AJ & Charli Bite Back

I Liz-Lemoned My Miscarriage

2012-01-10T20:18:00.005-05:00

If anything were normal in my life I wouldn't be here typing. I thought the cathartic post on my horrible 2011 would set a tone of hope and renewal for me in 2012. But there's something about every New Year we fail to realize. It's just another date on the calendar. Life doesn't magically change because of it, or because of heartfelt resolutions and the purging of all the bad from the year before. Below is how my first week of the New Year started and ended, in Liz-Lemon fashion. Below are the emails I sent out to friends.

January 5, 2012: The results are in. My uterus is fetus-free and deformed to boot! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arcuate_uterus

Go figure, right. I couldn't just have any normal miscarriage or uterus. It had to be on Christmas Eve, in Church. BTW, Santa is officially on my naughty list. He's on my shit list really. I could really kick that f*cker in the red velvety balls. My red clown nose, screw that, it's Rudolph's now cause I stole it. Then as my Happy Holiday lingers so does all the joy of what an actual miscarriage is. My first one lasted about a week, one hellish week of pain, but a week. This one is still going strong. The cramps are just as bad, if not worse. Son-of-a-Dingelberry!

I went to the doctor on Tuesday, as scheduled, and they drew blood. My HCG (the hey your preggers hormones that make the Home Pregnancy Tests positive) levels were high and they should've been practically down to zero. Concerned, my doc scheduled an ultrasound for today. They said that it can be anything really. Like that I still may be pregnant. I promised myself I wouldn't get my hopes up but I did. Like an idiot I actually thought that maybe I'd get a late Christmas present. But nope. Not my luck. Never is.

I had terrible shocking WTF cramps on Tuesday night and told the Hubby if I got anymore I think I needed to go to the hospital. They went away and I waited on the couch until my appointment with the perionatologist.

Said ultrasound confirmed my empty uterus. But the doc wanted to be sure all was well so he gave me a Vaginal Ultrasound too. Oh, boy! What FUN! Yes, it is as awkward as it sounds. And is basically a dildo shaped wand you have to stick up you Hoo-ha while the doc moves it around like an Atari joystick. Then, in the Liz Lemon fashion my life is, the Ultra Sound Machine runs out of film. Doc says, "Hold this a sec." Yes. I have to sit up and hold that wand in place. All the while the hubby is standing there looking at me like he ate a lemon, not Liz Lemon, a real lemon. Screw you big guy. I wanted to say but I had to concentrate on holding a dipstick up my ying yang. The doc fumbles to load up the machine with more film. He tries to make light of the situation with a joke that it always runs out during the vaginal. Not funny. Hubby now looks like he ate two lemons and should be eating my two fists but my hands are otherwise engaged.

After fifteen long ass minutes of Doc's joystick ride in my Jay-jay he makes his diagnosis. No baby. Ovaries look fantastic, though. (He said that like he wanted to date them, btw.) And my uterus dips a little. I felt like saying no shit, you just got done poking the crap out of it. But alas, it dips. The Tootsie Roll Song popped into my head. (Now dip baby dip, come on now, dip baby dip...) I really have no clue what function my brain is on half the time.

The Doc apologized for my losses and was so sincere the Charli Tough ass exterior practically crumbled. I have been ordered not to try to conceive for at least three normal cycles. Hopefully my HCG levels have gone down, I won't know til Monday. If they've stayed the same or gone up, then it's another complication. Wonderful. With my luck, I'll be back here next week with another WTF email.

Until then my friends, I cannot say enough for all your support and love. Like I said before, so few know in our family its been hard. Me and the hubby are struggling with what to say to one another. I have no writing mojo as my heart is broken, my body still healing, and my angry clown is festering to escape. I am looking forward to getting back to my writing life but until this is resolved, I gots nothing. Just that damn small spark of hope that I may still be pregnant.

January 10, 2012: I am home typing this on my couch. Recliner up, a heating pad on my belly, and I am heavily medicated. See, I am recovering from emergency surgery from an ectopic pregnancy. Yup, and it ruptured my right fallopian tube. But let me back track a little.

By Sunday my nerves were shot watching the clock, waiting around for Monday when the doc would call with my HCG levels, and the cramps had gotten worse. It was a bad weekend all around. The hubby's birthday was Saturday and he hoped I'd be all stoked to get out and celebrate. I wasn't at all. I was also fighting a nasty cold at this point and puked my guts up on Saturday morning. He thought that I was moping and the stress was making me sick. We had some heated words and basically didn't talk all weekend. Wonderful.

So, Sunday night I drag my sorry stressed out ass up of the couch and did some wash. Then I got dizzy. Then it felt like something exploded on my right side. I struggled up the steps from the basement to my 2nd floor bedroom, hoping the pain is gas or I may still be preggers cramps, not what I think it is. The pain lasted for twelve minutes. I can remember walking down the steps thinking I would fall down them. Through pain stricken tears I crawled to my hubby and said I needed to go to the hospital. I puked again before I left. I paced the kitchen floor thinking maybe the hubby was right, that maybe it was just stress. But my body was telling me something completely different. It was screaming at me.

We get to the hospital and I wait two hours in the ER waiting room. Now this is an inner city ER waiting room. Said ghetto-ness was in full effect. Crackheads, hookers, and a domestic dispute ended in fisticuffs right before my eyes. And crackheads in the ER are the worst. They think they'll get a flurry of free drugs and at the least a turkey sandwich. But it's one of the best hospitals and you gots to do what you gots to do in these situations.

I finally get back there and tell the sad tale to about fifteen different peeps fifteen different times. I try to be all tough and decline pain meds. When I sat still there was mild pain, the pain I'd had every moment of every day since Christmas Eve. But when they started examining and poking I nearly crawled off the ceiling. After the third doc doing this I caved and demanded some drugs. More tests, more ultrasounds, and the verdict was in. Ectopic pregnancy. For about ten seconds in the ultrasound I got my hopes up. The Doc said she saw a pregnancy. I was foolish enough to think it was my baby, alive.

But no, twas not. I waited about another hour before getting whisked off to surgery. Hubby had to leave by this time to get the teen up and ready for school. He hated leaving and I hated seeing him go. The list of what ifs on my consent form scared the living shit out of me. Possible hysterectomy, blood loss, and even death. I didn't get to kiss my daughter goodnight before I'd left to come there. I didn't get to tell her I loved her one more time. I told the hubby I loved him before he left but I didn't get to tell him sorry for the fighting we'd had all weekend.

I prayed like the well trained Catholic girl I am. But while wheeling down the corridors to my possible death I started forgetting the words to the Our Father and Hail Mary. No good Catholic forgets those. If I died on that table I may not like my next location. Damn, I'd be going to hell for sure. Who forgets the Hail Mary??? So I started babbling to God to help a girl out. Then I started pulling images of my deceased brother and father, asking them to intercede and ask the big guy for a break. Then I started wondering why I was wasting my time on an entity that I wondered was even listening. That even if he was that I'd like to curse him out anyways for giving me all this hell. I finally settled on conjuring images of my daughter through the years, loving memories of me and the hubby. My family and friends. I even thought about the joy of writing for a moment.

Then as I am trying to calm myself I overhear the doc bitching how she's been up for 24 hours straight. Before I could protest I got shot with some happy meds. I started bawling and they asked what was wrong. Me, the tough chica from inner city Philly broke down. I told them I was scared while I scooted from the bed to the surgical table. I sobbed and couldn't get out that I was terrified to die, or lose all my girly bits, and that an exhausted woman would be cutting into me.

When I finally got settled instead of protesting about Doctor McSleepy I blurted out how sorry I was that I hadn't shaved my legs. I was mortified that they had to deal with my hairy ham hocks. Where in the hell did that come from? I really wonder what function my brain is on half the time. I told them that I'd rather die with dirty underwear then unshaved legs. That got a laugh from the crew and a weird calm came over me. I think it was the drugs. I figured if I could joke about my stubbly chubby legs then it was a sign. The doc looked so awake all of a sudden. And I could breathe and relief coursed through me. An oxygen mask covered my face and it all went black.

I woke up to bright lights, horrifying pain radiating throughout my entire body, and a throat that was on fire. I was told that the surgery went great. They got out the ectopic pregnancy and the ruptured tube . No baby, one less tube, and I was alive. A different doc did the surgery, saying that the other had just come off 24 hours straight with no rest. Divine intervention maybe?

This doc gleamed about his work. Said my uterus looked great, as did both my ovaries. He even went on to talk about how many women conceive with only one tube. That is something I've yet to decide on. Try again? I've lost two pregnancies since October. I only have one tube left and if I have another ectopic then I'll have none.

My body has been through the ringer these past few months, my heart more so. Recovery is going slow but its going. The family is taking care of me and my friends are awesome. It's the me I have to work on.

One day at a time. One keystroke at a time I am getting Charli back. Thanks for listening. Until next time my cyber friends.

Oh, I found out that a fallopian tube can weigh up to 10 ounces, so my New Years resolution to lose some weight is technically on track. Bad joke, I know, but at least I'm joking around a little. Honk-honk.

Goodbye 2011: The Official Pity Party Post

2012-01-01T20:37:00.000-05:00

To say that this has been one hell of a year is putting it mildly. Not all was bad, nothing ever is, but lots of it sucked, sucked big time.

This year has been filled with immense loss. The kind of loss that changes you and how you look at life. The kind that makes you shake your fist at God or whatever the hell is in charge and ask why? WTF did I ever do that was so damn bad?

My very good friend lost an election, a campaign I worked hard on. Not too hard as I was concentrating on my writing, but hard enough. It was a personal loss and the fact I could've fought harder for him weighs on me day in and day out. My community lost more than anything. A community I live in, was raised in, and hoped to retire in. Not so sure about that now. I never thought I'd leave my 'hood. But I am thinking about it more now.

My beloved Aunt succumbed to cancer after a long, hard, and courageous battle. I hadn't seen her much until we got the news it would only be days. Then, when I finally saw her, the light was fastly dimming. Again, the guilts weighs on me. I could've done more. I should've done more.

The day my Aunt passed was my niece's 13th birthday, the day I met Nicholas Sparks, and the day I miscarried the baby I waited two long years for. Yes, after so long waiting to get pregnant, I did, and it only lasted six weeks.

Life couldn't be crueler, I thought, but I was wrong. I got preggers again right away. YAY! I thought. Finally something good may come out of all this grief. I lost that baby too. On Christmas Eve, right in church, as the choir chimed out Silent Night, before God and the newborn Baby Jesus, the cramp of all cramps came. I rushed to the bathroom and there it was. Massive clumps of blood and tissue.

My sick and twisted sense of humor had me thinking things no good Irish Catholic girl should. My baby, Gloopy we named it, (the first we named Klumpy), landed in the bottom of a church toilet bowl. Is Church toilet water Holy Water, I thought, too traumatized to think seriously. I made the sign of the Cross, looked one last time trying to be sure of what I saw, and then flushed.

When I returned to my pew my Hubby looked at me and he knew. One look and he knew. I had to tell him later what exactly happened. He never got the Christmas Eve gift I had planned for him. The positive home pregnancy test and a pacifier that said, I Love Daddy. It sits in my nightstand drawer now. Unsure if it will ever be used.

Then there are the rejections from this year. The ones on my first and only completed MS. The one that has gone through three title changes and god knows how many revisions. Those hurt but I learned from them. The rejection that nearly killed the writer in me was for a piece I was ASKED to write. Was sought out for and begged to write. A FB writing friend said she'd been following me and was a secret fan. Yay, I thought, I'm unpubbed and have a fan! She was the editor for an English as a second language magazine in Korea. (I know right, I should've known!) The magazine was legit, so far as I could tell by the Internet, and I said okay. This "friend" saw my author bio page and asked me to write about how the death of my beloved brother sparked the writer in me. I ran some ideas by her and she signed off on me writing 2,000 words about the day my brother died from the POV from when I was 12. I dug up newspaper articles from that day. I asked my mother things she hadn't thought about in years. For two gut wrenching weeks I typed my little heart out, opening wounds long healed and letting them bleed all over the page. I was proud of what I'd written and sent it off. My editor was all smiles and tears. Then time went on and on and on. And nothing. I sent out some emails and was told the editor left due to illness and the new one wasn't interested in my story.

Yeah. I had no words at first. Then I spewed some off. How dare they, I thought, ask me to drudge all this stuff up and then tell me thanks but no thanks. I have profound respect for those who write their memoirs. I only wrote 6 pages and still tear up when I think about it.

However, there is the bright side. I got to see AJ twice, once in NY then later in Niagara Falls. I have a job, my health, family and friends who care about me. I have a great network of writers I surround myself with. I did win a contest and two editors from major houses are awaiting my full as I type.

But, the guts to send out anything is gone. At a conference I had another editor from one of the biggies ask for my work but she later rejected it. All confidence is gone and I am desperately trying to find it as I type this Woe is Me Pity Party Post.

I am hoping 2012 brings the Charli Mac gusto back. The big balls that match my big red nose are sadly missed.

App for A Hot Guy to Feel You Up

2011-10-21T11:36:00.000-04:00

A very dear friend of mine sent me this link to give me a laugh. I hate to say it had a very different affect. My phone now sends me daily reminders to check my tots. They put the fun back in fun-bags! Love this!

The Outside Boy

2011-09-08T13:15:00.000-04:00

To be truly free, you have to know who you are.

I don’t review or chat about every book I read. The ones I chose to discuss here mean something to me, have changed me in someway, and have allowed me to become a better writer.

Such a novel is The Outside Boy by Jeanine Cummins. I savored every word and cradled them in my heart. I sat in awe of Cummins’ ability to weave words so delicately, so gracefully and yet the strength in them holds you fast, like an anchor at sea.

I met the lovely lass at a book reading a while back. Her debut novel tells the tale of an Irish gypsy boy's childhood in the 1950's and his struggle to find himself in a changing world.

Ireland, 1959: Young Christy Hurley is a Pavee gypsy, traveling with his father and extended family from town to town, carrying all their worldly possessions in their wagons. Christy carries with him a burden of guilt as well, haunted by the story of his mother's death in childbirth. The peripatetic life is the only one Christy has ever known, but when his grandfather dies, everything changes. His father decides to settle down temporarily in a town where Christy and his cousin can attend mass and receive proper schooling. But they are still treated as outsiders.

As Christy's exposure to a different life causes him to question who he is and where he belongs, the answer may lie with an old newspaper photograph and a long-buried family secret that could change his life forever...

Malachy McCourt’s lovely review of The Outside Boy made my heart smile:

"In Hibernian society, there’s hardly a creature lower than the Irish tinker, a nomadic group ‘tis said was driven into the barren country by the fundamentalist Cromwell to starve. Regardless, the modern diminutive hero Christy, in Jeanine Cummins’s gloriously poetic novel, will burrow his way into your heart. It’s not often I hug a book, but with moist eyes and beginnings of a song in my heart, I followed Christy’s journey from a death to hopeful life. Read this lovely book and you will hug yourself."- Malachy McCourt, New York Times bestselling author of A Monk Swimming.

Here is a short excerpt from chapter one. Here, Christy’s Grandmother stirs them all from sleep, wailing in the night. His father and uncle stand outside his grandparents wagon, waiting to face the inevitable…

My dad hesitated, put his hand on his brother's shoulder for a long moment, like he was gathering strength for what he knew he'd find. Then he nodded and turned toward Granny's wagon door. It was hanging open, too, and she howled again as he went. I shivered under our blanket, to hear the sound of that wordless pain, unleashed and raw, galloping around the camp. Granny was like a toothless wolf. We watched without blinking while my dad disappeared into the wagon. Martin squirmed in even closer beside me, and I could feel his elbow stuck between two of my shivering ribs, like we was twins for a minute, instead of cousins. We was joined at the eyes and ears, joined at the dread. Everything was silent and stretched—only the tidal rhythm of our shared breath pushed the seconds forward. I wished for my mother.

Dad came out again, shaking his head.

"He's gone," he said.

His face was pale in the moonlight. Gone. I knew what he meant. He meant my grandda.

This tragedy spurs events that will change Christy’s life forever. Like Malachy McCourt said, I hugged this book on the very last page. Christy's tale is forever embedded in my heart and soul.

Below is an interview that Jeanine was so nice to do for our little blog and she let me gush over her like a little school girl…

The reading for The Outside Boy was my first reading ever. You were so gracious and lovely to chat with. As you read the excerpt, your emotion, slight brogue, and love for your story burst through. I sat, captivated, wanting you to read more. When it was over, it was all I could do to be polite and not rush home and continue reading. Do you often get audience members drooling? Or was it just me?

I often get audience members drooling, but usually only when I read to my daughter's preschool class. I'm so glad you enjoyed it! Writing can be a lonely job, and there's nothing more gratifying than those times when I do get to share my work, and I find a strong connection with readers. That makes it all worthwhile!

Before you even read, and had me utterly mesmerized, I read the front and back cover along with the inside acknowledgements on the display table. I knew then I needed to read Christy’s story. But, behind The Outside Boy was your first book, a memoir entitled, A Rip In Heaven, A Memoir Of Murder And Its Aftermath. You mentioned that the emotional drain writing it is what created this need to write fiction. Was it difficult to switch gears going from something so profoundly personal to a fictional narrative?

For me, that wasn't difficult. I always wanted to write fiction, but I sort of had to write that memoir first. I had to get that out of me before anything else would come. I always knew I would make the switch. What was surprising to me was how similar the process was, between writing fiction and non-fiction. In the end, both stories come from the same place in my emotional landscape.

Your background is so diverse and worldly. Can you share with us where you’ve been and where you are now?

My background isn't as worldly as it might seem. My dad was in the Navy, so we moved around a lot when we were kids. I was born in Spain, and lived all over the states. But I grew up mostly in Maryland. After college, I spent a couple of years in Ireland, and then I moved to New York, where I've been ever since. Okay, maybe it is worldly. I'm very sophisticated. AHEM. I'm also half Irish and half Puerto Rican. And in case you're curious, it's definitely the BACK half that's Puerto Rican.

You have quite a few impressive endorsements for The Outside Boy, but Malachy McCourt’s took my breath away. How did it feel to have an Iconic Irishman give you such poetic praise?

Imagine it’s a cold day outside, and your house is pretty chilly. You lay down on your couch, but you don’t have a blanket handy, so you’re cold. Then all of a sudden two hundred kittens – two hundred ZOMG SQUEEEEE kittens – come climb on top of you. Then they all curl up into those impossibly compact little kitten balls, and some of them are laid out on top of others, and it’s just a mass of fuzziness and cuteness and whiskers that go on forever. And then they all start singing. Not your run-of-the mill-kittenpurr singing. Actual angelic furball singing from the heavens. It felt like that. I wept.

The Outside Boy is about a group of Travellers/Pavees in 1959 Ireland. Where did the idea from this story come from? What inspired you to write it? Is there a little boy named Christy roaming the Irish countryside?

After my memoir, I knew I had to get out of the true story business. Writing about personal trauma was too painful. But I also knew that I always wanted to write about injustice. So I went looking for a story about injustice that was as far away from my personal realm of experience as possible. I landed on the Irish travellers. They were foreign enough to me that I felt I might have some emotional distance in the story (HA!), and I felt that they had been treated unfairly, that Christy's was a story that needed telling, from the inside out. I fell in love with them.

A cable show has recently gained some notoriety exploiting travelers/gypsies from Europe, especially England and Ireland. Is this a real depiction of true travelers in Ireland, the ones who you grew close to while researching your story?

My Big, Fat, Gypsy Wedding portrays the travellers about as accurately as some other cable show we know and love portrays housewives in New York City. As a housewife in New York City, I can tell you with certainty: It's not that accurate. Which isn't to say there's no element of truth therein. But there's a lot more depth to these people than we can see in thirty minutes of trashy television. (Note: Real Housewife Kelly Bensimon is exempt from the above statement. I'm convinced she is entirely devoid of depth).

What do you want the general public, especially readers, to understand about the Pavee culture?

Well just that, really - that it's a culture. These people are not disposable, and they're not homeless. Their way of life is ancient and valid, and they deserve our respect. Their culture is worth preserving.

You mentioned in the reading how you were lucky to get a glimpse of Pavee life, that a few gave you a peek inside their world. Can you share with us one of those experiences?

My favorite experience was going to visit Winnie and her family in Dunsink, outside of Dublin. I was astonished by the interiors of the caravans- I'm claustrophobic, and I couldn't imagine living inside such a small space. It still hadn't dawned on me then, that the travellers don't really live inside the caravans. They live outside them. The caravan is just a retreat from the weather, for sleep, for comfort. But their real lives go on outside, in the camps.

The banter between the family members is so true to life. The scene which had me laughing out loud was the one where Christy sat up in his tree, razzing his Uncle Finty. I felt like I sat in the tree with him, causing mischief, laughing till my belly hurt. Then the chats between Martin and Christy, the fights, and the play; they reminded me and me and my wee sister. (See, you have me typing in brogue! LOL.) Where any of the scenes inspired by real life family moments?

Hmmm, let me think. There were a couple of moments in the book that were inspired by true stories. The one where Beano yells "fair fucks!" to his sister in the middle of the classroom was stolen from an ex-boyfriend of mine – a kid in his school back in Ireland actually did that. Poor bastard. But beyond that, I'd say just the general psychology (and the resulting banter) of the characters comes largely from people I know, and I know a lot of Irish people. They tend to be rather witty. Or at least they think they are.

The nicknames Christy gives to the people he comes across is so true to children of that age. (Ah-hem, I even give nicknames to people as an adult). Did you know any Sister Hedgehogs, Beanos, or Finnaula Whippets growing up?

