive.

When I was driving in the Front Range or in the Black Hills, I enjoyed the trip. Every twist of the road or turn of the head was rewarded with fantastic vistas. However, there are long stretches where there's nothing but lots of flat farmland. Occasionally, some interesting feature will catch your interest,

like the world's largest Holstein cow,


or a lovely field of sunflowers,


or a dilapidated old barn ready to collapse on itself.


But the rest of the time, you just forge ahead, counting down the miles to your goal. Drive. Drive. Drive.

Writing a novel can be like that, too.

Some days, the words flow and every plot twist rewards you with an incredible scene or exciting revelation. Then there are the important but flat parts that you have to push through for the sake of the story or to give your reader needed information. Then, the only thing you can do is write, write, write.

If you're lucky, however, you'll make some discoveries: that phrase that, like the World's Largest Cow, will catch your reader's attention and stay in their minds even after they're finished the book. Or the description that, like a field of sunflowers, brightens the entire scene. Or the segment that taken on its own is like the old barn and you wonder what that piece of junk can be worth, but when put in the context, gives the entire section a unique interest or even beauty.

That's why you can't just sit and wait for inspiration. It's like sitting at home wishing to arrive; you'll never get there. You have to drive.

And who knows what wonders you can discover on your trip?


Word Count: 48,840, and now I'm at the drive, drive, drive phase.

Fave Phrase: Vern and Sister Grace are back form rescuing Heather. It did not go easily and Vern is not happy. However, they've come across some information that BILE needs, and he's decided to take his own kind of revenge.

"What're you doing?" Mustache asked as I took out my small inkpot, opened the lid and dipped my writing claw into it.

"Our rescue was strictly an independent operation, remember?" I tossed Rakness a dark look but spoke reasonably enough. "So any information we might have acquired on said operation would be our own--"

"You mean to sell this information to us? I thought we were trying to protect this country--both our worlds, for that matter. What kind of patriot are you?"

I looked at him like he was a stupid mortal and didn't mention that I wasn't a citizen of the United States--or any nation for that matter. "Funny thing about saving the world," I said philosophically, "it always manages to get un-saved. Kind of wrecks the job satisfaction factor. Philanthropy, though... Grace how much did the Christian Brothers say they needed to start that school in Territory?"

no blog today

Visiting Mt Rushmore with family.

Conference Renews My Enthusiasm

This past week, I attended the Catholic Marketing Network Conference as president of the Catholic Writers' Guild. This is a trade show of vendors of everything form Catholic books to rosaries and icons. I and several others went to promote our books and the CWG in general.

Lisa Mladinich, an officer in the Guild, made all the arrangements, set the booth up the first day, then picked several of us at the airport and ferried us to the conference and hotel. If there's anything better than having a Lady Friday for a conference, it's having one who's positive, enthusiastic and a joy to be around. Thanks, Lisa!

I could blog for days about the conference--and did for the CWG website. I'm also writing an tips article that will feature on The Writers' Chatroom Newsletter and in Faith-Filled Fiction's next issues. Today, I'd like to tell you what the conference did for me personally.

The CMN had given us a terrific opportunity to have a booth and meet iwth other publsihers and booksellers. Plus, six other Guild members would be at the conference for a book signing. Through some help of a dear friend and the support of my husband and parents, I was able to attend. However, I'd been feeling a bit low lately about the CWG, my book Infinite Space, Infinite God, and my writing in general. Objectively, I know I'm suffering from impatience: the CWG has a lot of great projects that are moving forward at a snail's pace; my book isn't selling like I'd hoped (despite the great reviews in popular targeted magazines), and I'd thought by now I'd have an agent or a contract with a major publisher. So I boarded the airplane enthusiastic about the conference and ready to give it my most energetic efforts, but wondering if it was worth the expense I--and my friends and family--were paying.

Oh, it was!

The vendors and the book sellers who came to the conference were so enthusiastic about the Guild. We as authors knew some kind of organization like ours was needed, but to hear that publishers and store owners wanted it, too, gave me a renewed optimism for the Guild. It also helped to hear how amazed they were at how much we accomplished in just 8 months. Sometimes, it's hard to see progress when you're involved in the project. Even more, the gratitude I heard from other members for the work I (and Ann Lewis, our webmistress and VP) have done touched my heart. I'm inspired to do even more for these wonderful people.

