Showing posts with label LitStack. Show all posts
Showing posts with label LitStack. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Introducing Magical Gumballs of Irradiant Genius ... After the Jump

Lovelies! How are you? Tell me what's new. Tell me what you're reading. I recently finished the first two books of Kenneth Oppel's fantastic series based on the life of Victor Frankenstein -- book one is This Dark Endeavor, and the second is Such Wicked Intent. 

http://www.kennethoppel.ca/
To be honest, I liked the second book even better than the first, which is quite a testament to Oppel's skill as a master craftsman of the Word Game. I wanna be him when I grow up. (Although, I do believe we're either the same age or I might be older. Maybe. *checks Wikipedia* Oh, wait, nope, he's four years older than I am. Still, I bow to his awesome.) For fun, I read some Janet Evanovich -- #18 in the Stephanie Plum series. Although Evanovich's books in this series are pretty much the same thing over and over, she really is a funny, funny lady, and she's a great plotter. She weaves some tight braids for her characters, which is tough to do. Try it. I dare you. See? Hard, huh? Witty banter, outrageous characters, and good plotting? There's a reason she makes $16 million a year. 

I'm currently re-reading Daughter of Smoke and Bone because ... drum roll, please ... the sequel is out TODAY! Some of you have been awaiting November 6 to vote, others for the release of Halo 4. But YOU GUYS -- Laini Taylor is an effing FANTASTIC word handler, and with Karou, she has created one of the most dynamic, compelling characters I've had the pleasure to read in years. Check out LitStack's review of Days of Blood and Starlight and get thee to a bookery!


Omigod, you guys, the election. It's almost OVER. Even though I'm in western Canada, we get all the Seattle news feeds, CNN, etc.*, plus the Canadian news channels, who are all over what's going on south of the 49th. Why? Because what you guys decide affects us all. We really are a global community. The outcome of today's election will not occur in a vacuum. (But if it could be a vacuum, I'd recommend a Dyson. Those seem to be so lovely!) I am under strict orders from my therapist to not talk openly about politics or religion because I get a little ... frenzied ... SO, I have been relegated to shouting at the TV and storming around the living room, raving about the condition of our current world and the fact that we STILL do not have a Trader Joe's in Vancouver. SUCKS. I'm telling you ...

(*We, however, do NOT get Fox News with our enhanced cable. Granted, we don't have the Extended Magical Cable Package of Awesome, because it's a billion dollars a month, but I think I can say, with confidence, that folks here ... we just don't understand Fox News.)

Shout-out to the peeps on the East Coast. I get super worried when bad storms happen to good cities, and I have friends in NYC and Toronto who I've been emailing and keeping tabs on. If I could get on a plane and come help, I would. Alas, my passport is still expired. YES, I will get on that. As soon as I get my roots done. Because I don't want my passport picture to show all my gray hair. I'm not ready for gray hair. And this is so tacky that I'm worried about my gray hair when people are HOMELESS. My lack of sensitivity and total ignorance in the face of overwhelming tragedy is not lost on me. I am so sorry. *hangs head*

Say Happy 14th Birthday to this rare specimen:



Since our last chat, Kovu had a birthday. In cat years, he's 84. And he's starting to show his age a little. He complains about the food and has taken to pissing outside the box. Oh, and he refuses to wear his glasses and says I should buy him larger-print books because "that print is so damned small, only an elf could read it." Yay for 84.

So, because I'm a busy duck, as we all are, and I am often at a loss as to what to talk to you guys about that won't bore the shit out of you -- some writers blog about ...

  • Their writing process: I rarely do this because I'm superstitious and because the only people who care about writers and their weird habits are other writers ... seriously ... let's be honest. And, I'm sorry to admit, one of my biggest pet peeves is word counts. I don't care how many words you wrote today. Tell me when your words don't suck and I'll care.
  • Loads of great advice: I only make feeble attempts at advice-giving when struck by a bolt of inspiration or when I'm super annoyed because people just do NOT understand how to use the semicolon. You guys -- come on -- it's like a super comma. Put complete, independent clauses on each side of the semicolon, and you're golden: He complained about the soup; arsenic remedied him of such worries.
  • About book reviews: I do this only very occasionally for LitStack. Book reviews exhaust me. I'm not kidding. Like, I have to nap for three or more hours after I write a book review. They make me super sleepy and take away all my energy bars. It's really weird.
  • Other writers: I will never be mean to another writer on this blog, even if I DO walk into the local bookstore and make grand, sweeping gestures and announce rather obnoxiously, "If you guys really were into selling solid fiction, you would take up arms and set THIS display alight. Now. Here -- use this handy kerosene and lighter I brought with me."
  • Rip on the Amazon vs. Traditional/Big 6 Revolution: Yawn. Both have their place. Color me Switzerland.
However, we need something we can USE here, right? Like, important life lessons. I've lived four decades, and I've learned some shit during that time. Maybe if I share a few nuggets of wisdom, you can avoid the pitfalls of stupid. Unlike me. I've done a lot of stupid. Oh, God, so much stupid ... 

