A Novel...Hypothetically Speaking

Editing Sucks. So Let Blogfests Do Your Editing FOR You!

2011-02-23T15:21:00.000-08:00

The infamous Blogfest is a major component of the online writing blog-o-sphere. But how about using Blogfests to help you edit your WIP?

When we enter a Blogfest we have to stay within the host bloggers rules, but also within the unwritten rules. The rules on how to get readers genuinely interested in our entry (beyond just scrolling down to leave a generic comment in the hopes that you'll follow them in return! Shame!)

These are going to be pretty familiar:

1. Hook 'em!

You have just a sentence, maybe less, to get a reader to read your piece. So do whatever you need to do, but make us do a double take.

2. Long story short.

Make it not only within the hosts word limit, but within the average persons attention span. Even a phenomenal premise can be dragged out to the point that they'll just sigh and give up. We have posts to write people! General rule of thumb, 400 is in good shape. 1000 words is pushing your luck. A 2000+ word entry needs to sign up for Jenny Craig.

3. Make 'em want More, More, More!

Sorry, couldn't help it. But that's what you need to do. To get them to follow you, they have to be interested in what you'll write next. (Cliffhanger anyone??)

So, what the hell does this have to do with editing you WIP?

Everything.

Try going through, one scene at a time, and think of each one as a blogfest entry.

What would the theme of the blogfest be? Did I capture that, or go off on a tangent? Did I make the point I was supposed to make?

Do I honestly think this would be a good contender in a Blogfest?

And of course, following the three unwritten rules of blogfesting will put your MS on a crash diet and your plot will end up as tight as Mike "The Situation"s glowing orange abs.

Plus the inherent benefit of blogfest ready scenes.... they make for insta-entries! Haha! I often use scenes from my WIP when the 'fest is relevant. And that means I get plenty of encouragement and feedback on my WIP! Yay!

So, tell me- Do you use your MS in Blogfests? Do you think you can take on the challenge??

And who has Upcoming Blogfests!?? Let me know!

Romance Blogfest Entry! Writing from your other characters POV's is enlightening!

2011-02-15T14:35:00.000-08:00

Here's my entry! Enjoy! : ) Go HERE! to sign up yourself!

This is from the POV of Alex, the main characters boyfriend. It's his account of the first time he met her. In their interaction Alex notices some big red flags, but he's too fascinated with her to care. For now anyways.

It was the last final of the fall semester. I should have been psyched, but I couldn’t focus on anything. All I could think about was this shifty little brunette in the back row. Now that class was over I missed the only chance I’d probably ever get. At a school this size, the odds that I would ever have another class with her were slim. I didn't know what her major was. She'd never even talked to me.

There was an elevator in Philmore Hall, but it was probably seventy years old, so I always took the stairs. But when I walked out of the class she was standing in the rickety elevator, staring right at me. I froze, like a deer in the head lights. Her eyes were electric blue, almost like they were glowing. She reminded me of a hot alien from a sci-fi movie. The type that ends up eating everybody.

She pressed a button, but instead of closing the doors shuddered and stayed open. When she bit her lip my feet started moving all on their own. She raised an eye brow. The idea of being stuck in the elevator was starting to sound pretty good.Her eyes stayed locked on my face until I was standing next to her in the elevator. She just smirked and looked ahead. A bead of sweat slid down the edge of my jaw.

She was not at all my usual type, she was tiny – maybe five feet tall – and pale as a sheet. But she was. . . interesting.It was obvious that I wasn't her type either. Most people had heard of her, and they talked. The guy who sat next to me said she scratched 'Fuck You' onto the hood of his friend Carlos’ Mustang. Everything about her said unstable. Girls like that dated musicians or guys who ride motorcycles. Not me. Not the honors student, church on Sundays, Honda Civic owner.

I fumbled for my keys as we neared the ground floor, twirling them between my fingers. All semester I thought she'd been shooting me glances now and then. I slipped the key ring around my index finger. When the doors opened, I stepped forward and spun the ring. Just as I did, I was able to watch it careen off my finger tip and slide into the thin crevice between the elevator and the floor. Beside me I heard a muted snort. She was laughing at me. Great.

"Crap." I couldn't help it, I laughed. I ran my hand over my head, calculating how long it would take to walk home from Philmore.She looked up at me, "Got a spare?"
"At home" I said.She smiled again,"Hey, don't worry about it. I got it."

I just nodded and started behind her. My pulse was racing, it was embarrassing, but at least I had a reason to talk to her.
“Uh, my name's Alex, by the way.” I said as I caught up to her.She grinned wryly, “I know.”
she paused, “Rocky.”“Yeah, I know.” I smiled to myself. "So, do you have AAA or something?""Nope."I followed her to the parking lot and showed her my clunky car. She nodded, ran her hand over the edge of the door."Hold on." She said. She pulled a small car starter from her pocket and pointed it in the opposite direction.

The lights flickered on a glossy black Infiniti that I had been jealous of all semester morning. Unbelievable. She skipped over to the coupe and crawled into the back seat. Clothing went flying and clear plastic wrapping flew up into the window. All I could see was her little silhouette wrestling around. She came out holding a wire hanger and a piece of wood under her arm. In her hands she was manipulating the wire, straightening it out. Absently she handed me the block, I looked it over in my hands, it was a wedge, painted blue."You have kids?" I asked doubtfully.She laughed once and looked at me sideways, "No, my friend does."

When the wire was straightened out she bent one end with her foot, making it into a hook. She held out her hand for the wood, placing the thin edge in between the seam of the door, and slammed down on the flat end with the heel of her palm. The door was pried open an inch. She threaded the wire into the crack and used it to hook my lock, then popped it open. Rocky looked up at me and put her finger under my chin, pushing my mouth closed.

Impressive, but what good did that do? "But, how am I supposed to –" She held up her finger, dialing her phone in the other hand.

She ducked down under my dashboard, popped the hood, and whipped out her cell phone.

"Hey Lil, where's the solenoid on a Honda?" she waited a moment, "No, of course not, just helping a guy who lost his keys,” she glanced up at me again, “Yup, bye."

A few seconds later and the engine roared to life. She leaned back in my seat and smiled at me. "Tada."

I couldn't believe it, she hot wired my car like it was changing a tire. "Wow, where did you learn how to do that?"She laughed once and shrugged. “You know, just around.”I didn't want to push my luck, so I let it go, “Man, I really owe you.”

“Yeah, you do," She said, "Buy me dinner."

I know, that was a bit on the long side... sorry! I hope you managed to read down this far, and I hope your not disappointed! Let me know what you think and I'll do the same for you!

Just Kiss Already Blog Fest & Show Me the Love Blog Fest entries!

2011-02-15T05:18:00.000-08:00

So here is the set up, Rocky took off the night before to avoid talking about commitment and now she is coming back home. She and Alex have a bit of an awkward silence, but then he breaks the tension:

“Did you really jump out of a window?” It was not actually question, he was laughing. Taken off guard by the shift in tone, I could not hide my smile or prevent myself from snorting. “Hey, it's a balcony, not a window.”He shook his head and laughed again. We were good.I got up off the couch and walked over to the bathroom. The door ajar, it would be easy to see the tub from the sofa. And I knew exactly what I was doing. I shot one cocky glance over my shoulder and leaned in to turn on the shower. Just as the water began to run, two warm arms wrapped around my waist.Heat shot down my neck, his mouth against my skin. Alex crossed his hands over my hips and turned me around. Leaning back for a moment, he looked down at me, trying to read me. I stretched on my tip toes to reach his face again, but he lifted me off my feet, setting me on the edge of the sink, we were eye to eye. Our breathing was ragged. He leaned in but I the guilt was killing me, “I'm sorry.”His face turned slightly so that his mouth grazed my ear, “Don't be,” he touched my cheek, “I love you.” The corners of my eyes ached and my throat felt heavy, “I love you too.” But I can't make you happy, I thought.

So there you have it = ) Let me know what you think! Sorry it's up late!

And for the Show Me the Love Fest from The Writers Cocoon:
1-- What is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you?

Well, just yesterday Justin and I were watching a documentary about evolution from NOVA (a topic we completely disagree on) and after poking fun at each others views he laughed and said, "We're so different, I don't even know how you even like me." I said, "I don't know how you like me!" But then I listed a few things I really do love about him and asked him sheepishly, "Why do you like me?" He said, "Well, I guess because - most of the time- I think you're perfect." He said it so matter-of-fact-ly, it was like he was commenting on my hair color or something. He's not a sappy person, he's an eye roller, so when he said that I just about burst into tears : )

2- What is your favorite love song?

Monica's "Angel of Mine"

3- Do you have a favorite romantic movie or book?

Favorite movies have to be Romeo + Juliet and Crazy/Beautiful

4- Do you have any romantic plans for Valentine's Day this year?

I made risotto for the first time (terrifying!)

5- What's your favorite romantic treat? (candy, chocolate, edible body paint, etc...)

Anything I can eat when I'm curled up with him is my favorite treat.

Ever Notice How Bizarre Fairy Tales Are? Lessons In Originality From The Classics

2011-02-13T12:09:00.000-08:00

Writing about love is not easy. We have our own experiences or our childhood to draw on. And fairy tales have infused themselves into who we are, even after we're all grown up. But what can we learn from these stories in our writing?

At first glance, not much. They are the epitome of archetypes, right? How can we possibly get something fresh from 400 year old classics?

A lot. Consider this, if we're tempted to write about our own love stories, what are some of the usual ingredients?

- Mutual friends

- Restaurants

- Movie theaters

- Merging your furniture

Yawn.

But fairy tales are bizarre, if you really pay attention to them. Take yourself out of the cultural fish bowl that taught you to expect these stories and follow me into the weird world of our childhood fairy tales.

Snow White:

These are the ingredients for that story (without factoring in magic):

Homicidal step parents with low self esteem
Little people
Attempted murder, by fruit
A stranger groping a coma patient in the woods

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not interested in bashing the story (though it's an easy target). What I'm saying is, look at how freakin' weird it is! And yet it's a classic. Why? Because it's so freakin' weird.

Other fairy tales have an odd collection of common features:

Marrying a man she literally just met (Something that 90's sitcom Dharma & Greg worked into a hit!)
Men kissing unconscious girls they don't know. . . and it's the antidote to comas??
Killer step mothers! (Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White. . .)
The story cuts off as soon as they get hitched
Children who run away from home and break into peoples houses (Snow White, Goldy Locks, Hansel & Gretel)

These are far from the only weird features in our classic stories. But it's a start. Now how do you utilize these quirky factors to improve your own work? Here are the lessons:

Be WEIRDER!

Take it up a notch and stop being so damn normal. And I'm not talking to the fantasy writers, I'm talking to writers of the magic-free manuscripts. It needs to be new. Weird is new.

Be TABOO!

Don't just play with taboos, laugh in their faces and show them off. Raised eyebrows are page turning eye brows.

Take it and RUN!

Take these stories and twist them, turn them, reinvent them! Take the basic elements of Hansel and Gretel and put it in Central Park today and BAM you have a super creepy thriller/horror story. Or pick up where sleeping beauty left off, but watch their marriage deteriorate into a messy divorce. It can be as a short story, a creativity exercise, or a whole MS.

SO you tell me, what could you do with these stories? Which one do you think is just off the wall?

5 Curve Balls You Can Throw at That "Sagging Middle"

2011-02-07T09:22:00.000-08:00

So, you have a great beginning and a great ending. But what about the journey from start to finish? Do you have the dreaded sagging middle?

I think we've all hit that wall where we say, "Holy crap! How the hell do I fill this 6 month gap? Where did this even come from?"

Oh yeah, I've sooooo been there. But instead of letting it drag down my plot, I threw a curve ball at the main characters sister. I knocked her up!

Some events are package deals, with tons of extra scenes included. Here are some good ones:

Getting Married:
This event doesn't have to be a joyous occasion. It could be the characters father marrying a gold-digging tramp half his age. Or maybe it is a good thing, perhaps your MC's parents fall back in love after years of divorce.

The Proposal
Dress shopping (for female characters)
Stag and Hen Parties
The Wedding day
The Honeymoon

Death:
This event is generally always a bad thing, but hey it's bound to be eventful.

The COD (cause of death)
Trying to save/revive the character
The emotional fall out
The funeral

Pregnancy:
Like a wedding, this is not always a happy occasion. One mans bundle of joy is another mans bundle of poop.

Conception
Missing her period
The pregnancy test
Announcing the news
Nine whole months of potential disasters! (And a miscarriage is pretty dramatic too.)
The Birth, of course!
Parenthood

Divorce:

The MC's best friend? Mom and Dad? Brother? Bitchy boss who totally had it coming?

The problems that lead up to it
Breaking the news to the spouse
Telling friends and family
The awkward period before the move
Moving out
The court battles

Affairs:

Now this could be it's own book, but it could also be that little spicy element you need to punch up your story.

The red flags
The deteriorating relationship
The discovery
The confrontation or confession
The fall out (make up or break up)
How things turn out with the "other man/woman"

Now, these are huge events that might not work into your main characters path. But to have a secondary character go through it is eventful enough to keep the plot moving without throwing your story off track.

However...

It's a very fine line. Adding a new story line should move the main plot forward, not lead you off on a tangent. I chose to knock up my MC's baby sister because it was the catalyst I was looking for.

So tell me, what kinds of events have you used to spice it up? Are you struggling with a sagging middle?

Lessons in Effortless Plotting from Death at a Funeral

2011-02-05T12:50:00.000-08:00

Our manuscripts are either character driven or plot driven. But a single event can be the center of a plot, a world, and your novel. Death at a Funeral is a great example of how this can be done.

The loosely connected story lines of a British family are gathered together in the English countryside for the family patriarchs funeral. Each story line begins to weave tighter and tighter as they converge on the old country estate.

The key is that these individual story lines are only supplementary. The real story is centered around the secret that almost went with him to the grave.

The down fall in many of our manuscripts is a nasty case of over-complication. We often have a main plot and then as we add more characters, their lives start to become a force of nature.
When this happens, the main plot disappears in the confusion and no one will care to wade through the slush to find it for you. So clean it up and let the real plot shine through.

The real magic of Death at a Funeral is the laugh-so-hard-you-can't-breathe brand of dry British humor that doesn't let up from start to finish. So I beg you, go rent this movie and keep an oxygen tank handy in case you can't catch your breath.

So why not take a second look at our own manuscripts and ask; Is there a single event that my entire story is centered on? Can pear down my other story lines? Or is there an event that I could build a new story around?

Want Scrivener for FREE? Oh yea!

2011-02-03T12:03:00.000-08:00

So you may have heard of a little juggernaut called Scrivener? Right. It's awesome. Yet at $50 a pop, many of us just can't afford this luxury. Until now.

Scrivener has a Beta version for Windows! So, sure, we may have to put up with a few bugs, but hey it's free! So if you're as excited to use Scrivener for free, click Here!

If you haven't heard of it before, here's a little rundown for you. It has a virtual cork board for index cards (oh my god!), it helps you store all of your notes, ideas, and even your research. You could literally write your whole manuscript on this thing!

Today is my birthday! I'm 22... how... anticlimactic

2011-02-02T11:10:00.000-08:00

22 is the very first birthday that means nothing at all. I can already drink, I'm able to vote, I've been out of my teens for 2 years, I can drive... It's all down hill from here.

And as my father so characteristically explained to me at my birthday dinner, "Hey, 30 is big. It's like a huge slap in the face to realize you'll never be 'in your twenties' ever again. And it's worse than 40, be cause by then you're already used to feeling old." Thanks Dad.

So anyhow, I'm enjoying the Snowpocolypse or Snowmaggedon... or what ever. Yay for blizzards, stay safe!

Why You'll Hate My Blog

2011-01-29T15:15:00.000-08:00

When it comes down to it, we all kind of suck. There's always someone better, meaning we're pretty far down the list. But this is why I am the suckiest of them all:

I shamelessly use any ingenious idea I see. And I don't even say I'm sorry. (Gasp!) Such as this post, which I totally stole from the very talented Danny Brown. Nope, still not sorry.
You won't find any posts on how to use Twitter because I don't use Twitter. That's right, I am neither a Twit nor a Twat.
I have a pretty foul mouth, and I like it thank you very much.
I hate trends.
I love Twilight.
Contradicting myself is but one of my many talents
I'm the epitome of an amateur writer. I'm not even out of undergrad yet, and on top of that neither one of my degree's is even remotely related to literature.
The filter between my brain and my mouth (and keyboard) has been out-of-order since I was 4.
Not surprisingly I don't bother proof reading my blog posts. This leads to blatant typos and I don't honestly care.
I have no real authority to write a how-to article on writing. . . and yet that's the bulk of what I blog about.
I couldn't care less what people who don't like my stuff think. But to those who do, I LOVE YOU and I live to please you!
I'm a bit melodramatic.

So tell me, why do YOU hate my blog? Why should I hate YOUR blog? And, just for fun, how many people think I am actually sucky for any of the above reasons?

7 Reasons You Should Stop Writing. . . For a While

2011-01-28T12:28:00.000-08:00

Just having been on a hiatus myself, here's what I've learned:

1. Hindsight is 20/20

When you're constantly scouring over your MS and living inside that world, you cannot step outside of it. No matter what you do, you will always be too attached to that world unless you leave it. Take a month or two off! Throw it in a closet and lock the door. I promise when you go back it's like finding a diary from junior high... sweet and nostalgic, but seriously, what the hell was I thinking? And just like that, you have found your inner editor.

2. Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder.

At the beginning of an MS it feels like you could write and write forever. If you could, you'd blow this Popsicle stand and live in it. Beautiful thing, isn't it? Yeah. Until you want to bludgeon your characters to death with a sledgehammer and let a tornado loose through their town. If you take time off, that exhilarating new story high can be yours again, just let it build. Your muse is saying, "I think maybe we should, you know, see other people. . ."

3. Ideas Need to Incubate

Damn it! Those first ideas were amazing, so why does everything suddenly suck?? Because you're grasping at straws. Let yourself restock. Ideas are not like indoor plumbing. Stop pushing for a month or two and your creativity will be able to replenish itself. Otherwise you'll just continue to get one crappy idea after another.