I did not. Many of the nicknames in the book came from people that my Irish husband talks about from his childhood. He had a teacher called The Blob, and knew a kid called Beano. We're big on nicknames. I'm called Tink, and have been since the day I was born. My dog's name is Seamus, but we call him Comanchero. Yeah, I donno.
This heartwarming story is, as the book cover states, about finding out who you really are. Did this theme come first or evolve as you created Christy’s story?

I always wanted the book to be about this kid's struggle to find out where he fits into this shifting landscape. His world is beginning to crumble around him, and he doesn't know who he is or where he belongs. That kid was me - maybe because of my diverse background, I always had certain questions about identity. I never felt like I fully belonged anywhere, so I wanted to explore what it would be like for a kid like Christy, trying to figure that stuff out.

Did you cry while writing, as much as I did reading? (FYI, I was a blubbering idiot!)

Why, how much did you cry? If the novel made you cry, perhaps you should not read my memoir, which is a TEAR-JERKER, for reals. But yes, I cried when I wrote about Jack. I'd have to be a heartless bitch not to cry for poor Jack.

Fun stuff: If you could have a superpower what would it be and what would you call yourself?

I would be fluent in every language existent (which power comes with an appropriate level of cultural knowledge and empathy) and have my own zero-carbon-footprint jet which runs on water, so I could go visiting at my leisure. I would call myself Dan.

If you could be any fictional character from a novel, television show, or movie who would it be and why?

Oooh, all of my heroes die tragically, and I don't want to do that. I want to die old, eating doughnuts, and surrounded by my progeny. So I'll go with Bilbo. He got to have the same sort of adventures as Frodo, but without quite as much responsibility. And in the end, he lived out his days in comfort and joy.

What was the first book you ever read that made you say, “I want to do this; I want to be a writer”?

I was so moved by so many books as a child; I think most of them made me think: I could never do this. I remember reading Yeats for the first time, and feeling entirely defeated by the beauty of his language. He disemboweled me. To be honest, I still don't think I can do this. I worry that people will discover I'm a fraud. DON'T TELL ANYONE.

What can readers expect next from Jeanine Cummins? Will Christy ever be heard from again? Will we find ourselves reading about Spain or NYC, your other homes?

My mom wants me to write a sequel called Jack is Back! But right now I'm working on another novel, half-set in contemporary New York City, and half-set in Ireland during the famine times. And I'm also writing my first children's novel, which is FUN. It's about an Irish girl-pirate, set in the 16th century, and based on the legends of real-life awesome chick, Grace O'Malley. But I'm already looking ahead to the next project after that... I want to write about immigration issues in America, and the fallout for Irish and Latino subcultures here. There's so much that interests me. I don't think I'll ever run out of material.

Thanks Jeanine for taking the time to answer all my questions and most of all, bringing Christy into my life.

I hope you all run and buy this book! Below is a lovely interview from Jeanine's Website.

NYC, RWA, ATM, WTF!

2011-08-25T18:25:00.000-04:00

You're wondering why A.J. & I have yet to post about RWA Nationals in NYC.

Well, let's just say we're still recovering from the sticker shock of the 18 dollar not so Chocolate Martini, the walking from the left overs hotel to the conference hotel, the copious pints of Yeungling Lager, the near financial collapse of my visa card- Liz Lemon Style, the cheetah like stealth in which A.J. found a Coach store and snuck away from our picnic in the park, MASTERCARD in hand. Mission Impossible maneuvers on the NY Mass Transit System, and the best damn pizza ever made on the planet-truly.

My Liz Lemon shadow definitely followed me on this trip. The morning of, my laptop crashed. Lovely. Stubborn Hubby kept trying to fix it, making me leave later than I'd wanted for my first ever train ride to NYC from Philly. We got stuck behind a funeral procession as the minutes ticked by. I got there with seconds to spare. Whew. Train ride was lovely really. Until I got shushed. Apparently I picked the "quiet" car. A.J. was calling and I had to answer, my bad Mr. Cranky Pants. I resort back to texting as a link to the outside world I learn my teenage daughter has a secret Facebook Page. Lovely. Oh, and it's a basically "I hate my Mom" Homage to me. Again. Lovely. Let the other parental unit deal with it. I am outta here.

My cabbie didn't help me put my bags in and they ended up sitting on my lap. I get to said Left-Overs Hotel and go to check in. *Insert record player skurt sound effects here.* My credit card was declined. What-the-what is right. When I call the bank apparently fraudulent charges were made from NYC for other customers so they flagged all purchases coming New York and Ohio. It's a small local Philly bank, not national. Whoa is me!

Great. Awesome. I say, but I AM here in NYC, and I NEED money! (This nightmare takes all weekend to iron out, BTW) Right on cue, A.J. comes running in behind me. Thank Gawds the Canadian was packing some serious plastic or we would've been on the street people.

And street people, or rather people in streets, there were many. RWA Conference, in NYC on the 4th of July weekend ... need I say more?

A.J. saves the day. Canada rocks! Yet, here I am thinking the universe is colliding to royally screw with us. Not a good omen. But, I have my clown nose and a dream. I trudge on. Charli style, with JAWS, a.k.a A.J., her razor sharp teeth ready to take a bite out of anyone in our way. (very suspicious of everyone and everything)

We forge ahead and meet up with the fabulous peeps from Heroes & Heartbreakers at the fabulously delicious, Juniors Cheesecake. In true, A.J & Charli style we are a tad bit late. But the cake rocked and so did the company. It was so awesome to meet peeps you only know through the internets. A.J. is not a cheesecake fan, I know, weirdo Canadian. But she got this kick-ass slab of strawberry shortcake. OBJECT IS BIGGER THAN IS APPEARS!

After our great conversation and a caloric induced coma we decide we need more than a wee bit o' cake and find Ray's Pizza. Wow. Awesome. Really. Great. Pizza. And Canada kind of got excited seeing beer in a take out fridge. Beer always gets me excited. BTW, A.J. wore these fabulous heels but, um, they were heels. Yeah, walking around in Times Square in heels is not recommended. A couple of slices later we trudge back to our hotel. A.J. limps and I undo the top button in my pants. *Burp*

Now its time for the First Timers Orientation! Yay! And we went. And that's all we really have to say about that.

Moving along ...

We meet up at the Hotel Bar and schmooze with G. Jillian Stone! It was so awesome to finally meet her in person. We chat and A.J. orders that overpriced Chocolate Martini. Blech she says!

So, I , Charli, get up in time for the breakfast and meet up with the super awesome G. Jillian Stone. A.J. dragged her arse out a wee bit later.

A.J. met up with us and we have a little time to kill before our RWA PRO Retreat. We take in the sights and realize, as nice the Conference Hotel is, it is a terrible place to hang out and meet people. The main floor has no lobby. The 8th floor has space to grab a quick bite or drink and its a hodge podge of places to sit. It's not at all what I expected. But sitting next to G. Jillian Stone and recalling her Cinderella story from the year before at Nationals, I guess I had high hopes.

As did I (A.J.) The Chocolate Martini, a cloudy confection, claimed to be Grey Goose Vodka, a splash of crème de cacao, ringed with powdered chocolate …

The murk in the martini is an omen, dear readers. Not all was as we thought it would be. Hyped does not even begin to describe how excited we were to attend Nationals!

The problem was, and I say this with Charli’s blessing, RWA was not all it was cracked up to be. At least, not for us. What we expected and what we got were two very different things. Firstly, we’ve both been writing seriously for two years, and in those years we’ve consumed every morsel of information we could in order to hone our craft, improve our understanding of the publishing business and understand the market.

Armed with an arsenal of information, I jumped on a plane, Charli hailed a train and we rendezvoused at the Manhattan @ Times Square, otherwise known as the Left Over Hotel. We tossed our luggage in the room and headed to the Marriott; excited to learn MORE.

But sadly, what we got was a whole lot of knowledge we’d already attained. The conference itself, minus schmoozing with the Super fantastic Jill Stone, and Team Awesome Sauce from H&H, we strongly feel was for newbies; that is, writers in the beginning stage of their career, who know little, and would, at Nationals, learn a lot.

Most of the “workshops” were more or less panels, and had little interaction between, author/editor/agent and writer. So hyped were we for the PRO retreat, speechless is all we could be. One would normally expect a retreat to have some small group interactions. Perhaps a group of 6-10 people, all say, perhaps who write in the same genre, who could really benefit from chatting with an author/editor/agent who represents or writes what the author does.

Instead, general questions were written on pieces of scrap paper, and possibly – not even half were answered – answered by one of the several, informative panelists. Oh, and the Powers That Be in the RWA – sounds like some sort of mob, IRA, CIA, etc. – made sure everyone stayed until the very end by offering up door prizes, ranging from free crits from editors and agents, to synopsis reviews from published authors. And who wouldn’t want that?

Huh, hand up over here in Canada? You, Charli?

Present, with clown nose on!

I (Charli), too felt that this Conference was definitely geared toward newbies to writing, especially Romance. If you write Paranormal or Western you would have been in great company. We, um, don't. Actually the biggest Ah-ha moment for us clowns was that we don't write Romance. 'Twas clear. We write stories with Romantic Elements.Which in itself was a boon indeed! But worth the near fortune we paid to attend? Mmm, not so much.

Sherrilyn Kenyon's Awards Luncheon Speech was a major highlight for me. There was not a dry eye in the house. When she spoke of how her brother's passing inspired her to keep going, I nearly lost it. Amazing. If you can get your hands on a recording of it, jump on it. I guarantee you will be inspired.

One of the morning panels featured authors Steve Berry, Diana Gabaldon, and Tess Gerritsen. Together they offered great insight into what its like to be a bestselling author. And since I LOVE LOVE LOVE The Outlander is was very thought provoking to hear about Diana's experiences as a writer.

I did attend a few workshops that helped me a little. The Buy This Book! panel was worth its weight in gold. It really opened my eyes to what goes on when editors get your manuscript. Plus Jill was in the audience and she gave me much needed confidence as I flailed my way through presenting my book. Yes, I volunteered and made a fool of myself, Lemon style. But, 'twas worth it.

BTW, there were several author signings and the books were all FREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What writer wouldn't want FREE books? Count that as another highlight! We got so many, A.J. had to ship two, VERY FULL boxes back to Canada! And amidst the crowds, we had the pleasure of meeting two very talented, and awe inspiring authors; Sherrilyn Kenyon and Julia London. SQUEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, and in traditional we always feck things up style, Jill roamed the streets of NYC, in search of the House of Brews, only to realize they're were two within the vicinity! Oops! where's a GPS when ye need it? Drinks are on us! Poor lass was so tired by the time she found us we forgot to get a pic with her. So, the photos below are in honor of, Jill.

Agents requested our work, we schmoozed as best we could in the maze like wren of mismatched chairs in the hotel bar, and attended the GH & Rita Dinner. Huh, oops, our bad, the dessert and coffee, dinner? That doesn't sound right! Grr. Plus, like the tools we are, we paid extra for the event thinking we had to. Again. Liz Lemon. We were so annoyed at this point we jumped ship and headed to a little french cafe for some, your guessed it, brews. And it was called La Brassiere. Saucy!

After many more brews, we hit the sheets. Ah, Saturday, freedom. Conference over, we headed out for a wee bit o' retail therapy, a tour of NYC's mass transit and a walk about. After eating the best pizza EVER (photo below) we headed for Central Park and a delightful lunch with Savvy Authors and a Mighty Agent I am friendly with. She made all kinds of delectable treats. And this is where A.J. said she had to use the facilities, and ended up in the Coach store, caught red-handed, lassie!

Anywho, did we have fun? Hells yes. Would we do it again? Hells no. RWA Nationals is not for us. But that's not to say its not for YOU!

We're stalking the internets as you read this for Writing Conferences that encompass all genres of fiction. Conferences that give the writer one on one time with agents and editors in workshops, not panels, set in smaller numbers than the estimated 2,200 authors at Nationals. Do your research, we did, and we are amazed at what is out there. That, will be yet another tale to tell.

RWA Conference: 525.00

Awards Dinner Ticket: 65.00

Airfare: 350.00

Coach Purse: 350.00

Having a MasterCard accepted at the Left Over Hotel?

Priceless ...

Fireworks Over Toccoa

2011-06-30T06:00:00.006-04:00

Sometimes you pick a book and sometimes a book picks you. This has been happening to me a lot lately.

I mean, just look at this cover. A beautiful starlit sky. A beautiful couple dancing. The slight smile on the man's face, the gentleness in which he seems to hold her hand, how his palm presses against her back- keeping her close. Can't you feel rustle of their hair, the heat of their cheeks touching... I can.

And that's just the cover. Jeffrey Stepakoff's words reached out from the page and held me fast, each passage captured my heart, and left me profoundly changed. This love story, and the true story that inspired it all, will remind you that everything does happen for a reason. That who we are today is the culmination of all the paths we've embarked upon and those who journeyed along with us.

Every so often a story comes along that reminds us of what it’s like to experience love for the first time – against the odds, when you least expect it, and with such passion that it completely changes you forever.

Lily Davis Woodward was married for just days before her husband was sent abroad to fight in WWII. Now, he and the other soldiers are returning, and the small town of Toccoa, Georgia plans a big celebration. Jake Russo, a handsome Italian immigrant, also back from the war, is responsible for the elaborate fireworks display the town commissioned. After a chance encounter on a starlit field, he steals Lily’s heart and soul- and fulfills her in ways her socially minded, uper class family cannot. Torn between duty to society and her husband- and the poor, passionate man who might be her only true love- Lily must choose between a love she never knew and a commitment she'd already made.

Poignant and elegant, Fireworks Over Toccoa is a mosaic of all the emotions that only love can make possible...

Jeffrey had me at World War II and a love story. Throw in fireworks and 4th of July and I was sold. See, me and the hubby's anniversary is the 4th of July so the holiday and the thought of brightly colored skies makes my heart go pitter-patter.

Emily Giffin, Bestselling Author of Love The One You’re With, even praised this heartfelt story, “A luminous love story that readers won’t soon forget, Fireworks Over Toccoa transports you to another time and place. It is at once heartbreaking and triumphant—an affirmation of love in all its forms.”

The book opens with a couple of boys playing near a resovoir. They find something in the murky waters that has not seen the light of day for decades. When the historical society displays the artifact in the local paper, the original owner cannot believe its resurfaced after all these years. It brings forth a rush of memories that cannot be contained. An elderly Lily sets off with her granddaughter Colleen, to reclaim what is rightfully hers. A granddaughter she believes is about to marry the wrong man. Along the way she can only hope to show Colleen that there is no such thing as the perfect man or perfect life. Lily hopes that by sharing her past Colleen will make the right choice for her future.

The passage below is after Lily meets Jake in the field where he is setting up the fireworks display. Lily sees a burst of color in the sky and gets out of her car to investigate. She walks, unknowingly, to where Jake is testing the fireworks. He rushes to her, pushes her to the ground and covers her from an explosion. After he helps clean a wound on her knee he realizes he doesn't want her to go.

Jake realized that Lily was shaking her head. "You okay?" he said.

"I'm just remembering, I've got a trunk full of ice cream and butter."

"In this heat?"

Lily realized her groceries were probably ruined. "I'm not usually like this. Really. I don't know what's wrong with me today."

Jake laughed. Incerasingly certain that he was seeing a part of this young woman that very few ever saw. A part she kept carefully hidden, maybe even from herself. And he liked it. He liked it a lot.

Jake had learned during his time at war that there are moments in one's life, critical moments, small moments, passing flutters of a second, in which decisions are made and actions taken, perhaps the slightest of offers extended, that the time on the surface seems simple and transparent but upon consideration or reflection are proven to be instants that can change the course of everything.

As she stood there in her sandals in that field, smiling comfortably at him, an evening breeze kicking up, tossing her hair, rippling her dress, the feel of the skin of her leg rooted in his mind like a lovely haunting melody, growing louder and more resolute each time he tried to forget it, on a level that he was not wholly aware of at the time, this was one of those moments. It could have ended there, Jake knew. There was nothing else between them, and the last thing he needed was a complication. He was decidedly avoiding such things in his life. That was one of the main reasons he was here after all. Say goodbye, wish her well, do the show, and move on to the next town, he told his conscious self.

But after several years living by his gut, literally surviving on what it directed him to do, he once again found himself acting on that core instinct. "Would you like to stay for dinner?" he asked. "I don't have much. But there's some risotto, and I'm not entirely bad with my little camp stove. And I suppose we could have ice cream soup for dessert."

Lily was a little taken back by the offer. But she continued standing there. "You saved my life, you bandage my knee, I can't have you feed me, too. The Ladies Auxiliary will throw me out of Toccoa for being such a poor southern hostess."

"So, we won't tell them."

How long had it been since she'd been invited to dinner, to anything, by someone besides her parents or someone who was connected to her parents? Dinner. More time with this man. Yes. That was exactly what she wanted. Was it okay? Was it proper? Was it right? She didn't know. But she was in the middle of a grassy field and the sun was going down and Jake Russo had been nothing but nice and kind and interesting, and all she knew for sure was that she wanted more. And that, that certainly felt right.

"I can stay."

Later, Jake opens up to Lily about his experience over seas and in battle.

For the first time, Lily got a glimpse into what Jake Russo had been through, what hurt him so deeply and caused him to wander cross-country without home or community. More than anything she wanted to soothe that pain, kiss away the anguish, but she dare not approach that place. She dare not battle an apparition she could not see or touch or know. So she remained silent and let instinct take over once again, running her hands through his hair. He liked that. His body was so responsive to her touch, so sensual. Could you love someone you'd known for barely one day? What if you felt that you'd known that person your whole life, even though you just met him?

"You can share anything with me, Jake. Even, that," she said as gently as a person could.

Jake inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. What could he say to her? I am sharing everything with you, he thought. Every time my chest expands with breath against yours, every time my heart beats in tempo with yours, I am sharing everything. How could he make her understand? He opened his eyes. "You asked me when we had dinner in the field if I had changed," he said. "What I've come to believe is that you have to cherish...this, the present. Life and death...it's a matter of breath, a heartbeat...a single footstep." He thought about Lorena, who had stepped on a mine in her vineyard, and he held Lily even tighter thinking about the simple timing of things. He had seen so much that was arbitrary- things you couldn't make sense of, let alone try to explain with words. He held her even tighter and tried to convey these thoughts with the stroke of his hands, the pound of his pulse, tried to pass them through his touch. "This, the here and the now, Lily, this is what you count on."

Oh sigh and super duper knee jerking sigh. Want to know how it ends? You'll need to buy the book for that. I've already read Jeffrey's second novel, The Orchard, and am reviewing it over at Heroes and Heartbreakers. Another must read love story by this amazing author.

Here's a little background on this master of words. His bio had me worshipping at the altars of literature, screaming, "I'm not worthy..

Jeffrey Stepakoff was raised in Atlanta, Georgia. He attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill where he received a BA in Journalism. In 1988, the day after getting his MFA in Playwriting from Carnegie Mellon, he drove to Hollywood where he began writing for film and television.

Jeffrey has “written by” or “story by” credits on thirty-six television episodes, has written for fourteen different series and has worked on seven primetime staffs, producing hundreds of hours of internationally-recognized television, including the Emmy-winning THE WONDER YEARS, SISTERS, WILD CARD, HYPERION BAY, THE MAGIC SCHOOL, C16: FBI, ROBIN’S HOODS, LAND’S END, FLIPPER, SONS & DAUGHTERS, MAJOR DAD, THE YAKOV SMIRNOFF SHOW, BEAUTY & THE BEAST, HAVE FAITH, SIMON& SIMON, and DAWSON’S CREEK where he was Co-Executive Producer.

Stepakoff has also created and developed pilots for many of the major studios and networks, including 20th Century, Paramount, MTM, Fox and ABC. And he has developed and written major motion pictures, including Disney’s TARZAN and BROTHER BEAR, and EM Entertainment’s LAPITCH, THE LITTLE SHOEMAKER, Croatia’s selection for the 1998 Academy Awards.

A few years ago, Stepakoff returned to Atlanta, where he lives with his wife and three young children, and began writing fiction. FIREWORKS OVER TOCCOA is his first novel. Presently, he speaks around the country, teaches dramatic writing at Kennesaw State University, and is hard at work on his second novel for St. Martin’s Press. In his spare time, he builds forts in living room with sofa cushions.

You can read excerpts of both Fireworks Over Toccoa and The Orchard at http://jeffreystepakoff.com/

Happy Birthday Jeff!

Beautiful Disaster is a Beautiful Must Read!

2011-06-13T09:05:00.003-04:00

Laura Spinella's BEAUTIFUL DISASTER, haunted me as I perused the bookshelves. The cover pulled me in and I wanted to read it, no, needed to read it. But my hands were full and I couldn't spend a penny more. Sigh, I hate when that happens. The solitary man on a that road surrounded by lush greenery kept staring at me, and it kept me there for a few beats. I finally put it down and resigned to come back the following week for it. Well, I was back looking for a gift two days later. Low and behold the book was staring at me again, not in its right place, just randomly in a spot where I'd be. 'Twas a sign. I bought said book and started reading on the train ride home from work.

I COULD NOT STOP READING! I devoured this amazing story in two days. Flynn and Mia will capture your heart. You will need to know what happens, how did they get to this place and how it will all end. I sensed every move Flynn made, his persona, how he saw the world. Mia's vulnerabilities, her weaknesses, and the eventual strength she gained mirrored much of what many young women go through during those years of self exploration, years of loving only one man. The sacrifices Flynn made touched my heart and have stayed with me, coming back to my mind when I least expect it. When I finally finished it, I crushed it to my chest with a weighty SIGH, and so did not want it to end.

Here is a blurb from Laura's website:

Mia Wells is poised to finalize the deal that will make her eco-friendly career goals a reality. The moment is interrupted when an unexpected phone call ushers in a tremulous past. The man she’s always loved, the one who abandoned her years before, has mysteriously resurfaced.

