Random Ramblings

So, lots of little things to tell.

First, I find the term preggers extremely annoying. It bothers me. I can't help it.

Now on to other things. I'm a little sad because it's time for my Ninja to go into hibernation for the winter. We had some pretty nice days last week while I was sick, and I didn't get one last ride in.

Speaking of Ninjas, I am desperate to see the movie Ninja Assassin. Not because I'm under any delusion that it will have anything close to a plot or character development. No, only because it will be a bloodbath of martial arts gory goodness with a cool-assed knife on a chain. It takes me back to a guilty pleasure of my youth. Kung Fu Theater. Every Saturday afternoon one long ago summer, while the family was laboring outside, I'd sneak away from my chores and absorb in mind, body and soul the craziest martial arts movies out of Asia from the seventies and eighties. Blood spatters, flailing arms and subtitles. Ahh the thrills and chills of youth.



Moving on. I seem to dream up odd heroines. Either they're sliding under a tiny table in a honkytonk when the hero approaches in a panicked attempt to hide, they're being abducted by aliens while wearing a sock monkey hat, they're losing a bar bet, they carry brass knuckles, they'll provide only name rank and serial number to the hero, or they're terrified of animals, and their mates are wolf shifters. I'm not sure where they come from.

So, any quirky heroines, guilty secret pleasures or eighties flashbacks you wish to share? I'm all ears.

My Evil Streak

This is the song that never ends,
It just goes on and on my friends,
Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was,
and they'll continue singing it forever just because...

This is the song that never ends,
It just goes on and on my friends. . .

Ok, you get the picture. Have you ever entered a time loop where your life just keeps going and going the same way in a continuous loop of endless days?

No writing going on at the Casa de Quinn. Just an endless round of tissues, mucus, doctors, coughing and exhaustion. Then lather, rinse and repeat.

I have no voice at this point. So calling for help is out of the question. I'd blame the sea monkeys, but I just don't have the energy. But they'll get theirs in the end. I've got grandiose plans for a huge chemical attack in the near future. At this point, I'm one illness away from becoming a super-villain. I'm already dreaming up my costume. Think leather.

Once my voice comes back, I'll be developing my evil laugh. I've set up a session with Dr. Horrible's vocal coach.



Until next time, citizens.

2010 Gig and Harlequin Horizons

So here I am, determinedly ignoring the sea monkey revolution underway in my bathtub. Those little s.o.b.'s will get theirs when I'm not so overwhelmingly tired and busy.

I had some good news. When I went to the New Jersey conference, I met some nice women from the Valley Forge sister chapter of my writing group. I hung out with some of them at different times over the weekend, and Carla Kempert, a very cool person, mentioned to the vice president, who's in charge of scheduling speakers, that I had done a presentation on women's self defense (Inserting Realism into your Kick A$$ Heroine). They were interested and contacted me. The VP remembered me from the conference, mainly because I had introduced myself to her as the reigning Possum Queen of my County. In spite of that little tidbit, I am scheduled to give the presentation at their April 2010 meeting.

I'm pretty excited. In one of my former times in this life I was a teacher for a decade. I miss the actual teaching part, the rest of the b.s.? Not so much. So I'm looking forward to doing a little teaching again, even if I break out into hives and have to renounce my Possum Queen throne.

In other news, much of the romance writing world has been abuzz with the news about Harlequin lending their name and collecting profits from a vanity/subsidy/self publishing venture. I have a feeling there is a much bigger picture here. I believe Torstar, their parent company, (who is losing money in this economy hand over fist except for Harlequin) probably set this project into motion and told the people at Harlequin to make it work. As long as it remains a separate branch from the rest, I see no problem.

Unfortunately, they are entwining themselves in the new venture and not keeping it separated like they originally stated. The most egregious part being that they will include in form rejection letters information on how to publish with HH. Not cool.

RWA has stated that "Harlequin Enterprises no longer meets the requirements to be eligible for RWA-provided conference resources". I'm not sure what other steps RWA will be taking, but I doubt Harlequin will care. I believe that only the membership will be affected by the decision, though I'm impressed that the Board acted so swiftly. I'll be interested to see what the RWA fallout is over this news.

I'm pretty sure Harlequin won't give a rat's ass. The formation of the "self publishing arm, Harlequin Horizons" is a good money making venture for an ailing parent company. Time will tell if it's a good business move.

This song's for you Harlequin Enterprises.