4. Get a (less solitary) Life!

Okay, back away from the keyboard. That's it. . . nice and slow. Now pick up your cell phone. . . yes, there you go. . . Now call your old friends - no, not your crit group - uh huh, yes, those friends. . .

5. Read Someone Else

We learn from the best, right? No.
We desperately (even if subconsciously) try to mimic them. And we fail, but that's okay. As long as we're not deluding ourselves into believing that we're a literary Rain Man. If you're head is buried in your MS, you'll never be able to get any value from other books you read because you'll be comparing it to your work. So take some time to immerse yourself in someone else's worlds and stay out of yours. If not, their influences will seep into your MS and suddenly it sounds like Chapter 5 was written by Stephen King and Chapter 12 is from a David Sedaris collection.

6. Stop Procrastinating (So that you can procrastinate in peace!)

Remember when your MS was a sweet indulgence? Ugh, but now there is a carpet of laundry where the hardwood used to be. And just the idea of sifting through your inbox gives you a panic attack. So, now writing has become a shamefully guilty pleasure (if it's even a pleasure anymore). That can't be healthy . . . so get back on the wagon for a while okay? Once you've checked off the last to-do on your list, writing will be fun again.

7. Find A New Passion (For Now)

The accumulation of our experiences drive our creativity. We pull our inspiration from things that fascinate us, but we execute them best when we know what the heck we're talking about. I love languages, it's sort of my thing, and in the past two months I've started taking Italian 103 in college and I've been teaching myself Russian for fun. Coincidentally, this will help me now that I'm jumping back into my MS. Learning two new languages was like hitting a crack pipe, I couldn't get enough! And as the novelty high is waning, I'm craving my MS like I used to.

And now for my awesome Kindle trick!
If you have a Kindle (I got mine for Christmas!) and you're an aspiring writer... you're gonna love this. As you may know, you can send personal documents to your Kindle (if it's got wifi or 3G). I was delighted to discover that when I sent my MS to my Kindle, it looked like a real book! It is automatically formatted the same way as any other novel from Amazon. I just about died. It's obviously not quite as good as having a hardcover copy in hand, but hey it's good enough for me! It is the ultimate confidence booster and great if you want to edit. Just thought I'd geek out for a moment and share that with you ; )

So have you ever taken a break? How long? What was it like reading your MS again for the first time?

I'm Not Dead Yet

2011-01-27T12:50:00.000-08:00

My inner writer has started throwing quite a fit lately. Can't blame her since I've been completely neglecting it. Now that the semester is back in full swing I think I'm finally getting settled down enough to start back with blogging and my MS! YAY! And in other news, I am taking Italian this semester and kicking ass at it! I have to go to work now (blah) but count on seeing a real post from me very soon... I have a lot to say and I'm dying to get back in business.

Still Alive!

2010-12-29T22:03:00.000-08:00

Sorry I've been MIA for a while! It's been a very busy holiday up in New York with zero internet access. But I'm home now : ) and ready to jump back into the blog world head first... well, after a good nights sleep. I'll be posting something (probably my contest winners prizes) within the next 24 hours. See you soon.

Blogfeast Winners!

2010-12-19T14:39:00.000-08:00

Well, I know it's coming quite late, had a very overwhelming week, but here are the winners of my Blogfeast!
I will begin work on your prizes tonight!! So exiting!

1st Place:

Rachel!

she wins both a full chapter crit and a "character interview"!

2nd Place:

L'aussie!

she wilns either a character interview or a full chapter crit, her choice

Two very exciting stories with some fantastic twists!! Read and enjoy : ) And honorable mentions go to:

Remy Broussards Christmas By Kittie Howard

Gordon and Mollie by Cheeky Su

Secrets = Plot Twists! Come See The Stories Entered in The Blogfeast!

2010-12-13T00:00:00.000-08:00

So, these are the stories that came from my blogfeast! It was a pretty small turnout (Curse you NaNoWriMo!) but these are still GREAT stories! I had a ton of fun reading them. Life is a smidge hectic for me this week, finals week is here. But, I will be posting the Top 2 (Originally 3, but with the small turn out and my lack of a co-host two prizes will be given) in the next day or two... so here are the stories! Read, comment, follow! And come back here and tell me who you'd like to see in the top!

The rules, by the way, were to write 1,500 words max of fiction that involved a holiday and a family secret. The prizes are awesome and are listed Here.

You can read my story (which is obviously not up for the prizes) at the very bottom of THIS post, "Buns and Ovens"

(in order from the Linky List)

Remy Broussards Christmas By Kittie Howard

(Untitled) Rachel

Family Secrets Revealed at Thanksgiving by L'Aussie

Gordon and Mollie by Cheeky Su

Thank you everybody who entered! You rocked : ) Don't forget to come back and see who won!

Spurt of Inspiration: Possible Titles

2010-12-10T10:21:00.000-08:00

For those of you who've read parts of my MS, you may know that it has the working title Rebel in Remission. I'm not exactly a huge fan of that title, I think it just sounds too... um.... I just don't like it. But, I had a thought.
How do you like this:

Or Should I Go?

If you're not familiar with my WIP, what do you think of a title for a book like that? If it were a movie title, what would you think? Hmm.. I guess it's not the most spectacular thing ever, but I kinda like it.

And don't forget! My Blogfeast is still on, til the 12th!

Award Give Away! I'm Fair Dinkum Are You?

2010-12-09T13:07:00.000-08:00

So, curiously enough, I discovered L'aussie from L'aussie Writing has given me an award : ) Yay. But I'm still not sure what it's for hehe, I think that's sort of the point though. It's called Fair Dinkum, she seems to have given it out to good commenters. So, I instantly knew exactly who I would nominate next:

Shannon!

She's a brand new blogger and after only a few hours of following my blog she'd already commented on 5 or 6 of my posts!! She's awesome!

Her blog is brand spankin' new, and from what I can see so far, I like it! It's called On Writing: Voyeristic Explorers Unite! Here's her blurb:

A place to explore the frightening and savagely interesting world around us through a writers' lens, pick apart other novelists' skills, and bring together all sorts of useful tips, tricks, and research.

So GO! Check her out and follow! Click Here!

And p.s. my Holiday Blogfeast is still open for entry! You have until December 12th (This Sunday!) to enter the contest (PRIZES!!) and you can get more followers without doing anything but leave a comment! So GO HERE!!!

How Push the Envelope: A Lesson in Irony from "Weeds" & "Dexter"

2010-12-06T17:30:00.000-08:00

Drug dealing soccer mom = Genius. Readers love irony. Humor and controversy are often born in irony. And best of all, it sets up for endless plot twists, literary gold.

"Weeds" and "Dexter" are both smash hits from Showtime. Both shows have developed enormous cult followings because they have mastered the art of IRONY. The beauty is that the irony lies in the main characters themselves.

In "Weeds", main character Nancy Botwin is a mother of two, living in the wealthy California suburb of Agrestic. Only, she's a widow now. Her husband, Judah, died of a heart attack. Desperate to keep their lifestyle intact, she resorts to a very interesting new career. Weed dealer.

In "Dexter", there is a regular guy named, you guessed it, Dexter. He is a blood spatter analyst for the Miami PD. Oh, and he's a serial killer. Who does he hunt? Serial killers.

Now, it's obvious when we read these plots that they're the pinnacle of perfection. But WHY? What is the formula? Why are they so damn great??

Well here it is:

The key to intrigue is:

A B

Seemingly Normal Person + Social Taboo = Intrigue

But this isn't enough. This is good, but it will likely give you an unlikeable character. In fiction, your MC must be someone we care about. We don't have to think he's perfect (that's bad too), but we have to be on his side.

This is what will happen with the Intrigue Formula alone:

Or worse:

Here are the keys:

The circumstances must make it plausible to justify their actions (And their personality must be funny and witty, so we'll want to justify whatever crazy thing they do.)
A and B must be EXACT opposites.
The MC's involvement with the taboo must be kept secret

So this is what it looks like:

A B C

Seemingly Normal Person + Social Taboo + Sympathetic Circumstances = GENIUS

And

This is how it's done. Balance. And genuine talent of course. It's not all about a gimmick, you have to have a truly fantastic character to back it up. These characters are really amazing. I highly recommend renting the first seasons of either one and taking some notes, there is tons we can learn from Dexter and Nancy.

And fun fact: The definition of the word Agrestic (the name of Nancy's cozy suburb) is a rude, classless person. Isn't irony fun?

And don't forget! My Holiday Blogfeast has been extended through December 12th! So go sign up Here!

Holiday Blogfeast Extended! PRIZES and Followers!

2010-12-05T16:31:00.000-08:00

I'm extending my deadline for the Blogfeast because Nano hijacked the whole month of November. And the flu kicked my sorry ass during the first week of December. I need more time for promotion and you all probably just crawled out from under the death grip of Nanowrimo. Sooooo, the new date for the end of my ~~Thanksgiving~~ HOLIDAY Blogfeast is....

12-12-10 at 12am EST
as in Sunday the 12th at midnight!

GO HERE to sign up for either the blogfest or the contest or both!

Jump Back into the Blog-o-Sphere after Nano With A Blogfeast!

2010-11-30T11:43:00.000-08:00

Nano is coming to a close and people are plugging back in! Yay! Her's a great way to do it, Erica's Thanksgiving Blogfeast!! Yes, Thanksgiving is over, but think of it as more of a holiday season theme

There is a contest with three possible prizes and also a blog hop for those who just want to find new blogs to follow and of course gain more followers.

Join now, the contest portion will be judged on December 7th! Happy Blogging!

Thanksgiving BlogFeast & Contest-- Something For Everyone!

2010-11-25T06:31:00.000-08:00

Hey all, a very happy Thanksgiving! Just a reminder that my Blogfeast is up and running! Go HERE!!to sign up for the CONTEST and/or the BLOGFEAST portions! Both are open to all, the contest involves each contestant writing a short piece of fiction. The blogfeast will help promote your blogs (meaning more traffic and more followers!).

Personally I would like to say what I'm thankful for this year in photos :o)

Last Thanksgiving

My boyfriend and I celebrated our 5 year anniversary in May 2010. We've been together since we were just 16 and 17 : ) He's my best friend.

Thanksgiving 2008 I'm far left, second row

My crazy family. I love the crap out of them.

Sitting upright watching TV

what he does when he wants attention.

My hilarious new cat Milo. He is more of a dog... or at least he acts like one.

And of course all of my friends, who I don't have all in one picture and I'm going to be late for thanksgiving, gotta go!

Want TONS of Followers? Prizes? Erica's Holiday Blogfeast & Contest!!

2010-11-20T15:46:00.000-08:00

My ~~Thanksgiving~~ Holiday Blogfeast is doing double duty! Gain tons of followers fast and a chance to win a contest!

I'm so excited that I'm opening the Linkey List two days early!! Yay! Thanksgiving is all about family and food. And what is the best thing about family?

Family Secrets.

What is the best thing about food?

Duh, eating!

So this is a two part Blogfeast! First, "bring" a tasty Thanksgiving dish (meet new bloggers). Second, write about the Holiday prompt (to win the contest!). You can do one or both parts, whatever you like.

Part 1: Food for Followers!

Here's how it works:

* be a Follower here

* Tell us what food you'll bring in your comment, link your blog, and tell us in one sentence what you blog about. On your blog, if you like, you can post a recipe of your dish.

* Visit 3 new blogs and say hello with a comment. Follow if you like it.

** Please go up to the top of this post and click Facebook or Twitter to spread the word! Or better yet, blog about it or add the badge to your sidebar! The more we have, the more new followers everyone will get!

Part 2: Family Secret Writing Contest! (PRIZES!)

Here's how you enter:

1. Sign up on the Linky List

2. Write your entry and post it on your blog

3. Post your story by 9:00pm US Eastern Time on the 12th of December

Entry Guidelines:

- Write a work of fiction involving a family secret and ~~Thanksgiving~~ any Holiday

- 1,500 words max.

- Any genre, any age group.

-Blog, tweet, facebook, and/or badge the contest and include the link in your comment so it can be verified.

The Top 5 will be selected and the readers will vote for their favorites, the top 3 will win prizes (Ooooh, Ahhhh)

Prizes??

Top Prize is Top Secret! Buuut, the second two are:

2nd A full Chapter Critique

3rd The very first "Character Interview" from Hypothetically Speaking!

This is where I "interview" your MC about your MS, critique your first page, and post it on HS for commenter's to give feed back!

Here's mine! Of course, it isn't up for the prize : ) It's the most recent section from my MS Rebel in Remission.

Thanksgiving was the only time our house ever smelled like American food.

“What? My family can't cook, and I'm not going to pretend they can.”

Behind the food was a line of the best selection of imported spirits and beers in the city. Manned by the worlds best team of bar tenders, my grandmothers. Russia and Ireland may not be known for their food, but I was born and bred to drink.

In front of me, Gabby tried to fend off Babushka in broken Russian. She was trying to say, “I'm not legal yet grandma!” but it came out more like, “My grandma is a criminal!”

“Oh Gabby, don't be such a wuss. Take the damn shot and make her happy.”

“Nick, take this.”

She handed the glass to her boyfriend and marched to her seat in the middle of the table. After drinking Gabby's shot, Nick was doubled over catching his breath, so I took the opportunity to dump my shot into his glass and patted him on the back.

We bowed our heads, and I mumbled along with prays in both Russian and English before picking through my dinner. Thank God for store bought deserts.

My Parents sat next to each other across from Alex and I down at the end of the table, my Dad across from me. They were holding hands and whispering to each other, off in their own little world.

Next to Alex, Babushka rambled on and on in Russian. Down at the end Grandma McAllister, Aunt Shannon and Uncle Danny were howling so loud that my parents eventually joined in.

And as usual, I watched. Gabby and Nick were normally the center of it all, playing the happy hosts, like a younger version of my parents. But tonight, even in the middle of the table, they could have been invisible. Except to me.

Gabby just stared up at Nick, but not like a puppy, she was scared. Nick was a statue. He stared towards her, but not at her.

How was no one else seeing this?

“Who wants desert?!” My mother yelled, holding her wine glass in the air. Everyone cheered and laughed.

She came back holding a pecan pie in one hand, a chocolate cake in the other, and a tower of desert plates balanced on her forearm. The stem of her wine glass between her fingers. When the cake hit the table, Nick and Gabby came to life and started cracking jokes with my Uncle Danny.

I loaded up on cake only to realize that my mother forgot the milk. So I ran to the kitchen. When I opened the refrigerator, I heard my mother shushing people. Another toast?

I wandered back into the dining room, but instead of my mother, Nick was standing. My sister's hand squeezing his. I stayed in the doorway and waited for his toast.

“Well, Happy Thanksgiving!” He said, clearing his throat, “I wanted to thank you for inviting me to spend the holiday with your family.” He paused again, loosening his tie with his other hand.

“Um, I wanted to make this special,” He turned, and pulled my sister to her feet, “Gabrielle McAllister, I love you. I want to start a family with you, will you marry me?”

No way.

He pulled a boulder sized diamond from his shirt pocket and slid it onto Gabby's finger before she even opened her mouth.

She nodded and started to cry into his shoulder. The whole room erupted into applause, except for three people. In a moment like that, you can see the entire truth all over a persons face.

Alex looked at me, his eyes wide. He was cringing, waiting for my reaction.

Gabby pulled herself together and said, “We're pregnant!”

The women in my family raced around the table and started fighting for the first hug.

Finally, I looked at my father. He was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. Staring ahead. His jaw was clenched so tightly that I could see the joints move as his teeth ground back and forth.

Interesting.

Everyone migrated into the kitchen with their deserts, surrounding either Nick by the island or Gabby at the table. Alex and my dad choose Nick, though neither one of them said a word to him. My uncle was teasing him enough for both of them anyways.

I sat at the end of the kitchen table eating my cake and minding my own business.

“You're just glowing sweetie! God, I should've known!” Aunt Shannon gushed. She never had kids, so she didn't give a damn that Gabby was barely legal or an unwed catholic.

Shannon turned towards me, “And what about you, Little Miss Rebel? Are you going to give me nieces and nephews? Sure you're young now but before you know it, it'll be too late!”

I chocked on my cake, spewing brown crumbs all over my plate. Late? I laughed once and excused myself.

I ran up the stairs, almost taking myself out on the banister.

Right in front of my mothers medicine cabinet was a pink box of pregnancy tests.

I was supposed to wait three minutes. But looking at the stupid thing was making me sick, so I wrapped it in toilet paper and brought it back to my room. I set the test on my dresser and turned to the side. My stomach was flat as a board. Of course not, I wouldn't be showing yet anyways. Were my boobs bigger? Shit, they were bigger. Maybe half a cup size.

I couldn't be in there. As I headed back to the kitchen, Gabby was coming up the stairs.

“You okay? You spit cake everywhere.”

“Yeah, what are you doing up here?”

“Uncle Danny used the down stairs bathroom,” she cringed, “And I have to pee.” She patted her belly.

When I walked back into the dining room, my mother and Aunt Shannon waved me over.

My mothers mascara was running down her cheeks faster than she could wipe it away. “Isn't this wonderful? She's due in May!”

“Yeah, fantastic.”

I picked up an empty shot glass and ran my fingers around the rim. I wished that I'd taken my shot when I had the chance.

“She's going to look so adorable in her wedding dress!”

“Adorable? When are they getting married?”

“Gabby wants a Valentines Day wedding.” Shannon said.

“Of course she does.” I rolled my eyes.

“It will be such fun looking for places with you and your sister! We will start in a week or two, so clear your weekends!” My mother raised her glass for another toast. I was going to vomit.

“I have to piss.”

My head felt like a balloon floating above my body on a long string and I dragged my stomach behind me. I closed my door behind me and stared at the wad of toilet paper on my dresser. This couldn't be happening to me. It was stupid, I was just a few days late. No big deal.

I took a breath and unwrapped the test. But I set it face down on the dresser first. To breathe a few more times. Okay.

I flipped the test over and saw two bright pink lines.

Oh God.

“Shit!” I lunged towards the garbage can next to my desk and threw up.