Also inspiring was the response my book got. Too often have I heard that Catholic SF has no good market--it's too Catholic for the secular and too SF for the Catholic bookstore. Plenty of book reviews and four secular awards (or finalists in awards) has disabused me of the "too Catholic" notion. At the conference, when I said "Catholic sci-fi," vendors grew thoughtful--and excited. "I have a nephew..." "There's a customer who..." were comments I heard. One person asked about it for a book club. I gave away about 15 books at the signing--which was what all of us did, give them to vendors--and I'm pretty sure I'll see some sales.

By the end, I was working the conference like a chipmunk on caffeine. (Yeah, baby!) People asked me how I was managing such energy, especially at the 6 p.m. Thursday meeting about the Guild. the answer was simple: they'd energized me.

Alas, no agent or large publisher there would be interested in what I have, but that's okay. This conference gave me a much needed boost of enthusiasm for my writing. No matter where I publish, there are people whose lives I will touch.

So, yeah. It was worth the effort and expense, not just for me personally, but for the members of the Guild who will see a happier more enthusiastic leader with a renewed sense of direction, and for the family and friends who will not hear me whining about my writing career. (For a while, anyway--no guarantees!)

Global Warming Ad Insults Veterans

I saw this ad on Yahoo! groups the other day:

We didn't wait for someone else to storm the beaches at Normandy
And we can't wait for someone else to solve the global climate

The Nazi conquest of Europe...Global Warming. This is what I'd call a Parallelism FAIL. And an insulting one at that.

I don't have a problem with recycling, alternate energy and conserving fuel, but I do have a problem with someone comparing that to one of the most tragic and heroic military actions in recent history, especially for a still scientifically (if not politically) contested theory. Have we so soon forgotten what the Battle of Normandy was about?

Incidentally, the sun is getting warmer, so we're facing system, not global, warming.

Should we bomb the sun into submission?

Novel's Journey: detour for a story pays off

On vacation this week, and until August 15, but the past few days have been in preparing and traveling. I'll have something for next week, promise. However, I have very cool news:

"Mishmash: From the Case Files of DragonEye, PI" has been accepted in Book of Tentacles!

Many thanks to my crit crew:
* Ann Lewis
* Rebecca Butcher
* Deb Cullins Smith
* Joe Trent
* Kimberli Campbell
* Agnes

In honor of making the cut, here's a paragraph that pretty much sets up the story. Sr. Grace has hired Vern to check out a song she thinks is a spell. Vern (and everyone else) thinks it's a bunch of random sounds mishmashed together. But he takes the case.

I checked out the band. They were as thrown together as their hit song, a bunch of losers with mediocre voices and minor musical talent but faces that looked good in stylized B&W on the cover of Yrd 4 Sound. Most of their other songs ranked on the low end of ordinary, but "Mishmash" had propelled them to fame. The lead singer/songwriter said the sounds came to him in a dream--after passing out from one too many Sailing Monsters. A photo of him showed the tattoo he'd gotten that night; if C'thulu and Doc Oc ever got together; their children would look like that. No accounting for taste.

Blogging the Dog

I may not have a Novel's Journey post up this week because we're taking a real journey--to Colorado with a stop at Mt. Rushmore. It'll be a busy 3 weeks because we have a wedding to attend, I have a conference, then we have to drive back. I'll write what I can.

In the meantime, my daughter decided to make a model out of our dog, Layla. Here are the results:

My Novel's Journey: Pit stop for a short story

Oops!

Where did this week go? Somehow, I got it into my head when blogging yesterday that it was Monday! Hope you enjoyed my satire. Here's the update on writing.

Last week, the editor of an anthology I wanted to submit to announced that they had half-filled the book already. I decided to stop working on Live and Let Fly and get the story done. It's another DragonEye, and I've thought about the basic plot and character conflicts a long time, so I figured a day or two and I'd be done.

4:30 am Monday morning, I wrote the last words of "Mishmash." It's a terrific story about when Vern and Grace first met, and both were rough around the edges and didn't realize how much they'd need each other. One scene took two days to write and I finally solved it by giving Vern a bad day and letting him get drunk. Since then, I've been creatively tapped and doing necessary but busy-work. However, I did learn some lessons and make some progress that will help me in Live and Let Fly.

For a long time now, I've been trying to make a timeline of the Faerie/Mundane universes, starting with 0AG (0 ante Gap--when the portal between the two universes opened). However, I could never quite get it--was it 4 years or 5 when this happened? Have Grace and Vern been together 15 years or 20? I had a list of events and their rough order, but nothing that gave me the framework. Until I started writing "Mishmash."