Set in the Deep South amid magnolia leaves and the innocence of college life, Beautiful Disaster begins with Flynn’s arrival. He’s a man with a doubtful past, half a name, and no ties to anything earthbound, except Mia. For a year they have the kind of love affair a man like him inspires. Mia trusts him with her life. It’s a precarious leap of faith when she learns that he’s a fugitive on the run. For the next twelve years she keeps his secrets, long after Flynn vanishes, devastating her. Succumbing to the common sense she once defied, Mia eventually marries. Michael Wells is a wonderful man: patient, successful, driven. She does love him; who wouldn’t? Never anticipating Flynn’s return, Mia does her best to put the past behind her. It’s a bittersweet truth as she must admit to a love and a passion that has never died. Yet, the future is grim as a gravely injured Flynn lingers, his dark past hovering like a storm. When he finally recovers, the puzzle unfolds. Flynn’s recollections are sketchy, piecing together the years and moments leading up to his accident. A smart man for whom honor has been a nemesis, Flynn unravels the truth: one well meaning lie has altered three lives, creating futures that should have never been. As the past and present reconcile, Mia’s what ifs are endless. Filled with sweetness and suspense, Beautiful Disaster is an achingly powerful tale—the kind of love story each of us wishes was ours to tell.

They way Spinella immerses you into Mia and Flynn's world is seamless. There were moments where I could feel the stubble on Flynn's face, the sweat dripping down his back or the wind combing its fingers through Mia's hair.

This passage here, simply made the air freeze in my lungs. Mia and Flynn have just met and Mia is re-thinking her decision to ride on a motorcycle alone with a stranger back to his hotel room.

"Would you like to search it?" he asked, making contact with her stark eyes, tipping the bag in her direction.

"Search it?"

"Yeah, are we having a language problem again?"

"Language...Oh, I...No, I don't want to search it." Yes, I do, but that would be rude. "Besides, you were a Marine, right? You can probably hurt somebody just as easily with your bare hands."

The remark was intended to ease the tension, but his face went dark and distant. With a glare of agitation, far different from the one he'd used with the desk clerk, Flynn came toward her. Mia's breath halted halfway between in and out, making it impossible to speak...or scream. His hands hit with a thud against the knotty paneling on either side of her head. Escaping through a solid wall seemed more likely than getting past him. She was trapped. It appeared the train wreck was imminent. Soft blue eyes turned steely as they met with hers, and she blinked hard at him. But the sound of his voice was quiet and sure.

"I would never ever hurt another human being like that. Know this much." His hands dropped from the wall, and he sulked across the room, picking up his drink. He stood with his back to her, finally speaking over his shoulder. "If you're ready, which I'm sure you are, I'll take you home now."

Mia peeled herself from the wall and tried to speak, but nothing would come. Instead she walked over and lightly pressed her palm to his broad back. His body grew rigid as her hand made contact and his head snapped to attention. "Flynn...I'm sorry about whatever happened to...Well, I'm sorry."

This time the shaky breath was his. As he turned, his fingers reached up and traced the outline of her cheekbone. His hands, they were the opposite of her skin, uncared for and rough. But his touch was gentle, like butterfly wings, and oddly Mia found herself at ease. What is that? In his face, his eyes, something I can see...but don't understand. Something completely removed from her average existence. Mia fought a rush of involuntary tears- relief evidently he wasn't going to kill her, compassion for what she saw in his face. He started to say something. Mia leaned in, poised to listen, but instead found herself drawn into a long, sensuous kiss, and her average existence was over.

***

Soul crushing sigh! Now, can you see why I had to go back and relive this moment again?

I had the distinct pleasure of having Laura Spinella answer some questions for our little blog. I hope you enjoy her reflections and I hope you rush out and pick up a copy of BEAUTIFUL DISASTER.

Author Interview with Laura Spinella:

This is your debut novel. Diane Chamberlain gives an amazing endorsement of Beautiful Disaster on the book’s cover, “Can this really be a debut novel? Laura Spinella weaves the past into the present with a sure hand as she tests the boundary between love and obsession.” I must agree, the transitions are seamless and the prose is a heart pounding, edge of your seat ride that left me with a chest crushing sigh when finished. So, it’s not really a question, just a shameless gush of praise.

Well, that was easy enough! It’s an absolute thrill to have the awesome, incredible, fabulous Diane Chamberlain’s stamp of approval on BEAUTIFUL DISASTER’S cover. It’s an honor.

Did you have any other completed novels before BD or is this not only your debut novel but your first novel ever written. (Be warned, if this is the first book you ever wrote I will Grrr with jealousy at your frawesomeness.)

No Grring necessary! Technically, BEAUTIFUL DISASTER is the second of five novels I’ve written. I wrote the rough draft in six weeks, but it took six years to see it on bookstore shelves. In between revisions, it spent a lot of time in a desk drawer, contemplating the error of its pages! There was nothing easy or quick about it, and it’s far from perfect. (Though I will say that I think it’s an entertaining read!)

Yes, it is certainly entertaining, and IMO, perfect!

What was the journey like for you from first drafts, to the query stage, to the big sale, to the final edits, and to publication at last? (How long did it take you to write, how many queries did you send, how long did it take your agent to sell, yada.)

I answered a little of that in question two, so I’ll start from BD’s resurrection from desk drawer hell. I’d queried Susan Ginsburg at Writers House regarding a different manuscript. She rejected the book, but did write me a lovely letter complimenting my writing. It was enough to make me say, “Well, if you kind of liked that, maybe you’ll really like this.” That was BEAUTIFUL DISASTER. She did, but she also rejected it. I took one more chance and asked what she might change if she was representing the novel. She was very gracious and offered me a roadmap to what the ms lacked. The roadmap led to a treasure trove of ideas. A year later, I sent her a revised version. A few months after that, she sold it.

Wow, persistence, hard work, and a little patience really paid off. You're someone many aspiring authors, like myself, can look up to.

Laura, the cover of Beautiful Disaster is what drew my attention. Did you have any input on it? And what did it feel like to hold it in your hands? (I am living vicariously through you with these questions, btw.)

LOL, I hope I don’t disappoint. Sometimes I think I’m a writer b/c my characters are so much better at living life than I am! My only input was that I didn’t want stock art, the close up images of people and body parts that often depict the cover of women’s fiction novels. That didn’t seem right for BEAUTIFUL DISASTER. Berkley contracted an outside artist, Richard Tuschman, to design the cover. After reading one chapter and a suggestion from Berkley’s art director, Rita Frangie Batour, that a romantic rural Southern road might be the way to go, he came up with what you see. I think he did a phenomenal job! As for the, “hold it your hands,” part, it’s probably not the answer you’d expect. The physical book didn’t have that much impact, which, I realize, is an odd response. I didn’t see it as a giving birth moment, like when they hand you that baby in the hospital. To be honest, this took way longer and required a great deal more effort. It’s more like when I look at my smart, accomplished, vivacious 22-year old daughter and think, “Oh, I had a big hand in that.” Does that make sense?

Yes, it does. But this girl will be squeeing from the rooftops if her work ever sees print. But, I digress.

Did someone or something from your past spark the initial idea for this story? Was it the bad boy from your college days? A roommate’s personal experience? A local news story? Do tell. I need to know the inspiration for Flynn.

You mean, was there a Flynn? I probably get that question more than any other. It does make me feel like a job well done, that he’s had that much effect on readers. So, I guess he’s as real as he needs to be! Athens, Georgia, however, was a huge hands-on inspiration. It’s such a muse-like place, anything can happen there. It was a terrific canvas for a character like Flynn. When I visit Athens now (my other daughter goes to school there) I find myself glancing down the street, half expecting to see him. Funny you should ask about the roommate. My still BFF and roommate from UGA did go to medical school… not unlike Mia’s BFF, Roxanne! That said, you couldn’t find a similarity between her and Roxanne under a microscope, pure coincidence. People comment on it sometimes, and we laugh about it a lot.

Funny, I see Flynn every time I see a motorcycle....

The love scenes are so sexy, loving, tender and far from cliché. Was it hard to put yourself in the mind set of a young college girl head over heels in love?

Thank you and no. My opinion about love scenes: conversation (dialogue) is a desperately overlooked component when writing one. Sure, the sex is… there in BEAUTIFUL DISASTER, but it’s the conversation, the verbalized emotion, between Mia and Flynn that draws you in. Body parts are just the mechanics.

How true.

Did you ever go for a motorcycle ride with a sexy stranger? If yes, details please.

My Uncle Billy took me for a motorcycle ride when I was eight. See, I told you I’d disappoint. Actually, my brother-in-law is a bike enthusiast and I drained his brain for insight. But I never did go for a ride. Honestly, there are days when I regret the biker aspect of the book. Flynn is so much more than that, and the motorcycle was literally meant to be a vehicle. But I get it. Flynn turning up in Athens in a Volkswagen doesn’t have the same impact.

A little disappointed. Uncle Billy doesn't sound as sexy as Flynn. (Sorry Uncle Billy.) And you're right. Flynn pulling up in a VW is definitely not the same!

Did you have to do much research on motorcycle accidents, ICUs, or the military for certain aspects of the book? Did you have first hand experiences with any of these topics?

Actually, BEAUTIFUL DISASTER required a lot of research. I interviewed an ICU nurse who answered all my medical questions. The day I visited, there just happened to be a patient in a coma, the result of a motorcycle accident. Observing him was powerful insight. I also interviewed an ex-special ops marine. I learned enough to piece together Flynn’s background and make it realistic. Even the fight scene at the concert was choreographed. My son’s Taekwondo instructor and his partner worked it all out for me; I sat on the floor and took notes. Some readers have commented that I must be into eco-friendly design, like Mia. That makes me chuckle. I didn’t know the first thing about holistic design. I found an expert via the internet and she provided all the necessary details. It’s been my experience that people are happy to share their area of expertise. I’m very grateful for all the people who advised me; each one is thanked on the acknowledgement page.

I can just see you on a the floor taking notes, while watching guys duke it out. Pretty cool.

As a writer, what motivated you while writing? Certain songs, a room, time of day, etc.

BEAUTIFUL DISASTER definitely has its own playlist, but I’d never listen to it while writing. I’m a dead silence writer. If the neighbor’s dog barks, it drives me nuts. I do like to write in my sunroom, which can also be problematic if it’s too sunny. I’d probably write just fine in cement walled solitary confinement. Writing for me tends to be more of a compulsion, therein lies the motivation.

Continue using the same method from when writing BD, worked wonders! LOL.

Any advice on aspiring authors like myself with the passion to tell a story?

If you have a passion to tell a story then I think you’re halfway there. But to answer your question, I think Anne Lamott said it best, (and I’m paraphrasing) “Publication will not make you more confident or more beautiful, and it probably won’t make you any richer.” Unless you’re incredibly successful, the rewards do not outweigh the effort and risk—at least not in my small experience. If you’re willing to accept that and do it anyway—well, that might be the other half. Also, if you happen to come across someone who knows what they’re talking about and loves your writing, politely sink your teeth in.

My critique partner, AJ, her nickname is JAWS. She'll love that last bit about sinking her teeth into someone. I'll need to remind her not to literally bite anyone, though.

Fun stuff: If you could have a superpower what would it be and what would you call yourself?

As a kid, I was a huge Bewitched fan. I loved how everything could be solved with the twitch of a nose. It seems like a streamline solution to so many things! As for the power, I’d have to say the ability to teleport one’s self. I could have breakfast in Bali, stop in Athens for lunch with my daughter, and pop over to Paris for dinner. What would I call myself? Clearly, I’d call myself to my next meal.

I am the Time-Stopper. Who wouldn't want to his snooze, freeze time, wake whenever they wanted, and still be punctual.

If you could be any fictional character from a novel, television show, or movie who would it be and why?

Oh my, these are getting harder! I’m such an observational reader, I don’t know that I envision myself anybody’s book—including my own! I really enjoy the sideline view. The only television show I’ve watched in recent years is Gilmore Girls. My daughters and I, we’re completely obsessed. At five o’clock everything stops, and we watch the nightly rerun on the Family Channel. (I know, it’s a far cry from Flynn and Mia’s more sultry moments) I don’t know that I’d want to be in it, but I would have loved to be on the writing staff—such snappy, witty, brilliant dialogue!

I'd be Bridget Jones. That girl has all the fun! Or, thinking, I'd be Mia to get me some Flynn. Yup, definitely Mia. ;)

What was the first book you ever read that made you say, “I want to do this, I want to be a writer”

Hmm, for that you have to go all the way back to Laura Ingalls Wilder and the Little House series. I completely loved them as a kid. They were probably more influential than I realize. But I don’t think any one book or author gave me that, “I want to be a writer,” moment. I think it’s just who I am—like being left handed or having the ability to sing. That and if you’d seen my math SAT score, you’d understand why I had to find an alternate occupation.

I loved those books and remembered reading the first one! I took idiot Math in college. Yes, I agree, if you are a writer its in your blood.

What’s next for Laura Spinella, what tales can we expect to submerge ourselves in?

THE IT FACTOR: Aidan Royce, rock icon, has it all, money, fame, and an incredible life. The one thing he doesn’t have is Isabel Lang, the girl who left him on their wedding night in Las Vegas. Fate brought together a spitfire Jersey Girl and Catswallow, Alabama’s own Conrad Birdie. Circumstance drove them apart. Seven years later, Isabel works at 98.6—The Normal FM for Easy Listening. It’s a classic AM format with a touch of irony; it’s a world away from Aidan’s rock-n-roll life. When the station is bought out, demanding a huge promotional event, the always independent Isabel has no choice but to contact Aidan. He’s the boy she loved, the one she left to keep him out of jail and to secure his amazing future. The book lends itself to the same past/present rhythm as BEAUTIFUL DISASTER, still very passionate, but very a different story and characters.

Can I read that now, please??

Thank you Laura for taking the time to be with us. I look forward to reading THE IT FACTOR and until then, going back and hanging out with Mia and Flynn. :)

AJ's New Business Cards

2011-06-09T21:11:00.000-04:00

My New Business Cards

2011-06-08T22:14:00.000-04:00

Cruelty To Innocents Blog Tour

2011-06-02T12:40:00.003-04:00

I used to be a James Patterson fanatic. I devoured his books. I inhaled Dan Brown, Stieg Larson, Elizabeth Kostova, and any other adrenaline rushed reads I could get my hands on. You can say I went through this Thriller/Killer phase. Then somehow I got to reading those mushy love stories and I haven't really picked up a thriller since.

A while back CK Webb chatted about her and DJ Weaver's new release, Cruelty To Innocents. We are FB buddies and you know how those cyber-author-friend relationships go. You chat about the writing life and strangers on the interwebz become comrades in arms. I believe in supporting fellow authors and I agreed to join this blog tour as soon as CK asked.

I won't lie-I was a bit nervous about it. It had been so long since a read the genre. But, who doesn't love a free read. The blurb alone gave me chills:

What if you were in your car alone with your small child and you came upon an emergency scene? Would you stop to help? What if, while you are trying to assist a victim of an accident or mugging, you left your young child alone in the car, thinking he or she would be safe. What if, instead of help, the call to 911 brought a terrifying, sinister result?

Someone’s abducting children from 911 emergency scenes in Aberdeen Maryland, while their parents call for help and lend aid to accident victims. Someone who’s also listening in, is a monster and vicious child abductor. In the midst of the chaos and confusion of the scene, that monster slips in and steals the innocent children leaving behind no trace for authorities.

Sloanne Kelly is unprepared for what awaits in her hometown as she travels back to Maryland. Her goddaughter is one of the victims and the clock is ticking. Together with her best friend and a local fireman, Shawn Tyler, Sloanne will face the most insidious of criminals and fight to recover the children before there is anymore, Cruelty to Innocents.

The opening scene will leave you breathless, jaw dropped, and turning the page in a flash. They had me at psycho! I love when thrillers open with the bad guy. This creep is taking little kids at the scenes of 911 emergencies. The horror! *Shakes fist*

As the story progresses you not only have to know who the killer is and if his victims will live, but you become invested in the characters as a whole. This is not seen in many thrillers. As a former Patterson junkie I loved this approach. For me, this was a story about the characters, their lives, and how these unspeakable crimes have affected them-brought them together. I am a character driven writer so I relished every detail about Sloanne, Shawn, Skip, Chloe, Patty, Dani, and the others. As the mother of a teenage daughter I actually teared up in places, the emotion in this story is that good.

In Thrillers/Mysteries and in real life the act of the crime itself becomes the focus, the subject, the plot.The victims are treated as secondary characters. In Cruelty To Innocents it was about the victims and their loved ones. I fell in love with them all. As an aspiring writer and a detailed critique partner I could've noted the telling and passive bits but, for me, it didn't matter in the least. The story was that good. It's a fairly quick read at 162 pages and there is a major WTF moment at the end where your heart races and head shakes at the same time. I love when that happens.

You are also left hanging, I know I was. Now, I'm awaiting the next book in the 911 Abduction Series.

I have a free copy to give away. The 9th person to email me at charli555 at comcast dot net will be the winner! Thanks for stopping by and check out CK Webb and DJ Weaver on facebook, their blog, the Cruelty To Innocent's Website, CK Webb's Book Review site, and on amazon.

In Memorium

2011-05-30T14:34:00.001-04:00

Today is Memorial Day in the good old US of A. Today we sleep in, BBQ, shop, and do things having little to do with remembrance.

Today is Memorial Day. We are supposed to remember those who have served our country, those who are currently defending this country, and those who gave their lives for our country and the freedoms we have.

My father was in the 101st Airborne in the 60s. When I asked what he did, he told me he did his job. I learned later he was in Vietnam, Iran, and Iraq. He served his country with pride and later became a Philadelphia Police Officer.

I have friends with loved ones serving as we speak. I went to a funeral for a Philadelphia boy who was killed in action in Afghanistan, Francis Straub. I taught his sister, Dana, that year. I remember praying for him everyday with our class. I also remember holding his Mother's hand when she received the news she would not be able to view his body before burial.

I remember learning about Molly Pitcher in grade school. The brave woman of the revolutionary war who did her duty and served, regardless of the rules.

The Tuskegee airmen showed their country that all men, regardless of the color of their skin, can serve gallantly.

The 54th Massachusetts Regiment marched into certain death on a warm summer day. They were the first all black regiment in the civil war.

I also remember the men and women in blue of my great city, the City of Brotherly love, who gave their lives protecting its citizens. Sergeant Patrick McDonald was my husband's friend. It was a run of the mill traffic stop. The passenger had outstanding warrants. He did not want to go to jail that day and decided the price of freedom was Paddy's life. He shot him, then stood over him and continued to unload his weapon.

Officer Skerski was our community relations officer. I'd seen him a few days before he was gunned down in cold blood. He'd given us his personal number to call him about problems in the neighborhood. He was working overtime the night he was killed, saving for his children's college fund.

In total 7 Philadelphia Police Officers lost their lives over a three year period. Today, I remember them all, not just the ones I knew. I remember all those who have served and hope you do too.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

2011-05-27T20:09:00.011-04:00

Divorce is hard.

Sometimes it’s messy, sometimes amicable. But never easy.

No, I’m not baring my soul here, or sending out cyber tears, I’m talking about a different kind of divorce.

The kind you go through after writing, editing, and thoroughly vetting a manuscript. For months you bleed onto the page, through the written word, giving the world a little piece of your soul. And when its over ... you can't let go.

To me, my characters are REAL people. People that live in me wee noggin, but people nonetheless.

Crazy? Sure, but I've been called worse.

And while said MS is in the hands of several awesome agents, and queries are being bounced around cyber space, there are still times – almost everyday – that I think of something to add, change or edit.

These are the times I pick up the phone and call 911 ... er Charli. Usually she’s doing the same thing … no, not contemplating taking over the world with me, much to your dismay.

She’s adding a wee piece of dialogue here, taking away a smidgen of a scene there. So whilst I’m hoping she’ll give me a dose of, cut it out and move on sister, we chuckle and talk about the changes.

I know what your thinking, daft wenches.

You’re not far off the mark, but I digress.

The characters in my next MS are secondary characters from my first MS, and though I know them – we’ve met, chilled out, had a few beers – we’re not best buds yet.

I don’t know if my hero chews and talks at the same time, or whether or not he likes to bath

regularly – I write medieval historical’s.

I’m not yet at that point where I can comfortably sit for hours inside their heads, as I crave to be.

I’m hoping this divorce settles soon.

However, I suspect such things may continue for years, for when is a writer ever truly done?

The reality of being THIRTYSOMETHING

2011-05-26T16:56:00.003-04:00

I turned 35 recently. The big 3-5. The mid 30s, oh so closer to the 40 mark. I am supposed to be wiser, have found myself already, and responsibly saving for retirement. That was my goal. By this age I should know my real bra size, no what color not to dye my hair, be a morning person (one who cooks her teen breakfast every day with a smile), have my checkbook balanced, be in shape after losing all that pregnancy weight (ah-hem 13 years later), and have my home be the epitome of design and style.

Yeah, um, we'll get back to that later.

Carrie Bradshaw was Thirtysomething in Sex in the City. That cool I am woman hear me roar, age. The age where you've traveled enough to be worldy, where you read the New York Times everyday, where you have that hipster loft downtown (like Partick & Demi's from Ghost), the age where your style is solidified, clothes beg to be worn by you, they fit perfectly, make your butt look awesome, and high heels are comfortable to not only wear but run in, and you have that dream career of being a Best-Selling author. The age where all you've worked for and dreamed of comes to fruition.

You know, like Carrie.

When I was a teen, the TV Show Thirtysomething was all the rage. I didn't get it. Old people acting like teens and being crazy. Gross. My parents were in their 40s then, but there was no way that in their 30s they acted like these people.