Could I still take that Plan B pill? No, no that was for before this part. Damn it! What the hell was I supposed to do now? I saw myself six months pregnant, then giving birth, and sitting with Lilly at the playground wearing clothes from the Dollar Tree. Then I saw myself wearing a wedding dress. I almost threw up again.

Would I be able live with myself if I got an abortion?

I put my head between my knees and started to hyperventilate when my closet door flew open.

“Ha! You're such a freaking spaz!” Gabby squealed.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” I gasped.

“Gotcha!” She said, tossing something across the room at me.

A pregnancy test skidded across the floor and stopped at my feet. One line. Negative.

“What did you do?” I hissed.

“I'll take that thank you.” She snatched the positive pregnancy test out of my hand and stuck her tongue out.

“Are you serious? You crazy bitch!” I jumped to my feet, ready to tackle her. But I stopped, forcing my hands into fists and breathing through my nose.

“Jesus, Gabby if you weren't knocked up, I would kill you!”

Gabby backed up, glaring at me. “Learn to take a freaking joke!”

“I'm going to sleep. Get out.”

“Whatever.”

She slammed the door behind her. I collapsed on my old bed and started to cry. My relationship with Alex was a mistake. A very selfish mistake

Top 5 MISTAKES Made When: Choosing A Critique Partner

2010-11-19T06:51:00.000-08:00

It's tough to find someone to read your manuscript. Not only do you have to find someone who is willing to curl up with your book-to-be, you have to find someone you feel comfortable with. It's a touchy subject after all.

Mind you, what I'm talking about is a critique partner. This is more than just someone who reads your MS, this is someone who meticulously works through your book with a fine tooth comb. Often, but not always, you trade MS's with your crit partner. Because we're all nervous and excited, we tend to choose the wrong partners.

1. Your Mom (or dad, or spouse, best friend...)

I know, they seem so perfect! They know you so well, they love you dearly, and they want you to be happy. So we think they'll be willing to support my dreams by reading my MS, bingo, right? Nope. While they'll usually be happy to help, they can't. Here's why:

They love you. Meaning they think you're wonderful, they're biased. Also, if they do see past the rose colored glasses, they won't want to hurt your feelings.
Knowing you is not a qualification. I'm sure they are really smart and perhaps well read, but unless you're living with a Random House employee, they're not the best reader. And if they are qualified. . . the first bullet still applies.

2. Someone You Don't Respect

It's a bit harsh, but we've all seen it. Whether on a site that helps with query's or in a forum that posts excerpts or where ever, there are tons of people writing out there who. . . suck. Yes, I said it. And if you can't read their logline without shaking your head, they won't work as a beta. Here's why:

You won't take their criticism seriously. And why should you? They can't see anything of value when they have their head wedged firmly between their butt cheeks. You will roll your eyes and think, Oh shut up. You can't tell the difference between foreshadowing and a hole in the ground. Moron.
You'll have to suffer through their MS. Why bother? You'll just have to lie anyways, if you tell them what you really think, well, kiss that reader good bye.

3. A Busy Bee

Yes, if by chance someone who isn't close to you and isn't a box of rocks agrees to read for you, it's a joyous occasion. Buuuut, do they really have the time? If not, it's a waste of energy for both of you. Beta reading is quite the time suck. It's not just reading a book, they have to pay attention and make notes. It's like school. Ack.

They won't be invested. After a chapter or two, you may notice that they point out "plot holes" that don't exist. This is because they forgot much of what they've read and they're confused. Beta reading requires the same fervor as reading a great book for fun. They need to be invested in your story.
They can't hash it out with you. They have stuff to do. And, unlike us, they do it. If they can't indulge in a deep conversation/email exchange discussing the nitty gritty of your story, you're missing out.

4. They Don't Care For You're Genre/Style

While they don't have to adore the genre you're writing, they have to at least like it. Think about it, if they wouldn't consider reading it for leisure, why the heck would they put hours and hours of effort into reading an unedited version of it? Maybe because they really want you to critique for them or maybe they don't realize what they're getting into, either way you loose. Here's why:

They Don't Know What to Look for: There are nuances in every genre/age group, little unwritten rules. Because they don't know what to look for, they won't be able to catch it when you execute these finer points well, and they may miss some big mistakes. For example, the whole Steampunk area, very interesting group. I have almost no clue what it is, but I've heard a couple things. I would be a terrible crit partner for a Steampunk novel.
They Don't Get It: We all have a style and a voice, in my MS, the tone is very gritty, dark, and sarcastic. The characters are in their early twenties, so there is swearing, illegal activities, and premarital sex. A crit partner who writes Christian MG might not like my stuff. What can be seen as a no-no by writers/readers of one genre are totally fine or even characteristic of another genre. Put simply, Micheal Moore wouldn't have Sarah Palin as his crit partner.

5. You Aren't Right For Them!

If you fall under any of the above 4 categories, it's not gonna work (though readers of my blog are - by definition -geniuses so obviously none of you would fall under #2). You have to be a team, that's why they call them Critique Partners. If you aren't right for them, don't fake it. Tell them that you're not the best person to critique their work for whatever reason, you never know, they may still crit for you.

There you have it! The Top 5 Mistakes of Choosing a Crit Partner.

Don't forget, my Thanksgiving Blogfeast is coming on November 22nd!

Also, Rebel In Remissio, my MS, is now on chapter 7 under the tab at the top : )

5 Amazing Blogs You Should Follow ASAP (And My Shiny New Award)

2010-11-14T19:56:00.001-08:00

I was given a Versatile Blogger award by L'Aussie today : ) YES! I've been wanting this bad boy for the longest!! And as it goes... I will be awarding some other great blogs with this award! Trust me, you HAVE to visit these guys, they're fun to read and unbelievably helpful.

Jody Hedlund

I've only followed her for a couple of days now, but her articles have already made it into my bookmarks bar twice! She's got some seriously great advice for writing! This is a link to advice for scene writing.

Copy Blogger

Great advice for blogging and writing! Articles are jam packed with how-to's!!! Amazing!

Lost In Singledom

FUNNY! Oh my god, this blog will have you rolling. Though it's not about writing, it's the perfect place to take a break and get a good belly laugh goin'.

Plot Whisperer

Um, hello? Check out the name! She's Cesar Milan with a key board. And she doesn't need me singin' her praises, she's one of the 101 best writers websites according to Writersdigest.com

Joanna St. James

Now if anyone should write a memoir, it's Joanna St. James! She picked up her life and moved to FRANCE. Can we all say jealous?? I think so. She's a writer in the most inspiring place on earth, so it's no surprise that she's one of my favorites : )

So that's the list! On two other notes.... Don't forget to come back on November 22nd for my Thanksgiving Blogfeast!! A great way to gain tons of followers and win prizes. . . take a look HERE

Also, I've been working my butt off on my manuscript "Rebel In Remission" and I just posted chapter 7! Check it out (along with the rest of my MS) by clicking on the tab at the top that says Ch 1-7 of my MS.

5 Fun Ways to Show YOUR Uncooperative Characters Who's Boss

2010-11-11T14:00:00.000-08:00

Have you ever had a character that just wouldn't listen to reason? The ones who throw a tantrum in the middle of your Muses glorious good day? Yes, that's the day when you are tempted to drop a piano on said character. Until you remember that it's your MC. . . and the story is in first person. Damn! You think, "What!? I created you! You ungrateful little--"

Well, there are two big ways these characters can go rouge:

1. Breaking rank and doing their own thing (as in: not what you planned in a million years):

"I don't want to go to Stanford! I want to get knocked up by the smokin' hot mail man!"

2. Refusing to do anything at all:

"Eh, I dunno writer man/lady . . . what do you wanna do today?"

Both of these are serious problems. Number 1 is a pain in the ass, but at least there's something to write! It's number 2 that will really make your laptop fly through the window.

So what do you do now? Well, that can be more fun than you think:

1. Walk A Mile In Their Shoes:

Get up tomorrow (or right now) and be your character. If they would wear sneakers and sweat pants, then that's what you'll wear. Your hair, make up (if applicable), and breakfast are now dictated by your character. Think with that voice, act on that personality, and let them take the wheel for a while. How would they react to a rude waitress? What kinds of judgments would they make about people around them?

Okay, now this could be a little harder for those of us who have characters of the opposite sex, but hang in there and remember that writers are famous for being a little odd, right? Okay. . . well maybe just try the next one.

2. Day Dream:

For those who cannot legally, sanely, or politely run around in their characters shoes - this one's for you. Instead of staring at a blank screen, kick back and imagine from square one what your character would do when they woke up in the morning and follow them around on a normal day (not where you are in you're story, just a normal day.)

Crank it up a notch: Get up and go through the morning routine as your character. Get into their skin before you write. If they wouldn't be in a house, you can imagine that they've been dropped in your home and think of how they'd react to you're surroundings. What would they think of you? Of you're stuff?

3. (For Number 1's) Go With The Flow:

That crazy off ramp your character's trying to take? Follow them! You don't have to keep it in your MS, but what have you got to loose? It will take you somewhere totally different and maybe there's something usable in there. Or, maybe it's pure genius and you're really on to something great. But unless you follow, you'll never know and God only knows how long you'll be playing tug-of-war with that feisty character.

4. Think Outside The POV:

What POV do you use? First person, Third Person Unlimited...? Switch it up! That's right, I'm not just talking about head hopping, go a step further and change the camera angle. For first person-ers this may give you a look at the big picture, for third person-ers this can give you a chance to see the unseen and find a new way to manipulate it. You can re-write a scene, a chapter, or even write the next scene. No matter what, you'll get something new.

5. Steal The Script:

WWSK?? What would Stephen King do? Or WWDB? What would Dan Brown do? You can do this two ways: the movie way or the hard way.

Movie Way: Take a good movie (to really have some fun try one that's totally outside you're genre) and imagine that your stuck scene morphs into something from that movie. For example, if you're watching Jurassic Park, imagine a T Rex just put his foot through your MC's garage. And Action! It's all about playing. Play with your story and you'll find little diamonds in the rubble left behind.

Hard Way: What would your author of choice do with your story? Let him/her take over your keyboard for a while and see what happens. It doesn't have to stay! That's not the point, just play!

So you tell me, what do you do when your stuck with a bratty MC? What kooky things did/would/will you try from above?

Dare To Be Different! Are You SAYING Something?

2010-11-06T21:13:00.000-07:00

It's no secret that certain genres are more popular than others, that's just business. Right now, they include YA, MG, fantasy, and paranormal. But we also know that our Muses do not preform on demand, not even for cash. So how is it that everyones "muses" are able to get on similar wavelengths?

Well to be honest, they're not. Not that these aren't awesome genres with some fantastic writers, but there are many more writers who write whatever is selling (often the ones who think writing a book is a fun little side project, like redecorating the guest bedroom.) And sure, we all have bills to pay, I just wish there was a little more diversity. You know?

It just irks me. Maybe it's because I'm writing one of the least popular genres in the history of the world. . . so unpopular it was just recently given a name: New Adult. (And not even having a name helped.) Oh well, I've always been the dork in the corner who refuses to play with the cool kids.

So maybe I'll finish my manuscript and no one will touch it because there isn't much of a market for it, oh well. I'll throw it in a shoe box and bide my time. But I really think there's hope for weirdos like me, partly because of one of my favorite writing quotes:

"If there's a book you really want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it."

I think most people like that one, but how many people are really following that advice? I am, but I'm known for doing irrational things. The problem is stagnation. I recently looked over a bunch of queries (I won't name the site) and just about every single one was paranormal or fantasy and YA or MG. One of them was so close to Twilight that I was tempted to ask if it was a joke. I didn't, but man I wanted to.

If that's where your muse takes you, by all means go there. But everyone's muses at the same time? Really? Bull, Muses are not influenced by the bottom line. If they were, we'd all be loaded. There's just a major push (from publishers, agents, and ourselves) to write what people are reading. Unfortunately it can push us away from the other, less popular, ideas we have. Or even make us try to force a story that we wouldn't necessarily write under normal circumstances.

But think about this, the market can't fall in love with what isn't there, so write something new! Vampires didn't used to be the new black, remember those days? Yeah, I know, it's been a while.

The way I see it, it's like going to a party, there's always a few groups of people crowded around someone with a great story. So you can stand on your toes and try to join the conversation by the pretzels. Or you can put on a short dress with a loud print and start dancing on the table. Some people will think your nuts, but they're not conversation starters, now are they?

I'd love to see a balance in the market (Bahahaha, are you serious Erica? Never gonna happen!) Yeah, I know. And of course, I want more people to write NA. I'm not going to pretend like that's not part of my reasoning, it is. I'm lonely! Sometimes I feel like the only kid in class who isn't wearing SillyBandz!

I know this is an odd opinion to share when many people reading it are obviously writers of these genres. It may rub some people the wrong way or even down right piss them off, which I can understand. But it's okay, I have a habit of putting my foot in my mouth, and by now I'm used to the taste.

So you tell me, what are you saying in your most recent work(s)? How is what you're saying different? And what would you like to see more of on the best seller lists?

Last Try #4: My Entry in the LogLine Blogfest!

2010-11-01T06:55:00.000-07:00

The first Blogfest of the month is from Chocolate Reality! You can sign up HERE! It's called the Logline Blogfest and there are prizes! The idea of a logline is to show the shit right as it hits the fan, so to speak. Here's the traditional template:

Oh and I'm in the process of writing this thing, so expect a few revisions and at some point the actual one sentence log line.

When [MAIN CHARACTER] [INCITING INCIDENT], he [CONFLICT].

And if he doesn’t [GOAL] he will [CONSEQUENCES].

And here's my entry:

Title: Rebel in Remission

Genre: New Adult

Pathetic Attempt #1:

When Rocky McAllister's finds an engagement ring in the mail, she jumps out of a second story window to escape commitment. She realizes that her loose commitments to Alex and her career are about to tie her down for good. The mounting pressure to settle down begins to unleash the wild child lurking behind her college student veneer. With graduation around the corner, Rocky is forced to choose between who she is and who she loves.

Slightly Less Pathetic Attempt #2:

Rocky is a notorious wild child, so when she falls for Alex, it takes everything she has to lock that part of her away and be a good girlfriend. But when she finds an engagement ring in the mail, she panics and escapes through the window. An unusual Thanksgiving with her family pushes Rocky over the edge and the pressure to settle down begins to unleash the rebel lurking behind the college facade, along with the family secret that fuels it.

Not Thrilled With It Attempt # 3:

Rocky McAllister thought she'd put rebellious past behind her, but when she finds an engagement ring in the mail her normal facade starts cracking and she can't keep her wild side hidden for long.

I feel like when I trimmed it to one (run-on) sentence, I lost way too much... It just seems kind of bare bones to me, but I'm having trouble fitting her personality or her motives into one sentence. HELP! lol

One more time:

Notorious ex-wild child Rocky McAllister starts loosing control when she see's an engagement ring in her boyfriends mail. The family secret she's tried to forget comes bubbling up after an unnerving announcement during Thanksgiving dinner, pushing Rocky over the edge and unleashing the rebel she really is.

Top Secret Blogfest Revealed!

2010-10-31T10:45:00.000-07:00

Coming November 22nd - December 7th to Hypothetically Speaking:

My Thanksgiving Blogfeast will do double duty! Gain tons of followers fast and/or a chance to win a contest!

It will be 1 part Blogfest & 1 part Writing Contest!

PART 1: Feast for Followers!

When the Feast officially goes up on November 22nd, you can "bring" a tasty Thanksgiving dish by introducing yourself and telling us about your blog in the comments. Then tell us what you're bringing to dinner! Then go to at least 3 other blogs and leave a comment (and follow if you like!)

**HINT: If you're not doing the contest portion, do something special or post the recipe for your
dish!

PART 2: Family Secret Writing Contest! (PRIZES!)

The theme will be family secrets! Write up to 1500 words of fiction that involves a family secret and Thanksgiving (or any holiday). Any genre, any age group.

When the Linky List opens on November 22nd please only link to the post that will be your entry!

On December 8th the Top 5 will be selected and the readers will vote for their favorites, the top 3 will win prizes (Ooooh, Ahhhh!)

Prizes will be announced soon! (Hints? Free services! Maybe even a giveaway!)

A MightyMouse Book Review: LIAR by Justine Larbalestair

2010-10-29T18:40:00.000-07:00

The reason I bought LIAR in the first place was because of the controversy over it's original US book cover. (The main character, Micah, is clearly described as African American in the book. Yet the version published in the US had a white girl on the cover because, as the marketers claimed, Black books don't sell.) Obviously, author Justine Larbalestier got her way and the cover was replaced with the gorgeous version to the left.

I am so glad I bought this book! LIAR is one of the most refreshing and quirky books I have read in a very long time.

Micah is a compulsive, convincing, and lovable liar. Well, lovable to the reader at least. She tells us her story, and claims to be coming 100% clean once and for all. She is infamous for her dishonesty at home and at school, where she is an outcast. So when Zach, the boy she is secretly dating, is found dead, everyone wonders if Micah is more than just a serial liar.

As the story unfolds, her honesty becomes more and more questionable. But what did you expect? She told you on page one, she's a lair. Even with the narrators credibility ripped to shreds, Micah is compelling and you'll be rooting for her.

The other unique element of the book is it's quirky format! There aren't any chapters, the book is divided into parts. Within those parts are short chunks of time, just a few pages each. They're labeled Before (as in before Zach's death), After (after Zach's death), and History (hers or her families). It makes for a great pace and some crazy cliff hangers!

I can honestly say, I have never read anything quite like this. My curiosity had me tearing through the book, I needed to know what was true and what was a lie! It will keep you on your toes until the very last page and because of that, LIAR one of the rare books that I can read over and over. I give it a 4.8!

And you'll just have to read it to truly understand what I mean when I say:

You will never believe the ending!

This review brought to you by Mighty Mouse!

On a side note, I am considering a new service on Hypothetically Speaking and I wanted to get your opinions about it! I'm thinking of having a critique service with a twist. I haven't quite figured it out yet but something along the lines of a Main Character vignette. Meaning, the writer introduces the character and the plot in the MC's voice, provides a head shot (if applicable), and gives us a scene that really shows us what their MC is all about. Then I'll critique their excerpt and the MC as a character.

Want TONS of Followers? Prizes? Erica's Thanksgiving Blogfeast & Contest!!