Jump Around

I've been working on two wips, for real, and two others off and on. And I've gotten stalled on all of them at about the two thirds done mark. I've been very linear in my writing. And now I'm stuck.

Then like a bolt out of the blue to illuminate the idiot, I realized I didn't have to write the story from beginning to end. This chimp can jump around or work from back to front.

Now, I've heard it before. It's not an original idea I came up with as I signed to my keepers to ask for more bananas. (no wonder I can't win the sea monkey war.) It just hadn't clicked with me yet. And now it has. So I'm jumping around the last four to five chapters of Shifting, trying to get up some momentum.

So I leave you with a flashback -not quite to the eighties, my usual decade for the flashback- to commemorate my new writing plan.

Enjoy!

Throwing the Book at the Wall

Get ready for a semi-frank discussion of genitalia. If you think this is not something you want to read, click here for a sea monkey rerun.

I was reading a book yesterday, shocker, I know. It was by a NY Times best selling author, or so the cover declared. I was enjoying it, not totally engrossed, but it was a pretty good read. Then I came to the first sex scene. There were some of the typical formulaic things that the main players must be endowed with, but I could still buy it. Then the hero said something in mid coitus that made me snap the book shut, and I haven't picked it up again.

There are certain things that can jar me out of a book, especially during the hot and heavy scenes. I write pretty steamy, some erotic romance, some just higher heat levels. I'm also the first to admit that I am not the best writer in the world. But there are certain words that I just can't get behind. And it's probably not the ones you would think. I am a fan of the c word as used to describe female anatomy and have used it in my writing. But if I see the word mons, I will, nine times out of ten, stop reading right there.

Describing genital areas as furry or fur covered will also stop me dead in my tracks. I'm just not down with that image.

Repeating why the hero and heroine can't get together over and over throughout the story will get me to stop reading, too.

So, are there any standard phrases, words or situations that will get you to close the book? Do tell!

Now for Something Completely Different

I had known that NPR was doing 50 Great Voices this year, but was inspired by this entry on the blog I May Have Been Born Yesterday, But I Stayed Up All Night *sends a salute in Kameron's virtual direction* to make a pick of my own for inclusion in the NPR celebration.

I've been kicking around doing a post on this amazing singer for a while, and this was an easy opportunity to do it. Yma Sumac was born in Peru and is said to be the only known person to have a voice with a five octave range. It is also believed that she had no formal musical training and couldn't read music.

Here is some rare footage of Yma accompanied by my favorite song of hers - Gopher Mambo.



I also think Freddie Mercury and Bing Crosby should be included on the list. Because, really, how can you pick just one?

So how about you? Who do you think should be included in 50 Greatest Voices?

Back in the Saddle Again

So jury duty was an interesting little slice of heaven. I'm glad I experienced it, but not as glad as I am to have it be over. Geez Louise do you get to see how the other half lives. As the inmate who tries to spread new lingo around the prison my best friend works at would say - The guy who was on trial was Ca -ra-na-zy!!

Okay. Enough of that. I'm working on turning a corner here. I'm trying to psych myself up to get to a new level of commitment on actually finishing a manuscript and getting it published. I don't know if I'll be able to make myself get to that level since I mostly want to quit. I need a new mindset, take myself and my writing seriously. Put away the doubt and nay saying that I do with regularity and give this a serious shot.

And that's the most terrifying part of all.

Didja Ever Have One of Those Times . . .

when it's a damn good thing that your Man keeps the guns locked up or else without a doubt you'd be in the paper the next day?

Maybe Chris Rock has the answer.



And on top of it all, my jury duty starts tomorrow. At this point, I say fry his ass whoever it is. Next case.

The Mothers of Invention

I read a guest post at Terry Odell's blog the other day about the Jersey Devil. I's a very interesting read. But I already knew about that particular nasty creature.

Growing up outside of Philadelphia, heading to the Jersey shore was a summer institution. My best friend in elementary school would invite me to her family's shore house for weekends all the time. (Back in this day, a family shore house was a conservative two to three bedroom home, not the gargantuan beach houses you think of today.) We would drive down Friday night, after her mom got home from work. It would be about an hour and a half to two hour drive, depending on how many others beach lovers had the same idea.

We'd jump on the highway and head through the Pine Barrens of New Jersey - the alleged birth place and frightening haunt of the Jersey Devil. Now we were excited eight and nine year old girls in the back seat of a sedan, giggling and squealing and making an all around ruckus. Every time.