Years later, and being smack of the middle of my Thirtysomethings, I can only laugh at the temerity of my youth. Who at 35 has it all figured out? Why was this year going to be different for me? Why have I put so much pressure on myself?

All those things I listed above, yeah, I'm still working on all of that. I just figured out my bra size, I think anyway. This month I like the color I dyed my hair. Um, about that weight... yeah, um, I'm as heavy as I was when I was 9 months preggers. My style, well, I try to keep up but get lazy in my comfy chubby girl clothes. I am never going to be a morning person. My checkbook has its own sense of balancing. My home is not a trendy downtown loft and seems to be an eternal mess of DIY Construction (thanks Hubby for starting 10 projects and finishing none). High heels are not my friends. I have traveled but not to enough places to be worldy. I do not read the paper. Clothes laugh at me in the dressing room, some actually cry for me not to try them on.

Why did I think I'd magically wake up and have it all figured out? Well, I still believe in fairytales. I guess I should've known better.

The days preceding my birthday I was in a grand place. My plans of having my life fall perfectly into place were moving along quite perfectly, thank you very much. The local campaign I worked on for a dear friend had all the momentum it needed. Things were more than good. I had 2 full requests. TWO! One with an agent I think is the bees-knees and the other with an fabulous editor I met at a conference. And for the first time in years I was excited to celebrate my-bday. I've had many loved ones pass away and they seem to do so the week of my birthday. My brother died two days after my 12th birthday. My Dad died five days after my 24th birthday. My friend and hubby's cousin, who was more like his brother, died three days after my 29th birthday. Yeah, you can see how a girl wouldn't want to celebrate her birthday. Life is a real BITCH, btw. Only a girl would piss all this bad luck on me.

I am not telling you all of this for a pity-party. No tissues needed or Wah-wah-wambulances needed to be called on my account. It's just the reality of me never wanting to celebrate my birthday since my brother died. I'm not crying about it, really.

But this year was going to be different. Turning 35 was supposed to be different. I wanted to celebrate being me and the awesome place I was in.

Yeah, let's revisit that little thing about how life likes to eternally kick me in the proverbial balls in May.

Birthday celebration was thrwarted twice by life. Friends and family tried, they did, but it wasn't meant to be. Election day did not go in our favor. Not at all. And it was ugly, mean, and everything people hate about politics. I am grateful that my dear friend kept his hands clean and can sleep at night. Kudos to him. I got rejected by that agent. I expected as much since my novel is not exactly within the genres she represents. But we have this really great internet correspondence and I think she is full of awesomesauce. She has to be the sweetest person I have come across on this journey to publication. In this tough, cold business that says a lot. To be honest, I am lucky she even requested to read anything at all, since my mushy love stories aren't her style. Her rejection was filled with more praise than a Penecostal Church on Easter. It warmed my heart, truly (I will be posting about that very soon, btw). It just makes me nervous about the full with the editor. With the rate I am going this May, it doesn't bode well for me.

But, I am very happy. I am. I have a husband I love more and more everyday. He is my highschool sweetheart and this summer marks 19 years of being together. My daughter is blossoming into a young, strong, and intelligent woman, who happens to have one hell of an arm for softball and one hell of a singing voice. My two dogs are the cutest pound puppies, ever. My friends are always there and so is my family. My critique partner is the most kick-ass CP in the world. I am gainfully employed and have my health. I am truly blessed.

So happy, I just feel like whistling and singing a little Bobby McFerrin. Besides, anything with Robin Williams just cracks me up. :)

We Don't Do Dead People

2011-05-22T14:14:00.001-04:00

Walk! Don’t Run! The Zombies are taking over our books shelves and big screens. You really can walk, zombies don’t move very fast.

Zombies flicks and books have been around forever. 700 BC’s Mesopotamian hit, The Epic of Gilgamesh is an epic poem where the Goddess Ishtar promises the undead to rise up and eat the living. You have literary giants like Poe, Mary Shelley, and King weaving tales using entrails. More recent authors like Jonathan Maberry, David Wellington, and Phillip Pullman are fresh and fleshy masters of the genre, garnering spots on many bestseller lists.

I (Charli) really can’t get into the zombie genre. Even if it’s a well written piece of prose all I will think about is when will the body parts start falling off and when will the brain eating commence.

I (AJ) really have a phobia of Zombies. They scare the sh*t out of me. My first real taste of the brain eating ghouls was 28 Days Later ... quickly followed by every other zombie flick that my husband could get his hands on. Oh god, every time I heard a bump in the night, my overactive writers' imagination would jump into overdrive.

And why would I read a book that meddles with the perfection of Austen? My brother gave me a copy of Pride & Prejudice For Zombies. I scoffed at the notion, for a few reasons, but decided one night when I had nothing left to read, meh, I might as well give it a try.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains will be in want of more brains.”

Whilst Jane Austen die hard’s just might vomit from the moment they read the first line, anyone with a sense of humor will chuckle at this tongue in cheek impertinence that author Seth Grahame–Smith employed in adding a subplot of ‘unmentionables’ (zombies) to this classic Regency novel.

Whilst about 85% of the writing is done by Austen, Smith’s transitions are seamless, satire at its best. The plot does not deviate from that of the original Pride and Prejudice, with the exception, of course, of the added zombies.

As the story unfolds, a strange plague has stricken England; the dead are rising from the ground. Feisty heroine Elizabeth Bennet and her sisters have been trained in the deadly arts as zombie fighters, sworn to purge the countryside of the unmentionables, however, she's distracted by the arrival of the proud and haughty, Mr. Darcy.

Smith explains, “It’s not a parody, because it wasn’t my intention to make fun of the original. Pride And Prejudice is a brilliantly written book by a brilliant author, and all I wanted to do was give its themes and characters an absurd canvas to play out upon."

“Many of Austen’s characters are rather like zombies,” he continues. “They carry on single-mindedly in their bubbles of immense wealth and privilege, no matter what’s going on around them. They pride (sorry again) themselves on discipline and politeness and repression and subservience. These people simply carry on with their gossip and romances and manners and balls, despite the fact that people are being gored and eaten alive.”

Now whilst there is no romantic lead ,i.e. a zombie vying for the heart of one of the Bennet sisters, there are tales out there casting these unmentionables as leads. Seriously? We can take them being monsters and bad guys but heroes and romantic interests? GROSS! No nooky with yucky zombies! What if it falls off, you know, um, during sex? What if you swallow their tongue? Can you get VD? Preggers? Ewww. Must stop now, we’re getting nauseous.

What’s next, a Highland Epic Historical Romance about William Wallace limping around in a kilt looking for a wee lil’ lassie to come hither and help him put his bits back together? A Rotting Rogue seducing a brainy courtesan? We certainly hope not.

I (Charli) told AJ about a local author Jonathan Maberry, a Bram Stoker award winner. His novel Rot & Ruin, and Patient Zero is all about the ghoulish fiends. But they remain that, monsters to be exterminated. AJ actually read them. Could not put them down. Devoured them like a zombie would brains. The lassie will be chatting it up with Maberry soon enough.

I (AJ) am terrified of the decomposing dudes. But this book below, and Rot & Ruin, were both non-stop horrifying page-turners. As horror books should be. I HATE ZOMBIES and could, not, stop, reading.... like a night crawler possessed. Zombies are not heroes or romantic leads. Yuck.

All this jibber jabber about the ghastly ghouls reminds me (Charli) about that movie in the 90’s. The one where the dead kid comes back to get the girl and take her to prom, My Boyfriend’s Back. The only Zombie flick I could stomach. This wasn’t so bad but I still kept thinking about the logistics of dating a guy whose flesh can fall off at any moment. BTW, this movie totally has a hot and fresh and very alive Matthew Fox looking oh soo friggin’ foxy. Ha-cha-cha. Another surprise is Matthew Fox’s villainous side-kick, a very young Phillip Seymour Hoffman. What would Capote say to that?

Hmm, Tiffany for Breakfast could be the next mashup! Someone call Philip Seymour Hoffman and tell him to summon the long dead scribe and get on it. Then he can star in the film version of how a Zombied out Truman Capote rose from the dead to write his latest masterpiece. Not sure what grosses me (Charli) out more, a dead Capote writing such a tale or Hoffman playing a zombie Capote.

Bottom line, we don’t do dead people. Literally, in film, or by the written word. Gross!

Did you know that according to Wikipedia that Zombies are now competing with Vampires for popularity as the number paranormal entity among the masses? Imagine that as a YA book. Dead Vampy High. AJ may actually read that. Someone please get typing.

Charli Mac & AJ Wilson
Aspiring Authors & Future Rulers of the Zombiverse

Don't Bring Him Home To Mama!

2011-05-07T12:54:00.000-04:00

There are some guys you should never bring home to meet your Mama. You know the types. We've read them in books, seen them on TV, and listened to their music. These characters maybe cliche' but they are real or at least could be. And could one day knock for my teenage daughter.

As the mother of a thirteen year old young woman, I am writing this from a Mama’s perspective, not an aspiring author. Consider it my checklist, my reminder as to why I have to snoop in her diary…

The Jersey Shore Situation, AKA, The Pervs:

No one wants a perv to come knocking on their door for their precious little baby. Guys like this should be sterilized for the sake of humanity. They’re gross, dirty, and only have one thing on their minds… getting in your little’s girls pants. They’re the poster boys for clinics around the world, condom ads, and may be the only hope to keep Planned Parenthood in business. The are so slimy that their shirts cannot stay on, apparently. Their a situation you don’t want to deal with. Speaking of grenades, the CDC needs to grenade their nether region.

Chet from Weird Science, AKA, The Jerk:

We all have experienced these douche nozzles. The bully, the jerk, the guy who pushes everybody around just because he thinks he can. A few dates with this charmer and you’re daughter will end up fetching beers from the fridge and emptying ashtrays like some servant. This type of guy will usually be found scratchin’ his crotch, hitting on every woman that passes, and will be unemployed for most of his life.

Smokey, AKA, the Hood Rat:

This guy is a one way ticket to the Maury Povich show. The only suit this guy owns is a track suit. New sneakers are considered dress shoes and a white tank top (wife beater) is his only dress shirt. He will most likely never be filing a tax return but will have a suspicious amount of disposable income.

Howard Wolowitz, AKA, The Mama’s Boy:

Your poor daughter may be scarred for life dating this guy. He pays more attention to the corns on his mom’s feet than showering your girl with affection. He’s needy, annoying, and probably a suspect in various serial murders involving older women.

Gerardo, AKA, Rico Suave:

The lyrics to his 1991 smash hit go a little something like this…

I don't drink or smoke ain't into dope
Won't try no coke, ask me how I do it, I cope
My only addiction has to do with the female species
I eat 'em raw like sushi.

Nuff said? I agree.

Dudley “Booger” Dawson, AKA, The Weirdo:

The name says it all. Booger. He’s odd, has poor hygiene, stares inappropriately, and wears obnoxious t-shirts that aren’t funny- just plain gross. His claim to fame is winning a burp contest and being in college longer than I was. Oh, and as an old weird guy he cruises high-schools for chicks. He’s that guy who worked at the local skating rink or movie theater but hung out with all the teens. Yeah, you know him. There’s the distinct possibility he is not allowed within 500 feet of schools or playgrounds. The same should apply to your daughter.

Brian, AKA, The Hippy Stoner:

The only shining light with this guy, he’ll be too stoned to knock your little baby up. Too stoned to make out, too stoned to show up for the date actually. The only threat this guy has is if he Puff-Puff-Passes to your angel. Down with dope, up with hope! This guy has to go to Rehab or it’s no, no, no to date your girl. Besides, his t-shirts and music choices probably give you flashbacks. Keep this guy away, for both your sakes.

The Entire Cast of OZ, AKA, The Ex-Con:

Have you ever seen an episode of Oz? Taken a jailhouse tour? Visited Uncle Freddy on Sundays? This is a no brainer. Your kid starts dating any one of these guys, move. Change your name. Flee.

Brad Bottig, AKA, The kid who doesn’t know he’s gay:

This one hurts. This one you have no idea how to handle, for many reasons. It’s someone’s sexuality we’re talking about. But it’s also your little girl’s heart. Heartbreak is heartbreak, whether you get dumped for another girl or guy. But when you look at all of the above choices, this guy is the safest and will be able to help you pick out an outfit for Girls Night Out. Bonus.

Did I miss anyone? I hope not. I have to keep this list handy. These teenage dating years are creeping up quick.

Happy Mother’s Day! Now go and read your teen’s diary, just to be sure. Also, take urine and hair samples, and stalk her on Facebook and Twitter.

I Liz-Lemoned Meeting Liz Lemon! Nerds!

2011-04-18T08:10:00.003-04:00

"Nerds. Super-duper snarting, chessy-blasting nerds!" Is all I kept saying to myself as I left the Philadelphia Public Library on a rainy Tuesday Evening.

I, in classic Charli/Lemon fashion, fudged my once in a lifetime opportunity to meet my idol, Liz Lemon, I mean Tina Fey.

I wake everyday like this.

I woke up that morning with all the hopes and dreams of a giddy old gal, waiting for fate, destinies, and worlds to collide. Birds chirped, mice helped me dress.

I even did my hair. Yes, I did. My locks are naturally curly and a recent disaster at a local No-frills discount hair salon left them a little shorter then curly hair should be. So, with the impending forecast of rain I needed to be sure I coiffed my 'fro with precision. On any normal day I wear my hair pulled back Lemon-esque style. Who the hell has the time to get all cute? When you are this chick, there is no time. Sleep is more important than appearances. Wurd. I dressed casual and comfy. As I do everyday. I had on my signature black pumas and a spiffy new spring jacket. Yes I said spiffy and yes I said jacket. I treated today like it was senior prom. Fo' shizzle.

I needed this jawnskie.

The rain made for some annoying phone calls, interrupting daydreams about meeting Lemon, I mean Fey. My daughter's season opening softball game was scheduled for that night. But the Doppler weather reports indicated otherwise. I am not sportically inclined. I was the chubby kid getting picked last to play on every sport. When playing Spring (Freedom some of you may say) I watched the base. Yeah, I sucked. But I can pop n lock my way out of a paper bag, I got some skills. Anywho, so I am basically the secretary and my hubby the head coach of our daughter's team. He's a guy and hence, answering the phone or calling people to say, "Hey, the game is cancelled" is not something he'd do. He doesn't even call for take-out. So, as I prepare to leave work for my jizztastic dream date with Fey, I get a bazillion phone calls- all from parents, the other coach, and about fifteen teenage girls.

What the what is right! It's not a far walk from work to the Library but in the rain it can cause all kinds of problems, like holding a phone and an umbrella while trying not to wet perfectly coiffed hair. Do you know what precipitation does to curly hair with copious amounts of product in it? Let's just say that after answering calls on a touch screen cell phone (which I suck at) while battling with gale force winds, I ended going from SJP to Afro Annie.

What a Lemony way to start this adventure.

The event was due to start at 7:30. My buddy who works at the library, and hooked me up with the tickets, told me to be there by no later than 5:30 to wait in line at the will call. See, Lemon/Fey was being interviewed in a huge auditorium. The tickets for that sold out before they even went on sale (yeah, another what the what). I had tickets for the lobby to watch the interview on a big screen. Once the interview started the line for the book signing would open. My buddy informed me that these lines tend to be long, like hours long. So, the earlier I get there I can stake my claim on a spot.

Friend who works at the library, you truly rock. Arsenio woo-woo style.

I get the venue, after getting splashed on from cars and the umbrella getting caught in my hair, and decide to put all the softball/'fro drama behind me. I shake off like the wet dog I am and proceed in. I see all the chairs, the holy grail- I mean copies of Bossypants neatly lined up. My insides start gettin' Jizzy with it.... na-na-na-na-na-na-na...gettin' jizzy wit it. Sorry if that song is in your head now. And really sorry if you start singing jizzy instead of jiggy at your next party. I digress...

I pick up two copies of BOSSYPANTS and go wait in line. I am 3rd. WURD TO YA MUTHA! Yes I am! God, this is a sign. I will meet Lemon before she gets all exhausted from the nerds behind me. I will say something funny, smart, and so genius that we will become BFF's. Well, that was the daydream anyway.

The peeps in front of me are cool Lemon lovers like me. We decide that once we get our tickets, sit in or seats (we were forced to) and the interview starts, we will run back over to these exact spots. I love when I good plan forms.

While waiting I read me some Bossypants. Oh, I am snorting out loud. Fey, you know my soul. The gems inside these pages are too much for this post, so they shall be in another.

My buddy meets me there, one who decided to keep me company. A facetious red-head. Not AJ, another one. We chat and all the while I cannot wait to see Lemon. I'm like a kid in line for Santa, going over and over in my head what I will say when my turn comes.

See, there she is. Only pic I managed.

And thus it began. I sit a while, listen. The interviewer was so out of her league. She asked questions that were not clever or funny enough. I mean, did she even know who she sat next to? It's like she opened the book, read a couple of lines, and then asked some questions. Whatever to that. I should've been the one asking questions.

I would have asked her if the word snart (sneeze fart) could also be used for snort fart. I mean, can it? I wonder. Those cheezy blasters, have you ever eaten one? What did it taste like? What was it like having Aaron Sorkin on the show and rubbing Studio 60 in his face? Did Tracy Morgan really say "What the what?" The actor who plays Kenny, does he have a deep voice in real life, like some kind of twisted irony or something? After you met Sarah Palin did it feel kind of weird, like meeting the bizarro version of you? Does Alec Baldwin ever have a bad hair day? Is Adam Sandburg your love child with Adam Sandler? I mean, look at him.

See, those are the questions to ask. Suck this nerds. Time to wait in line.

The wait was cool, I still got to see the interview, the view from that photo. Like a dork I waved to my friend across the lobby every now and then. Then it happens. Another glitch. My phone starts to die. I will not be able to snap a photo of Fey. Fudge. I sneak over, whisper to friend, she's got my back and will take one for me with her phone.

Minutes tick on by. Fey tells a funny story about how 30 Rock came to be. Sigh, I can listen to her for hours...

Then it ends.

More peeps line up behind us. Ha-ha nerds, look where I am.

She finally arrives.

Oh.
My.
God.

Tina Fey/Liz Lemon is like twenty feet away from me.

I get my book ready for her to sign like the Library 5-O guys instructed me to, like 20 times. Earlier in the day I printed out a funny picture of Liz Lemon with a note underneath from my hubby. See, he's not a big fan of reading but he loves Fey almost as much as I do. So, I figure I'll sneak this bad boy in there, she'll roll on the floor laughing, thus beginning our official BFF status. What's the worst that can happen, I think to myself. I didn't think hard enough about that scenario.

I had this pic:

And it said,

"My husband loves Liz Lemon so much

he wants to take her behind a middle school and get her pregnant."

You know that's funny as all heck. So, with books and photo in hand I await my turn.

Liz Lemon sits on her throne of awesome and it starts. I only have two peeps in front of me.

Then this dude appears out of nowhere. You have to pass his inspection before you approach Lemon/Fey. He hands her the book, you don't get to. Gulp. He's a cross between Garfunkel and Napolean Dynamite. But he acts like the Soup Nazi. He snatches up my copies of Bossypants before I get to remove my contraband.

He opens my book and my pic falls on the floor. He swipes it up and looks at it like it's child porn or something. The disdain in his beatty little eyes throws me off my game. "No Lemon for you!"

WHAT THE WHAT!!!!!!!!!!

But he didn't say that, it was all in my head.

He hands me back the paper and scoffs. Like a real scoff. (Not a word I use often so you know this was serious.) I stuff the pic in my bag and then look up.

It's my turn. And.....and.....

I Ralph'ed it. Frozen like Ralphie from a Christmas Story waiting for Santa.

My brain will not work as I stare at her. A god like glow is all around her. She's an apparition, she's not really here. Where am I, who am I?

Then some sounds emits from this hole in my face.

"I.. think... you're... awesome." What the what. Who the hell said that? Some nerd trying to butt in line? What a weird voice that person has. Sounds like Mush Mouth from Fat Albert.

Lemon/Fey looks at me and says, "Thank you."

Holy Shozz Bots did I just say that like some giddy tweener waiting to meet Beiber?

Lemon looks at the other book, "These are both yours?"

I nod my head real slow. God this isn't happening. I go to take them both. I want to touch her. Smell her hair. Breath in her carbon dioxide. Bear her Feybies (Fey-babies). But I only smile, which felt like one of those weird ones I used to force when I wore braces. Gawd I must've looked like a stage 5 stalker. Or the strange kid from first grade who used to drool all the time.

I can feel Napolofunkel Nazi eyes on me. I step to the side and say something that resembled Ralphie's last minute of clarity.

"My 13 year old daughter thinks your funny."

For a second she seemed to think about my comment, then she gave me a real nice smile and said, "Thank you."

I waved bye and slowy walked away, staring at her.

What in the what just happened. I mentioned my kid? She doesn't even watch the show. Fartknockers this sucks! My friend didn't even get a snapshot. The scene before me comes into focus. Guards are all over stopping peeps from taking pictures. I swore I saw the National Guard there. This is some serious book signing.

It can't be over. I can't have fudged me and Fey becoming BFF's! I want to wait there and stare at her all night. I want to pet her. I search my bag, for what I don't know. I am freaking out rummaging through it. I must have been looking for my balls or what little cool points I may have had left. I'm trying to buy some time but there is nothing time can do but laugh its ass off at me!

No balls, no cool points are to be found. No time left either. Red-headed buddy is looking at me like I'm nuts. Only the insane feel any less about Liz Lemon.