2010-10-27T12:06:00.000-07:00

My Thanksgiving Blogfeast is doing double duty! Gain tons of followers fast and a chance to win a contest!

I'm so excited that I'm opening the Linkey List two days early!! Yay! Thanksgiving is all about family and food. And what is the best thing about family?

Family Secrets.

What is the best thing about food?

Duh, eating!

Here's how it works:

* be a Follower here

* Tell us what food you'll bring in your comment, link your blog, and tell us in one sentence what you blog about. On your blog, if you like, you can post a recipe of your dish.

* Visit 3 new blogs and say hello with a comment. Follow if you like it.

Part 2: Family Secret Writing Contest! (PRIZES!)

Here's how you enter:

1. Sign up on the Linky List

2. Write your entry and post it on your blog

3. Post your story by 9:00pm US Eastern Time on the 7th of December

Entry Guidelines:

- Write a work of fiction involving a family secret and Thanksgiving

- 1,500 words max.

- Any genre, any age group.

-Blog, tweet, facebook, and/or badge the contest and include the link in your comment so it can be verified.

The Top 5 will be selected and the readers will vote for their favorites, the top 3 will win prizes (Ooooh, Ahhhh)

Prizes??
Top Prize is Top Secret! Buuut, the second two are:

2nd A full Chapter Critique

3rd The very first "Character Interview" from Hypothetically Speaking!

This is where I "interview" your MC about your MS, critique your first page, and post it on HS for commenter's to give feed back!

Here's mine! Of course, it isn't up for the prize : ) It's the most recent section from my MS Rebel in Remission.

Thanksgiving was the only time our house ever smelled like American food.

   I dumped half a pound of canned cranberry jelly slices onto my plate next to three dinner rolls and a slab of my Dad's turkey. I turned and saw that Alex's plate was stocked for nuclear fallout. He looked at my plate and shook his head.
   “What? My family can't cook, and I'm not going to pretend they can.”
   Behind the food was a line of the best selection of imported spirits and beers in the city. Manned by the worlds best team of bar tenders, my grandmothers. Russia and Ireland may not be known for their food, but I was born and bred to drink.

   In front of me, Gabby tried to fend off Babushka in broken Russian. She was trying to say, “I'm not legal yet grandma!” but it came out more like, “My grandma is a criminal!”
   “Oh Gabby, don't be such a wuss. Take the damn shot and make her happy.”
“Nick, take this.”
   She handed the glass to her boyfriend and marched to her seat in the middle of the table. After drinking Gabby's shot, Nick was doubled over catching his breath, so I took the opportunity to dump my shot into his glass and patted him on the back.
   We bowed our heads, and I mumbled along with prays in both Russian and English before picking through my dinner. Thank God for store bought deserts.
   My Parents sat next to each other across from Alex and I down at the end of the table, my Dad across from me. They were holding hands and whispering to each other, off in their own little world.
   Next to Alex, Babushka rambled on and on in Russian. Down at the end Grandma McAllister, Aunt Shannon and Uncle Danny were howling so loud that my parents eventually joined in.
   And as usual, I watched. Gabby and Nick were normally the center of it all, playing the happy hosts, like a younger version of my parents. But tonight, even in the middle of the table, they could have been invisible. Except to me.
   Gabby just stared up at Nick, but not like a puppy, she was scared. Nick was a statue. He stared towards her, but not at her.
   How was no one else seeing this?

   “Who wants desert?!” My mother yelled, holding her wine glass in the air. Everyone cheered and laughed.
   She came back holding a pecan pie in one hand, a chocolate cake in the other, and a tower of desert plates balanced on her forearm. The stem of her wine glass between her fingers. When the cake hit the table, Nick and Gabby came to life and started cracking jokes with my Uncle Danny.
   I loaded up on cake only to realize that my mother forgot the milk. So I ran to the kitchen. When I opened the refrigerator, I heard my mother shushing people. Another toast?
   I wandered back into the dining room, but instead of my mother, Nick was standing. My sister's hand squeezing his. I stayed in the doorway and waited for his toast.
   “Well, Happy Thanksgiving!” He said, clearing his throat, “I wanted to thank you for inviting me to spend the holiday with your family.” He paused again, loosening his tie with his other hand.
   “Um, I wanted to make this special,” He turned, and pulled my sister to her feet, “Gabrielle McAllister, I love you. I want to start a family with you, will you marry me?”
No way.
   He pulled a boulder sized diamond from his shirt pocket and slid it onto Gabby's finger before she even opened her mouth.

   She nodded and started to cry into his shoulder. The whole room erupted into applause, except for three people. In a moment like that, you can see the entire truth all over a persons face.
   Alex looked at me, his eyes wide. He was cringing, waiting for my reaction.
Gabby pulled herself together and said, “We're pregnant!”
   The women in my family raced around the table and started fighting for the first hug.
Finally, I looked at my father. He was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. Staring ahead. His jaw was clenched so tightly that I could see the joints move as his teeth ground back and forth.
Interesting.
     Everyone migrated into the kitchen with their deserts, surrounding either Nick by the island or Gabby at the table. Alex and my dad choose Nick, though neither one of them said a word to him. My uncle was teasing him enough for both of them anyways.
     I sat at the end of the kitchen table eating my cake and minding my own business.
     “You're just glowing sweetie! God, I should've known!” Aunt Shannon gushed. She never had kids, so she didn't give a damn that Gabby was barely legal or an unwed catholic.
     Shannon turned towards me, “And what about you, Little Miss Rebel? Are you going to give me nieces and nephews? Sure you're young now but before you know it, it'll be too late!”
     I chocked on my cake, spewing brown crumbs all over my plate. Late? I laughed once and excused myself.
     I ran up the stairs, almost taking myself out on the banister.
     Right in front of my mothers medicine cabinet was a pink box of pregnancy tests.
     I was supposed to wait three minutes. But looking at the stupid thing was making me sick, so I wrapped it in toilet paper and brought it back to my room. I set the test on my dresser and turned to the side. My      stomach was flat as a board. Of course not, I wouldn't be showing yet anyways. Were my boobs bigger?      Shit, they were bigger. Maybe half a cup size.
     I couldn't be in there. As I headed back to the kitchen, Gabby was coming up the stairs.
     “You okay? You spit cake everywhere.”
     “Yeah, what are you doing up here?”
     “Uncle Danny used the down stairs bathroom,” she cringed, “And I have to pee.” She patted her belly.
     When I walked back into the dining room, my mother and Aunt Shannon waved me over.
     My mothers mascara was running down her cheeks faster than she could wipe it away. “Isn't this wonderful? She's due in May!”
     “Yeah, fantastic.”
     I picked up an empty shot glass and ran my fingers around the rim. I wished that I'd taken my shot when I had the chance.
     “She's going to look so adorable in her wedding dress!”
     “Adorable? When are they getting married?”
     “Gabby wants a Valentines Day wedding.” Shannon said.
     “Of course she does.” I rolled my eyes.
     “It will be such fun looking for places with you and your sister! We will start in a week or two, so clear your weekends!” My mother raised her glass for another toast. I was going to vomit.
     “I have to piss.”
     My head felt like a balloon floating above my body on a long string and I dragged my stomach behind me. I closed my door behind me and stared at the wad of toilet paper on my dresser. This couldn't be happening to me. It was stupid, I was just a few days late. No big deal.
     I took a breath and unwrapped the test. But I set it face down on the dresser first. To breathe a few more times. Okay.
     I flipped the test over and saw two bright pink lines.
Oh God.

     “Shit!” I lunged towards the garbage can next to my desk and threw up.
     Could I still take that Plan B pill? No, no that was for before this part. Damn it! What the hell was I supposed to do now? I saw myself six months pregnant, then giving birth, and sitting with Lilly at the playground wearing clothes from the Dollar Tree. Then I saw myself wearing a wedding dress. I almost threw up again.
     Would I be able live with myself if I got an abortion?
     I put my head between my knees and started to hyperventilate when my closet door flew open.
   “Ha! You're such a freaking spaz!” Gabby squealed.
   “What the hell are you doing in here?” I gasped.
   “Gotcha!” She said, tossing something across the room at me.
   A pregnancy test skidded across the floor and stopped at my feet. One line. Negative.
   “What did you do?” I hissed.
   “I'll take that thank you.” She snatched the positive pregnancy test out of my hand and stuck her tongue out.

   “Are you serious? You crazy bitch!” I jumped to my feet, ready to tackle her. But I stopped, forcing my hands into fists and breathing through my nose.
   “Jesus, Gabby if you weren't knocked up, I would kill you!”
   Gabby backed up, glaring at me. “Learn to take a freaking joke!”
   “I'm going to sleep. Get out.”
   “Whatever.”
   She slammed the door behind her. I collapsed on my old bed and started to cry. My relationship with Alex was a mistake. A very selfish mistake.

Outside the Box Blogfest: Jail Bait that Bites Back

2010-10-26T17:03:00.000-07:00

Here is my entry for the Outside The Box Blogfest! I know it's early, but I'm on a roll so why stop now? Okay, so this time the idea is to write outside your comfort zone. I don't write YA and I never intended to, my characters are all 21 and up. But, for this entry I'm pulling a brand new scene from my WIP, it's one of Lilly's memories from when she and Rocky were 17 years old. It's also a crucial piece of the puzzle. My goal here is high suspense and super fast pacing.(Oh, and by the way.. it seems like Lilly is becoming the Aiden of fictional character names.... I'm debating on a name change. Thoughts?) Anyways, tell me how I did! My very first attempt at YA!

Lilly

17 years old

No matter how hard I concentrated, the blade kept skipping. After the third try I gave up. I put the a tightly rolled twenty up my nose and snorted my squiggly line off the dashboard.

“Holy crap, you suck at driving.” I gasped between laughs.

“Fuck off, I'm a great drunk driver!” Rocky said, slamming on the accelerator. We flew down the alley back out onto the street.

I flipped open the mirror on the visor and pulled an eyeliner pencil out of my purse. Stupid idea. It didn't go much better than lining with the blade. Luckily, I smudged it out until it looked kind of sexy and smokey. It sort of worked.

Outside the lights blurred past us. I saw long line of bare legs and baggy jeans.

“You missed it! Turn around!” I screamed.

She circled the block and slipped into another alley that opened into a grimy parking lot. I unscrewed the cap of a new bottle and hopped out of the car and Rocky untwisted the run circuit to turn it off.

“Damn, I want one of these things!” Rocky said running her hand over the hood of the BMW.

“Eh, it's okay. I still like that Lexus from last weekend.”

It was warm out for the first time all month, I was starting to regret wearing jeans and sneakers.

“Lilly! You can't carry a forty, are you crazy?” Rocky was squatting next to the car leaning against the door, laughing.

“Screw it, the club's on the other side of the building.”

She shrugged and held out her hand. I passed it to her and she took a sip.

As soon as we turned onto the side street someone grabbed my wrist.

“Hey! what the hell?”

I spun around ready to shove off some overconfident pervert. But there was a badge two inches from my face. Oh, God.

“How old are you girls? I need to see your identification.”

We'd practiced for this, all I had to do was follow the script. At least one of us would be okay.

“We're 15, we don't have our licenses yet.” I said. Rocky nodded.

“Uh huh, thought so. Put your hands where I can see them please ladies.”

He pointed at Rocky and then at the brick building behind her. She put down the forty and positioned herself on the wall.

“Your names?” He asked, pulling out a pen and his ticket book.

“Angela Lillard.”

My head told me to shut the hell up and stay still, but for some reason, my body wanted to run. As soon as my foot left the ground I was flying. Not for long. My face slammed into to cement barely missing the curb.

The cop's elbow was digging into my spine and he was screaming into my ear. I wasn't listening to him, I couldn't take my eyes off Rocky behind him.

Her eyes locked on mine, I'd knew that look, it meant Lilly, just shut up and trust me. I could feel myself frowning. She glared at me. Why couldn't she just follow the damn plan?

She crouched down and picked up the bottle from the sidewalk. I closed my eyes.

Crack! Beer ran down my face in through my hair. The cop collapsed on top of me, crushing the air out of my lungs and rubbing my raw cheek over the concrete again.

His body rolled off me and I peeled myself off the pavement. Rocky was frozen, the neck of the broken bottle still in her hand.

“Oh God, we have to go!” I grabbed her arm and pulled her away. We slipped back into the alley and I wheeled towards the beamer.

“No, screw the car!” Rocky said.

“What? But they're expecting it! We can't –”

“No. Fuck the car. I'll deal with Tony, okay?” She gave me that look again.

The two of us took off down the alley again, weaving in and out of the side streets. It took us almost an hour to get home on foot.

The shock really set in as soon as we hit our street, we curled up in the bushes beside my house. I was shaking, gasping for air.

“It's okay. Everything is fine.” I sounded insane.

I looked next to me, Rocky was completely still. Staring across the street, at her brownstone.

One light was on. The master bedroom.

“Shit! Why are you're parents up? You think they're waiting for you?”

She kept glaring at their window, “No.”

“Oh. . . well, good.”

We sat there for a while, letting everything sink in. This was hands down the stupidest thing we'd ever done.

“Can I stay here tonight?” She asked, still staring.

“Sure, but what about your parents?” I asked.

She turned to look at me, “Fuck my parents.”

Cliffhanger/Cinderella shoe Entries

2010-10-24T16:48:00.000-07:00

This entry for both the Cliff hanger Blog fest!! and Cinderella Shoe Blogfest is a continuation of my last post, A Lie is Like a Dragon, it can stand on it's own, but if you want to read the beginning click on the link : ) This is an excerpt from my WIP
WARNING: I broke the rules lol
Oh and just a warning about the word count, I blew it out of the water.. but it's okay, I just wanted to write =)

I scrolled down through the contacts in my phone and pressed send.

The nice thing about alcohol is that time becomes elastic when you drink enough of it. It seemed like a matter of seconds between hanging up and the knock at my door.

"Oh, my god! Bitch, where the hell have you been? I missed you!" Maddy shrieked.

"Yeah, me too. Long story. Let's just go okay?"

As soon as she noticed it, Maddy snatched the half empty bottle out of my hands and squinted at the label.

"What the hell? Is it alcohol?"

"Yes. My Grandma sent it from Russia for my twenty first," I said taking the bottle back and putting it in the freezer, "I need you to drive."

Her eyes lit up and she held her hands out for the keys to my Infiniti.

The next thing I knew, I was leaning over the edge of the counter waving a twenty dollar bill at the bar tenders. My wrists were lined with neon paper bracelets, glowing under the black lights.

The one who noticed me was a tall blonde girl wearing little more than a glowing white bikini. She leaned over and waited for my order.

"One Napalm, and a Liquid Cocaine."

Maddy threw herself into the gap between me and the group of guys on my left, "And a Jäger Bomb!"

She grinned and took the bill, "You girls have balls!"

No, just a very stubborn alcohol tolerance. I thought to myself.

The Liquid Cocaine tasted worse than I remembered, like liquorice and lighter fluid.

"Wooo!" Maddy cheered, "So, is that Alex kid is finally letting you have some fun or what?"

I had a very strong urge to backhand her. "Two things Maddy. One, Alex has never told me what to do. Two, don't talk about him."

She held up her palms. The bar tender finally pored the last liquor around the edges of my martini and set it in front of me. She handed me two little black straws and said, "You know the drill, wait until I say 'Go!'" I nodded.

She picked up her lighter and I put the straws between my lips. She pointed the tip at the edge of my glass and pulled the trigger, "GO!"

Blue flames ignited around the perimeter of my drink, the heat turned the cocktail neon green. I shoved my straws to the very bottom of the glass and drank as fast as I could. It tasted like chocolate milk.

When I came up, the people crammed around us were clapping and cheering me on. I didn't bother to fake a smile when I pushed past them. The base pounded through foundation of the building, with all the booze in my system, I felt like a Cocktail Shaker. I needed to sit down.

I didn't really care if Maddy was still following me or not. I took a seat at one of the tables against the wall and laid my face on the cool surface.

"Rocky?" The voice of my best friends "Baby Daddy" made my fists contract, like a reflex.

I looked up at Carlos, my nostrils flared and and my mouth pressed into a tight line.

He was drunk, holding a forty in the air like I was going to come in for a one armed hug.

"What the fuck do you want?"

I had always despised him, but when he told Lilly he didn't even want visitation with their son, I discovered a whole new level of hatred.

"Whoa, why so hostel, baby? I'm just trying to have a good time," He smirked and licked his lip, "Now that you're single."

An invisible wrecking ball flattened me into the brick wall.

I just glared at him. He laughed.

"Hey, ain't many Hispanics 'round here, news travels fast. I heard he's crashing with Azul."

I counted back from fifty, breathing through my nose. But then he touched me.

He set the forty on the table beside me and leaned in, "By the way," his hand rested on my thigh, "Thanks for taking the brat off my hands. But shit, if you want one of your own, we can take this to my car."

My hand found the neck of his beer bottle. It was open, but I swung it so hard that nothing came out until the glass shattered against the left side of his head.

He fell to the floor, probably unconscious, but I wasn't done yet. I only got one good kick in before I flew backwards.

A gigantic bouncer dragged me away and Maddy followed behind. The bouncer was on my side, but I still wanted to leave. And since Maddy was drunk, we had to walk.

Time got away from me again, but it was starting to get on my nerves. My thoughts were slippery, I wasn't having very many of them either.

I was in the bathroom. It was loud. I smelled weed.

The walls were mad at me, they turned upside down and threw me on the floor again.

"Great party girl!" Maddy's choppy blonde hair was next to my face, it was so messy. It reminded me of sex.

I pulled myself towards the toilet, she gave me a shot, "One more! Yeah baby!"

There was something in my other hand. The one by the toilet. I rolled over on my back and held it to my face. A rosary. Alex's rosary.

He was looking for it all week. I found it.

That fucking wrecking ball had been hovering over me in the bathroom. I remembered how his rosary ended up behind the toilet. We had make-up sex in the bathroom last month. When he still loved me. Before I made him hate me. It hurt so bad I screamed. Drink. Make it stop. I took the shot, and the invisible ball dropped right on top of me.