I have a family, good friends of Vern's through church, and they play bit parts in many of the stories. Until now, I've been able to get away with approximate ages and being fuzzy on the number and names of most of the kids. This time, however, they demanded more and bigger roles--comic relief, foil, defender, victim. I had to know their birth order and ages. So I opened up my timeline, pulled out all the stories that mention a Costa Kid and got to work. Soon I had the list of the 12 kids, and their actual ages in each story. And when I applied that to my timeline, everything else fell in place according to the kids.

So the lesson of the day is: if you get stuck on something big, try attacking it from a smaller detail. I couldn't figure out the history of my world until I applied it to the lives of one family. Also, don't be afraid to stop, tackle something else, and go back.

This week, I go back to Live and Let Fly. However, I'll leave you with this scene from "Mishmash."


Fave Phrase: This is the scene that took 2 days and 3 re-writes. The problem was I had a lot of information to get out, but not a lot of words.

The headlines of the Los Lagos Gazette blazed: Grace Dis-Graced: Faerie Nun Resigns Amid Rumors of Magical Misuse and Mental Instability. The Gazette's new dirt-digger, Kitty McGrue, found out about Grace's little episode with Maria and did her own background checks. Turned out Grace, a mage and elite soldier of the Inquisition, spent six months in a Mundane hospital that, among other things, specialized in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. When McGrue couldn't get a straight answer on the reason for Grace's hospitalization, she decided to approach parents for "their reaction." She got one, all right.

I called Grace, not really sure what I'd say or why I was bothering. I got her answering machine, stammered out an offer to set McGrue afire and her little headline writer, too, and felt stupid when I hung up. Jerry Jr. called, wanting to know if I was buying him tickets. When I said I thought it was too suspicious but couldn't commit to actual evil intent, he yelled that I was mean and unfair and hung up.
I finished the novena without any Insight From On High.

I got to the gas station just as the price of ethanol went up.

Some days, I hate my life.

Silliness abounds after Communism falls

So, it's been around 17 years since the communistic government of Russia crumbled over its own weight. You don't hear as much about Russia as you used to--no leaders are thumping their shoes on UN podiums and even though my husband is in ICBM maintenance, the kids still have to ask, "Why do we bother with these?"

Well, they've gotten healthier--and are proud of it. Just check out this article where they christen a monument to that sign of good health and luxury everywhere: the enema.

AP Photo

But don't think it's all luxury and sloth! They keep up on important affairs of state: George and Laura Bush to divorce after election because of Condi Rice?

And, now that they have a defense budget, they're flying their bombers and checking up on our ICBMs in accordance to START treaties. Of course, none of their findings on the missile fields is as startling as the fact that you can buy shotguns at Walmart. (Rob's friends at Warren AFB, WY, reported the shock of the Russian inspectors when they discovered the sporting good section.)

Now before anyone thinks I'm Russian bashing, let me ask: are these things really that different from what you find in the Western world?

Aside from the shotguns at Walmart. Guess we need to give them something to work for.

Writer Spam and Submission letters that FAIL

Anybody else get this e-mail (Title: YOUR WORK)

Dear writer,

I find your ability to convey your ideas very refreshing. I think also that your characterizations are some of the best I've read. I think you may enjoy these flash fiction pieces I have written.

Thanks,
(Name removed because either this is a hoax or to spare the person, if real, public embarrassment. I'm pretty certain it's spam, though.)

This has to be spam, right? It has not one, but two attachments entitled THE PERFECT WOMAN. WPS and ABUSE AND SELF-ESTEEM.wps. (Yes, in all caps.)

Does anybody still open attachments from unknown senders? I don't care how complimentary the body of the message is--is anybody in this day and age still that naive?

And let's talk about the body of the message: "Dear writer": This person professes to love my work and its refreshing voice, but addresses me as "writer?" Please. Even a computer program could strip the @fabianspace off my address and give a more convincing "Dear Karina." Plus, I write sci-fi and fantasy--and they send me perfect woman and abuse? Yeah, said person really put some thought into what I'd like.

So, a clever spam approach FAILS.

Coincidentally, this would fail as a submission letter to an editor for the exact same reasons:

* "Dear Editor" Some magazines do say to address "editor" or "submissions editor," but in most cases, taking a few minutes to research the editor's name shows both courtesy and professionalism.