Motherchicken, what in the hell happened? I repeated the same question over and over again this past week. It took me this long to remember and figure it out. See, Tina Fey is made up of so much awesome sauce that you are rendered speechless in her presence. I can't even remember if she wore glasses or what color her pants were. The glow from all that awesome reeked havoc on my memory. Her smile did something to my brain. But I DID breathe in her carbon dioxide. Sweet! I inhaled some of her DNA. Jizztastic.

So, I pulled a Charli. What else is new? Bottom line, I met Tina Friggin' Fey! I got her book and it's FRAWESOME! I snort everyday on the el train reading it and did once so hard it was a snart. TMI but true.

BTW, I think that deep down, Tina Fey thought I was the coolest person there.

And I do my Lemon Dance everytime I think about it.

Tina Fey and Me Have A Date

2011-04-12T08:34:00.002-04:00

Okay, so it's not some personal one on one date. But you know how I feel about the woman.

Jizztastic.

Tina Fey is coming to the Philadelphia Public Library tonight for a book signing of her smashing how to rule the Universe guide book Bossypants. I haven't read it yet, only an excerpt, and I am saying it's awesome.

TINA FEY wrote it, erm, hullo?

In the first few pages she recalls the first time some kid tore her coloring book page in half, out of spite of her awesomeness I'm sure, and she said her thoughts mirrored something to the adult version of this:

"Oh, it's like that, motherfucker? Got it."

Tina drops a mother-chicken in the first few pages. That's how awesome people get shit done. That's why I love this woman. SOLD.

She is a comedic genius, a snort happy scribe, and the hottest nerd on the planet-according to the Hubby. And yeah, I'll say it. I think she's pretty hot too. She is the creator of 30 Rock, the heartbeat behind Liz Lemon.

Oh. My. God. I am going to see Tina Fey, aka Liz Lemon, live and in the flesh tonight.

Will I breathe in her carbon dioxide and then share her DNA? Hell, I'll take her germs. They're prolly the funniest damn germs the CDC will ever see, they're prolly an antidote for depression.

Oh. My. God. Tina Friggin' Fey.

Should I wear a T-shirt that says, "I love Liz Lemon so much I wanna take her behind a middle school and get her pregnant?"

or "What the what?"

or "Night cheese?"

or should I dress up like Princess Leia?

Cause seriously, who wants to be all boring and normal and walk up to the desk, hand over the book, smile, and be utterly forgettable?

Not this friggin' clown.

BTW, I am missing my 13 year old's season opening softball game today. I'm the assistant coach too. She is totally cool with it and kind of jealous. She said, "I want to go to there." Dang, I love that snarky minnie-me I'm raising.

Here's a little sneak peek at how I am feeling today.

The Lost Art Of Reading Books...From An Acutal Bookstore

2011-03-27T13:53:00.002-04:00

My local Borders is closing here in Philly. And when I say local I mean across the street from my job and when I say Philly it's the only Borders left in this great metropolis.

The only Borders in a major city is closing. What the what?

I feel like Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail but the crappy closing is happening to Tom Hanks. The big box store is closing. Not a mom & pop shop.

Does this mean Mom & Pop book stores can make a comeback? That would be nice. But if the Big Boys can't hang how can the little guy?

I am sooo bummed. Yes, part of it is proximity. It is literally across the street from my job. But B&N has never been a fave of mine. I thought the peeps in there weren't as friendly and even the customers seemed uptight.

In my Borders everyone says hi. The chipper cashier who makes sure you have the latest coupon, the stock person who gets off their ladder and asks if you need help even when you didn't, the super high maintenance executive who is secretly reading a romance novel in the corner, the dirty hipster next to me in the Lit section chosing between a Pulitzer and a comic book, the mom with the frazzled hair checking out couples only vacation books, and the cute guy buying a cook book to whip up a feast for his love. I mean we were all there together, seeking... BOOKS.

This store is always busy. It's in Center City and all kinds of peeps chillax in this wonderful building filled with ACTUAL BOOKS.

I do not own an e-reader. Do not want to, in the least.

I have bought three books from Amazon. But they were reads not available at Borders.

There have been so many great stories I've found just by perusing the bookshelves. Titles, covers, and displays have caught my eye. I have found reads that were maybe the last copy there, not so popular to be on a display, but they were truly beautifully written pieces of prose.

You cannot get that at Amazon.com.

You can't get that from some App or Kindle site.

The written word is losing its biggest cheerleader, advocate, sponsor, and guardian.

The BOOK STORE.

Didn't you get the feeling when aimlessly wandering the aisles that they were calling to you, whispering for you to ... "Read me..."

Maybe it's just me. But I have the feeling I am not alone.

Liz Lemon's latest adventure had her fighting for the written word. This, BTW, had to be one of the funniest 30 Rock episodes ever. EVER! Anywho, as a writer her show was sent on Hiatus. Even for TV Show Writers the business is grim. Liz's greatest competition is a reality show. No writing there, no scripts or thought to the words used to inspire people to watch. Just a camera following an idiot around. (I do love me some Real Housewives of Atlanta and Jerseylicious, though.)

Liz's agent sets her up to interview For Nick Lachey's Sing Off and Aaron Sorkin is there too. Not a good sign at all...

Liz: Do I know you?

Aaron Sorkin: I'm Aaron Sorkin. The West Wing, A Few Good Men, The Social Network...

Liz: Studio 60.

Aaron Sorkin: Shut up.

Liz: You're not really applying for this job are you?

Aaron Sorkin: Of course I am, you gotta take work where you can find it, especially now. Our craft is dying while people are playing Angry Birds and poking each other on Facebook. What is poking anyway? Why won't anybody do it to me? Hey, I'm cool.

Liz: So it's really that bad out there? I mean, you're Aaron Sorkin...

Aaron Sorkin: ...This is serious. We make horse buggies; the first Model T just rolled into town.

Liz: We're dinosaurs

Aaron Sorkin: We don't need two metaphors. That's bad writing, not that it matters.

SNORT!

Liz doesn't get the job and is desperate not only to work but to save writing as an industry. Walking home she overhears a child ask her mother what the metal box is on the sidewalk is. A homeless man says it's a toilet, a woman, whatever you want it to be. It's a newspaper stand. Liz will not let the little girl be led astray.

Liz: People of the sidewalk we can't give up on the written word. We need stories. Because I don't have a plan B. I have a degree the Theater Tech with a minor in movement. Why did my parents let me do that?

SNORT!

She stumbles upon some "peoples whose professions are no longer a thing"; an American automotive worker, a travel agent, and a jazz saxophone player. Liz has had enough. She will not join them living in the tunnels of NY. Through the genius detective work of Kenny, Liz saves the show.

But I don't have a Liz Lemon or a Kenny. No one can save my bookstore.

Who will save bookstores? Who?

You, that's who. Stop your amazoning kindle fondling and get back into an ACTUAL BOOK STORE.

You may be reminded why the hell you started reading in the first place.

Don't you want to inhale that new book smell, feel the paper across your fingertips?

If you don't this will be me years from now. A ghost in a museum where those things with pages and letters are held. The place where books went to die....

Go, shoo, and buy a damn book.... FROM A BOOK STORE.

The Power of Plaid

2011-03-20T23:41:00.001-04:00

What up my people! AJ aka JAWS had her debut post over at Heroes and Heartbreakers the other day. What did she write about you ask?

The power of plaid. What 'tis that ye ask? Are yer wits addled? Aye? Highlanders ye dolt! What else would she babble on 'bout? Go on over and give the wee lassie a holler. Ye wouldnae want to miss her blatherings.

Shoo. Go. Here is some powerful plaid to entice ye. I got me knickers twisted just thinking 'bout these lads.

Vampire Fiction 101

2011-03-12T16:41:00.001-05:00

Where did all these pasty peeps come from?

Ever wonder how we went from the Ghoulish Nosferatu to Sparkly Edward Cullen?

Click here to check out my research on the topic.

It involves opium, alcohol, and a vivid imagination.

Hiatus Time

2011-03-02T11:57:00.000-05:00

Charli is going on a hiatus from this lovely blog. Not to worry. This is not a ledge moment or a Sheen like break from reality. I just need a break, have lots to do, and wanted to let you all know I will be back soon.

Lately I've been participating in Blog fests and hops. It helps you meet other writerly friends and exchange information.

It's nice but it's not why AJ and I started this blog. Over the past few months our wee lil' blog has received those blog awards. We don't post them, it's not our thing. It's nice to have people feel that way about you blog and acknowledge it. But when you go to their blogs to accept the square image you find out you're 1 of 7 to 10 recipients. In order for the giver of your award to accept one that they got they have to give them out. What the what? Are these awards really all that sincere?

Hmmm. Some yes but since it's sort of forced prolly not all.

The Blog Fest thing I actually like. I get to read other people's writing and such but it gets overwhelming. You can spend hours and hours just looking at other people's entries, commenting, and bam, your day is gone. And you've yet to open your WIP and actually write.

Hmmm. I start a blog to share about the writing experience and blog more than write.

I used to look forward to jumping on here and venting about the process, the craft, the joys, the lows, and the ledge moments of becoming an aspiring writer. What happened to me?

The blogosphere. The interwebz. The twitterverse. The Facespaces.

I have a lot going on outside my writing life. I will be super busy until May. It's all very top secret, the kind of thing where if I tell you I have to kill you. So we'll leave it at I'm busy.

Maybe AJ will be by soon. Maybe I will find something of writing value to speak of. But for now I need to get back back to actually writing.

Smell ya later interwebbing blogospheres!

Lemon Out.

Feature & Follow Friday

2011-02-25T13:53:00.003-05:00

Over at Parajunkee they are having a Feature & Follow Friday. Here we get to know other peeps in the world of books and share some things about ourselves.

There you can find other great blogs, check them out, follow, and comment.

This Friday's question is:

Q. Share your current fav television show! Tell us a bit about it...

Well, I have a few favorite shows, I am sort of a TV junkie. If you follow this blog you can already guess what my fave of all faves is.

30 ROCK!!!!!!!!!!!

Here are some clips. My words cannot do it justice!

How can you not love a show that coins phrases like...

"I want to go to there."

"I love this cornbread so much I wanna take it behind a middle school and get it pregnant."

"What the what!"

"I can't eat this, I'm a foodie."

"I'm wearing a tux 'cause its after six. What am I, a farmer?"

"Oh my god, where are my manners? Do you wanna try meth?"

"I never sleep on planes. I don't wanna get 'incepted.'"

"Goodnight cheese."

"First of all, I look weird there because I'm snarting."

Ok. You have to be a fan after "snarting". That's a sneeze fart.

The BETA

2011-02-19T18:52:00.000-05:00

BETTA is a fish whose face blooms while preparing to attack.

BETA lost the videotape wars in the 80's to VHS.

BETA is the second letter of the Greek alphabet.

BETA is a measure of the volatility, or systematic risk, blah blah blah some Wall Street thingy.

BETA is a motorcycle.

BETA is the last round of testing before software gets released.

BETA blockers help fight heart disease.

BETA is a night club in Denver.

(You now you just head bopped to this pic. Hee hee.)

If you are blessed enough to have a Critique Partner you will one day get to BETA read their entire MS.

It's a celebration of sorts. The end of a journey.

And it's refreshing to read something you love so much all over again.

But 'tis a bit of work. You must read with keen eyes, dotting all the i's and crossing the t's. You read it as you would a novel, in a flow. Not chapter by chapter over the long months of critiquing.

Here, you may find some plot holes, timeline mistakes, and things you flat out missed before.

The whole time you are remembering why you love your CP so much. Why, out of all the other aspiring authors, you chose this one person to share your writing journey with.

This week I had the immense pleasure and honor to read AJ Wilson's A Princess For York.

Holy HOT Highlanders batman!

I was completely blown away!

I'd never read a historical romance before reading for AJ.

Never wanted to and I have to admit I was skeptical when I opened the first chapter over a year and a half ago.

This is not your typical historical romance. Not like this douche-nozzle to the right.

It's Historical Fiction with one hell of a love story at it's heart.

I never wanted to see a man in a skirt so bad in my life. Ha-cha-cha.

This tale is smart, action packed, sexy as hell, endearing, and has you tearing up at the end, begging to read the next adventure!

Go to her website and be blown away! I mean really, it will leave you wanting more.

'Tis truly The Tudors meets Braveheart!

This BETA read was a labor of love. There were a few things that needed ironing out, not much. But I was left breathless, willing back tears at the end.

This experience has me talking in brogue on occasion, typing it. Aye, 'tis truth! I cannae lie. The story is verra, verra moving. Never read the like!

For all you aspiring authors, the BETA read for a fellow writer in an honor. I relish the next tale I get to devour for my CP.

*This was a totally blatant arse kissing post for when JAWS tears me MS a new one!*

Heroes and Heartbreakers

2011-02-15T11:20:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a day of kisses, love, and ha-cha-chas.

It was also the big launch day of Heroes and Heartbreakers, the latest website dedicated to Romance and hosted by Macmillan Publishing.

I have the honor of being a contributor for the blog. My first post discusses Romance Couple Royalty, Jamie and Claire from Diana Gabaldon's The Outlander. Love this couple.

The site chats about Romance as a whole. Not just in books but in movies, music, television, and our daily lives. There are great recommendations for news reads, tantalizing excerpts, and short stories.

Giveaways, sneak peeks, and witty banter should be enough to make you run over to sign up and be a member. Besides the fact that I have a post there, of course.

Go, shoo. Get going and get in on all the fun. No comments here, save them for over there.

Just Kiss Already Blogfest

2011-02-14T07:37:00.003-05:00

Christina Lee over at Write Brained and Stina Lindenblatt over at Seeing Creative are hosting a smooching good blogfest today. In honor of Valentine's Day we are posting a kissing scene from one of our works. So get your chapstick ready and pucker up! When you are done swapping spit here, head over to Christina's blog and check out some others.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!!!

Meet Me In Jersey is my current WIP. It's a tale about long lost love set along the New Jersey Shore. Here, Miguel and Grace, childhood friends and first loves, reunite on the sandy shores of their youth as both their marriages have just ended. In this scene Miguel recalls when he kissed a very newly married Grace, along with their childhood promise to be together until they were old and gray.

“Are you happy?” His heart skipped a beat as he tried to keep his expression blank.

“It took me a really long time to get here Mig, I won’t lie. Getting over us took all I had but I did it. I can really say that yes, I am happy.”

“That’s all I want for you, you know that, right?” Miguel searched her eyes, for something, anything to tell him how she really felt.

Her eyes glazed a bit and her brows rose. “And that’s all I want for you.”

A hopeful stare lingered. Need outweighed reason. He closed the space between them and pulled her body to his. Her breath quickened. Warm palms pushed against his chest. It only made him hold her tighter. “Are you as happy as you were our last night together? When you told me you’d love me forever? When I told you, you were the only woman I’d ever love?”

Her silence spoke volumes. A slight chuckle of recognition escaped him. His lips brushed across hers, tasting wine and cake. They melded together in a familiar slow dance. Tongues swept, light at first, then with more longing. A soft moan rumbled from her mouth to his. Making it impossible to stop, but he had to.

Miguel released those soft lips, traced pink cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Old and gray, Grace. Don’t forget that. You can’t ever forget that.”

Head down he left, unable to look at her. The taste of Merlot, butter cream frosting, and what could have been lingered on his senses.

I'M BAAAAAAACK WITH AWARD WINNING AUTHOR, LUCINDA BRANT

2011-02-09T11:12:00.004-05:00

I've been away for a while ... leaving poor Charli to her own devices ... he he he

What a better way to celebrate being back in the game then doing an author interview? Not just any author, but an award winning author, whose tales continue to inspire me.

As an aspiring author of historical fiction, I am fascinated by the tales of other like-minded authors. In truth, there are never enough hours in the day to write and read to my hearts content, but I do try!

But enough about me ... take your hand off the keyboard for a moment and welcome, Lucinda Brant, Georgian storyteller extraordinaire. Set in the 18^th Century England and France, full of brazen wit and adventure, her tales are a nice blend of romance and mystery, “crimances” if you will, as she so aptly describes her books. Even her covers are breathless!

As a historical writer, I often get sucked down the 'rabbit' hole if you will, whilst researching. One thing leads to another, and before you know it, three hours have gone by. Obviously, I'm fascinated by the period in which I write - Medieval - thus, I wanted to know how important history is to Lucinda. This is what she said:

Essential. When I write about the weather, such as the Thames freezing over in January 1763, the noblemen in government such as Bute, Rockingham and Newcastle, a riot that occurred at the Theatre Royal or of a particular house in a particular square or street in London, Bath or Paris, you can be confident I have done my research. History sets the stage for my characters to inhabit, so it must be just right so they can give their best performance.

As for falling down the rabbit hole ... here is the lady's take:

I guess I have been researching all my life – well, since the age of 11 when I fell in love with the 18^th Century – France and England in particular. I bought Cobban’s History of Modern France 1715- 1799 (rather a serious work for an eleven-year old!) and a pocket French dictionary and I was off and running. I now have a library of books on Georgian England and the France of Louis XV. Of course, these days, there is always the Internet!

Though there are so many things about the medieval era that enthrall me, I wanted to know what intrigued, or drew Lucinda into the Georgian period?

To be honest, at first it was the clothes, not worn by women, but by the men. I was intrigued that males could wear lace at their wrists, red heels, satin and brocade, and still be considered real men. Georgian gentlemen were metrosexuals 250 years before the term was invented. They cared about their appearance, were interested in fashion, went shopping, loved sport and women.

The Georgian period was also an exciting time of discovery – of new countries (Australia) of revolution (the American War of Independence and the French Revolution), of new ideas and free press; a time when people starting taking an interest in nature for nature’s sake, in cultivating rare and exotic plants (pineapples) and designing elegant town squares, building Palladian mansions and filling them with wonderful Chippendale and Sheridan furniture.

Though I'm a liberal woman, who loves her freedom, sometimes, as a historical writer, we cannot quite understand, and therefore, write, how women really were in the past. But to be true to the time period, we must, at the very least, try. With the sensibilities of today, so vastly different from those of the past how does Lucinda reconcile the differences, and find a balance with your characters?

I try to be true to the sensibilities of the 18^th century while writing in a way that is accessible to readers today. I don’t care much for historical romances that have very modern-thinking characters dressed up in period costume.

And of course, I must know, what sparked the author inside her?

I was a voracious reader as a child and once I had read all of Jean Plaidy/Victoria Holt/Philippa Carr’s novels, and the novels of Anya Seton and Taylor Caldwell, I decided to write my own. I wrote my first novel in Middle School during Math class and my best friend would read the installments each lesson. I also wrote to Jean Plaidy and told her – I still have her reply, typewritten with her real name, not her pen names, and address on the envelope. I so treasure that letter – and was thrilled to think she wrote her actual name and address on the envelope so I knew who she really was and where she lived! I was twelve at the time.

As for her characters ... Lucinda "hear(s) their voices, they are real ..." So folks, you've heard it from the best ... she hears voices too! But mostly, she desires nothing more than for her readers to be entertained, and "wholly immersed in the 18th Century."

As voracious readers, Charli and I had to know what was next?

I am busily writing the third novel in the Roxton Series, Autumn Duchess, and also putting the final touches to the second novel in my Georgian Historical crimance series Deadly Affair.

After that... perhaps a fourth book in the Roxton series, telling Evelyn’s story some years after he ran off to Italy with Dominique, the Farmer-General’s daughter, in Midnight Marriage. He returns to England a widower and a broken man, seeking revenge on the person he believes responsible for his incarceration in the dungeon of a small European principality on charges of espionage.

Now before we let her leave, we had to as the customary funnies ...

You are a sandwich, describe yourself on a menu.Roast beef very thinly sliced, a smidgen of French seeded mustard, a slice of crumbling cheddar, a mountain of freshly shredded iceberg lettuce, lots of salt and pepper, between two slices of country-grain bread.

If you could be a superhero, what would your name and power be?

Sir Trevor Time-Traveler. Naturally my power would be traveling back in time – I would stop off in Georgian London for my wardrobe and have my tailor run me up a stupendous velvet frockcoat with silver lacings on the skirts and Chinoiserie embroidery on the cuffs with matching breeches and whacking great diamond buckles to secure the enormous leather tongues of my high heeled shoes. Under all the lace and velvet I have a washboard stomach and massive calf muscles. I am never impolite and always stand up when a lady enters a room. I have perfected the secret art of fighting off a villain with my bare hands without breaking a sweat or one of my carefully manicured and buffed nails.

What is your porno/stripper name? Using the traditional formula take the family pet’s name and the street you grew up on? For instance, Charli’s is Betsy Orchard, AJ’s Ginger King Edward.

Bella Copeland. And with such a classy name I would be the Madam of the establishment!

It was a pleasure to have you, Lucinda! I can't wait to read Autumn Duchess

A.J.

Be sure to visit Lucinda over at

If you'd like to win a copy of one of Lucinda's fabulous books, hop on over to her Facebook page, and click 'Like' as well as leaving a comment below. A winner will randomly be selected, so please leave us your email information. Now hurry ... go like this fabulous author!

Any self respecting historical reader will, so go shoo ...

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Lucinda-Brant/158411160851531?v=wall

http://www.lucindabrant.com/

http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100001367314805

Rules for Breaking Rules

2011-02-08T09:10:00.001-05:00

This guy breaks all the rules. He did it in Ferris Bueller's Day Off and he's still doing it, one hotel room at a time.

Breaking the rules works for him. Do you even know how much money the man makes? His TV show gained viewers after all his antics.

Crazy, this entertainment business.

Do you even remember this scene? I do. And look at them now...Baby and Sheen, all these years later. Whooda thunk it?

Some other rule breakers weren't so lucky though....Poor Mel over there...He went all crazy like Sheen but it didn't quite work for him now did it?