WIP Friday: A Lie is Like A Dragon. It Breathes Fire.

2010-10-22T12:45:00.000-07:00

I'm baaack! And so is some brand NEW material from my WIP Rebel in Remission! It's a sneak peek at the beginning of chapter 8. I'm using it as an entry for a suspense themed blogfest (Prizes for Prose) so I decided to share it here too. We left off with the scene at the airport. . . this excerpt is after Rocky (MC) and Alex (her boyfriend) are coming home from Thanksgiving in Chicago. [I'll post that soon, just needs to get cleaned up.] Enjoy:

Rain water dripped off my sleeves and down my fingers, but instead of steady streams, their paths were erratic from the vibration. The cold December air could not explain my tremors once we were inside. I had to clench all four keys inside my palm to keep them quiet.

I looked Alex in the face, but only so that he would know to expect it as I tossed him the keys to the apartment. For the split second that he met my glance, I could see the suspicion scrawled across the crease of his brow. It was worth the gamble.

The familiar smells of home only added to my guilt. I had invited him into this world, he put roots down here. The weight of my suit case seemed to slip away on it's own, but I never heard it hit the floor. Maybe it was floating there, just beneath my fingers. Without a particular destination left, my body was frozen, my hands weren't even shaking.

The secret I kept from him gripped my throat with both hands and the truth filled my mouth like the urge to vomit. After three years of feeding the lie I was finally choking on it.

"What's wrong?"

My lies tightened around my neck and the words pushed against my lips. I wasn't sure, but it felt like I might actually puke. I shook my head.

For the first time, the warmth of his fingers weaving between mine didn't comfort me, instead my eyes began to burn with salt water. I wish he wouldn't touch me. I was like poison. I should've been quarantined.

"Okay, you're starting to freak me out a little,” the humor in his voice was transparent.

I closed my eyes. It was coming.

“Seriously, what's going on?"

When he kissed my forehead it was like he gave me the Heimlich maneuver, "I lied."

"What?"

“I don't want to get married.”

“Yeah, I figured that out when you said no.” He looked at me like I was crazy.

I felt crazy. “I never want to get married.” The words spewed through my clenched teeth.

Alex's head jerked back. He didn't drop my hand, but he looked straight through me. The truth was out, but I still felt like I was going to hurl.

His eyes flickered back to mine, narrowed, “So, our age wasn't. . . .”

“Never.” The word burned like it was written in acid across my tongue.

He dropped my hand. My insides went with it. I was hollow. He stepped back, face fixed on the floor. I changed my mind, I wanted him to touch me, I wanted him to look at me. Too late. And now that I needed it, I couldn't find my voice.

I could hardly see him through the tears.

He stepped back again, taking his duffel bag, "I need to think."

My lungs filled with air as I crumpled to the floor. I was alone. "Come back! I'm sorry!" I mouthed silently into my hands.

Pain crushed my body into the floor boards. Too much. Way too much emotion.

Before I knew it, my oldest habit took my hand and led me to the kitchen. I stared at the clear glass bottle buried in the back of the freezer. The label was frosted over, but I knew the proof and the brand by the shape of the bottle.

I unscrewed the cap and slid down to the floor. It went down like ice, but it left a low burn behind. The heat spread through my veins within minutes. It was so comforting to know that soon I wouldn't remember why I was drinking.

I was going to need more than this little bottle. I reached into my pocket and flipped open my cell. I was going to need a driver too.

SOS: Guest Bloggers Needed!!

2010-10-19T21:06:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the combined efforts of the sadists I pay piles of money to every semester and break my freakin back to satisfy , I have so many assignments and tests coming up that I want to chase a bottle of valium with a bottle of Jose Cuervo.

Thanks to the combined efforts of my professors whose classes I just love to study for, I have so many assignments and exams coming up that I don't have much time to write! : (

So, I could really use a hand from my readers! I need at least 2 guest bloggers while I'm buried in books. If it's a new article that's fantastic, but an old one is okay too. Just as long as you think it would mesh with my blogs usual style, topics, and themes.

Please email me your articles at smithem@bgsu.edu and I'll get them up asap! THANK YOU GUYS!!

First 250 BlogFest! Look, I'm a Magician! I Turned 8 Pages Into 3!

2010-10-14T13:46:00.000-07:00

Holy crap! Thanks to the The First 250 Words Blogfest I was forced to look at the first 250 words of my ch 1 and I realize... shit, this is not how I want to represent my story!

I wanted to give a taste of my MC's personality, but also dive into the action as fast as I could. It wanted to get the readers pulse up. But in the first 250... nada. It ripped my heart out!

At first, I was having a small melt down. But then I got to work and slashed away a whooping 5 PAGES from the first 8!!

This is exactly why people say to wait a few weeks or months and then edit. I needed distance to see all the excess.

So here it is! The first 250 (edited) words of Ch 1! Now I think I have what I wanted

(You can read the original Ch 1 if you go to the "Ch 1-6" tab at the top of the page, tell me what you think! Do you like the revisions or did I slash too much?)

I lied to everybody, but not because I had to or because I wanted to. It's just hard to tell the truth when you lie to yourself more than anyone else. And to be honest (for once), I liked it that way. It was easier.
November
After three midterms, I was finally home and all I wanted to do was get laid. My mind was running on auto pilot while I dragged myself up the stairs to the apartment.
A neon orange Post-it was stuck to the door. A third-attempt warning for a package. Strange, I hadn't seen the first two.
I snatched the paper off the door and dragged myself back down the stairs to catch the delivery guy I'd passed on the way up.
“Hey, I'm 4C,” I called, “got something for me?”
He turned slowly, his face haggard in a way I could definitely relate to. The man nodded, handing me a card board box the size of a baseball. The return address was marked San Antonio, Texas. The package wasn't for me.
I used my key to slice open the tape and turned the box over into my palm. Inside was another box. A black satin jewelry box. The muscles in my jaw fastened shut. I glanced at the lethargic mail man, but he smiled back at me now.
My nostrils flared. I used my thumb to flip up the lid and sure enough an antique diamond ring was nestled in the white silk. Damn it!

Coming Soon... A Top Secret Blogfest will be coming this November!

2010-10-12T17:50:00.000-07:00

Coming Soon to Hypothetically Speaking. . .
I know, I just threw one! And it was so much fun I want to do it bigger, better, and just one month away! So here's what I can tell you:

Blogfest name:    To be announced on October 31st

Purpose:   2 Part fest!
   Part 1: Help everyone get tons of new followers!
   Part 2: Creative, fun, and suspenseful writing contest!

Open & Closing dates:   Mid November, specifics TBA

Theme:    Thanksgiving.. with a wicked MightyMouse (thats me) twist

Prizes:    Oh yes! TBA

How to enter:   Mr. Linky List and a comment

We're going to have a lot of fun. I can't wait to announce all the details and get this Blogfest started!

Stay Tuned!

Beta Party BlogFest Winners!

2010-10-10T16:01:00.000-07:00

We have 4 winners for the Beta Party Blogfest!

First, I want to thank everyone for entering the Beta Party! It was a really fun experience for me and hopefully some beta matches were made : )

And here are the winners:

4th- Winner of a synopsis critique by Joanna the Bionic Writer

L'aussie!

3rd- Winner of the 3 Chapter critique by Clarissa Draper at Listen To The Voices

Elaine Smith!

2nd- Winner of a full beta read from me here at A Novel... Hypothetically Speaking

LB Diamond!

1st- Winner of the new book "The Forrest For The Trees"

Livia!

I would like to thank Joanna and Clarissa for co-hosting with me and offering up some fantastic prizes! Also thank you everyone who participated and helped spread the word.

Just because the drawing is closed doesn't mean the party has to stop, if you still need a beta go ahead and write a comment on the Beta Party post and contact party goers who you are interested in working with.

*Note: the first number drawn at random by random.org fell on a commenter that did not have any material to Beta, under those circumstances the 1st winner receives an amazon gift card for the equal amount of the book "The Forrest For The Trees" because an editing book may not be of use. A new number was drawn and that commenter received the second half of the 1st place prize.

Hook, Line, and Sinker Blogfest! Rebel In Remission

2010-10-07T22:41:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the amazing Clarissa Draper who critiqued my first chapter over at Listen to the Voices, my Prologue is all shiny and new! You can see the how Clarissa helped me line by line with my unholy mess of a prologue HERE. (And if your smart you'll go sign up, she does first chapter critiques for free!)

My spiffy new prologue is perfect timing for the new Blogfest by Justin at In My Write Mind, Hook, Line, and Sinker! (Go sign up!!)

I know it's early, but I just couldn't wait! This is my entry for Hook Line, and Sinker:

Oh, and p.s. I PROMISE to have some kick ass NEW material up (chapter 6?!) by Monday night or Tuesday!
While you read consider these questions from Justin:

1. Who is the character I am relating to?

2. Does he/she have personality that I crave to read?

3. Is the world around them set up to compliment the character as they are introduced?

4. Are there secondary characters to assist the hook along, with conflict and pace?

5. Lastly: do I loved the character? Do I want to read more about him/her?

Prologue

December

[Alex]

Good God, leaving was a really bad idea. At the time I was pissed off, I just needed to some sleep and a few hours to calm down. I never intended to break it off, but I forgot one crucial detail. Rocky didn’t know that. You’d never believe such a tiny person could do so much damage unless you knew her. I knew her better than anyone, better than she did. But that’s only one part of why I was going back home. More importantly, I was in love with her. And you’d never believe a guy could love such a train wreck unless she’d fallen for you too. And she did. Hard.

The needle of the speedometer pushed past eighty miles per hour. I would never forgive myself for causing that look on her face. It had been exactly twelve hours since the door slammed behind me, but trust me that was more than enough time. This was a first; there was no telling what I was coming home to.

My crappy Honda Civic took the corner on two wheels as I turned into the parking lot behind the apartment building. Wait. Where is her car? I scanned the lot twice for a black Infiniti, it was gone. It was just after 1:00 in the afternoon, her classes were over, but her car was gone. Alright, sure, there were a million logical places she could be. Nope, not today, I could feel it.

Beer cans and cigarette butts carpeted the lawn, dusted in a thin layer of snow. I glanced anxiously up at the window, hoping to see a pale face scowling down at me, but the blinds were drawn.

While climbing the stairs I listened for a voice, footsteps, anything. But it was completely silent in the dilapidated hallway. Once I finally reached our floor, the air caught in my chest. There was nothing out of place, but my pulse pounded in my ears and an icy chill was oozing down my spine.

I'd planned to knock, wanting to give her some space, but I was too impatient. The door creaked open when I tried to put the key in. The tension around me was tangible, as if it were a fog seeping from the apartment, escaping under the door and through the hinges.

The anxiety throttled me in the doorway. Was this really our apartment? I had to double check the door to be sure.

Once my eyes adjusted to the dim light and the heavy haze that clouded my vision, I saw the beer cans, empty bottles of liquor, and overflowing ashtrays that littered the living room floor. And it reeked, the odor was heavy, sort of like incense. It was an unfamiliar smell, but I had a pretty good guess.

The fog that seeped through the door was actually marijuana smoke – that continued to curl lazily into the air – from dozens of joints.

My eyes trailed the wreckage, this was not the kind of disaster I'd been bracing myself for. The dogs low whining startled me, I followed the sound to the open bathroom door where a pair of pale white feet splayed awkwardly out into the hallway.

Oh my god. No. I crashed to my knees as the rest of her body came into view. My girlfriend was curled into a loose fetal position on the bathroom floor, her limp hands folded close to her chest. Somehow her pale skin looked even whiter than usual, almost completely devoid of color.

Our bulldog Frank lay at her side, his muzzle nudging her face. He whined again, louder this time, begging her to wake up. Her dark hair was a tangled mess that covered her face. When I brushed it over her shoulder my stomach turned. Her eyes were closed and her lips were pale blue. My hands shook when I touched her face. I had to swallow back the acid rising in my throat, her body was ice cold.

“No. . .” The weight of reality crushed me, my elbows buckled. Burying my face in her hair, I pleaded her, “Come on, please wake up!” but my voice was barely audible. My eyes were stinging.

I listened desperately for the sound of her breath, her heart beat. But I could hear nothing over the ringing in my ears.

As I stared hopelessly into her face a tear fell from my chin and landed on her lower lip. When my finger touched her lip to wipe it away, her eyelids twitched. Her eyes were unfocused, with pupils so dilated that only a thin blue ring remained. I collapsed, my face just an inch from hers, too stunned to speak. Her lips pulled up slightly in the corners. She could see me.

Beneath my chest I felt the movement of her lungs pulling in a weak breath, “You came back.” She could barely move her mouth.

“I'm here, I'm here!” I stammered, trying desperately to keep her conscious.

She sighed contently, even as she lay there half dead on the bathroom floor. Her tiny hands nudged my arm so lightly I might not have felt it, but her skin was so cold that the contact made me shiver.

A thin silver chain was laced between her fingers. With her hand in mine, I unfolded her fist. The steel crucifix of my rosary fell to the floor with a thud.

When I looked up at her again, her eyelids were closed.

That's my prologue : ) Thanks for reading and feel free to rip me limb from limb, I need it.

Beta Party Update! 3 PRIZES!

2010-10-06T14:35:00.000-07:00

New Prize announcement: There will be 3 Winners!

Clarissa from Listen To The Voices has decided to offer a new prize!

Clarissa will do a 3 CHAPTER Critique!

and Joanna at Bionic Writer has also joined!
Joanna will do a SYNOPSIS critique and posting it on her blog!

About the Beta Party BlogFest:

For those who don't know what the heck I'm talkin' about, first of all go HERE to enter! But this is the story:

I have been looking for a beta reader and I know many of you are too. So lets have a Beta Party and find one already! Once you enter, you can cruise the comments to find someone who you'd be interested in working with or maybe they'll find you! Don't forget, I need one too, so email me!

How To Enter:

I put it in the last part but still, CLICK HERE TO ENTER. You will enter by posting a comment there. Like so:

Title (if any)
Genre
Word count (or current WIP word count).
And total points to enter for the prize (see below)
What you want from a beta and what you can provide
Contact info

Point System:

1 point for my followers (new and old)
2 points for Facebooking or Tweeting about it
3 points for blogging about its

All Prizes

These are all the prizes (so far!):

1st- A copy of "The Forest for the Trees" & I will beta read your MS/WIP

2nd- A 3 CHAPTER critique by Clarissa!

3rd- a SYNOPSIS critique by Joanna!

The winners will be randomly selected and announced on 10-10-10! (This Sunday)

If any other Super Bloggers out there want to help host by offering up your own prizes let me know in the comments on this post!

Beta Party Blog Fest GIVEAWAY! (Beta Readers. Not the fish!)

2010-10-05T17:07:00.000-07:00

This is my very first giveaway! The prize is a copy of "The Forest for the Tree's: An Editors Advice to Writers" and a Beta Read from some nobody named Erica. . . oh wait that's me . .. from ME! And NEW prize... A 3 CHAPTER critique from Clarissa over at Listen To The Voices

The great thing about the internet is the instant connection to people of similar interests. No need to post an ad in the paper for a writers group, jut tweet it or facebook it!
So here is what I am proposing awesome readers, a Beta Party.
This way everyone can get acquainted and find their betas! (If you don't have a WIP or MS that's OK! You can still enter the drawing for the prize!) You can still beta read too if you want, just say so.
i In the event that the winner has nothing to critique, I will give them a gift card to Amazon for the equal amount and pick another winner until I get one who has a WIP or an MS for me to beta.

Down in the comments please post like so:

Title (if any)
Genre
Word count (or current WIP word count).
And total points to enter for the prize (see below)
What you want from a beta and what you can provide
Contact info*

*Don't forget to include a way for me or other party animals to get in touch with you! Feel free to link back to your blog. If you are comfortable posting your email you can.

Remember to tell us what your looking for. If you really just want a test reader, no grammar correction, say so. Or if you're in need of an in depth edit, say that. But remember, people will be expecting to get back what they put in, so you have to be willing to return the favors you ask for.

Mine is:

Rebel in Remission
Coming of Age Literary Fiction
WIP at 11,700 words
7 points (blogged about it LINK, I'm a follower, I facebooked it)
smithem@bgsu.edu

I really just want a critique of the plot, characters, and prose. I'm in my first draft so the grammar is messy and there are all sorts of typos, but I don't expect a copy edit, so don't worry about correcting it.

How to get the prize you ask? (PS, the beta read from me is no-strings-attached, winner is not expected to beta my MS.)

AND CLARISSA'S 3 CHAPTER CRIT!

Here's what you do:
1 point for my followers (new and old)
2 points for Facebooking or Tweeting about it
3 points for blogging about it

In your comment please add up your points and don't forget to link back to this post!

If/when you find a beta, you can leave another comment to celebrate! That way at the end of the Beta Party I can tally how many matches were made. (Hint: Don't wait for a beta to find you. Come back now and then to see if any new partier's sound like a good match!)

And don't forget, I'm searching for my beta too! So if you're interested, shoot me an email and/or say so in your comment!

That's all there is to it!

The winner will be randomly selected and announced on 10-10-10! (This Sunday)

Bad News Blog Fest: 5 Ways to go from Bubble Bursting to Bomb Dropping

2010-10-03T13:09:00.000-07:00

Some of the best writing advice I've ever heard was, "You have to throw rocks at your characters." Meaning that, even though it can be like kicking a puppy, good fiction can only happen when we torture our characters.

No one wants to read about a happy girl from a happy family that goes on sunny picnics in the park. Unless of course the little girl gets... *Dun, Dun, Dunnn!* A SPLINTER!!

A splinter? No. That sucks. Only if that splinter is covered in Anthrax.

See? That's what I'm talking about. As the writer of little girl X, it may kill me to infect her with a biological weapon, but as a reader I'm thinking, "FINISH HER!" Okay maybe not that, but still I'm intrigued now, when before I was using the pages to line my hamster cage.

So in the end you have a choice: You can burst bubbles or you can drop an H Bomb. It will mean the difference between burning your manuscript to stay warm this winter and burning your paper back copies to stay warm this winter. (Just kidding! Sort of.)

So how do we do this?