* Generic compliments do not impress an editor; they show lack of imagination or lack of research. Rather than say, "I find your magazine refreshing with some of the best stories I've ever read," compliment something specific. "I'm enjoying Jo Joeson's 'Clueless Spammaster from Beyond.' His e-mails to minions are priceless parody."

* READ THE GUIDELINES! If the mag is sci-fi, don't send fantasy. If they want a specific topic or angle, don't send something different in hopes that your brilliant prose will make them make an exception. It doesn't work that way. Editors please readers, and reader expectations drive guidelines.

* Attachments must be in a form the editor recognizes and works with. When in doubt, .rtf is pretty universal.

Incidentally, submissions to ISIG II are closed, incidentally. I've read all the stories and passed the ones I like on to my husband. However, the Air Force has other plans for his time and attention. It may be awhile.

My Novel's Journey--Writing with kids

I was at my computer, but my mind was in a secret lair in a butte in Idaho. The scene was tense the words were flying...

Vern's been captured. He's injured, bound and muzzled, poisoned and surrounded by seven minions armed with machine guns. Even more, he's separated from Grace, from help, even from any trace of magic itself. He thinks he's going to die--not just be seriously inconvenienced for a few centuries while some part of him revives, but permanently no-way-back-dead.

Then he sees it. A dragon stone. The one thing dragons lust for. The one thing that could save him.

He's caught in its beauty--

"Hey, Mom, when will Dad be home?"

"uh... let me e-mail him, k?"

Vern's injured, bound and muzzled, poisoned and surrounded by seven minions armed with machine guns. Even more, he's separated from Grace, from help, even from any trace of magic itself. He thinks he's going to die--not just be seriously inconvenienced for a few centuries while some part of him revives, but permanently no-way-back-dead.

Then he sees it. A dragon stone. The one thing dragons lust for. The one thing that could save him.

He's caught in its beauty--

"Mom? Did you e-mail Dad?"

"Yes, I did, and I'm trying to write!"

Vern's separated from Grace, from help, even from any trace of magic itself. He thinks he's going to die--not just be seriously inconvenienced for a few centuries while some part of him revives, but permanently no-way-back-dead. Then he sees it. A dragon stone. The one thing dragons lust for. The one thing that could save him.

He's caught in its beauty--

"What's Liam doing outside, Mom?"

"I don't know! I'm writing. Go look out the window--the other window."

Vern thinks he's going to die--not just be seriously inconvenienced for a few centuries while some part of him revives, but permanently no-way-back-dead.Then he sees it. A dragon stone. The one thing dragons lust for. The one thing that could save him. He's caught in its beauty--

"Say, Mom? Can I borrow your mike to record something?"

"Yes! Fine!"

He thinks he's going to die--

"What's the program I need?"

"Audacity! And if it's not downloaded, you have to wait!"

Then he sees--

"Hey, Mom?"

"Please! I'm trying to write! This is a tense scene and Vern is very caught up in his feelings. He's drooling and everything. Just give me ten minutes to drool with Vern!"

"Oooo-kay."

Vern's been captured. He's injured, bound and muzzled, poisoned and surrounded by seven minions armed with machine guns. Even more, he's separated from Grace, from help, even from any trace of magic itself. He thinks he's going to die--not just be seriously inconvenienced for a few centuries while some part of him revives, but permanently no-way-back-dead.
Then he sees it. A dragon stone.

The one thing dragons lust for. The one thing that could save him.

He's caught in its beauty--

"Mom, can you help me with this one thing? Please?"

OK Deep breaths. These are your children. They're more important than any old story. Just walk away from the computer, help your daughter--

"Never mind! I got it."

"aaargh!!!"

Word Count: 41, 832. I need to stop for a couple of days and write some articles and a story I want to submit to an anthology that's filling fast.

Fave Phrase: There were so many this time! However, here's how the scene I was trying to write finally played out:

There's a difference between letting your enemy think you're weak and helpless and actually being so. Picking these guys off one by one or driving them to distraction and getting Charlie and Heather to run for it wasn't going to work. Plan. I needed a new plan. I couldn't think; couldn't focus. Stupid henchmen with their stupid stars and stupid beards and stupid iron bullets...

McThing finished his McBreathing. "Why don't we start again? I think we're losing our focus." He spread his hands placatingly.

I saw it. On his pinkie.