There are a million reasons why. Sheen combined his sins but did it with an inebriated smile on his face. Using the same charm from Ferris Bueller in real life.

Mel kinda went psycho. Anti-Semitic Rants, boozed soaked diatribes, I don't have to re-hash. Tis sad really. Love the man's work, and as a child of the 80's his butt what the butt all other hunks' butts were compared to. Oh, how the mighty have fallen...

Rules are everywhere. We are bred to follow them and punished when we don't. Time-outs, butt whoopins, groundings, incarceration, the list goes on.

For aspiring authors the punishment is that you stay just that, aspiring. Never actually being.

Charli here is a rule breaker. Let me list them for you.

I have a prologue

My second chapter introduces an ensemble cast

It's over 100,000 words (working on that though)

I tell in places and show in others

Most passages are active but some are passive

Sometimes my characters do random things- no plan or goal, that's life

There are probably more.

Some of my most favorites books of all time have all of the above. So, all you aspiring writers out there, take heed. We read blog after blog and article after article about the rules, what agents want and hate. We revise our MSs in a state of panic and what is the result? A really bad revision.

You are the creator of your story. Sometimes you have to follow your instincts. Look at the books on the NYT Bestsellers list. Scratch that, read them. The rules are broken all the time. At the end of the day its all about a really good story that's weaved together in breathless fashion. Originality in premise, characters, or setting will make the difference.

There are basic rules to storytelling, yes. Beginning, middle end...story arc...plot...yada. But these other rules are not black and white.

My prologue is not a ten page diatribe. It's one page, a tease about the future, and I love it. My CP's prologue is action packed and a cliffhanger for sure. Some of my favorite authors have them and I really love the set-up.

I recently read a book that had a whole passage that was passive and telling. I liked it because it was insight about a specific past event. It was compelling and well written for a rule breaker. Another one had dialogue tags left and right and I didn't even care, the story was that good.

Learn the craft and to do that you must READ. READ. READ. READ. READ.

As someone who participates in Critique groups I can tell you this... I have read some really well written prose. No telling, no passives, they follow all the rules. And they were....okay. Nothing new or spectacular for the genre but not bad either. I have read some work that was so rough it hurt to read. But guess what...the story was so awesome and the characters so crisp I loved it and wanted to read more.

So, for all you newbies out there or frustrated old timers don't read blogs, even this one, and take it as the end all be all. Do your research. Read, write, read and then write some more.

I thought I knew it all when I started in 2009. I didn't no shite. There is still a ton of shite out there I have yet to conquer.

Go out my young Padawans and Obie Ones and fertilize your minds with what you've yet to explore. Break a rule now and then, just be sure it's worth it and works for you...

Now, some clips to pay tribute.

Every girl loves the bad boy...

Danny Glover should have had an intervention with Mel this time around.

You've Come A Long Way Blogfest

2011-02-05T16:56:00.002-05:00

Chris over at the Writer's Hole is hosting a blogfest today. It's to celebrate the four year anniversary of working on her novel and how far she's come.

How far we've come indeed. Need a history lesson on my journey...read some old posts. Learning the craft, honing it, and applying it to a story I love has been one of the most satisfying experiences of my life.

The You've Come A Long Way Blog Fest is a great idea. I love reading about how writers have evolved and keep evolving.

I am new to all this Festing of the Blogging. I hope I don't feck it up....here we go...

Think of a piece of your writing from when you started out. I mean the early days. I've read some of my first attempts at my novel and snorted out loud. 'Twas that bad.

I will post a piece from the MS I've been writing since July of 2009. It was called By Grace Alone then. I wanted some vague opening about death and loss. Very Omni, very artsy-fartsy. Very Very Bad. I was trying too hard.

I held onto the concept of it but since then it's morphed into a less than one page prologue that gives a tease into the future.

The original piece of doo-doo:

People die. Heartless when put that way but it doesn’t make it any less true. Parents die, husbands die, even babies die. We pay homage to a decaying body with vibrant colorful flowers. The aromatic tokens will eventually rot too. Give the dead something that wilts and perishes along with them. Kind of idiotic when you think about it, cruel if you truly pondered it. But still, it’s what we all do. It’s our way of proving to the rest of the world that this person mattered to us. They were loved, cherished, and even missed. But if the dead could speak, would they tell us to move on? Stop standing over them blubbering with stupid sentiments? Probably. But there is something morbid, even narcissistic in the human condition, the inability to let the dead be dead. We just can’t seem to let go.

I know you rolled your eyes. I sure as hell did.

My MS is now titled Meet Me In Jersey. Here is the latest version of the opening:

Philadelphia, a few months from now…

People die, every day. Heartless, perhaps, but it doesn’t make it any less true. They die in car accidents, lying in hospital beds, waiting to be born, and if they are lucky enough, in the arms of someone they love.

Right now, Grace didn’t feel so lucky. As Miguel held her close to his chest she heard him pray to a God she’d forsaken long ago. Whispers of love and hope left his lips, urging her to stay with him, with them. His pleas sounded over the boom of howling sirens, forcing her tired eyes open. Tears streaked his face and they reflected in shades of blue and red. Their salty bitterness mixed with the taste of his sweet kiss pressing against her mouth.

She fought with what little life remained in her weary body and yet her hand continued to slip from his, the light from this world faded into the next.

People die, yes, life taught her as much. But love never does. Her love for him never did, never would. Love was all she had left to give and prayed it was enough to live.

What are your thoughts? Don't be blowin' smoke up me arse either. This opening has been through the ringer. I have about ten versions, for reals.

What I learned over time is that you cannot betray your voice. You can't try and be all literary in your prologue than change the tone of your voice in chapter 1. It became really clear that people thought my original diatribe about death was a wee bit of a Debbie Downer.

Have fun all and I can't wait to read yours!

Head over to the blog fest to sign up, read, and learn. Holla back people.

No Writing, No Wine, Makes Charli Something Something...

2011-01-31T17:32:00.002-05:00

My family may toss me outside in the yard. I'll be with ol' Jack out there, frozen.

Here in Philly we are expecting yet another snow storm. Lovely. This one has ICE! Yay...not.

Weather like this keeps you in the house. You only go out for work, school, and necessities.

Wine is a necessity, not bread. But that's just me.

Over the weekend I had a hard time getting in the mood to write. I had a very bad cold. Very, very bad. And the hubby had our Saturday Night booked for a social gathering. He said the boos were free. What to do. Wine is a necessity as I've previously stated... invited to a place that serves free wine... wine is alcohol... therefore doubling as medication... therefore I can go.

The hubby and kid were happy to get me out of the house. They said I was acting a little off. Well, yes I was. Sore throat, snot rags, and a boat load of cough drops and you'd be too. I think they heard me grumbling about not bothering Mommy in her work place. I think they think I was starting to act like Jack up there. I think my kid remembers the Simpson's Tree House of Horror where Homer goes nuts without beer and TV.

Homer: No TV, no beer, makes Homer something something...
Marge: ...Go crazy?
Homer: Don't mind if I do! *Homer starts murderous rampage.*

Foreseeing their own demise they practically pushed me out the door. Kid goes to her Aunt's. Me & the Hubby are on our own. Woot!

We get to our little soiree and yes there is alcohol but 'tis not free. Hubby shrugs his shoulders as he laughs. "Like you're gonna leave? Free or not you never pass up a drink. Now drink woman and feel better."

Ah, the man knows me. Isn't he romantic...

And no, the family is alive and well. I slept all day Sunday and they didn't bother me. I wrote a wee bit last night too.

With the next storm looming overhead I guess the hubby better stock up on Merlot and Pinot Grigio. Mama's gotta some editing to do.

Enjoy today's clips that inspired this post.

Woodchucking Mayhem

2011-01-26T08:22:00.007-05:00

With the Superbowl coming upon us I'm glad I've been paying tribute to commercials that make me laugh. Superbowl commercials are the stuff of legends. It's why I watch the game. I am not a huge football fan. I prefer different athletic eye candy.

Gimme Chase Utley shaking his booty on the baseball diamond. I mean look at him. Mmm, I'd say something about balls but I'll leave it to your imagination. Back to commercials and other balls.

When the Superbowl airs I devour the commercials, see what these writing geniuses have come up with. I envy those writers, just 30 seconds of cleverness. I'm too wordy for a gig like that. Enjoy today's show, two great commercials from the advertising gods.

I never thought I'd say this but being a woodchuck sounds like fun. I snorted watching this.

Oh and this Mayhem can ruin my life anyday. Dean Winters is hot. Ha-cha-cha!

The Writer's Cocoon

2011-01-16T14:15:00.000-05:00

I am emerging from a cocoon I didn't know I was baking in. Not the Cocoon from the movie, no aliens giving me sexed up mojo in a pool. I am referring to an actual cocoon, the ones kittypillars create while they transform into what they were DESTINED to be, beautiful butterflies.

A kittypillar, yes, I say kittypillar, starts a journey to find a perfect branch. I liken that to me finally deciding to write and sitting my tookus down to do it. For months I wrote, found a critique group, and studied the craft.

Yes, I had to study how to write a novel. Having a good story in your head does not equate to being an author. Being a literature teacher for six years does not equate to knowing how to write a work of fiction.

It is a craft. One I did not respect enough in my early days stumbling through my first attempt at writing this novel. Blogs, websites, story structure books, I read them all. But the education came in the actual writing, the numerous failed attempts. AND THERE WERE NUMEROUS FAILED ATTEMPTS.

I queried way too early. The MS was no where near ready. I was no where near ready as a writer. Me, the kittypillar hadn't even found my damned tree yet. I trudged and trudged. But I wasn't alone on this journey. I found some other kittypillars along the way. One you know here, AJ/JAWS.

Together we found our tree and started our climb. It hasn't been easy. Lots of growing pains along the way. As you are heading out to become something, you change. This kittypillar was becoming something and I couldn't face it. It kind of scared the hell out of me. I ignored the changes and continued to query. I changed my opening at least 7 times. Maybe more.

All were well written. So, my writing friends told me. My CP told me to stop fecking with something that didn't need fecking with in the first place. Jaws said what I had was good and should own it.

But I doona listen verra well. So, I continued to feck with said opening. If you've ever listened to my diatribes about the opening to my MS, you know we haven't exactly seen eye to eye. To get past this stumbling block I immersed myself in story structure books, blogs, websites, and I read and read and read various works of fiction. I devoured them. By forcing myself to step out of my comfort zone and read books I normally wouldn't, I felt a shift take place. It was subtle and barely noticeable but it was there.

I evolved in some weird way. It's something I cannot really explain but you too may have felt this yourself. By reading so much I felt I had a better understanding not only of the craft but of...me...the writing me. This enlightened Charli Mac has new eyes and a fresh outlook. It happened this way...

Last week I was reading, Save the Cat. It has proved to be an invaluable resource to me, for many reasons but one more than the rest. It proved to me I had my structure down pat, the acts, the beats. I'd had the plot down from the get go. Woot, score 1 for Charli. But said opening was still a wreck, or so I thought.

I asked a fellow friendly writer to read all seven of my versions. This facetious lil' redhead (not JAWS, another one) said she would. Boy, she had no idea what she was getting into.

She read one, just one and emailed me. Her question was an Ah-ha moment. She asked me what voice did I want to use for this MS. Because this opening was different from the one she'd read a while back. Voice, voice, voice, voice, it's all about the voice. And she was right. And AJ was right. And so were a handful of other writing friends. I was losing my voice by re-working all these openings.

Facetious redhead told me to sit back and decide how and in what way I want to tell this story. To do so I had to read ALL the openings I'd done. ALL OF THEM.

I did. What I found was priceless. The version I had a while back was good. Really good. It had the right premise, set-up, and it made me feel something I hadn't in a long time-sure of myself. A major brain fart came and I combined a few things and decided to expand on my hero's Save the Cat Moment, a moment I already had in the book before even buying said feline bible of story structure.

As I revised I found myself tapping into this new writer inside of me, not new but a more grown up version. Words flew and it all just felt...right. What is so grand about all this you say? Well, for one, the dammed opening is now done. It needs a tweak here or there. But I can honestly say, when talking to someone, "this is how my story begins...".

More so I was proud that I had this within me all the time. Stubbornness, the need for the MS to be accepted, all blurred my vision. I wouldn't change how I got here for the world. Never in a million years. All of these headaches were the growing pains of becoming a writer. It wasn't easy and I've moved on from some parts of my writing life, left some distractions behind. And I feel amazing.

I can feel my wings growing in this cocoon I've created. Pretty soon I will sprout, break free, and fly. But that will be much later. This kittypillar still has a lot of work to do in here.

I wish my boobs could do this!

2011-01-12T21:39:00.002-05:00

Bang bang! I cannot get enough of these commercials. How does this connect to writing...whoever wrote these lil' snippets is a marketing genius! BTW, my hubby would do back flips if my tots did this.

Unfortunately this is where the puppies are headed...

I Lift Things Up and Put Them Down...

2011-01-12T13:57:00.003-05:00

Every time I see this commercial I laugh. I laugh so hard I snort. His voice follows me on the train to work and I think about how can I put him into one of my stories. He is the epitome of a character archetype.

It's kind of contagious too. Anytime I ask the hubby to get me this or that he says, "I lift things up and put them down." At least he's moved on from quoting Antoine Dodson. Anytime I'd ask a question or do something very Charli-like he'd say, "You are really dumb, for reals."

What characters from commercials make you laugh, stick with you, or even influence your writing?

An Ode to Edward Burns

2011-01-10T17:24:00.007-05:00

We all draw our inspiration from something, someone, some experience or another. We're writers and it's in our nature to observe the world around us. We observe it and more so we absorb it. Absorb it into our bones, blood, and out our fingertips across keyboards.

There are many instances and circumstances that propelled me to this place in my life, this writing place. I'd like to share one of them with you.

This is the movie Purple Violets. An Edward Burns movie. A movie about lost love, the one that got away, and what else, writers. This movie had me thinking about that book I never seemed to sit my ass down and write. This was July of 2009. And here I am today. Said MS in the bazillionth round of edits.

Ahh, Eddie friggin' Burns. I love the man. Besides his obvious good looks and dashing personality, he is an amazing screenwriter; completely undervalued in the business, IMO. His movies; which he writes, directs, and occasionally stars in, always seem to reach out and tug at something deep inside my writer's soul.

Oh, it could be the Irish-Catholic thing, that cool neighborhood guy aura he oozes, maybe it's the almond shaped eyes- oh those Irish eyes are definitely smiling, and maybe, just maybe, it's his innate gift of the craft.

This gem had me finally go and write. Thanks Ed, you're the man.

Save the Cat is Keyser Söze!

2011-01-08T02:12:00.008-05:00

I recently was asked by a fellow critique buddy for my notes on Save the Cat.

Me, being the absent minded writer I am, scratch my head. I don't remember critiquing a story with that title. I'm not particularly fond of cats in general. Sorry Cat People. I do not like cats. I am paraphrasing here but I am with Robin Williams when he said that Cats are like Drag Queens. And I have a tweener daughter, all the Queen like drama I can stand, thank you very much.

So, back to this email. I tell this writing buddy I will check my files and get back to her. I find nothing and let her know. I check our message loop and other people chatted about my notes on this friggin' cat. Was I drunk messaging one night? 'Tis very possible I tell you. But no, I check that too. I did not jump online and post about saving some cat while intoxicated. It would more than likely read about me killing some cat while under the influence. Maybe not murder but at least spraying a bunch of water on it. Again, sorry Cat People. I do not like cats.

So, I am tripping around the blogosphere today, not tripping like I am stoned. I do not do drugs. Hugs, not drugs. Win with Gin! I digress. Save the Cat kept coming up on writer blogs and message boards. What the what? This Save the Cat business is like my own personal Keyser Söze. What is it? Who is it? Why do they think I have notes on it????? It's an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in bacon. But I have no time to decipher this nonense. I have a story to complete and this damn opening of mine is a pain in the arse. My own Verbal Kint, if you will. I ignore all this cyber purring and search the interwebs for the answer to my WIP conundrum. Feck the cat, someone else can save it.

Lovely YA author and blogger extraordinaire Elana Johnson blogs about the writing life. When I get my email about Elana's latest blog post, I swear I hear the heavenly angels sing AHHH. She is blogging about what else, How to Start Your Book. Wowsers! What are the odds?

I've been jammering about my failings in this department for months. I have SEVEN different openings to my MS. Ask AJ and she may say I have more. I lost count honestly. Elana is a rocking blogger with a book coming out in June called Possession. You may recognize her name from being a steady contributor over at Query Tracker and her fondness of Bacon. (The food, not Kevin Bacon. I do not know about her feelings on the actor from Footloose.) She loves bacon. I love bacon. Everything is better with bacon. Bacon. Bacon. Bacon. Writer's block, eat Bacon. Stuck in traffic, dig in your pocket and nibble on some bacon. Not sure what would go great with that ice cream sundae, add bacon. Had some great sex, skip the cig and chew on some bacon. Frustrated by this post, EAT BACON! Again, I digress.

NOT

Anywho. Where was I? Cats, heck no...*Charli sips some gin, licks fingers from her BLT.* Oh yes, the blog post. So, I continue reading Elana's genius and I see...an image... OF A FRIGGIN CAT! Ohh...light bulb over my head hums then illuminates. ELANA STARTS TALKING ABOUT...SAVE THE CAT! It's a flipping screenwriting book! One that boils down story structure. For DAYS I've been jammering about structure, how mine is all off. I follow Larry, the story fixer. He chats about structure and screenwriting like I do bacon and boos. Lately with all my MS opening woes I've been reading up on it. Now Elana with this mysterious Kitty? The planets have aligned for this moment. It's all been leading up to this...

A kind of lame, real-life version of The Usual Suspects, the scene where Chazz Palminteri is looking around the office and it all sets in. The events of the past few hours, chatting with Verbal Kint, it all comes full circle. Well, that was me reading Elana's post today. I didn't drop my coffee mug on the ground or chase after a man with a distinct limp. No instead I sat at my desk and yelled out "Shut the front door!" But I said the real thing. You know, like Ralphie saying fudge but really saying f*ck in a Christmas Story. Got it now? Good. (And if you've never seen The Usual Suspects or A Christmas Story you have no business in the story-telling business. They're classics for Christ's sake.)

So, back again to this diatribe. Elana's post is about her NOT nailing the opening to her next book. And I was like, OMG, no friggin' way! Another coincidence in this strange feline mystery. Elana is an agented writer, she has a book coming out, SHE LOVES BACON! How can she have the same woes as me??? I felt a kinship, a bond beyond pork products. I felt hope actually. Hope that I too can overcome this black hole that's sucked the life out of me these past few months.

The post goes on about Save the Cat. How awesome it is and how it helped her. Her, the soon to be published and agented author is using it and even making storyboards and flash cards. Dude, I love flashcards, use them! Pig Meat, Crappy Book Openings, Saving Cats, and now 4x6 lined pieces of cardboard? We are sooo cyber sisters. I will not stalk her, I will not stalk her!

Remember my Liz Lemon Post? Nerds use flash cards. And Nerds get shit done. Nerds are gazillionaires. I am an aspiring nerd and writer. This is Steve Jobs to the right, BTW. He nailed the part of bazillionaire nerd who gets shit done. If there is a book about being a nerd, like a Save the Cat for nerds, I bet you Jobs read it and possibly even wrote it. And dude, with a last name like JOBS he was destined to get shit done.

Fate has instructed me to purchase said feline sparing bible of story structure. And I will tell you this. I listened and I bought. I have my highlighter and cards, gin and bacon. Save the Cat is Keyser Söze, Keyser Söze is the opening to my book- elusive, there, and then poof, it's gone....Damn you Keyser Söze!

Oh, opening to my mushy love story along the Jersey Shore, I will conquer you once and for all! I may not be saving any literal cats with this purchase but I sure as hell will save the start of my MS. The world is gonna love my opening like Tracy loves cornbread.

Thank you Elana Johnson, YA writer. Thank you. And thanks to my fellow aspiring writers who praised me for notes I didn't write, thanks to bacon and gin, thanks Steve Jobs and Keyser Söze, and thanks to Save the Cat, not real cats. I do not like cats. Thank you all!

OMG, Brain fart....maybe Elana Johnson is Keyser Soze! What the what!?

Water, Marilyn, and Death

2011-01-02T18:55:00.001-05:00

My first books of 2011 are making my heart palpitate! I love them, well, two out of the three.

The books from 2010 I've yet to finish are dragging. Boredom is not something that sits well with me. So, The Shack and Eat, Pray, Love are officially sidelined. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo I'm reading on the train to work. Loving it! Naked In Death, I finished and will discuss at another time on another blog.

I digress. I bought three books for MYSELF the other day. I had some Borders Bucks to cash in and I used them all on ME! SQUEE!

FRAGMENTS, Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters by Marilyn Monroe~ Edited by Stanley Buchthal and Bernard Comment

Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen

Glory In Death by J.D. Robb

Let me explain the second J.D. Robb purchase. A little birdie told me, here on this blog, that the series really picks up after the third book. Pretty soon I will be a blogger on a Romance and Mystery site and this is part of my research. That's another thing I will discuss later. Super stoked about that. Not super stoked about the first pages of the second book.

Water for Elephants was on my to-read list for 2011. When I saw the trailer for the movie starring Robert Pattinson and Reese Witherspoon, it immediately pulled me in. It moved the book to the top of my list of books to buy. I love anything Depression Era but when you use the circus as a backdrop, you had me at Dumbo.

Gruen breaks all the rules we read about as Aspiring Authors, all but one. She tells one heck of an amazing story. I noted an overabundance of the word WAS, telling and passive phrases, dialogue tags like I said or he says, and it opens with a PROLOGUE! A prologue that is a flashback. BAH to that agent intern who turned her nose up as such literary devices and the authors that use them. I guess this must be terrible writing too.