1. Lay the groundwork.

In order to get maximum impact out of your bad news, first you have to put our teeth on edge and draw it out until we're grinding them flat. Make it obvious what the MC wants, and make them want it bad. Then make any potential roadblocks show their faces, but try to do it organically. Don't force it through an internal monologue if you can find a way to introduce it naturally. And hint with tone and symbolism, basically give them the creeps. the bookshelf muse has an excellent thesaurus style blog for this!

Ideal Reader Reaction? "Hmm, that could be problematic..." and "Ehh, I have a bad feeling about this."

2. Hit 'em where it hurts.

Identify the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen to your MC, now turn it up a notch. If your MC is madly in love with a hero who seems to be a sweet, loyal, gentleman... Don't waste your printer ink on a fight where he slips up and calls her a bitch, and all he does is crash on his friends futon *yawn*. Get him wasted and send him to his ex-girlfriends house. Or if you're really trying to twist the knife, how about her sister or her best friend?

3. Leave 'em hanging.

Cliff hangers are a classic tool for a good reason. They, unlike almost any other writing trick, will never be a cliche. Don't tell us everything turns out okay right after it goes down, let the dust settle, give us some fall out time to keep us guessing. But don't wait too long, that furious paper-cut-page-turning has a shelf life. If you can stomach it, follow the worst possible news with the worst possible reaction/choice, (see # 2), and use that to draw out catharsis.

4. Unhappy Ending. Warning: Not for the faint of heart

Why must everyone always end up happy? BORING! My favorite endings are ones where I can't manage to get my jaw off the floor. This may not be right for every story, we need to have some happy endings. I don't want to spoil any movies or books, so just think about those Indie films that left you shocked. Or better yet, Romeo and Juliet. Hello? That thing is famous for a reason.

And # 5 is.....

5. Guess what? I don't have a number 5. Mwahahaha!

Sorry, couldn't resist.

This is brought to you because of the awesome bad news blog fest at Romancing the Blog so go check it out!

They're People Too Blog Fest: Lisa & Cartman Go To Starbucks

2010-10-02T20:11:00.000-07:00

Blog Fest entry for http://tessasblurb.blogspot.com/2010/08/theyre-people-too-blogfest.html (<- click to enter and see others entires) . In this Blog Fest the point is to personify an abstract concept in about 500 words..
For mine, I am going to personify two of my own emotions- irritation and calm- as two cartoon characters you might be familiar with. This is a trip to Starbucks, in my head. Enjoy.

Somewhere in the Midwestern United States, there is a twenty one year old college student named Erica. She has blue eyes. If you have the patience and persistence to look deep into her pupils; through her corneas, past the retina, and behind the optic nerve, you may just find two little children staring back at you. It's quite the neurological discovery indeed.

The little boy may flip you off.

The little girl is quite jaundiced.

On Tuesday the 28th of September 2010, Erica craved coffee.

After an hour of meditation Lisa takes a seat in the left socket. "Oh, look a Starbucks! Good, I could really go for a latte."
"Starbucks Lisa? Stupid hippie." says Cartman as he rounds the septum.
"What's wrong with Starbucks?"
"I'll tell you what's wrong with Starbucks, Lisa. It's from Seattle. And Seattle is full of coffee drinking hippies."
Outside, Erica gets out of her car and walks into the coffee shop. The building is warm and it smells delicious. Unfortunately, a line of customers winds in and out of the display towers holding logo mugs and thermoses.

"Hell no. Make her turn around." Cartman jumps up from his seat in outrage. After a moment, Cartman shoots Lisa a bewildered glare and grunts in exasperation. "Hello? Get us the %#$@ out of this dump, God Damn it!"

Lisa is unshaken, she crosses her legs and takes deep breathes. "Personally, I don't mind the wait. I really want a latte."

Cartmans face turns a shade of pink and his eyebrows angle down and in.

In line Erica looks up at the Specials Board. Todays special is a Double Fudge Brownie and a Soy Chai Latte.

Cartmans mouth pops open into an inverted black triangle and his eyes stare in wonder. Lisa gasps in delight.
For a few rare moments, Cartman is silent, filled with awe and anticipation. Lisa sits back down, and waits in bliss.

At the counter, a blonde barrista struggles to maintain order amid the 5 o'clock rush. As she flutters nervously between the register and the espresso machine, Cartman seethes. With his face pressed against the surface of the eyeball Cartman watches her inadequate service. His face turns red as he gradually stops breathing. Lisa remains fairly calm, sitting quietly on her yoga mat. Though, soon her foot begins to tap softly.

After 4 agonizing minutes, Cartman has stopped breathing entirely and his face has shifted from pink to maroon. Pushing up against the retina and without breathing he says,
"I'm going to f***** kill you guys, seriously!"

After the last customer finally moves aside, Erica places her purse on the counter and opens her wallet.

Lisa jumps up from her mat and presses her nose to the surface of the eye, waiting next to Cartman.

The Barrista smiles and says, "Lets see Latte and a brownie. . . okay, that'll be $11.67." Erica jerks back in shock, throwing both Lisa and Cartman off their feet.

Dejected, thirsty, and ashamed by American society Lisa sighs, "The world is becoming such a cold, comericial wasteland! I can't believe how much I wa-"
"12 bucks? *&%$ that!" Cartman exclaims, "Screw you guys, I'm going home!"

Blog fest entries: Mash up & They're people too!

2010-10-02T12:45:00.000-07:00

Okay, I still have to post my actual entry for They're people too, but this post -> CLICK ME is a temporary entry for both: here is my spin on it:

For the blog Mash up, It's a combo of fantasy and Lit fic, because it's not really fantasy after all.. you'll see.

For they're people too, in her mind she hides from emotions, as you may know if you've been following, so this is her minds way of trying desperately to communicate her feelings with her. But she doesn't get the whole message thanks to a herd of angry zoo animals. Again, you'll see...

My real they're people too entry is a WIP! But watch out, it's going to be very different.. as always : ) I plan to show my own emotions personified as 2 of my favorite cartoon characters in my head. So stay tuned for:

Lisa & Cartman Go To Starbucks

Wip Wednesday: Liar, Liar, Sweat Pants On Fire

2010-09-30T13:39:00.000-07:00

When your MC's most important characteristic is dishonesty and secret keeping, it's not so easy to get the reader to like them. You have to balance it. Besides the obvious, like other admirable qualities, you could do what I'm doing. Add a character who is as much of a liar as your MC, but make the your MC and your reader hate him. When the reader and the MC can hate him together, they'll bond.

You can see everything in the link above, Prologue & Ch 1-5:

Chapter 5

One minute I was enjoying a humid afternoon, I tucked my feet into the warm Cape Cod sand, so densely packed that it looked like brown sugar crumbling around my ankles. I could taste the salt in the breeze. Ahead of me, Pablo scampered across the damp shore line, chasing away the seagulls. What an astonishingly beautiful child. The sun labored away, deepening his bronze skin and brightening his gold tipped curls, he was like the child of Greek Gods.

In a moment of bliss he let out an explosive burst of laughter and I realized the warmth was not a product of the summer sun, it was emanating from Pablo. He exuded pure happiness in rays of light that intensified with every smile, every laugh. In the surge of heat a drop of cloudy gray wax dripped down my arm, then another, and another. I had never noticed the dull film that covered my body, but now it was melting away, exposing that same iridescent skin. All of the fears I’d been harboring were trapped in the wax, rolling off my shoulders onto the sand. My liberated skin started radiating its own pinkish glow.

The next minute, I felt the beach shudder beneath me. The loose grains of sand danced across the surface of the ground around my hands. Out in the surf, Pablo was still. His blinding smile twisted into a terrified grimace. The next wave of vibrations rocked the coast with a thunderous roar. Pablo let out a shrill scream. I tried to lurch forward onto my feet, but the waxy sludge hardened into an icy straight jacket around me. The comforting heat around my toes drained out of the brown sugar sand. As the vibration intensified, I could distinguish which direction it came from, and more importantly which direction it was going.

From the corner of my eye, an enormous stampede of exotic beasts were charging down the coast, only moments away from decimating our little haven in the sand. My body ached to escape what had become little more than a living sculpture. I could see each monstrous animal now, giraffes, rhinoceroses, elephants, and hippopotamuses. One of the most grotesque rhinos was standing several yards away, staring at me. It braced to charge and bowed its head, carefully aiming its massive horns before it exploded towards me. I wasn’t even able to scream because my lips were encased in wax.

In the final seconds before it descended, the rhino leaped into the air and bellowed, “ROXANNA! WE HAVE TO LEAVE!” in a thick Russian accent, just before she crushed me.

My eyes flew open and the beach was gone. My mother hovered above my bed, her arms flailing and her eyes damn near ready to fly out of their sockets. The door swinging closed behind her.

“Oh. My. God. Mom? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Told you she'd forget.” said Gabby. I hadn't even noticed my sister leaning against the wall, glaring at me with her arms folded over her chest.

“Nice to see you too.” I spat. “What are you doing here?”

“Yesterday I tell you we are coming, today you forget? It is already eleven Roxanna! We must go now, get dressed.” My mother was indeed having one of her patented spaz attacks.

I stretched under the black silk covers, without Alex next to me they were cold against my bare skin, which reminded me; I was a bit under dressed for company.

“The airport. Nick. Right.” It took everything I had not to tell my mother I didn't listen to a word she'd said on the phone yesterday. It wouldn't have done me any favors and it was a long drive to the airport.

“Where is Alex? Tell him hurry, we must go now.”

“Mass, Mom. It's Sunday.”

My mother rolled her eyes, she may have admired Alex's values and all, but skipping a family outing to attend church probably reminded of her too much of Dad. Who was also AWOL.

Gabby plucked a shirt off the closet floor, balled it up, and threw it at me. While slipping it over my head I flipped her the bird. I could really care less what I wore because I didn't give a shit about Nick, and I wouldn't want to send any mixed signals.

My mother, on the other hand, practically collected the dirt he walked on in a bottle next to the holy water. She never left the house without a full face of makeup, but of course today she went the extra mile. Head to toe my mother was buffed, polished, and waxed into a living porcelain doll. Not surprising.

Gabby normally would have been more dolled up than mom, I would have expected stilettos, curls, and red lipstick for this vintage photo op. But not today. She looked like. . . me. Was she actually wearing a hoodie? And sneakers? What the hell?

“What? No pearls today, Princess?” I said, glaring at my furious sibling as we climbed into my mothers sedan. She clamped her mouth shut with an audible click and stared at the ceiling of car.

I watched her shift back and forth in her seat for almost an hour. “What?” she demanded, “What are you looking at?”

I shrugged, this was amusing. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering why you look like a bag lady.”

Bingo. She started huffing and clicking her tongue, whatever she was about to say would be full of shit. She sucked at lying. “They lost my shirt at the cleaners and there wasn't time to pick out a new outfit. And, anyways, this is Nicks hoodie, so I wore it for him. What do you care anyways?”

Liar. I sat back and watched her simmer until we pulled into the parking garage. Once we reached the gate Gabby could've cared less what I thought, she was consumed with excitement. For Christ sake, it'd only been two months. That was probably a third of their whole relationship.

Boredom and exhaustion took my hand and led me to a bench where I would have probably fallen asleep, had Gabby not let out the most grating shriek I have ever heard.

“Baby!” my sister took off like a shot. I was prepared to shield my eyes from what promised to be a graphic reunion. But – to my surprise – it was fairly innocent. Nick dropped his bags and kissed my sister on the forehead, she turned her head and I could see that tears were pouring down her face, good thing she'd skipped the mascara. They shared a few quiet words and another kiss. That was it? No ass grabbing exhibitionism today?

Once they were finished gazing nauseatingly – er lovingly – into each others eyes, Nick started kissing my mothers ass, “Hello ladies. Mrs. McAllister, you look lovely, as always.”
Ugh, he really made my skin crawl. I didn't hide it either, I freely advertised my opinion of him through my expression, If it weren't for the military, you would be selling used cars in Hoboken.

Of course my mom giggled like a school girl and gave him a hug, “We all missed you so much Nick, isn't that so Roxanna?”

“What?” Seriously? Why? “Oh. Yeah, of course.”

Nick didn't pretend with me anymore, I think he figured out a long time ago that I wasn't buying it. What he said was for them, not for me, “It's nice seeing you again Rocky, it's been almost a year now, hasn't it?”

It always surprised me how easily people fall for lies. Like Nick, he was smiling, but his eyes were flat, no crows feet. He wasn't even trying. I mirrored his fake face right back to him, the side of his lip twitched and his nostrils flared. His quickly muted smirk was followed by the slightest of raised brows, as to say, It takes one to know one.
Touche.

Holy Blog Fests, Batman!

2010-09-29T07:12:00.000-07:00

This weekend has three, count 'em, THREE blog fests back to back to back! Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

Friday: Mash Up Blog Fest
at Maybe Genius

Combine two genres that aren't normally written together.

Saturday: They're People Too Blog Fest
at Tessa's Blurb.

Personify an abstract concept and write a scene, conversation, or monologue

Sunday: Bad News Blog Fest
at Romancing the Blog

Write any form of fiction themed around receiving bad news.

Some have prizes, others are just for funsies and awesome self promotion/meet-n-greet. I don't remember which ones. So bust butt like me and join 'em all last minute (why do I always catch wind of blog fests 5 minutes before they start???)

I don't know what I'm getting myself into here, since two of them are way out of left field as far as theme (compared to what I tend to blog about). But I'm versatile, I'll rock it out : )

My Take on Writing Compelling Characters: Quirks and Attitude

2010-09-24T17:30:00.000-07:00

You know what's compelling? New. Or revived, before it's trendy. Once anything goes trendy, it is no longer compelling. There are a million archetypes out there, and some of them are really popular. Popular is boring. I noticed recently that the same exact character seems to headline the most popular TV shows lately. He is:
- Uniquely genius in some way, and no one else can match him.
- Single
- A silver foxy type
- Sarcastic
- He seems to seduce all of the strong professional women he works with or for
- He is often European or Australian (and if not, the actor playing him is!)
- He is white
- He is a pessimist
- He is a loner
Can you guess who I'm referring to?? How about Gregory House (House), Dr. Lightman (Lie To Me), Patrick "Jane" Jane (The Mentalist), Dr. Paul Westin (In Treatment).... Feel free to keep listing them. Yea, they are funny, strangely sexy, and easy to watch week after week. But guess what? They are no longer compelling. They were... once upon a time. But not anymore. The current juggernauts will be fine, but new ones will not reach the peaks where House sits. So good luck with landing a deal with a knock off . [Although, I would sell my soul to Tom Cruise for a ticket to see Craig Ferguson do parodies for all of these shows.]

But you know who isn't so popular? (Women of the same description, for one!) Pissed off women. How about recreational drug users who are not junkies going to rehab? Female characters who are a bit rough around the edges, without a secret Betty Crocker side waiting to redeem her scandalous ways? What about people who have an attitude problem that we could actually relate to? (House and the like are not relateable characters, when was the last time you felt alone and misunderstood for your personal brand of moody/infallible genius?)

Which character have you seen more of:
A) Woman who is seen as sexy. She plays more than just hard to get, she never gives it up. She leaves just the right amount of allure to hook 'em, but never lures them in. All the men in her life wish they could tap that, but she doesn't realize that she is waiting for a man who is even more confident and elusive than her. Only he can pull the sword from the stone (uh, or the opposite in this case).
OR
B) Woman who is seen as sexy. She does what ever the hell works for her. She doesn't think much about the drooling guys at the office, yet they still drool. She hangs out with a few buddies, some men and some women, and the guys aren't trying bed her for the conquest. When she is interested in a man, she might pursue him, if she's in the mood. This woman actually knows what she wants without a man having to seduce her.

The latter may not sound much like women we see in the media. She isn't a big headliner. But who do most women rather aspire to? Who is more realistic? Who would people actually respect? Yea.

The point is we see a lot of female characters who have a soft core (when it all comes down to it), and a lot of male characters who have had their emotions removed and the void filled with sarcasm. Switch it up. People can still love a female character who is usually cheesed off and sarcastic. People will run with a guy who can't get the girl. Hell, break ALL the rules of what people expect in a character of a certain age, gender, profession. Bet you'll come up with someone who no one can stop reading about. We love new, weird, and strange. So bring it on!

P.S. yes, I know Jane had a sad family tragedy thing, House is disabled... blah blah blah. Still basically the same guy. Oh, and Brennen from "Bones" is an awesome example of the new and different I'm talking about.

This post is for the blogfest hosted by elana johnson, so go check it out and get in on it!

Tips Thursday: Killing Your Darlings (or "Bagheera's Guide To Shrubbery")

2010-09-23T07:34:00.000-07:00

Writing is Rewriting. Some writers (like me ) tend to go back mid draft and work on what they already have, like a mini edit. Part of that process included slashing away a mess of unnecessary sections like overgrowth in the jungle. But in every story there always seems to be one superfluous scene, character, or subplot that we desperately shield from the Backspace key like we found little Mowgli from the Jungle Book. Well, calm down Baloo, that ain't the kid. It's a shrub. That's right. A shrub.

How is it that a fictional idea, like a character or a scene, can take over our common sense? Can we really fall so head over heels with our own creations? Uh, yea. We sure as hell can. And we do, a lot. So what's a writer to do?

Kill 'em. Yes, kill them. It's for the greater good of the story. No! B-b-b-b-but?! Look, if you can't find the answers to the following questions without summoning the ghost of Johnny Cochran, then you'll know:

8 Ways To Identify a Shrub:

1. Does it raise any important questions that have not been raised?

2. Does it answer any burning questions?

3. Does it hold valuable symbolism or is it a foil?

4. Does it move the plot forward?

5. Are it's redeeming qualities accomplished by other scenes, characters, etc?

6. Are you trying to invent a purpose for it?

7. Is it from when you first started the story?

8. Is it a flashback or is it cute/romantic/witty/personal?

If 1-4 are NO and 5-8 are YES, my friend, it is most definitely a shrub. Have at it Sheer Kahn.

Personally, in my WIP, there are some darlings running around. In particular, one flashback (strike 1) when Rocky and Alex finally slept together. I love this scene because it came out so funny and quirky (strike 2), and really it does show a lot about their characters. It was one of the first scenes that I wrote after I settled on my plot structure (strike 3!).