SO, I bring you a new segment, called Magical Gumballs of Irradiant Genius, from which you can learn many important things about how to live your life. 


Here's the best part: I want to hear from you as well. If you want to send in your most amazing life-lived-and-learned lessons, email me and I might grant you entry into the Hall of Bubbles and Wisdom by posting your story for the world to see. One caveat: Don't be too serious. Let's make giggles out of tears. Best that we stick together in this sugary mess. Remember: Tragedy is comedy. (Or is it, Comedy is tragedy? Whatever. Either way, let's laugh. It's either that or cry, and I just put my mascara on for the day.)

Today's Magical Gumball:



Xs and Os, lovelies ...

Monday, July 9, 2012

In Which I Toe the Crazy Cat Lady Line ... and Stuff

First off, CONGRATULATIONS to my dear friend Angeline Kace for winning the Best Editing award at the first-ever utopYA Convention in Nashville, Tennessee.



Know why this is cool, beyond the fact that Angeline is a terrific human being worthy of All Things Great? Because I'm her editor. So, yeah. Sweet. 

**********


THIS lustrous Brown Lazy Domestic (Felis Brownus Lazyus Domesticus) almost died this weekend:




Damn, isn't he gorgeous? Even if you're not a cat person (loser), you have to temporarily suspend your anti-feline sentiment and understand how friggin' awesome this cat is. He's going to be 14 in October. And he STILL LOOKS THIS GOOD. Forget nine lives -- Kovu has some special deal with the gods because he has been through the shit and still manages to come out sparkly and brown and oh-so-soft on the other end. He's California born, suffered through his share of LA summers, and has since lived in Southern Oregon and British Columbia. (You can imagine his first introduction to snow. And go figure how the hell he's dodged the coyotes who regularly pick off lesser neighborhood cats.) His adventures with us started on a shaky foot -- the weird whistling neighbor lady who gifted a mewling bundle of eight-week-old brown fluff didn't bother to tell us that he had ringworm (Tinea corporis), which, for the record, is NOT a worm. It's a fungus. And people can get it. Because we did. THANKS, PSYCHO WHISTLING NEIGHBOR LADY, for giving us a cat with a communicable disease.

After a month of quarantine in a tiny room in the garage, twice-daily pills shoved down his little kitten throat, and regular application of the stinkiest antifungal "lotion," he was cured. (If you spend any time in our house, you know that one of Kovu's many nicknames is Stinky. From this dark time in his wee life. Poor cat.) 

And then, once recovered ... we learned The Truth. Kovu was meaner than hell. We had a tall IKEA cabinet in our bedroom, atop which I'd stored a few of my young daughter's oversized stuffed animals (stuffies, for our Canadian readers). Kovu would hide in between them, camouflaged, and wait for us to walk in, at which time he would launch himself from the 10' tall cabinet and embed his tiny kitten nails into your head. And then he'd eat whatever hair he could sink his milk teeth into. BASTARDO, seriously!

When Yaunna was ten, she heard Kovu fighting with a neighbor cat. Not thinking, she ran out to rescue him. Upon picking him up, he flayed her arm. Should've gotten stitches but the doc said no. Sweet little Yaunna still has nerve damage in the back of her hand from the holes rendered by Kovu's very adult fangs. (Dumb kid for picking up a warring cat, but we've had that lecture.) I tried to find the photo from that fateful day, but maybe it's best I can't. It's pretty gory.

Alas, he's all grown up now. No longer ventures out of doors, except on sunny days. Pretty sure he sees ghosts, and he will randomly start talking in the hallway and chasing his own tail, so I'm constantly asking him if he senses zombies or Republicans. (Same thing.) He is OBSESSED with those Temptations cookies and will sometimes come to me, while I sit at my desk, and embed his razor-sharp claws that he won't let me trim into the meat of my fleshy calf to say, "You. Woman. It's time for my cookies. Get thee to the cookie drawer." When he's not shredding my fat in pursuit of wholesome treats, he is otherwise known as the Ovary Warmer. Sometimes the Spleen Warmer. Because he effing SLEEPS ON ME. I've got a snoring husband on the left, and a freakish cat on my torso. It's safe for you to therefore assume that I am a woeful insomniac. But him's soooooo cute, how can I move hims? 