"That's an interesting ring." My voice was hoarse, and I swallowed hard.

"Do you like it? A present from my superior. With this, we will power our plans and rule both worlds."

"Some present. It's hardly a pebble. Any idea how big the ones in my treasure pile back home are?" I forced myself to sound disdainful. I tried not to follow it with my eyes, or one eye; I had to twist my head to keep McThing in my site.

A dragonstone. The most treasured gemstone in my universe. Forged from the beginning of time, so beautiful, bearing the kiss of magic.

I wanted that kiss like I'd never wanted anything in my life. I shivered with need.

Other sock blogs!

Hey, we ahve a few people who have gotten into the sock blogging groove. Check these guys out!

My youngest son made this cool craft with lost socks! http://blueknightsboysclub.blogspot.com/

Tanja Cilia actually got her newspaper to let her blog on lost socks--how cool is that? http://www.timesofmalta.com/blogs/view/20080716/tanja-cilia/sock-it-to-me

Maria gives us the Ode to Lost Socks: http://musingsofmaria.blogspot.com/2008/07/ode-to-socks.html

Susan is trying to blog her lost socks--but suddenly they found their mates! She found a few to put on the Missing Sock Milk Carton Alert. (I'll be guest blogging hers later today.)

Read Angelmeg's tale of woe: http://angelmegtm.blogspot.com/

Linda Lowen blogged on about.com! Orphan socks make the Internet big time!: http://womensissues.about.com/b/2008/07/19/come-saturday-morning-confessions-of-an-orphan-sock-queen.htm

Orphan Sock Week!

Welcome to the Unofficial National Orphan Sock Blog Week!

We've all had the experience: you do all the laundry and when you've folded, hung and matched everything up, there's always a sock left over. Where do they go?

In my house, I'm certain some of them never make it to the washer. They hide in corners, in toyboxes, under beds and chairs... I keep a basket with Socks Without Mates in hope that someday--perhaps when we move--we'll find the other and they can share a tearful lint-free reunion.

Every three years on average we move. That means every three years, our house is totally cleared, things are sorted and packed, shipped, unpacked and re-sorted. Yet I still have unmatched socks that have traveled through three moves. Someone explain!

Maybe we lose them on trips. I've seen single socks, like single shoes, left abandoned on the roadside or in parking lots. I never stop to investigate--perhaps they're just a clever decoy for some roadside bandit looking for to improve their footwear. A girl can't be too careful.

Last time I was visiting my best friend, I did her laundry and happened upon her own sock pile--and recognized some of the orphan socks there. Extended sock vacation in the country, eh?

Then, of course, there are sock thieves. Don't believe me? Check out this article. Here's a guy who won't be doing a turn in the prison laundry room.

Well, we've come to terms with the status of missing socks in our lives. I tend to use them as rags, and of course, the kids love them as craft projects. We've made the standard sock puppets, filed them with spices and beans to make cool/hot packs, and Liam likes to cut the tops and wear them on his wrist. This week, he needed a way to carry his light saber on his belt, do we cut a wide strip off the top, made a second cut about 3/4 of the way through, then tied it in a knot (to make it shorter.) one loop goes on the belt, the other holds the light saber.

Share your sock stories and let me know!

My Novel's Journey: The Name Game

Dick and Jane. Mary Sue. Moe, Larry and Curly--how do you come up with names?
Sometimes, a name just comes to me. Vern d'Wyvern. Yes, it's awful, but it stuck. Thus, I had to come up with a back-story for this truly lame name. (After his encounter with St. George, he was presented to the Pope of the time, who, while a very holy man, didn't have a sophisticated sense of humor. He thought "Vern d'Wyvern" rather droll.)

Other times, I have to hunt for names. Charlie Wilmot, I found by looking at phone directories in England. (I love Google!) For the duchy he serves, I went to a map of England, found the general area and looked for the silliest combination of places I could. I'd remembered some of their towns are city-on-river, and so I came up with Peebles on Tweed. (I'd misremembered Shakespeare's birthplace as "Stratford on Avon" rather than "Stratford upon Avon," so when I combined the names I used "on.") I love the sound of the name.