RELEASE THE TIGER!

**Note: Please feel free to quote Monty Python and The Holy Grail as much as your heart desires. We Want A Shrubbery!

Creative Blogger Award Nomination!! : )

2010-09-21T19:44:00.000-07:00

I was nominated by Madeleine at Scribble and Edit for the Creative Blogger Award! Yay! I'm sort of confused about how this all works, since I think I'm now supposed to nominate 5 more blogs... (so do we keep nominating people until all the blogs are in the running?? haha)
The award is for:

For those who bring unique and creative elements to their blogs. For those who incorporate art, music, creative writing, photo's, and other beautiful visual effects into their website. For those who put a unique spin on things and come up with new ideas. This award is for the artsy, the funky, the inventor, and even the rebel. This award is for those creative individuals who stand out from the crowd'.

Here are my 6 crazy truths and one lie:
1. A customer at my part time job named a character in his book after me, and the main character in the sequel.
2. When I was 17 my passport was stolen by a gypsy in Madrid on Easter weekend, so I was stranded in Spain for 3 days.
3. My name was originally suppose to be Ariel... but then the Little Mermaid came out, so my dad refused to let me be Fish Girl at preschool.
4. My dad is in Norway right now.
5. I was an extra in an episode of Hung
6. In 9th grade my hair was blond, brown, black, and red. Simultaneously.
7. I rode a camel in Morocco.

**** Can you guess which one is the lie??****
(it's #5)

I nominate (in no particular order):
character therapist

Wagging Tales

Word Play

edittorrent

nathanbransford

Oops, WIP Wednesday: Blood isn't always thicker than water

2010-09-20T18:04:00.000-07:00

Oops, I didn't realize the end of Chapter 3 was included in Muse Monday! MM was my WIP in full and in the correct order, also a little cleaned up and slightly edited. But I didn't mean to include the end! So Here is the end of Ch 3 for those who thought, eh I read these parts already. So here is WIP Wed:

I was elbow deep in soapy water when the buzzer rang, so Alex set surrendered to Officer Pablo and let Lilly up. While I was drying my hands I heard my phone vibrate on the coffee table. Alex answered it.

“Mrs. McAllister, I can't understand–” from the sound of it, Alex couldn't get a word in edge wise, so he handed me the phone, “It's your mom.”

“Rocky? Rocky?”

“Hi, mom what's going –” before I could even ask my mother was chattering away in her native Russian, a language I barely spoke. If I'd been paying attention, I could have picked up most of what she was saying, but I didn't feel like it.

Lilly knocked on the door, so I wedged the phone between my shoulder and my cheek and opened the door for her. She was a mess, mascara smeared across both cheeks and her eyes were swollen with tears. On the phone my mother was still rattling on about Thanksgiving and the airport, “Mom... Mom! I'll have to call you back.”

I slid the phone into my pocket, and my hands became fists so tight that the skin over my knuckles screamed in protest. I could kill Carlos, I could literally strangle that prick.

Down the hall I could hear Pablo coming, “Mommy!”

I looked back at Alex and mouthed, Get the baby! He was about to ask when he caught Lilly's expression. His face fell in pity, but his hands exposed the same anger as mine. He swooped down to catch Pablo just as he was barreling past and launched him up into the air, humming the Batman theme and galloping past us into the hall and down the stairs.

I turned back to Lilly, who was on the verge of sobbing.

I grabbed a box of tissues out of the bathroom and gestured towards the hallway. We sat in the stair well, and I waited for her to talk. She held her face in her hands and the quiet sobs shook her body from head to toe.

Almost inaudibly, she gasped, “He doesn't want joint custody anymore.”

My heart just about stopped beating. “He wants to take the baby?” I nearly screamed.

She shook her head and sniffled, “No, he doesn't want custody at all. He said he'd rather just pay the extra child support.”

Every muscle in my body turned to stone, I never wanted to hit anyone so hard in my entire life.

“He'd rather pay extra than see his son three days a week. How am I supposed to explain that to Pablo?”

“I'm sorry Lil.” There was nothing I could say to fix it. It was like watching her drown.

Lilly looked me in the eye for the first time, “I don't want his money, I just want him to love his fucking kid! And I work twelve hour shifts when he has the baby, that's almost six hundred dollars. The child support won't go up even half that much.”

“Me and Alex can take him as often as you want, we'll just switch off between classes.” There was nothing I wouldn't do for her, but nothing I could do would make Carlos a good father. I turned and hugged her, when the tears soaked through my shirt, I realized they weren't just Lilly's.

She rested her head on my shoulder and we looked out the window at the front lawn. Across the parking lot, under a huge oak tree, Alex was chasing Pablo around a mountain of leaves, smiling and laughing. The sun would be setting soon and the light coming through the yellow leaves lit the tree and Pablo's sandy brown curls like a blazing gold fire. That child was a force of nature, I swear joy seemed to radiate from his pores. Clearly he got that from Lilly. Thankfully, his olive complexion seemed to be the only thing Pablo inherited from his father.

“That's all I ever wanted from him.” Lilly whispered, I'm not sure she had intended me to hear it.

When her tears were under control and after I fixed her make up, Lilly loaded Pablo into the car. She asked me softly if I was serious about the offer, “ Come on Lil, you know I'd do anything for you and P.”

Back inside the apartment Alex was finishing the dishes for me. I told him about Lilly and Carlos. Before I could bring it up he asked, “Why don't we take him? I mean, our classes don't overlap so why not?”

I smiled, “I was hoping you'd like that idea, because I sort of already told her we would.”

Alex rolled his eyes and laughed. So now we would be taking care of a toddler three days a week. Don't get me wrong, I love that kid and I was happy to watch him, but now the universe seemed to be getting on my case with this settling down crap too. Though, I had to admit, the way Alex was with kids was. . . kind of attractive. He didn't hesitate to put on a cowboy hat or dive head first into a pile of leaves.

“What did your mom want? Seemed like she was spazzing out.” Alex asked.

“Um, actually, I'm not sure. I wasn't really listening.” I admitted. I strained my memory for the details I did manage pick up, “From what I caught, it sounds like Nick is coming home early from the base for Thanks Giving. So they're going to pick us all up from the airport. I think.”

“Oh. That's... nice.” Alex choked out. My sisters boyfriend, Nick, was not one of Alex's favorite people. Or mine. Nick was a Naval officer from a wealthy Boston family and he was four years older than Gabby. Alex and Gabby have always been close, he is the obnoxious big brother she never had. So when she brought a 23 year old to prom, Alex was practically foaming at the mouth.

I really wasn't interested in talking about Nick. I had other things in mind.

“So, can I take you up on that rain check now?” I asked. A second later I was pinned to the floor. Mission accomplished.

Muse Monday: ALL I've written so far! 3 whole chapters here!

2010-09-20T09:20:00.000-07:00

Please note that this is a VERY rough first draft, since it's original posting it has undergone an unholy amount of editing and there's a few more chapters now! So, take it for what it is: raw and unedited. Make any critiques you like in the comments!

CH 1

[Rocky]

I lied to everybody, not because I needed to or because I wanted to. It's just hard to tell the truth when you lie to yourself more than anyone else. And to be honest (for once), I liked it that way. It was easier.

November

The engine purred awake with no more than the push of a button. Seconds later, a gentle warmth spread across the leather seat, soothing all the tension from my frozen muscles. It was only 6:30, but the elusive New England sun had already set on another wasted day. The moonlight practically made my pale face glow in the rear view mirror. I looked like a ghost. I was definitely ready to go home. I needed to get laid.

By the time I got to my floor I could hardly keep my eyes open, after three midterms my mind was running on auto pilot.

The air wafting from our apartment was a pungent mix of sesame oil, soy sauce, and red curry. The promise of a hot meal propelled me forward, reviving me enough to notice a neon orange post it stuck to the door. It was a third-attempt warning for a package. Strange, I hadn't seen the first two. The smell of chilli peppers cleared my head, a UPS man had passed me in the stairwell.

I snatched the paper off the door and dragged myself back down the stairs to catch him. “Hey, I'm 4C,” I called, “got something for me?”

He turned slowly, his face was haggard in a way I could relate to. He held a card board box the size of a baseball in his hands. The man nodded, handing me the package. The return address was marked San Antonio, Texas. The box was not for me.

I used my key to slice the tape open and turned the box over into my palm. In it was another box, a black satin jewelry box. The muscles in my jaw fastened shut as I glanced at the lethargic mail man, but he smiled back at me now.

My nostrils flared. The box was too small for a necklace or a bracelet, it could only hold two other kinds of jewelry. And my only piercing was in my left nostril. Damn it!

I used my thumb to flip up the lid and sure enough an antique diamond ring was nestled in the white silk. My eyes flashed to the truck driver and his congratulatory smile faded. After what can only be described as a growl escaped my lips his wide eyes shifted to the clip board in his hands. Wisely, he forged a generic and illegible signature for me as he fled from my building.

I felt the initial panic flood through me, the surge of fear and discomfort I'd always associated with commitment. Nothing could have induced a more torrential anxiety attack than an impending proposal. In my mind accepting an engagement ring was comparable to wearing my dogs choke chain.

I glared at the box in my hand, shutting the lid with a loud snap. Just thinking about the implications of this thing left me hyperventilating. Before the panic could overpower me I let the twinge of anger on the outskirts of my true feelings spread, leaving tinder where the other emotions had been. Anger worked for me, I welcomed it. Rage needed no further analysis of my hypothetical future. I could just zero in on the person responsible and ignore everything else.

Enraged, I stormed through the unlocked door already yelling, sliding between Spanish and English at random. In our tiny kitchen Alex stood frozen, holding a takeout box filled with white rice. His mouth hung open in shock. I realized that he had no idea why I was yelling, but I was too furious to speak with complete sentences. I shrugged out of my book bag before I chucked the open box onto the kitchen table and threw my hands in the air, “Gah!”

I waited for him to say something, but he stared at the jewelry box as if he'd never seen one. Before he had a chance to figure it out, I was already down the hall, slamming the bedroom door and locking it behind me. “I am not my fucking sister.” I muttered.

Gabby would have been thrilled. Idiot. She was just 18 years old, but she had her fucking wedding planned since she was in pampers. Everything in her goddamn world revolved around training to be Little Suzy Homemaker for her prick boyfriend. Better yet, my parents were constantly gushing about how Gabby, my baby sister, had such a bright future. Doing what? Wiping the babies ass with her Princeton diploma and waiting for Captain Underpants to come back from overseas? No thanks.

I leaned against the door for a moment, fuming. I was not in the mood for this, not that I was ever in the mood to argue. Regardless, it took me less than a minute to decide what I would do. I was leaving. Obviously I didn't expect things would work themselves out in my absence, but that was how I'd always dealt with confrontation. This was the epitome of confrontation and I needed an escape hatch. Now.

Why am I always the one leaving? It's my apartment... I deliberated for a moment. Fuck it.

I dug through the pile of laundry that carpeted my walk in closet until I found my much abused gym bag. I did this often enough that keeping a pre-packed bag would've made sense, but I've never been very practical. So once again I sat on our bed and packed up my essentials for the night. I threw a pair of red plaid pajama pants and a hand full of tank tops into the bag, followed by a pair of fuzzy black slippers. I paused, trying to think of anything I forgot. Nothing came to mind, and I would only be gone for a day or two anyways so I wasn't worried about it.

Before I zipped up my bag to leave, I looked around my. . . our bedroom. It still made me cringe to think of myself as being tied down at all- even though I asked him to move in - I didn't like that it wasn't just my apartment or my bed anymore.

A familiar voice interrupted my derailed train of thought,“Rocky, what the hell are you doing in there? Can you please open the door?”

I paused. Why couldn't I just talk about it with him? Normal people talk about crap like this. With all the shit I put him through, it was amazing I was the only one who'd ever left.

Wracking my brain for excuses to leave, I settled on my last midterm paper. So instead of opening the door like a normal person, I tossed my lap top into the pile and put on my thicker winter coat. Even without the paper I would have found a reason to say the same thing, “No. Alex, I'll be around in a few days, alright? Just give me some space.”

Thunk, most likely the sound his head resting in defeat against the bedroom door, which I realized was my only exit.

Shit.

Not that he would tackle me or anything, I didn't have the guts to face him. In the full length mirror that stood in the corner, I noticed the sliding glass door behind me, which led onto a balcony. . . the proverbial light bulb went off. But it was snowing. I looked down at my flip flops and groaned, nevertheless I pulled the door open and tossed my bag into the snow covered grass below. I shivered convulsively while holding my computer like a football. Taking a deep breath I tried to brace myself for both the impact and the two inches of snow below my 2^nd story balcony, and sitting on the railing I stepped off the side and fell to the ground. Ouch.

Once I got into my car I looked back up at the sliding glass door to see that Alex must have picked the lock just a few seconds too late. I tried not to read his lips as he waved limply, but somewhere in the back of my mind it registered that he probably said “I love you”.

It had started out a very normal day, it was not suppose to be so goddamned dramatic. My life was usually like an old pair of jeans, worn in and comfortable. Once, that was only a description of how I dressed, but now my sense of style had deteriorated to sweat pants and flip flops. Most things in my life had slowly become vanilla. It was mind numbing.

I suppose jumping from my balcony had it's advantages, it briefly fed my constant craving for adrenaline. Very briefly. Once I was safely in my car, driving away from a conversation I was no where near ready to have, I went to pull my phone out of my pocket. But it was empty. I left it in my book bag, and my book bag was next to the kitchen table. Great.

Luckily, where I was going, no formal invitation was necessary. Lilly had been my best friend since we were in grade school, she was possibly the only girl I could tolerate being around- including my sister. During adolescence we were partners in crime, both literally and figuratively speaking. When we were in high school we always said we would move to New York City and become flight attendants for JFK. Travel the world, never the same day twice. Well at least we made it out of Illinois, but in a lot of ways college had clipped my wings.

I knocked on her door sheepishly, knowing that- although she wouldn't push for details- she would already know what brought me there. She answered the door in a Smashing Pumpkins concert tee and baggy pajama pants rolled down to her hips. Her head was covered in tin foil panels, like a shiny silver roof for her brain. With a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth she waved me inside. She skipped to the bathroom to spit.

I carefully stepped over the Lego castle that blocked off the living room, it occurred to me that the architect was being unusually quiet, “Where's Pablo?” I asked.

Pablo was Lilly's three year old son. When we came to college Lilly was an artist and she lived to paint. I knew one day she'd be famous and I'd be able to tell people, “Oh yes, I've known Lilly D'Angelo my whole life.” Two weeks into our freshman year we went to a frat party. Now she's a hair stylist.

“At his dad's, he has him Wednesday through Friday now.” she mumbled before spitting, “So do you wanna talk about it?” she she said poking her head out the door, her eye brows pushed together with discomfort. Lilly dealt with feelings about as well as I did.

I shook my head, “Not today, lets watch a movie”.

So that's exactly what we did, as always, we watched Good Will Hunting and talked about sex. This time we discussed the pro's and con's of fake orgasms, instead of the fact that I jumped off of a balcony to escape commitment. At first.

“So when are the aliens coming?” I said, staring at her head.

“Tuesday.” she laughed. “No, I got bored. I'm trying auburn on top and black underneath.” Now that she knew how to do it herself, Lilly dyed her hair constantly.

“Anyways. . . what about Frank?” she asked me with half a mouth full of popcorn. 'Frank the Tank' is my uncoordinated English Bulldog, he is the only male I have ever been able to make any life long commitment to.

“I think Alex can handle him for a couple days. He loves Frank.” I said. She nodded slowly. Nervously. I could see the question she really wanted to ask waiting on the tip of her tongue.

“And what about Alex?” she smirked as she said this, probably knowing how I would respond.

“Hmm. Well I'm sure Frank can handle him for a couple days, they're both house broken.” Lilly smiled and shook her head as I answered, and the movie took our attention again. But during the scene where Matt Damon opens up to the shrink I started squirming, and before Lilly could raise that stupid eyebrow of hers at me I got up to get a water bottle from the fridge. I lingered in the kitchen. Staring at the refrigerator door, covered in photographs. One photo stood out, me and Lilly, wearing what I wish I could say were Halloween costumes. We were the definition of 1990's Grunge, just ten years late. My hair was pinned into an up-do that made me look like a peacock and Lilly's was three different colors. It was our first day of high school, just six months before we started working. We used to be so innocent.

As I turned the corner Lilly was waiting for me, staring me down like a panther. “What?”

“You know what. Whats going on with you and Alex?” I could detect the curiosity in her voice, but not in a gossipy sort of way. That's the best thing about Lilly- she actually cared.

“Did he, uh, ask again?” she said the word with a certain thickness that vaguely exposed her envy.

I rolled my eyes as opposed to actually answering, she knew what happened when I knocked on her door. This thickness also brought up my own envy, I wished I felt the contentment that Lilly would feel if she'd been proposed to, but I could barely choke out an “I Love You”.

Alex had been pushing marriage as if premarital sex has some sort of reverse statute of limitations in the Catholic Church. Alex Torres was raised in a first generation Mexican-American family, steeped in Catholic doctrine.

I, on the other hand, rejected Catholicism before I was even in middle school. I threatened my father that I would make my Conformation name Magdalene. As in Mary of Magdalene. Given our religious orientations alone, the fact that Alex and I ever got together was surprising. Making the fact that he wanted to marry me incomprehensible, and trust me I was not the only one who thought so, just ask his mother.

In the morning I woke up face down on Lilly's couch, my spine chastising me for my cowardice. But I reminded my spine that staying home would have been just as painful, as it would take some really impressive make up sex to distract him this time. Every time we had this fight he dug his heels in deeper. Which was part of why I chose to jump off a balcony instead. I was a sucker for guilt trips, and I put myself on one every time I saw the rejection in his face. Like the first time he proposed. I couldn't believe how hard he took it, so that night I cooked dinner naked. Conversation over.

But last night was much worse. Abuelita, his grandmother, sent him her goddamned wedding ring. If she knew, who else in his family knew? What if my family knew? What a mess. I was surprised that he would try again so soon, he knew me better than that. Hell, he was better than I probably deserved, but the idea of getting married was enough to make me go into anaphylactic shock.