This sums up the hierarchy. Fat Beagle, YOU SHALL NOT PASS. Merrowww.
I'm sorry for talking so much about my cat. I point and laugh at people who do this. But Kovu had a stomach thing that started last week, and by Friday night, as I was force-feeding him water through a dosing syringe. I thought he was on his last legs.

As of this morning, he is alive and taunting his much-larger Maine Coon brother, Eskimo. When I say, "Kovu, get the kitty," and he gets that glint in his eye, his whiskers twitch, and he goes in search of some kitty ass to kick, I know he's on the mend. Meee-owwww.

Thanks, Kovu, for living to see another day. You rock. Mommy loves you. Now come over here and keep my spleen warm.

*********

In other news, I've started writing for this site:


They cover cool art/artists and designers, hot architecture, and stuff that inspires. Check it out when you get a chance. (I'm even on the About page now! So legit!)

For my other gig, LitStack, come August I'm going to be reviewing Chuck Wendig's NEWEST BOOK, Mockingbird, and interviewing him. AGAIN! OMIGOD SO STOKED. Total fangirl moment here. Only I have to think of shit to ask him. He's, like, a million times funnier than me. I can't even think of anything funny to say at this exact moment because I am awed by the mere thought of his funny. My funny has frozen, like a deer in the headlights. A drunk deer. Or maybe it's a deer on bath salts (so by default, he's from Florida), but if that were the case, the deer would chase you down and eat you. That would be weird. NO BATH SALTS FOR THE DEER.

**********

My kids start summer school tomorrow. Well, the Young Lads do. Mean Mommy. But it's a cool option that the school district offers -- a 17-day preview of the coming grade. One's doing 6th grade math, the other 3rd grade reading/writing (because he's going to be a better writer than me very soon). And that means I GET THREE WHOLE HOURS A DAY without children whining at me about the fact that we're out of Froot Loops and chocolate milk again. Hey, I get hungry. Sue me.

**********

The baby turned eight on Saturday. Which means I am getting old (because it's all about me). Here is a birthday collage Big Sister did to honor the little fella's special day. 

Omigod, he's eight. That means I'm 29.
Happy birthday, PianoMan. We heart you.

Now someone write to me and tell me what they're doing this summer besides working. I need to live vicariously.

Xs and Os, lovelies ...




Tuesday, April 24, 2012

WENDIG! In which I review AND interview ... is this real life?

Morning, lovelies.

Yes, yes, I know. Two posts in under a week. I AM ON A ROLL. (Speaking of rolls, wanna go for donuts ...? I'm freakin' starving. What -- donuts and rolls are related. Right? Hell, in my world, everything's related to donuts.)

So, YEAH -- about a year ago, I stumbled upon a blog that is an equal ratio of awesome and paint thinner, and I became a rabid-bordering-on-stalkerish follower of everything the blog's owner had to say. As you may or may not know, I occasionally review books for LitStack.com, a fine site for all things bookish. I'd review more books, but book reviews take a lot out of me. Like, a lot. I can't eat the donuts fast enough or maintain my coffee-to-blood quotient, even with a straw, to compensate for the energy I lose when I write a book review. 

"But, Jenn, that's so lame -- I write a book review every single day on my blog."

Well, that's because you're better at it than me. Or at the very least, faster. Because my book reviews are pretty awesome, I must say. (Aaaaaaand I think I just pulled a muscle patting myself on the back. Just put a donut on it. Maple eases cramps. Ahhhhh, perfect, thanks.)

No, what I mean is, I try to review awesome books. I've read a lot of books in the last few years that I never mentioned another word about. Why? 'Cuz they sucked. I'm a hypocrite, I know -- a reviewer is supposed to provide positive AND negative feedback so that book buyers know what to grab and what to slide past. But ... I'm also a writer, and I don't need to piss off other writers by coming out and saying, "Well, yeah, this and that and this other thing really sucked about this book." Can you imagine the lynching? It's bad enough that I've made such fun of a certain writer of sparkling vampires. (Dude, I totally can't help it.) Maybe when I have a real career behind me, I can rip and shred without impunity. But for now, I provide what are more aptly called "recommendations" as I don't want you to waste time nor pennies on suckage. Life's too short. Pennies are too hard to come by. And I am super hard to please. I just am. I was born that way.