Anyhoo, I laughed out loud reading the first chapter, wanted to cry in the second, and now that I am in the third I can't seem to stop reading. When Gruen described the music in the prologue and said the "tuba farted", I snorted, twice. Who doesn't laugh when they see the word fart? This man's journey starts with a stampede and a murder, fast forwards to him in a nursing home, then goes back to his journey on The Greatest Show On Earth. I can't wait to finish it. Below is a photo from the book, different photos open each chapter.

Fragments, a simple title that illustrates not only the prose within but the author's life. Marilyn Monroe has been an icon of mine since I was a tweener. There was something about her that I admired, something in a photo that spoke of her vulnerability, gorgeous and undeniably tragic. I often described her as tragically beautiful, something my head just blurted out when reading about her. It was hard for me to understand how someone with such beauty could truly believe she was ugly. Through the years I have read different things about her, never the conspiracy theory type stuff.

This book caught my eye when Christmas shopping and couldn't wait to snatch it up. Marilyn/Norma Jean reveals who she really was. Her own words and the words of those closest to her portray the avid reader, learner, poet, and actress. In it is a letter to Mr. Strasberg while in a psych ward, her thoughts about self worth, and poetry about loneliness. The words make you feel as if you are sitting on a sofa with her, chatting about life in general. This is a fragment from one of her poems. "Only parts of us will ever touch parts of others..." Lovely. I can tell this is a book I will be picking up time and again. Below is a letter written in 1956 to Lee Strasberg. It just made me really sad.

What are you reading? What do you plan on reading this year?

What I read in 2010

2010-12-29T14:23:00.002-05:00

Over at my buddy Camille's blog she chatted it up about the books she's read this year. Her list is quite diverse, as is the woman. So, I am making a list of my own. I hope this is contagious and lots of people post what they've read this year and even maybe books they're eyeing for 2011. This is a great way to have almost a mini-book club.

YEAH, that's it. The Mini Book Club. We meet once a year and dish on all the reads, the good and the oh so bad.

What did I read this year? Well, there were spurts where I went on author binges. Reading as much as possible of a particular author. Then after fully gorging myself I'd change not only authors but genres.

In no particular order here's what I got....

The Nicky Sparks Fest
*Tissues used for all. Some more than others but he got me every time.

A Bend in the Road~ Fate and circumstance toss this widower and school teacher together. Overcoming loss and finding forgiveness lay the groundwork to a great love story.

The Rescue ~ Another one of his best. All the characters are compelling. Especially Kyle, a four year old with a learning disability that will melt your heart. Taylor, the fireman, is the wounded hero and Denise, the protective mother hopes for a better future. Most Sparks need to be read with tissues, this one you need extra.

Safe Haven~ Abused woman on the run, widower looking for love. Time heals all wounds but psycho hubby is on the hunt. Great story and much from the crazed abuser's POV. Different for Sparks, didn't disappoint.

The Guardian~ Widowed woman, the said deceased's BFF always loved her. They let love blossom while evading a stalker. Good.

Message In A Bottle~ Holy tissues Batman. If you've seen the movie, you ain't seen nothing until you read it.

The Choice~ Woman torn between current love and her new neighbor. Awesome testament to the power of love. You think the choice is hers, but its really his. Super sappy and I loved every second.

Dear John~ Book far better than the movie. Lot and lots of tissues. The relationship with John and his father is so much deeper here. The ending, not as hopeful as the movie. Loved it.

The Lucky One~ Guy finds a photo in Iraq of a girl. She becomes his lucky charm. He falls in love with the girl from the photo. Once home he goes on a search to find her and return it. So much more happens, as you can guess.

True Believer~ NYC hot shot reporter goes to small town and falls for the the librarian.

At First Sight ~ One of my faves. Loved it, loved it all. A sequel to True Believer. Shows life after the HEA. I want more Jeremy Marsh.

A Walk to Remember~ Young love, life changing romance, mega nose blower. Ten times better than the movie.

*I can't seem to want to read The Last Song. All I see is Hannah Montana. As the mother of a tweener I've seen enough of the young lady thank you very much.

James Patterson ~ Before the fall from grace with me. I stopped reading the mega giant after that NYT article. I kind of lost a little respect.

I, Alex Cross ~ It's Alex Cross. Can't ever go wrong with the man.

When the Wind Blows ~ First book in what later becomes the Maximum Ride Series for YA readers. Not bad but not my thing.

Step on A Crack~ Broke my heart not to want to buy anymore Patterson cause this series has potential to surpass the Alex Cross series. Great characters and secondary plots. One scene made me tear up a bit.

Swimsuit ~One of his best, co-written, but its been on the bestsellers list for over 2 years. Still love it. Wicked killer. Truly twisted.

Beach Road ~ Great read until the end. It was a WTF moment and totally contrived.

You've Been Warned ~ The most annoying book I've ever read. Garbage.

Sam's Letter to Jennifer ~Romance and a tear jerker. Very good.

Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas ~Same as above. Current girlfriend gets the diary of the dead wife written for her son. Given to her by the man as he breaks up with her. Super sad. Super loving. Super hopeful.

Nora Roberts

Sea Swept
Inner Harbor
Montana Sky
Sanctuary
Hidden Treasures
Black Hills

The first two I enjoyed. It had a family saga element that spoke to me and my own WIP's cast of characters. After that I lost interest fast in her writing. It's the same exact formula, no deviation, no depth, not much really that stays with you.

Formula- Heroine has a bad day and the villain is the cause. Heroine meets or reconnects with hero. Sparks fly and they both vow not to give into such temptation. Villain keeps them bumping into each other. Hot sex consummates an instant falling in love or rekindling of it. Villain strikes. They fight the bad guy. They win. They make nooky one last time. The End. Sometimes secondary characters hook up too.

Janet Evanovich
Thanksgiving~ Cute story, enjoyed it. Fluff piece about a tour guide is Williamsburg VA, the new doctor, and an abandoned baby.

Plum Lovin' ~ I couldn't get into it enough to care to finish. Bounty hunter with paranormal tendencies. Yawn.

Jodi Piccoult
Handle with Care ~Amazing. Makes you question what you'd do in the situation. Woman sues her BFF and OB/GYN about missing something in an ultrasound and if she knew she may have aborted the baby. The said child has brittle bone disease as it about 7 years old. The suit, if won, would give them the money to give the child the best medical care but the moral costs are way high in this one. Who says in a courtoom that if they would've known their kid would've turned out broken, they would have aborted? If she doesn't she can't properly care for her...

Emily Giffin

Love the One You're With ~ You're rooting for an affair and feel just as bad as the heroine. When the heroine sees an old flame, it's on like Donkey Kong. Awesome.
I never wanted to slap in-laws so bad before, besides my own!

Eileen Goudge
Domestic Affairs ~ Great plot of past secrets and life altering events that thrust old friends and flames together. There was a secondary plot I totally skipped but a good read overall.

Diana Gabaldon
The Outlander ~ Jamie Fraser is one of the most compelling characters I've ever read. Even at 800 pages, some of which I skipped, it is amongst one of my all time faves. Time Travel, Highlanders, Sex, Violence, and Love. She had me at the kilt!

Jennifer Haymore
A Touch of Scandal ~ My first Regency Romance. An easy fluff read. Duke, scandal, revenge, a lower class maiden, and forbidden ha cha cha, but not so bad.

Robyn Carr
Virgin River ~ Free at the NJ RWA Conference. Not bad, hero very adorable. Predictable but touching in places.

Angel's Peak ~ Annoyed at it. But I read this first and it's not the first in the series. I felt all the chaps from various POVs from people I could care less about took away from the overall plot. The hero seemed a little too forgiving he'd just found out about his three year old daughter. Sex was hot though. But the plot was all too predictable.

James Waller
Bridges of Madison County ~ This was my second read of the book. The first time was in my early twenties. Reading it some ten years later, a different and more compelling read all together. A Midwestern wife and mother looks forward to a week without the hubby and kids. A photographer stops for directions and life isn't so boring or lonely anymore. They have a few days of love that last a lifetime. Oh, Francesca and Robert, I wish things worked out differently! The movie was amazing and the book even more so. Cried my arse off.

Sandra Brown
Not Even For Love ~ Another re-read. Just wanted to see what an old fashioned romance read like. Didn't disappoint. Sweet and follows the tried and true Romance formula. Bookkeeper in Europe helps a stranded photographer during a rainstorm. Sex and a quick smell ya later. They bump into each as her engagement is announced. He is hired to be the photographer. Typical but a nice read.

Dan Brown
Angels & Demons ~ Murder, Kidnapping, the Vatican, Art, Science, and Conspiracy. Need I say more?

The Lost Symbol ~ The White House, Masons, History, and of course murder. Not as good as Brown's two previous reads but still keeps you interested enough to finish. Great twist at the end. What's lost in this one is the religious "what if" aspect of DaVinci and Angels.

Pete Hamill

Forever ~ Young Cormac O'Connor witnesses his parents murder in 1741 Ireland. As a true Celtic man he must avenge their deaths all the way to the end of the blood line. It takes him to New York City. There he befriends slaves, indentured servants, and fights for justice while stalking his prey. When his plans go to hell, he is near death. One of the Africans he helped is a Shaman and gives him the gift of eternal life. With a catch. He can't leave the island of Manhattan. Here, you see NY and American history through his eyes. It spans from the Revolutionary War to the 9-11 attacks. Brilliant! Loved it!

Books I am reading right now...

Steig Larsson
The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo ~ It was hard in the beginning but I wanted to see what the hype was about. I cheated and watched the Swedish movie. Loved it and love the book now that I picked it up again.

Elizabeth Gilbert
Eat, Pray, Love ~ I am still on the eat part. I really liked it in the beginning but its lost my interest. Can't seem to care enough to continue on. It's a memoir and I am not sure I can relate to a woman who was paid to globe trot for a year to write said book about being a thirty something divorcee trying to find herself. Give me some money and I'll give you a memoir about a thirty something wife and mother trying to write and book and get published.

William P. Young
The Shack~ Interesting read about a guy whose daughter is brutally murdered. Three years later he gets a note to meet in the shack where she was killed. The message contains things only few would know. It could only be from the murderer or from God.

J.D. Robb
Naked in Death ~ The first in the famous Eve and Roarke series about futuristic NY, a cop, and a billionaire thrust together by a series of murders. This is SOOO not my thing. But its research for a Blog I'll be posting on in the New Year on Romance and Mystery. I read that this couple rank among the elite as far as romantic couples in literature are concerned. My take so far, that's some bull caca. This is sooo cheesy and typical. I actually vomited a little in my mouth reading lines like, "she had a mouth made for sex". Really? If a guy said that about me I'd be looking for my cash on the night stand. There are some moments where I think I may get to know these famous characters on a deeper level. But it's only a line or two and the cheese commences. Not a good cheese either. Canned cheese. Barf. BTW. J.D. Robb is Nora Roberts.

Now, I hate to sound so negative about Nora. She's the queen of Romance and a God on the NYT list. I guess, for the formula Romance genre, she's doing her thing well. She has to be right? I guess I need something a little more deeper to read. Something that sticks.

Jonathan Franzen
The Corrections ~ This was a hit in 2001. Prizes and nominations galore. A very Literary Read. And I am loving every second of all the dysfunction with these characters. Basically Enid wants to get her family together for one last Christmas before Pops goes into a retired care facility, he has severe Parkinson's. Her kids are as crazy as she is. One, a famous chef contemplatyes having an affair with her boss and his wife. The one son got fired from his teaching job at a university for sleeping with a student. He goes off the deep end writing a Clinton/Lewinsky inspired screenplay that mirrors his own failures. And the other son has a smothering wife and kids. The wife emasculates him at every turn. Enid does her best for a family gathering that may do more harm than good. I am laughing out loud in parts. Who knew Literary Fiction could be this much fun!

So, for 2011 I am finishing up the reads above. My goal is to read all of Jane Austen's Novels, The Bell Jar, Water for Elephants, The Swan Thieves, Fragments, The Hunger Games, and any sappy romances along the way.

What have you read this year? What will you read this upcoming year?

THIS IS AWESOME

2010-12-27T21:59:00.012-05:00

This is what an AWESOME blog looks like.

How can you get as awesome as AJ & Charli? Bathe in it everyday...lather, rinse, and repeat homey.

Today, we reached 100 followers. 51 on BLOGGER and 49 on Networked blogs. I know other blogs may boast higher numbers but I am permitted to bask in my awesomeness for a moment.

*basking...basking...basking...*

Thanks to all our peeps. You like us, you really like us! And we love you too, and your blogs. You rock the interwebs like we do. Okay, you're AWESOME like us. Why? You follow us, that's why. And we probably follow you too. It's one, big Fest of AWESOME we're having.

It takes AWESOME to know AWESOME. Pretty Awesome isn't it?

In the words of a man who knows what awesome is, the Great Ali G, Booyakasha to all our Peeps for following. Just look at him below. That's how AWESOME people get dressed everyday.

BTW, I had a three finger ring in high school and aspired to be part of the Wu Tang Clan. I just raised the AWESOMENESS bar, and you know it.

In Spite of Loss...

2010-12-25T23:31:00.001-05:00

This post is for a person I am proud to call my friend.

We're all losers. We can't escape it, not worth trying. Loss is a part of life.

You can lose your job. Keys are never where you last put them. The Battle of the Bulge is now known as being the Biggest Loser. Socks disappear into dryers, never to be seen again. We lose touch with persons we once thought we could never live without, with our spouses, children, and friends. Rocky lost to Apollo Creed. We even lose hair, eyesight, and hearing with age.

We lose. Every single day, we... lose.

The loss that is the most unbearbale, unspeakbale, and hardest to get over is the loss of a loved one. The idea, notion, realization, that someone once breathing and so full of life, is no longer of this earth, shakes you to your core. Shakes your belief in God, in what is right in the world, faith in most things if you let it.

Yes, we all lose a little everyday. But in reality we also gain, if only our hearts let us and our minds open up to the possibility.

Loss doesn't define us. Who we are, who we become in spite of it does.

A Writer's Airing of Grievances

2010-12-23T12:14:00.003-05:00

HAPPY FESTIVUS ONE AND ALL!

Today is Festivus. They day we celebrate the feast of...being festive without indulging in the commercialism of various religious traditions! It's the Anti-Holiday's Holiday.

FESTIVUS FOR THE REST OF US!

On the Day of Festivus the Aluminum Pole stands in place of our tree, in the hopes that the Airing of Grievances commences with ease. The Feats of Strength begins with a bash, as someone gets pinned on the floor in a flash.

Aspiring Author Charli Mac's Airing of Grievances

1. To every agent who rejected me with a form-FYI, I wasn't all that into you either, in case I didn't let you know that.

2. To my WIP, my first MS, the bane of my existence- Make up your mind already and let me know when you have decided to be complete. You are an annoying wench and at this point, much like my cousin Wendy, you will never get hitched (signed).

3. To my second WIP- Thanks for bailing on me. You are an insecure second child. Get over it. If you get your shiznit together you may beat your older sibling and be the first one signed by an agent, I'm just sayin'.

4. To my muse- Crack is whack, hugs not drugs, you booze you lose, and that's not glue you've been sniffing. You need to join Lindsay Lohan in Rehab.

5. To my laptop- Thanks for having the Internet so readily available for me to NOT WRITE! You enable the Muse's procrastination and fuel her ADHD. Good one. You've figured out that if I finish this book and get signed YOU are getting replaced. You machines are getting too smart.

6. To the fellow author I met at that thing-Thanks for reminding me how tough the market is and that my premise has little chance of being picked up. I hope you get crabs.

7. To my husband- Thanks for asking me if I've made money yet on this "hobby". That's like me asking you if your middle aged-overweight football team will ever win a game.

8. To my daughter, aka, The Tweener- Thanks for rolling your eyes, stomping your feet, and slamming your door every time you asked where dinner was. I was in the middle of typing very important scenes. It's called Easy Mac for a reason.

9. To my dog- Thanks for barking, whining, and licking yourself every time I was on a roll. I should've let them ice you at the pound.

10. To that agent who sent me a cut & pasted, poorly written form rejection and really pissed me off- Thanks, know-it-all for sending me down the rabbit hole. It was funny to find out I was not the only one, thus proving me right and you wrong. Sweet vindication! This was my FESTIVUS MIRACLE!!!!!!!!!!

Please air feel free to Air your own grievances below.
*These are fictitious rants (mostly). My family rocks and I'd never wish my pooch harm.

Happy Festivus

2010-12-21T21:23:00.000-05:00

HAPPY FESTIVUS INTERWEBS!

In just two days, the holiday we all wait for will be upon us. Are you ready? Wikihow gives these crucial tips for a festive Festivus!

1. Set Up your Festivus Pole. Set up an aluminum pole in your living room. It requires no decoration, and has a very high strength to weight ratio.

2. Celebrate Festivus on December 23rd. You need purchase no expensive gifts. Just invite your family and friends over for a nice dinner.

3. Air Your Grievances. Tell everyone at dinner how they have disappointed you over the last year. Be sure to include specific details. Have your grievances prepared prior to the celebration. There is no need to make up or hug after the Airing of the Grievances.

4. Practice the Feats of Strength. After dinner (and dessert) proceed with the Festivus Feats of Strength. "Festivus doesn't end until you pin me..." Remember however, that a participant is allowed to decline on the grounds that s/he has something better to do (which includes pretty much anything.)

Feats of Strength suggestions: If you don't want to have to pin someone, consider Thumb Wrestling, Rock, Paper, Scissors, Staredown.

Warnings! Be careful not to injure yourself or anyone else during the Feats of Strength.

Keep the pole away from all sources of electricity. Aluminum, like all other metals, is very conductive and you may get shocked.

Things You'll Need: One aluminum pole (No distracting tinsel!!)

http://www.festivuspoles.com/pages/Festivuspoles.htm

I Want This Rejection!

2010-12-17T21:13:00.000-05:00

My buddy Camille over at Camille Reads had this on her blog. This is an old school rejection form for screenplays but I want one for novels! I want there to be a standard like this for literary agents. I mean I think it's perfect. We get forms all the time and at least this is more specific.

Besides, it feels like the junior high notes you used to pass. Do you like me? Circle yes/no/maybe. But this gives you at least they why it's a no. Kind of cool. Old School needs to be the New School in this instance. Ya feel me?

So far I am digging number 17 on this list. Scenes of an unpleasant nature, LMAO.

I am Really Book Dumb...For Reals

2010-12-12T23:53:00.000-05:00

Truthfully, I must confess, I am NOT as well read as I should be. Especially for being an aspiring writer and all.

In July of 2009 I officially stopped daydreaming about the story in my head and started typing. Even then I was reading mostly James Patterson. I joined one of those book clubs and snatched up some mainstream stuff. I remember getting one about a young woman helping her town after a tornado and an early reprint of a Sandra Brown. A student of mine gave me a Nicholas Sparks. I read his works off and on. Patterson kept me busy, as did some Dan Brown and Elizabeth Kostova.

But I write Love Stories and up until 2008 all I had was some Sparks and a single Sandra Brown.

I have an even worse confession. I am poorly read in the classics. In college I think I read Pride and Prejudice. The movies I remember more. I recall some titles from high school and college but vaguely remember most of them.

Does that make me a poorly trained writer? Does under-read translate into Book-Dumb? Right now I feel like I am in a place where I shouldn't write. Something inside me is unquenchable. All I want to do is read.

What should I be reading? What should I have read already?

What books do you feel all writers, at least of fiction, should read before typing a single word?

Two Idiots in New York, I Mean Newark

2010-12-07T22:28:00.002-05:00

They would meet from a great distance. Two aspiring novelists hoping to make it big in the publishing world. Both with big dreams, light wallets and little sense...

Plight of the NoWords

Chapter 1

An Officer and a Cigarette

Harley tapped her feet, the hard plastic chair squeaked. In just a few minutes she'd meet her critique partner. BJ was traveling from a far, far away land, called Canada. Harley hoped she arrived in the United States okay. Who would've thought that two random strangers meeting on the interwebs would finally meet in person. How often does that happen? Harley knew they were pioneers in a sense.

Harley left her life behind in Philly by boarding a NJ transit bus here, to Newark International Airport. Like all struggling artists, they'd have no car. Together they'd enter the city and take it from there. Nothing but a few bags, laptops, and dreams.

Where would they sleep, who knows. All the great musicians, dancers, and actors who came to NY in movies and on TV never had a plan. Either did she, genius, huh? She thought so.

Waiting didn't suit Harley. So she people watched. Lots were reading newspapers. They looked smart too and headed for NYC, she was sure. People in NY read papers. Some people did too, back in Philly, but Harley never cared for it. Too much to concentrate on, that reading nonsense. But she was all about fitting in, so she grabbed one and sat down.

She crossed her legs and opened up the pages like the smart looking girl across from her. The office type had glasses. Dang it, Harley didn't. They'd make her look like she knew what she was doing. But she did have Jackie-O shades. The Kardashians always wear their sunglasses everywhere. And they are so, so, so smart.

She put them on and began to read. She had to squint to see but it was all about the look. Reading, reading, skimming over the big words like, inundate-mandate...lots of dates in NY. Cool.

It got more boring as she read and yawned, but she did it for writings sake. Reading and writing kind of go together, right? I mean she technically didn't have a book written yet but she had lots of ideas and that's all that mattered.

An interesting article caught her eyes. Some serial killer on the loose from... Canada? One who meets their victims on the internet?

The same INTERWEBS that brought her here, meeting BJ? Harley read in disbelief that someone else thought to use it to meet people. How rude. She prolly could've made money off that. But it had her thinking of Dexter, one of her favorite shows. It was a book before it became a hit series. Hmm, a serial killing writer...great idea!