I told Lilly about my escape over Pop Tarts, I avoided making eye contact like my life depended on it, I could feel the twinge of resentment in her stare.

“So anyways, I have a massive paper to write for Pan Asian Cinema due at 6 and I knew I'd never finish it if I stayed, so I just left.” I said trying to shift the topic.

As usual, she knew my agenda and cooperated, “Why the hell are you taking that by the way? What does that have to do with Spanish?” she said laughing at me. The Liberal Arts School concept was as transparent to Lilly as it was to me, I just happened to be giving in to it. Lilly dropped out the second semester of our freshman year and went for cosmetology at the community college down the road. So, she was actually paying her own rent. I, on the other hand, was financially dependent on my parents, who paid my rent, sent money for food, and paid my tuition.

I laughed in spite of my irritation, “I have to take a Fine Arts class, and it was easier than taking Art History,” I sighed, “I am the quintessential university cash cow.” Instantly regretting the farm animal reference.

“Baaaah” she challenged, her eyebrow raised over a smug smirk.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my bags, heading for the door. I couldn't shake the sensation that I was forgetting something important. Oh, well. I attributed it to not having my cell phone on me.

Outside, the snow had melted but my car was buried under a mountain of leaves, and the melted snow had frozen over so they were plastered the glass. So it took a good fifteen minutes just to rake them off my windows. While I drove to campus I reminisced on all of our childhood schemes and ambitions, we were so damned determined to get away from home, anywhere but Chicago.

Living in a college town on the east coast was exactly like living in a scenic tourist postcard, especially this time of year. The leaves overflowed into the streets, blanketing the ground in a hundred shades of red and gold. But no matter how many leaves were on the ground, the foliage in these ancient tree's never seemed any thinner. It was truly picturesque.

It made me miss home, where beauty came in less predictable forms. I missed the way graffiti was scrawled on the side of vacant buildings, I missed how plant life refused to be evicted – always finding its way back through cracks in the cement, and I missed the contrast of the river winding naturally through the buildings. Growing up in Chicago had instilled in me an appreciation for the unique beauty of raw industrial materials. I loved how life- human or not- seemed to take hold of the city, making it organic again. This place was too. . . pristine. I yearned for my grungy city.

I stared at the clock on my dash, 9:27am. Even though I was a half hour early for class, a tiny voice somewhere in the back of my mind insisted I was running late. If I had my damn phone I could have checked my calendar. I shrugged.

My gym bag flopped over when I pulled into the last open space, a clear orange bottle rolling out and under the glove compartment. It was a good thing too, I didn't like taking my pills in front of people so I skipped them at breakfast with Lilly. The nearly empty bottle brought my nagging worry out of my subconscious and into center stage.

I had a therapy appointment at 9:30 am, “Son of a bitch!”

I threw the car in reverse and ground my teeth in irritation. Driving slower than necessary on my way to the counseling center – wasting as much time as I could – I tried to sort through what I would say.

I glared at the bottle and the two capsules rolling around inside, if they weren't absolutely necessary I never would have made an appointment. I would rather shove bamboo splinters under my finger nails than talk the another psychologist. I had a new therapist almost every year since I was 13. My parents interpreted a little teenage angst and rebellion as psychosis. I don't know what scared them more – the chance that my escapades would tarnish our family reputation or the idea of actually talking to me for more than ten minutes. Either way, I was passed from shrink to shrink in the hopes that one of them might convince me to be the preppy Jr. WASP my parents wanted. I just got more pissed off, eventually I started screwing with them. I started making up incredible stories of parental strife that never happened. Once I said that I found hard core gay porn in my dad's brief case, now that was fun.

I parked at a meter and put in enough for 15 minutes. It still felt just like going to confession with the priest, I had nothing to say- what I did was my business and I had no regrets. I knew the only thing that came from telling a pompous old man my secrets was judgment and pressure to conform. Really I'd come to hold that as a general rule for all people. Just nod and smile.

CH 2

Therapy was such a joke, and if my doctor wanted to keep his stethoscope out of his ass he would give me my goddamned refill now. The air outside the counseling center was crisp, and even though I wasn't a fan of the cold it helped evict the remaining traces of claustrophobia from her office. When I reached my glossy black coupe I smiled at the meter, one minute left. I got rid of her in 14 minutes, that was a personal record. Not wanting to waste a perfectly good parking space, I put two more quarters in the meter and headed for my Spanish Peninsular Liturature.

I could admit it, this place was beautiful. The leaves seemed to be in endless supply up here, no matter how many of them littered the ground, the trees were still rich with foliage. But the architecture made me cringe, it was just as lovely as it's natural surroundings. In true Cape Cod style, each window sill dripped with an air of wealth that could only be found in New England. The colonial brick buildings on campus were a more than one hundred years old, each tall white window framed by black shutters and wrought iron details. The siding of every house was lined in gray cedar shingles, aged from the sea spray and the sand. Here that kind of decay was called “classic”, back in Chicago it was called the projects. Not that I wanted to live in a dumpster or anything, but damn, at least when I said I lived in Chicago it didn't give me away.

I settled into a squeaky desk, the only one left, between the two most pretentious jerks in the room. The ignorant comments that poured out of these two had me looking at my pen, longing to gouge out my own ear drums. Times like that made me envy my Grandpa, anytime someone was being a moron he would pretend to scratch his head as he turned off his hearing aide on the sly.

Why I bothered to go to class at all was beyond me. While the professor droned on about Don Quixote, I was on my lap top writing the fifth page of a ten page paper about Bollywood.

By 5:45pm I pulled the last 5 pages out of my ass, which is the only place a paper on Pan Asian Cinema can be found. I walked into the class, turned in my work, and walked right back out. The way I saw it, I might as well just rip off the band aide and get it over with. At end of the day I had spent ninety percent of my time debating on which would be worse; facing Alex or another reality check from Lilly. I decided that sex would be necessary after either, and since Lilly and I weren't that close, I dragged myself back to the apartment. Plus, I missed my dog, Frank.

Frank was the perfect male because he did not have vocal cords capable of speech. Plus he watched my favorite TV shows with unparalleled enthusiasm, he always loved my cooking, and I was fairly certain he would never propose to me. Alex was a close second though, he was better looking than Frank, he smelled better than Frank, and he was a much better kisser than Frank, but he just insisted on speaking.

Specifically, he insisted on talking about marriage, a four letter word in my mind. But really, Alex was an amazing man, and I'm sure he would make an excellent husband. But I had no intention of ever being a wife. One day I was going to have to explain that to him, so far, I had relied on our age as an excuse.

He put up with a lot being with me. He didn't seem to be precisely aware of it, but Alex was very attractive so he definitely could have shopped around. Why I was still with him was also a mystery, commitment was not in my nature. But something about him kept pulling me back, and that scared the crap out of me. Physically he was just my type, nearly a foot taller than me, tattooed, muscular, and broad shoulders. But mostly it was his smile that caught my attention, it was huge and the contrast between his dark skin and his white teeth was almost magnetic. Maybe that was it- Alex had gravitational force. And I was in orbit.

I pulled into the parking lot behind our apartment and lingered there. This would be awkward, it was always awkward. However, I did have a way with seduction. In retrospect it killed me that we'd had so much make up sex, it was great sex, but it was also always because of me. I could sense the cumulative effect it was having on our relationship, we were eroding with every wave.

When I opened the door Frank was at Alex's side on the couch, watching Cesar Milan: Dog Whisperer. When he saw me, Frank became airborne instantly, as if channeling Haley Berry in Cat Woman, but the moment he hit the floor he realized he was in fact my uncoordinated overweight bulldog. He slid on his back across the hardwood, crashing into a potted plant. I sighed, only my dog.

Alex looked up at me, expressionless, and sighed. My stomach was nearly sick with guilt. How many times would I do this to him?

I took Franks place on the couch and watched Cesar take down a pit bull. When Frank regained consciousness in the corner, even he could feel the tension between Alex and I, so he backed out of the room and took off down the hall to escape. A moment later I heard what sounded like a small avalanche, but I let it go. We watched the rest of the show, or at least we continued to stare straight ahead until the credits rolled.

Finally, Alex exhaled and though I didn't look at him I knew his eyes were shut tight and his hands were pushing through his hair. What I should have been doing was apologizing for acting like a child, for not discussing it like an adult, for hurting him again. But all I could manage to do was stare at the ceiling. Anyone else's mind would probably have been racing, but mine was completely blank, the Dali Lama would have envied my mental silence. I had just one thought, I really want a drink. This should have worried me, but it didn't. Ever since Alex moved in I stopped keeping alcohol in the apartment, so it was irrelevant.

“If you'd waited...” he paused to steady his voice, “I could have told you. . . that I had nothing to do with the damn ring.” he opened his eyes and looked at the side of my frozen face.

“She just sent it, I didn't ask her to.” his voice turned sour at the end, I could hear the message loud and clear, he was thinking; It's not like you'd say yes.

“Oh.” I should have figured, he wasn't stupid. His grandmother- unlike his mom- absolutely adored me, constantly pestering him to get me down the isle.

“I'm sorry for being such a bitch about it.” I still hadn't looked at him, I just rested my head on the back of the couch. The truth of my words pulled up some very unpleasant emotions, which I instinctively stamped out like cigarette butts. Cramming them into a part of my head that was quickly running out of real estate. I constantly wondered, how someone so normal could be willing or able to live with me, much less love me?

We sat in silence, a more comfortable one, for a few minutes. I could feel his posture slump into a relaxed slouch. I could see that smile of his in my peripheral vision, “Did you really jump out of a window?” It was not actually question, he was laughing.

Taken off guard by the shift in tone, I could not hide my smile or prevent myself from snorting. “Hey, it's a balcony, not a window.”

He shook his head and laughed again. We were good.

I got up off the couch and walked over to the bathroom. The door ajar, it would be easy to see the tub from the sofa. And I knew exactly what I was doing. I shot one cocky glance over my shoulder and leaned in to turn on the shower. Just as the water began to run, two warm arms wrapped around my waist.

Heat shot down my neck, his mouth against my skin. Alex crossed his hands over my hips and turned me around. Leaning back for a moment, he looked down at me, his brown eyes scrutinizing my face. I stretched on my tip toes desperate to reach his face again, but he lifted me off my feet, setting me on the edge of the sink, we were eye to eye. Our breathing was ragged and I could hear his heart beat almost as clearly as my own.

During a brief moment when our lips were not connected I managed to whisper, “I'm so sorry”.

My fingers searched blindly for the bottom of his t-shirt and dragged it over his skin, struggling because my own torso was so pressed tightly against him. Alex lifted his arms when I was finally able to pull his shirt up around his chest, it fell to the ground with a unusually loud thud. When his face returned to me I darted towards his neck, tracing the contours of his collar bone. I felt him shudder as I moved slowly towards his jaw.

His face turned slightly so that his mouth touched my ear, “Don't be.” He took my chin and tilted my face to meet his. He was absolutely serious and- as though I didn't know- he said, “I love you.”

The corners of my eyes ached and my throat felt heavy. Every cell in my body wanted to turn away, but his hands held me there. His eyes touched something, pulling it to the surface just long enough for me to speak for it, “I love you too.” But I can't make you happy, I thought.

The steam from the hot water filled the room, Alex glanced at the shower, then back at me. We were still half dressed, but he didn't seem to care. As he lifted me, I wrapped my legs around his waist, welding myself to his chest.

CH 3

A deep dreamless sleep slipped off of me like a silk sheet, without much reason at all I was perfectly awake at 8 o'clock on Saturday morning. Alex, on the other hand, was still sound asleep beside me. The frigid autumn air seemed to be leaking through the sliding glass door, so I buried my face in his chest. The smell and feel of his skin against me felt so much like home, but that level of comfort was so alien, even after two years. With his arms both curled around me, I traced the delicate borders of the crucifix that covered his right bicep with my finger tip. The corners of his mouth twitched and he pulled in a deep breath, his arms flexing and tightening around me. Though he was more than half asleep, Alex's dark brown eyes bored into mine and then looked down at my minimalist take on pajamas. His eyes were suddenly much more alert and I could feel the vibration from his quiet laughter all around me as he brought his lips to mine.

"The things that I would do to you. . ." he paused and glanced at the clock, "if it were two hours later." He yawned and chuckled.

"I can wait." I laughed as I leaned in for one last peck.

“Te amo.” he murmured.

“I love you too.”

As Alex's eyes drifted back down, my stomach growled so loud I half expected him to wake up.

After throwing on a pair of his sweat pants I wandered into the kitchen, nibbling on a pear while I deliberated. The Cap'n Crunch supply was dangerously low, so I pulled the waffle maker down from the cabinet and started hunting for the pancake mix I could have sworn we had lying around somewhere. In the very back of the last cupboard was a dusty box of Aunt Jamima Instant Pancake Mix, buried behind six metric tons of Kibbles and Bits. Which reminded me, I ought to feed Frank while I'm at it. I filled a measuring cup with dog food, but when I rounded the corner into the living room Frank was camped out next to his bowl, snoring away, holding his leash in his mouth. A surge of guilt hit me as I realized that, with all the crap going on, I hadn't taken the dog for a walk in days. And if my extraordinarily lazy dog was this determined to exercise, Alex must have forgotten too. The sound of food hitting his dish woke Frank instantly and his big wrinkly face disappeared into the bowl.

Outside the window the leaves were still, so I decided to take advantage of the weather while it was decent. I could make breakfast when I got back, Alex wouldn't be up until ten anyways. Frank sat next to the door panting that lovely nasal grunt of his, and I'm sure that if he had a tail, he would have been wagging it. The sleeves of my pea coat were still covered in cat hair from home, but it was getting too cold for just a sweat shirt lately.

Once we stepped out of the apartment complex Frank moved faster than I'd ever seen him, so fast it could almost be considered running. Alex and I really needed to get our shit together, for the dog if nothing else. Or maybe it was just me, I needed to get my shit together. The further we got from home the more beer cans and cigarette butts littered the lawns. Frat houses. I hadn't been in to a frat party in, oh, two years now. Hell, I hadn't had a drink in two years.

We had started up a hill when Frank let out a labored groan, two feet later he flopped to the ground and assumed the position. . . to take a nap. At the same time, my cell phone started vibrating in my pants pocket. The screen read Lilly, "Hey, how's life?" I answered. I yanked on Franks leash with no response, he seemed to be orchestrating a one dog sit in as a form of peaceful protest. Lazy bastard.

"Hey, um, not so good actually. Would you mind watching Pablo for me? Just for a couple hours." she said, her voice sounded fragile, almost brittle.

"Uh, yeah, of course. Is everything okay?" I didn't like to hear her this way, there was only one person who broke her down like that.

"I'm fine, Carlos just wants to talk and you know how we can get. I don't want Pablo to be around it."

"No problem Lil, bring him over whenever you need to I'll be there in a minute, I'm just walking the dog."

"Thanks, I'll be there in a few."

I was excited to see the baby, Alex and I used to watch him every Sunday so that Lilly could have so time to herself, to paint mostly. Before she had Pablo, Lilly painted more than she slept, so she named him after Picasso.

I cut my losses and carried my lethargic dog back home. When I opened the door Frank magically regained consciousness, imagine that. The smell of chocolate and butter had filled every corner of the apartment. One of Alex's favorite songs was coming from the kitchen. I loved his CD collection, you'd never find Mexican rap up here, and it was similar to what I used to listen to back home. He stood in the kitchen in just a pair of striped blue pajama pants holding a spatula over a steaming waffle iron, when he heard me close the door he looked up at me and smiled too. What an image, this could be sold to women as porn.

"Hey throw another one in there, looks like we're babysitting Pablo." I said over the music.

His smile wavered and became a wistful smirk, "Rain check on those things I was suppose to do to you at ten?"

"Definitely." I laughed.

No sooner than Pablo's M&M waffles hit the plate there was a feeble knock on the door. Lilly stood in the hallway, her smile was forced. Not for my benefit- she could never fool me- but for her sons'. I took her son by the hand and hugged her before she headed off to face Pablo's dead beat father. If she'd been ready to tell me why, she would have. Pablo on the other hand was entirely thrilled to be hanging out with Aunt Rocky and Uncle Alex for the afternoon. Unlike his new wave hippie mother, we do not use whole grain flour or wheat germ in our waffles. We all huddled around the TV with our waffles and milk and gave Pablo the final say, not surprisingly it was Sponge Bob Square Pants. For two hours Pablo giggled without pause and Alex and I sat with him on the couch. The image of me and Alex with a baby- who could easily pass for our own- made my teeth grind. Against my will his grandmothers engagement ring resurfaced in my thoughts. Why did everyone have to be so damn involved? She loved me to death, yes, I got that. But why did everyone have to constantly ask me, tease me, or tell me when I should be getting married? For fuck sake I'm only 22!

"Aunt Rocky sad?" Pablo asked with a face that may have mirrored my own, fear. He crawled into my lap and stood on my knees so that he could mold my face into the expression he wanted. His tiny fingers tried to iron out the crease between my eye brows and with a hand on each cheek he kissed my nose.

"Be happy now." He demanded with an air of authority that only Lillys' child could have.

"I'm so happy, P. Thanks babe." I whispered.

When he was satisfied Pablo smiled again and flopped back onto the throw pillow between Alex and me. I smiled at Alex, but it was too late, he stared back at me with concern in his eyes.

"I love you" I said.

Over the back of the couch where both of us had laid our arms he took my hand in his, "I love you too."

Between us Pablo threw up his hands and exclaimed, "Me too!"

“Mrs. McAllister, I can't understand–” from the sound of it, Alex couldn't get a word in edge wise, so he handed me the phone, “It's your mom.”

“Rocky? Rocky?”

I slid the phone into my pocket, and my hands became fists so tight that the skin over my knuckles screamed in protest. I could kill Carlos, I could literally strangle that prick.

Down the hall I could hear Pablo coming, “Mommy!”

I turned back to Lilly, who was on the verge of sobbing. I grabbed a box of tissues out of the bathroom and gestured towards the hallway. We sat in the stair well, and I waited for her to talk. She held her face in her hands and the quiet sobs shook her body from head to toe.