Well, Mrs. Buckwalter finally got wise and started telling us the legend of the Jersey Devil. As soon as we hit those Pine Barrens, our eyes would be peeled and our noses pressed to the glass of opposite windows, keeping silent vigil for the Devil so we could alert the driver to enact evasive maneuvers should he decide to jump on our car.

The woman was a genius.

My sister-in-law tells the story of The Turtle Game. This is another car trick. Whenever her mother would drive her sister and her to Pittsburgh to visit their grandmother, there would be blankets in the back seat of the car. If her mother spied someplace she didn't want her daughters to see, like an amusement park, she would enact the turtle game. "Okay girls! Let's play The Turtle Game!" The daughters would then grab the blankets, drop to the foot wells and cover themselves with the blankets to pretend that they were turtles. Once the distraction was out of sight, she would let them come out of their shells.

My own mother is a wonderful, frugal woman. We wouldn't go to the car wash very often, but when we did, my brother and I thought we were getting a real treat. She called it the fun house. When we'd hear the call, "Who wants to go to the fun house?", my brother and I would scramble to the door. We'd go through the automatic washer oohing and ahhhing over the spinning bristle brushes of doom and the long waving hair going over the windshield. What might pop up from the depths of that sea of flopping canvas? The thrills and chills were almost endless.

She also ended our squabbling over the mail by decreeing that I would be Occupant and my brother would be Resident for the rest of our days. (Click here for the full explanation.)

I even got into the act. The family went to Hershey Park this summer and stayed far too long. As we headed to the gates before they closed and locked us in, there was much pleading by the eldest urchin for one more ride. As we approached the exit, I saw the bathroom and got inspired. Turning to my oldest I announced there was one more ride. The Restroom Ride!! There's water, there's swirling, there's bubbles! All the excitement of the water park miniaturized into one room! She didn't buy it, but she did get behind it and laughed, making it sound like a commercial as she "rode the ride". I'm not as wily as the other seasoned veterans, but I'm on my way.

So what about you? Any stories of the devious and ingenious workings of a mother's (or father's) mind? Or is it just me surrounded by shady oddballs?

Voices in the Dead of Night should be Illegal No Matter How Polite They Sound

During the first night of the NJRW conference, I was awakened by a loud strange sound and a calm but insistent voice. At first I thought it was the alarm clock, but as I began to wake more fully, I realized it was coming from the wrong part of the room.
At that point of semi-conciousness, the word "emergency" cut through my sleep filled haze. The fire alarm was going off.

I squinted at the unreliable alarm clock to see that it was a little after four am. I jumped out of bed. Checked to see that my roommate was doing the same. Shoved on dress shoes and socks. Grabbed my computer bag, room key and coat and hoofed it down the hall and one flight of stairs where many women were lingering in the lobby -in several stages of dress and very interesting outfits and hairdos- looking probably a lot like I did.

My roommate and I were more with it than the lobby lingerers, and we proceeded to exit the building in an orderly fashion to the overhang. Because much safer than inside the building is ten feet from the door.

I noticed that for a conference of about 300 people, there didn't seem to be that many guests out of the building, but I assumed they went out other emergency exits. All of the sleepy-eyed half dressed people milled around, asking the question and postulating hypotheses.

There were several Asian guests with their phones out, videoing all the romance authors in their different states of undress, so who knows, the whole incident may end up on Youtube somewhere.

The police showed up and entered the lobby. They were very cute, by the way. Since they didn't force the lobbyists to vacate the building, we decide it was safe to go back in.

The very polite security guard made the appropriate apologies and we waited for the fire department to give us the all clear to go back to the room. Which they did after about forty minutes.

Tired, but understanding we all trudged back up to our rooms to reset unreliable alarm clocks to squeeze in an extra few minutes of sleep.

At about 5:15, that polite voice and strobe light were back. Roommate and I trudged back down the steps, this time I was not as hard core and didn't save my wips by lugging along my computer. We lingered in the lobby and grumbled with our neighbors about the crappiness of being inconvenienced.

After about twenty minutes, since the fire department was quicker to respond, (probably because they hadn't even gotten back to the station yet) we were sent back to our rooms.

When the alarm went off two more times at six, we didn't even bother. I just got in the shower and started on my day.

We found out later that only the first three floors were affected by the alarm. They said the cause was a guest smoking in their room. At lunch the human resources person from the hotel apologized and there was candy and complimentary bottles of wine on the tables for us.

It made for an interesting day and a tough ride home since we were so exhausted.