Sometimes, especially when I'm looking for something specific and it doesn't come to me, I turn to friends for brainstorming. That happened twice this week. Earlier this month, Vern, Grace and Charlie discover the dead body of a professor. I wanted this professor, who was also a mage, to have a fun name to lighten the scene a bit. I couldn't think of one, so whenever I referred to him, I wrote (funname). (That way, when I come up with a name, I can do a global replace.) Then on Wednesday, I asked the folks who gathered for the online chat at The Writers Chatroom for help. After some fun brainstorming based on the fact that my victim was a mage specializing in portals and the Gap, Audrey Shaffer came up with Bill Gates. I loved the idea of a Faerie sharing a famous name, especially in a college atmosphere. You'll see what I did with it below.

Sometimes, though, I know a name is going to be important to future scenes--and in this case, jokes--so I can't move until I have it. This happened when I decided I needed a secret spy organization instead of just the standard FBI, CIA, ETC. At first, I had DICE--Department of Interdimensional Criminal Enforcement. Great potential for jokes. Then it occurred to me that we don’t enforce criminals; we enforce laws.

I was banging my head against the desk when my best e-buddy Ann Lewis showed up on IM. After a few minutes of tossing around acronyms and jokes, we came up with the Bureau for Interdimensional Law Enforcement. BILE. Naturally, I'll have to write in the evil sister organization, Villains for Interdimensional Lawlessness Enhancement, VILE.

Names are such fun!

Word Count: Only 23,400, but I had to dig myself out of a to-do list that was 90 tasks long.

Fave scene: Found on the door of Professor Bill Gates.

Professor William Gates, MT, PhD, GMM. Below that, a computer-generated sign in a page protector read: Pronounced Gay-TEZ. No relation to that Mundane computer fellow, thank you. However, if you are a Mundane and want to learn magic, I suggest computer science." And a map leading to computer science. Below the map read: "Mundanes: You are not genetically suited to handle magic. I cannot change that. I will not change your major. So very sorry."

Dr. Who: Mourning Donna Noble

Note to Dr. Who Fans: Contains spoilers of the Season Four Finale.

Yesterday, we watched the season ender of the latest Dr. Who. Without giving too much away, in the process of saving the universes and time itself (you know, the usual), Donna has to lose all memory of her time with the Doctor, and he takes her back home to the life she had.

I found that the most tragic way to end a friendship with the Doctor, and it bugged me all day (still does.) I talked to Rob about it, in true geekdom fashion; he agreed. "She's been put back in the little box," he said.

For me, it's more than that, though. Sarah Jane got put into the little box; Martha Jones got put into the little back. Rose was trapped in a "little box" of an alternate universe. But they remembered the "big box," and all they were and what they did. What they were capable of doing. They took those experiences with them, and even if they regretted losing the life they'd had, they were better for it.

Donna never gets that. She's had all the incredible experiences, done things she never thought herself capable of, and she doesn’t remember. Never mind the phenomenal knowledge of the Doctor; there were times when her she used her own limited knowledge combined with unique insight, to do the extraordinary. Like Rose Tyler told her, "You've always been brilliant. You just needed the Doctor to show you."

But he didn't. He couldn't. And when he left her, she was back to her old, "Just a temp" ways, loud, narrow-minded and a little ditzy, probably afraid to push beyond her small box because she might fail. "For a moment, she was the most important person in the universe," the Doctor said. But she had to go back to believing she is a nobody.

In a way, it makes me think of what would happen if some brilliant person got Alzheimer's or a massive brain injury in the prime of his or her life. It's just tragic.

Yet, as the doctor told her family, because of Donna, there are worlds still shining, and people singing of Donna Noble. They know what she was, what she could be.

Why is it so important to me that she know as well?

Back to the trivial: Orphan Sock Blog Week starts next Monday! If you want to blog about those socks that mysteriously lose their partners, e-mail me with your blog address and I'll post it on my blog next week.

My Characters Have Trashed my Outline!

Last week, I talked about outlining the plot. So naturally, this week, my characters tossed the plot progression to the winds. In this case, instead of reading about a murder in the newspaper, they discovered the body themselves, and instead of having a starlette-style hissy fit and becoming the spunky sidekick, Heather got herself kidnapped and ended up the damsel in distress! In all, a 10,000-word re-direct at least and some plot complications, not to mention a lot of un-funny prose. So today, I'll talk about going with the flow.

"Seat of the pants" is my natural writing style. I start with an idea or a character that grabs me. If I only have a character, I try to imagine their life--usually some interesting episode--you, know, one that physically or psychologically tortures them, bwa-ha-ha-ha. Often times, I'll have the middle--aka, the height of suffering--pretty firmly in mind, but I try to have the beginning and ending.