THE POINT IS (God, this used to piss my ex-husband off, how I ramble circuitously -- of course, the fact that he didn't know what the word "circuitous" meant is one of the reasons we're divorced. Well, that and the fact that he cheated on me ... oopsie!), is that the Amazing Blog Dude I mentioned above wrote a BOOK, and his publicist sent LitStack a review copy with the option of an interview on the side. Then my editor, a charmer named Tee, e-mailed and said, "Hey, who wants this?" And I jumped up and down in my chair, arm almost reaching the cobwebs on the ceiling light fixture (I have long arms), bouncing so hard one of the screws fell out of the bottom of said chair and I tumbled to the ground and chipped a tooth and impaled my cheek on the dislodged screw. But it didn't MATTER because I wanted Tee to pick ME.

And she did! Yay, me!

So, CHUCK WENDIG wrote a book, called Blackbirds. Here's the summary from his publisher Angry Robot: 

Miriam Black knows when you will die. She’s foreseen hundreds of car crashes, heart attacks, strokes, and suicides.

But when Miriam hitches a ride with Louis Darling and shakes his hand, she sees that in thirty days Louis will be murdered while he calls her name. Louis will die because he met her, and she will be the next victim.

No matter what she does she can’t save Louis. But if she wants to stay alive, she’ll have to try.

And in response to this book, I wrote a REVIEW, found on LitStack.com. 

When you're done with the review, done with sprinting to Amazon to buy the book, then you can read the INTERVIEW. Why? Because I ask really important, mind-blowing questions and Chuck is, well, fabulous. (Although, I must admit, the guy from LitReactor did a better job with his interview. GAWD! SUCKS! I NEED CHAPSTICK! Aaaaand, scene. Thank you, Napoleon Dynamite!)

Guys, DISCLAIMER (if you need more warning than what the review provides for you): Chuck Wendig sees the world through a rather twisted lens, and his comedy is not for those of you who blush and say, "Oh my, that boy is so rude" whilst cooling yourself with your Delta Burke-inspired, Georgia-peach, articulated fan. That is why I think he is my long-lost brother and I am his long-forgotten, not-nearly-as-funny, slightly-older sister who was left at the Orphanage of Funny-looking Babies. Hey, we all have idols, right? Even though it's against God's law? Admit it. You want your ass to look as good as Beyonce's, your wife to look at you like I look at Mark Strong, your words to flow like [insert favorite author here]. IDOLS. YOU'VE GOT THEM. You're stronger for confessing. Here, have a donut.

So, yeah ... there you have it. PROOF that I do indeed work. There is other proof, but I can't show it to you yet because a proper girl never shares her secrets. You're just going to have to take my word for it.

Xs and Os ...

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Get Punc'd: Get to Know the ELLIPSIS!

Dots, dots, everywhere. A writer in my Facebook feed the other day was going off on how much she hates the ellipsis, suggesting that writers who rely on them are somehow inferior or deficient. Sort of how I feel about folks who rely on adverbs to make their writing more interesting. Adverbs do not make your writing more interesting. Adverbs make you sound like a fart head. But, I didn't disagree with Miss Anti-ellipsis on the FB wall. What's the point? Opinions about the mechanics of grammar and writing are as varied as facial hair counts between an Asian and a Greek boy in the throes of puberty. It's not something to get your knickers in a knot over (the grammar, not the hairy--or unhairy--boys). And omigod, before you get all up in my grill about me being a racist because I pointed out the obvious (stereotypical) hair count disparities among two separate races of human being, STOP. I'm not a racist. I make fun of all races equally, including my own. Which is, uh, white? A sad mix of blood stemming from stereotypically drunk, cheap, and cold-hearted bastards? (SEE--now you know where my family is from. You're a RACIST!) Yeah, something like that. Save your hate for when I say something truly offensive. Because I might. I've been known to do it, especially while driving.

So, back to the dots. The ELLIPSIS, ellipses plural. Let's start simple. According to Wikipedia:

The most common form of an ellipsis is a row of three periods or full stops (...) or a pre-composed triple-dot glyph (…). The usage of the em dash (—) can overlap the usage of the ellipsis.
The triple-dot punctuation mark is also called a suspension point, points of ellipsis, periods of ellipsis, or colloquially, dot-dot-dot.