"HARLEY!" A voice bellowed out, interrupting daydreams about being the next HBO/Showtime star!

Looking up there she was, BJ. A cigarette dangling from her mouth, unlit, but waiting. Red hair, fur coat, and hick-like stride. How exotic. "Hey, BJ, over here!"

Harley lept up but wearing those dark shades she didn't see a body in front of her. At full force she fell right into something small and soft, landing in a heap above it. Said heap groaned a bit. Her shades tilted, practically dangling like BJ's cancer stick.

"Yo, heffer, you mind?" Some deep voice came from under her. She looked down. A round portly man lay underneath her, and his member was stiff on her hip.

"Excited Mister?" Harley fixed her shades and stood.

The man helped himself up and adjusted his shirt. It read, Homeland Security. The member was actually a gun but he was prolly a little excited she landed on her. "What friggin' idiot wears sunglasses indoors and at night?"

"New York ones." Harley winked but he prolly couldn't see that underneath her shades. So she tilted them down and winked again. Shorty wasn't impressed. He was prolly from Jersey and jealous a little. The man pushed her aside, huffing about tourists and walked away. Harley couldn't agree more. Tourists were stupid idiots.

"HARLEY!" BJ's voice found her and she was being escorted by airport guards. She turned to them, yelling. "I didn't know you couldn't smoke here. I didn't smoke the whole plane ride. You think I'm some terrorist with a bomb!"

In seconds she was forced to the ground. Harley ran, yelling, hoping to intervene. "She doesn't have a bomb, she's not a terrorist. She's from a really foreign country. She's Canadian! I'm not sure she speaks American English!"

Harley felt the air leave her as she was thrown to the ground, inches from BJ's face. The cigarette was broken in half but still hung on for dear life. As Harley turned her head to look up, little man was cuffing her.

"You sure are scrappy." Harley winced as she silver cuffs tightened around her wrists. "I said she's not a terrorist. What's the problem?"

"Shut up idiot." They stood and Harley had a thought.

She bent over and whispered into the vertically challenged officer's ear. "You think she's the Interwebs killer, huh?"

"Please stop talking." He nudged her forward.

Harley caught a glimpse at BJ and the Canadian winked. "Welcome to America, eh?"

The next few hours they were questioned. Some supervisor didn't appreciate Harley's insistence about the serial killer connection or that Canada was some exotic foreign land. These guys must not have paid attention in geography class. It's called South of the Border for a reason!

Lesson 1 as an aspiring writer. You cannot say bomb or terrorist in an airport. Like really, that's stupid. Cause that episode of Jerseylicous last week was Da Bomb. For reals. And like terrorist is a perfectly innocent thing to say. Technically, the petite officer terrored-her-wrists with those cuffs. It's called word play. These guys so don't understand the craft, with writing, cause words are used in writing.

When they were finally released they hugged it out and made way to the Big Apple. BJ lit up and took a deep drag. "So you thought I was the Internet Killer, eh?"

Thinking about what to say to a possible homicidal maniac/roomate, Harley paused. "Well, we did meet on the interwebs and you are from Canada. An officer of the law could reduce that."

She blew smoke into my face, and said, "Deduce?"

"Huh?" I ask, losing my train of thought.

"Deduce," she repeated, "You meant an officer of the law could deduce that?

Stammering something unintelligable, I was glad I'd put my sunglasses back on.

"You a cop?" BJ asked, crushing the cigarette under her boot.

"Gees, no. I was a school safety in the sixth grade. Things like instinct are hard to shake."

"I know, eh. No worries. Besides, me and the family think it's my Uncle Roger. You're safe with me."

Harley nodded and hailed down a cab. Once they were in NY everything would be okay. They'd get a good night's sleep in some trendy writer's hotel. In the morning they'd eat breakfast in some cafe where people read newspapers, then walk over to Penguin Publishing and sell their stories. It would be that easy.

Picking up BJ wasn't that bad. How much worse could things get?

"Hey, let's get drunk, BJ. Celebrate." Harley elbowed her new BFF. "Tomorrow we'll be world famous authors."

"Take off, eh. That's what I was thinking."

They hopped in the cab, into the night, and New York City quaked with trepidation waiting for their arrival.

Great Scott, Universe Altering Plot holes!

2010-12-03T13:08:00.000-05:00

Okay, my girl Camille's blog had this video about the mind crushing ending to Back to the Future and the REAL universe altering ramifications of Marty McFly. And I totally had to steal and share.

OMG is all I have to say.

This is hysterical. Balls out dead pan comedy. And it really has me thinking about plots, stories, endings, and the like. All you sci-fi world altering dystopic time traveling writers, let this be a warning. Watch how you mess with things.

Thank God the characters from the Jersey Shore aren't time traveling anytime soon. I shudder with horror at the thought.

Plight of the NoWords

2010-12-02T10:25:00.002-05:00

If I've never told you, one of my favorite shows is Flight of the Conchords. 'Tis an HBO series that follows the misadventures of two New Zealand musicians on a quest in New York to hit it big in the music world. They sing terrible songs, have minimal talent, and suffer from a severe case of naiveness and idiocracy.

However, in their minds they are legendary.

It got me thinking, especially since I am not writing, what about a tale of two writers trying to make it big in the Big Apple? Plight of the NoWords...documenting the daily struggles of BJ & Harley, two aspiring writers.

They risk it all and flee to NY to pursue their writing dreams. Can you imagine the shenanigans and tomfoolery they could get into? The possibilities are endless.

Not familiar with Flight of the Conchords? Geesh. I cannot be responsible for your pop culture shortcomings. Where have you people been? Really. Please click on the links and get better acquainted with Jemaine and Bret. And yes, it's JEmaine not JeRmaine.

An introduction if you will, the best of the first few episodes.

Here, the boys dabble with becoming rappers and believe their gansta personas will ward off muggers.

BJ and Harley have just arrived in New York and will make their debut this week. Stay tuned.

Feature: Great Openings, by Ann Lethbridge

2010-11-30T16:22:00.000-05:00

Today we're doing things a little different. Actually, we're not doing anything at all. Yesterday, as I perused my iReader, I came across a very pertinent post by multi-published author, Ann Lethbridge over at Seduced by History. It's a post I wish I'd had the good fortune to read in my early days of writing. So, without further adieu, I give you what all writers NEED, and MUST accomplish in their very first paragraph, sentence ...

More than a hook, a killer opening ...

Last week I had the privilege of reading a few five-hundred word story openings provided by aspiring authors. I was not being asked for a critique, so I was unable to offer advice and I didn't know their names, or anything about them.

I was concerned that almost all these openings suffered from what I saw as similar problems. If it had been possible for me to give feedback on these snippets, this is what I would have said.

A reader expects to be carried into your world in a very few lines or they might not get past the first page. One way to do this is to start with action, or dialogue. If you start where something is happening or even better, where everything changes for the worst for the point of view character, the reader will want to read on. People love conflict and disaster, so if you can hint at it, or even provide it at the beginning your book will open with a bang.
Providing the details up front of why and how a character arrived at the point when the book opens can cause a reader to yawn. For example, the character thinks about his miserable childhood, his awful time at school and his recent accession to a title, which will allow him to improve his life. In the meantime, nothing has happened in the story. This is an information dump. I see it over and over again in contests. It is also telling.
The best way for a reader to get to know your character is to see them in action. This character, for example, could be entering a ballroom, greeting people who in the past had snubbed him and piercing them with his superior wit. The reader would be intrigued. Why would this man act this way? Or he could dive in to rescue a citizen from a band of thugs in a bad part of town. Why is he there? Why is he willing to be involved? Show us whatever it is you want to show us about who this person is, or thinks he or she is right now, by having him or her react to their world. Intrigue us to read more by not telling us why.
Avoid large casts of characters in opening scenes. Readers can be confused and/or impatient with too many people to keep track of, especially when they don't know who is important to the story.
Don't have your character physically describe themselves, either by looking in a mirror, or by thinking about their appearance. She turned her bewitching blue eyes on her visitor, is, if you turn it into the characters' own thoughts: I turned my bewitching blue eyes on my visitor. How often do you think about the nature and color of your eyes when you look at someone entering your front door? If you can put yourself inside your point of view character's head, see only what they see, feel only what they feel, your reader will be right there with you. And they will want to read on.
Know where your story starts. I have this terrible habit of wanting to write prologues full of action. My editor is very smart. She makes me take them out. Writing the prologue puts my head in the right place for the story. Deleting it, doesn't spoil or change the story at all, indeed it leaves a question to be answered later when the reader needs to know the answer. Don't start your story too early. Start where things begin to go wrong, often in a romance at the point the hero and heroine meet.
If your book starts with a bang, in the middle of action with conflict, with questions, try to keep the tension going. Don't have your character go off and change their gown, for example, so you can get in some description, while the furious hero waits in the drawing room. Have her confront him right away. Keep the reader wanting to know what is going to happen next and keep things happening.
A great first line is wonderful. An art form if done well. If it is followed up by telling and passages of description, its impact is lost.
Look at the openings of your favorite authors. What did they do right? Were you bored but only continued reading because you knew in the end they would deliver? Did you skip ahead? Were you breathlessly intrigued? An editor who is breathlessly intrigued by your opening page or two might well buy your book.

Do I perfect openings? No, but I do strive for them and try to keep all these points in my head. I think I spend more time on the opening paragraphs than I do on any other scene in the book. I hope these little pointers will be of as much help to you as they are to me.

Ann writes Regency Historicals for Harlequin. Her next book, The Gamekeeper's Lady is available December 1, 2010. You can find her at her blog http://www.regencyramble.blogspot.com or her website http://www.annlethbridge.com
_________________________________________________________________
After reading Ann's post, I rushed over to my bookshelf and chose about ten of my recent reads. This is what I came up with ...

1. "They came for her at dawn. Through the long, dark hours Elizabeth had stared from the window at the garden made darker by the rain ..." The Queen's Captive, Barbara Kyle

Why this line? I'm not going to lie, I was sold at, 'They came for her at dawn.' The line is brilliant. Came for who? And why had they come at such an ungodly hour? What has she done, or rather been accused of doing? I want to know.

2. "Every woman should marry for her own advantage since her husband will represent her, as visible as her front door, for the rest of her life." The Other Queen, Philippa Gregory

The every woman line ... how true! In times gone by, woman of the noble class were seen as no more than chattel to be pawned, married off, well, and, expected to produce an heir. Yet one gets the impression that THIS woman knew her worth, and moved through life accordingly.

3. "The city reeked of sweat and grime. Eidolon's citizens gathered in the chilly, dank air of the commons, their eyes turned to the cloaked figure standing tethered to a post on the center platform ... musing over the prisoner's identity." Son of Ereubus, J.S. Chancellor

Immediately, I was drawn into Chancellor's world, of fear and anticipation of an execution, but who is it? I wanted to read on to find out.

I can't stress enough how critical it is for new writers to carefully craft a truly genius first line, paragraph, and even chapter. So, now 'tis your turn ... What are some of your favorite opening paragraphs?

Big thanks to Ann for allowing us to feature her post on our blog!

AJ

One Wild & Crazy Life...of a famous Writer

2010-11-28T22:08:00.008-05:00

I wish I could be so cool. So accomplished. I have a new idol and I've been a fan of this guy, since forever. But now, after watching a recent interview, I am left in sheer awe of his artistic accomplishments.

An American Icon. The guy who's had white hair ever since I can remember. But he never seems to age.

A comedic genius. The creative equivalent of a Trifecta. A triple threat if you will.

My three fave roles of his: a waiter in The Muppet Movie, Lucky Day in The Three Amigos and he sang and danced in Little Shop of Horrors as a Dentist. The man also played a Jerk but if you've ever seen him in an interview he is anything but.

He can list three Grammy's for his comedic performances but, to your surprise, he also has two Grammy's for his music. Yes, his original music. And it's Bluegrass and the instrument of choice....the friggin' BANJO!

The epitome of cool.

Yes, I said the banjo was cool. If you disagree then you are an L-7 loser. The Banjo is cool and this guy proves it. Kermit tried but only got so far. This guy will have the tweeners ditching their Beiber Bobs and grabbing a 5 string BANJO. Just wait, it will happen.

Who, who is this man you ask? And did I just hear you say 'so what' about having comedic and musical accomplishments? You forget where I'm from. Philly. And I gots me some legbreakers. So shut your cake hole and give the man some props.

There is further evidence that this artist is one of the greats, I mean all time GREATEST CREATIVE and ARTISTIC LEGENDS of our time.

He is also an AUTHOR. The author of two novellas and a recent novel. He also has a memoir, short stories, and children's books published. Oh and besides that he writes his own music for said awesome banjo and of course has written for TV, the Stage and Silver Screen. You may have seen one of his novellas on the big screen. You may have even read them.

As much as I am a fan of his acting, I can honestly say I've never read any of his works. I've only seen his Banjo strumming skills on American Idol. And YES, the Banjo was kick ass.

Without further adieu...Banjo strum please....

It's Steve friggin' Martin.

You read it right.
Steve Martin.

I came across his interview on Charlie Rose the other day. I was channel surfing about the latest hub-bub in Korea. Charlie interviewed David Sanger from the NYT and asked me to stay tuned for Steve Martin for his latest....what...novel?

I totally forgot he wrote Shop Girl. I'd heard he wrote children's stories but my tweener only reads about sparkling vamps and six-pack-abbed werewolves. But being an aspiring scribe I stayed tuned as Charlie asked. Why not, right?

Steve Martin talked of his writing with such purity and grace. He mesmerized me. The comedian dissipated and all that remained was the writer, the author. The interview had me nodding, yes, the entire time. Yes, Steve, I get that. He discussed with Charlie about how he chose the POV for his latest novel, Object of Beauty. You can see the spark in his eye as he describes his characters.

Charlie asked him to read an excerpt and I was pulled in. His voice, his writing voice, is fresh -a natural story teller.

He is a writer, as Charlie Rose points out. A writer in all things.

A writer of screen, instrument, and word. I felt humbled just to watch this interview. They way he spoke of his approach to writing and getting to know his characters, where they come from, I just kept nodding my head. Yes, Steve, I feel that way too.

Since then I've been thinking about my own writing. I wrote a few posts ago that there is a shift happening for me creatively. My characters have been speaking to me and I think I am finally getting the message.

And for it to be channeled through Steven Martin is kind of ironic. Sitting here, jabbing at these keys, it's all come full circle.

My story, the one that's been out there in query land praying an agent bites, is taking on a new life. I think it keeps getting rejected, even my partials, for a few reasons. I am not supposed to tell their story the way I have it now. My first MS is focused on a romantic relationship with a family saga as the backdrop.

I keep toying with the idea of introducing this ensemble cast of characters years before, when a family tragedy occurs. As I was watching one of my favorites shows the other night, it hit me. This is what I want my story to read like, Parenthood. Great show if you haven't watched. There you invest in the family as a whole. Each episode has a family problem to focus on. My MS can read the same. Where you are invested in the ensemble, the love stories won't be the sole focus. I love this show and I loved the original movie. The one starring, none other than, Steve Martin.

Cha-ching. And it all comes full circle.

I am currently reading four books. All different and I love them. I put Shop Girl and Object of Beauty on my Christmas list. The hubby always gets me a book or two.

So, after all this, this is where the post ends. It began as an homage to the ageless scribe of wonder and ends with him inspiring, in a round about sort of way, the direction I am headed as an aspiring scribe.

And if I had a banjo I'd be strumming the hell out of it now but I don't. So, I'll just sing of my all time fave songs of his. King Tut. This one's for Steve.

King Tut (King Tut)
Now when he was a young man,
He never thought he'd see
People stand in line to see the boy king.

Hah, Steve prolly never imagined peeps waiting in line for him.

Here you can find out more about Steve. http://www.stevemartin.com/
Below is a list of accomplishments, as noted in wikipedia.

Awards

1969 Emmy Award - The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour (with other writers)
1978 Grammy Award for Best Comedy Album - Let's Get Small
1979 Grammy Award for Best Comedy Album - A Wild and Crazy Guy.

1989 Honorary Doctor of Humane Letters degree from California State University Long Beach[40]

2001 Grammy Award for Best Country Instrumental Performance with Earl Scruggs (and others) - banjo performance of "Foggy Mountain Breakdown".[41]

2005 Mark Twain Prize for American Humor

2005 Disney Legend award

2007 30th Annual Kennedy Center Honors

2009 Grammy Award for Best Bluegrass Album for his album The Crow: New Songs for the 5-String Banjo.

Writing Credits

The Jerk (1979) (Written with Carl Gottlieb)
Cruel Shoes (1979) (Essays)
Picasso at the Lapin Agile and Other Plays: Picasso at the Lapin Agile, the Zig-Zag Woman, Patter for the Floating Lady, WASP (1996) (Play)
L.A. Story and Roxanne: Two Screenplays (published together in 1997) (Screenplays)
Pure Drivel (1998) (Stories)
Eric Fischl : 1970–2000 (2000) (Afterword)
Modern Library Humor and Wit Series (2000) (Introduction and Series Editor)
Shopgirl (2000) (Novella)
Kindly Lent Their Owner: The Private Collection of Steve Martin (2001) (Art)
The Underpants: A Play (2002) (Play)
The Pleasure of My Company (2003) (Novel)
The Alphabet from A to Y with Bonus Letter Z (2007) (Children's Books illustrated by Roz Chast)
Born Standing Up (2007) (Memoir)
An Object of Beauty (2010) (Novel)
Late For School (2010) (Children's book)

'Tis YOUR turn to be thankful

2010-11-24T17:40:00.001-05:00

With the holidays approaching at an alarming speed, Black Friday around the corner, and Christmas not too far away, retailers are lowering prices ... trying every trick in the book to get you in to spend, spend, spend, whilst empytying your wallet, running up your credit cards, and making the holidays a commercial magante's boon, rather then ...

I digress ... I'm not going to give you a huge diatribe on the meaning of Christmas, but I am going to tell you, well, Charli and I are going to tell you what we're thankful for.

Thanksgiving has come and gone in Canada. I'm waiting for my fellow Americans, especially, Charli, to catch up. Beyond the obvious, being thankful for my incredible husband who believes in me, and my beautiful daughter, who was a surprise, but whom I adore, and my family and friends who have helped shape the woman I am now, I'm also thankful for the astounding circle of writers I've met along this, my journey of creativity.

A big shout out to MM, otherwise known as Marianne Harden, creator and moderator of Rom-Critters, an online group created with the premise of helping, fostering and honing ones writing skills. And to G. Jillian Stone, whom I had the opportunity to write with her before her well deserved six book deal!

To all the fabulous authors of amazing stories that inspire me to be great, and the fields in history that beckon me to explore, I'm thankful.

I'd not be writing this blog had I not joined said group, starting reading Charli's story, said a million times over I'd never blog, and of course, you, our faithful readers. By the way, ye kick serious arse, and we're so happy to have you! FINALLY, meeting one another at the NJ Romance Writers Conference.

Seriously, New Jersyites don't want you. No Uncle Sam portrait- pointing his finger at you saying, 'We want YOU!' Those damn jughandles deter even the strongest of lassies, i.e. AJ & Charli.

And so it began. In the darkness, I landed at Newark from Toronto. Juggling two suitcases, laptop case and purse, I grabbed a coffee, lit a smoke and waited for Charli. (I know, I know, smoking is bad, yada, bitch at me later)

Beats bumpin' in her SUV, she rolled into Newark. Ditching the cancer stick, I hopped in, ready to schmooze. First stop, the liquor store. Second, hotel check in, then some victuals.

Nice digs eh? We thought so. Pillow top mattresses, feather pillows and Aveda products.

After several alcoholic beverage's and chatting till dawn most nights, we parted, eager to meet again. I'm eternally grateful for having such an opportunity.

We hit it off famously; separated at birth, we have so much in common, its scary.

Charli is thankful for a lot of things. My family of course, that goes without saying. The Tweener and Hubby are keepers. They put up with my crap and vice versa. All the other blood relatives are okay too. Friends, yeah, they keep your hair out of the toilet the morning after a good night out so, Gracias Mi Amigas!

My writing, the world in which I have submersed myself, I am most thankful for. Rom-Critters- MM and all the peeps from that crazy group, Pennwriters, my other wee little band of lady critters, my FB family, and most of all AJ, aka, JAWS. The crit partner who often listens to me babble on from the ledge. Her friendship has been invaluable. I cannot forget Tammy and Mel who stuck with me chap by chap on my first MS. There have been many others who have read and critiqued my work-I am humbled that you thought enough of me to do so.

AJ Wilson, when we met, I did pick her up in my SUV with It's Tricky blasting from the speakers. I had a clown nose on but she couldn't see it. A hot NJ Cop saw it, so I took it off immediately. No reason to be detained in an airport as the first suspected Terrorist from a Clown Cell. Really. We had a blast and I can't wait to meet up again.

Speaking of Jersey, I am thankful for the Jersey Shore. Not just the fictional beach town from my story but the Mtv Show, Boardwalk Empire, Jerseylicious, The Real Housewives, and My Wildwood Weekends spent with my partners in crime - My Philly Chicas. Jersey is a hot locale right now and I can only hope it helps get me pubbed. The City of Brotherly Love and The Southern New Jersey Shore are the backdrops for my stories. They breathe life into my words and are the heartbeat of my muse.

To all those agents who gave me rejections. Thanks. I mean that. You've helped me grow as a writer.

Finally, WE, are thankful to you, the person reading this right now. You care and are interested enough to listen to us blather on. Thanks so much for being a part of this journey with us. You rock our business socks.

Oh, and I am eternally grateful to the Old Spice Guy. Words are not enough. Not enough at all.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

FROM

AJ & CHARLI!