This is how I came up with Vern. DragonMoon Press had opened submissions for the anthology Firestorm of Dragons, and I was looking for something that hadn't been done: a cynical dragon PI on the wrong side of the Interdimensional Gap working off a geas by the Faerie Mage, St. George. (I'll tell you more some other time.) From there, I just needed a clichéd simple case gone wrong for him to solve. (DragonEye, PI is out in Firestorm of Dragons.)

Of course, once I have characters I love, they tend to start living out their lives in the dark recesses of my mind. Throughout the day and night, they tell me a little about their lives or share a joke or comment with me. Vern does this a lot because, as you know from his blog, he has a very unique and sarcastic but funny way of looking at things. So when I'm ready to write a story, I come up with an idea or crisis, stick them in it and let them tell me how they get out of it. This works very well with Vern and Grace, because I can pull from old mysteries and legends, mix them up and let them tell me how to solve the case. Essentially, they live it out, and I just transcribe.

In the case of Live and Let Fly, the idea came to me first--a very general idea of pitting Vern against the clichés of superspydom and evil overlordisms. As you know (or would if you'd read last Thursday's post), I thought it very important to plot this one out to make sure I got the clues and clichés in place. Part of that was for Vern and Grace to read about the murder of Professor William Gates (Gay-TEZ, no relation to the Mundane computer entrepreneur). Heather, Charlie's assistant, insisted on accompanying Charlie, where she would use her computer skills to break into the evil overlord's computers for valuable clues. Nice, neat, plenty of room for jokes.

But Vern and Grace are not used to dancing to my tune. Even worse, I hadn't banked on Heather not being as plucky (and amenable to espionage) as I'd expected. So it was with some surprise that Vern and Grace decided to go visit Professor Gates and discover his dead body. Then Heather, in a cliché out of the storybooks, gets kidnapped.

But it gets worse! One of the things playing in the back of my mind has been Faerie's past. Since their universe parallels ours, I imagined they'd had a Great War sometime in the early 20th century; however, since Faerie is a much more religious world, I knew it would be a Satan vs. the Church, of which Vern and Grace were agents of the Inquisition. Now and then, they give me tidbits of that time, which you'll read in the stories. I've also had this vague plan that something bigger than what we see in the books is going on behind the scenes.

What this has led to is that Gates (no relation) has been assassinated with crucis iugolis--the butcher's cross--a favorite killing method of Satan's minions during the Great War.

I didn't plan this. It just came out of my fingers, seriously.

So the characters have shanghaied the plot, and I've spent the last week (about 12,000 words since it was a busy week) trying to figure my way out of it. That means scrapping some jokes, plunging into Charlie's dark side, revisiting Grace's Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and dealing with new questions of jurisdiction.

Why do I put up with this? Because it's much more interesting when my characters tell me what happens than when I make them dance to my tune. The book will have more depth and if not as funny, it's more interesting. However, they've promised me a few fun, new scenes if I can just plug away at the serious stuff a few more thousand words.

Word Count to date: 20, 557, some of which are notes of things to fix.

Fave Phrase: Duke Galen's Herald, Charlie, talks to Heather's kidnappers. I like it because he showed me a side of himself different from the usual happy-go-lucky popinjay stuck making the best of inheriting the family job he doesn’t much like.

"I want to speak to Heather!"

A brief shuffling, then "Charlie! Charlie, I'm in a--" Her sentence ended in a shriek.

"If you harm one hair on her head, you bloody bastard--"

"Sticks and stones--"

"If that's what it takes."

"Tsk, tsk, Herald Wilmot. How very unbecoming of someone of your stature. But to be honest, I have no intention of hurting your beloved. I'm a big fan, actually. I do hope I can coax her out of an autograph. In the meantime, you have information I want."

"No, I don't," Charlie replied, and he didn't have to fake the desperation in his voice. "I'm just the courier. I didn't even know I was carrying anything--"

Laughter. "Quite droll, Mr. Wilmot. As a matter of a fact, I believe you. Your duke's twisted humor is well known even here. I also know he fancies your pretty little girlfriend. You have two hours--"

"Two?" Charlie burst out. "To convince Galen of anything? Better make it twenty-four if you want this precious information of yours."

"You'd bargain with your true love's life?"

"If it means having a real chance of succeeding, bloody hell, yes! Otherwise, just tell me where you are, so I can go die with her."