For those of you who are not grammar geeks or writers in need of a more solid answer to this dotty conundrum, scan forward. From the Chicago Manual of Style, 16th Edition, an ellipsis is defined as such:

An ellipsis is the omission of a word, phrase, line, paragraph, or more from a quoted passage. Such omissions are made of material that is considered irrelevant to the discussion at hand (or, occasionally, to adjust for the grammar of the surrounding text. Chicago style is to indicate such omissions by the use of three spaced periods (but see 13.51) rather than by another device such as asterisks. These points (or dots) are called ellipsis points when they indicate an ellipsis and suspension points when they indicate suspended or interrupted thought (see 13.39). They must always appear together on the same line (through the use of nonbreaking spaes, available in most software applications), along with any following punctuation; if an ellipsis appears at the beginning of a line, any preceding punctuation (including a period) will appear at the end of the line above. If they prefer, authors may prepare their manuscripts using the single-glyph three-dot ellipsis character on their word processors, . . . usually with a space on either side; editors following Chicago will replace these with spaced periods.
…
CLEAR AS MUD, right? You guys wouldn't believe how much debate happens around this pesky grammatical beaut. (Need proof? Here's a comment stream on Typophile.) But hark -- wait -- what is that fascinating little note about the suspension points? Perhaps I'm just splitting hairs (again with the HAIR references!), but lads and lassies, THAT IS WHAT WE DIALOGUE SCRIBES USE MOST OFTEN. Suspension points, NOT the almighty ellipsis. So stop hating on it. It's mean and makes you look evil and sinister. Hatin' on innocent little grammar marks. I mean, seriously, what did they ever do to YOU? Someone's got some mommy issues. (I can give you the number to my therapist. Email me separately.)

Seems we writers are using suspension points, and not the ellipsis, when our characters are stumbling over their tongues. (I know Bella has a lot of stumbling abbity abbity doh! moments -- am I the only one annoyed by that scene in Twilight in the hospital where she sounds like she's about to stroke out when Edward says he's bailing? Yeah. I thought not.)

Let's see if this helps -- and I will quote the section I think is closest to what we all tend to use. If you want specific info about how to use the ellipsis in a formal document, to represent missing quoted material, spend the $65 and get your own Chicago Manual. You know you spent at least that getting a subpar mani-pedi last month (which has now totally grown out and you're looking all Sasquatchy again with that hair growing out of the tops of your toes). It's high time you invest in your grammatical future. I mean, at least get the Associated Press style guide, at the very least -- but hiss hiss, scratch scratch -- AP doesn't espouse the serial comma. I heart the serial comma, and unless you tell me otherwise, I will edit all your crap with serial commas intact. 

(Sections referenced for your viewing ease.)

FIRST AND FOREMOST: Section 13.39 addresses most closely what we writerly types are faced with, so much so that it may serve to answer our most pressing dialogue/quotation issues (I wonder if the mother of certain sparkly vampires referenced this section . . . likely not. She didn't have to. That's what a team of editors is for. *envious sigh*):

Faltering or interrupted speech: Suspension points--also used to indicate an ellipsis--may be used to suggest faltering or fragmented speech accompanied by confusion or insecurity. In the examples below, note the relative position of the suspension points and other punctuation. (For the use of suspension points to indicate ellipses, see 13.48-56.)

Examples: 
"I . . . I . . . that is, we . . . yes, we have made an awful blunder!"
"The ship . . . oh my God! . . . it's sinking!" cried Henrietta.
"But . . . but . . .," said Tom.

Interruptions or abrupt changes in thought are usually indicated by em dashes. See 6.84. (Let me know if you need to know what the hell an em dash is.)

Notice how there is a space after the last word, between it and the first dot, as well as before the first letter of the subsequent word. It's a confusing place to be because I inserted the spaces between dots here manually (Blogger doesn't modify them for me), but Word does. When you type three periods next to one another, Word modifies it into a proper ellipsis. But then to add a space after that third dot makes the sentence realllllly spaced out. It looks weird, especially if you click on the little button that shows you all the nonprinting typographical markings (you can do this by clicking on the "" icon in your Word menu. Turning this on shows you the markup in your document and is helpful to avoid double spaces or unnecessary hard returns). What do you guys think about the spacing and the way it looks, rules be damned?

IF THIS SCRATCHES YOUR ITCH, scan down. Skip the next really boring part. I'm nothing if not thorough.
Jovie, ready for action. Coffee, check. CMoS, check. Great hair, check!


Thus, more rules to cross your eyes:

13.50: When not to use ellipsis points: Ellipsis points are normally not used (1) before the first word of a quotation, even if the beginning of the original sentence has been omitted; or (2) after the last word of a quotation, even if the end of the original sentence has been omitted, unless the sentence is quoted as deliberately incomplete (see 13.53).

(*Interestingly, I had this situation come up in a recent edit when one character walks into a room where another is engaged in a heated conversation on the phone. The author had used an ellipsis at the front of the dialogue to indicate that the conversation was in progress and ongoing. As a matter of style choice, I left it intact. I liked what it suggested to the reader.)

13.51: Ellipses with periods: A period is added before an ellipsis to indicate the omission of the end of a sentence, unless the sentence is deliberately incomplete (see 13.53). . . . (<----Here, the period comes first, and THEN the ellipsis happens to indicate missing text.)

13.52: Ellipses with other punctuation: Other punctuation appearing in the original text--a comma, a colon, a semicolon, a question mark, or an exclamation point--may precede or follow three (but never four) ellipsis points. Whether to include the additional mark of punctuation depends on whether keeping it aids comprehension or is required for the grammar of the sentence. . . .

Example: 
It does not build, . . . nor cherish the arts, nor foster religion. (<---- See how the comma happens according to the actual quoted material, and then the ellipsis follows?)

As to Endymion, was it a poem . . . to be treated contemptuously by those who had celebrated, with various degrees of complacency and panegyric, Paris, and Woman, and Syrian Tale . . . ? Are these the men who . . . presumed to draw a parallel between the Rev. Mr. Milman and Lord Byron?

(That's a super-long example, but notice where the punctuation is placed according to the needs of the writer.) 

13.53: Deliberately incomplete sentence: Three dots are used at the end of a quoted sentence that is deliberately left grammatically incomplete.

Example: 
Everyone knows that the Declaration of Independence begins with the sentence "When, in the course of human events . . ." But how many people can recite more than the first few lines of the document? 

********

There are MORE rules. Oh, so many more. What YOU have to decide, O Writerly One: Are you using an ellipsis, or suspension points? Hmmmm? I think I'm using suspension points. (Likely too often. DAMN! Adverb alert. Whatev . . . ) I'm gonna stick with that and hence follow said rules. Oh, I feel so happy and smug now. Miss Anti-ellipsis was hatin' on the wrong punc all along.

THE MOST IMPORTANT THING TO DO: No matter what style you are using -- Chicago, AP, MLA -- be consistent. Throughout. Don't flake on yourself halfway through the document. Find what works for you and COMMIT. Oh, and communicate your needs/wants/desires with your editor (because you ARE paying a professional editor, aren't you? I mean, if you are, then he/she/it should be able to follow up on this stuff for you. If you're not hiring someone to look over your stuff, then you're a boob who is going to make us all look like retards. OMIGOD, she used the "R" Word. Someone call Becky from Glee!).

A few other wee bites:

~FYI: The word "copy editor" is often spelled "copyeditor." I prefer the first. Either is fine. I think Chicago uses "copyeditor," but I don't like the "y" and the "e" squished together like that. It makes my palms sorta itchy. Bill Walsh, likely the World's Most Amazing Copy Editor (author of Lapsing Into a Comma, Elephants of Style, long-time copy editor for The Washington Post -- check out TheSlot.com), uses the two-word method. Even though he's a newspaper man, and thus doesn't use Chicago but likely AP, I adore him. Thus I will use the same two-word method. Just to clarify, you know, for you purists trying to trip me up with your "copyeditor" rhetoric. Blah, blah, blah, go bark at someone else.

~When you find yourself unsure of something really basic, USE A DICTIONARY. Dictionaries are amazing sources of information. I recommend Webster's New World College. Pretty much any Webster's product is awesome and is considered an industry standard.

~When using the word "awhile" vs. "a while" (copied from Webster's on my Mac for simplification) -- READ THIS CAREFULLY:

awhile: adverb
Means "for a short time": stand here awhile. ORIGIN Old English āne hwīle "(for) a while."
Usage: The adverb awhile, meaning "for a short time," should be written as one word (we paused awhile). The noun phrase, meaning "a period of time," especially when preceded by a preposition, should be written as two words (Margaret rested for a while; we'll be there in a while).

Is it an adverb or a noun phrase you seek?

~Check your use/overuse of the word "half." Do it. I dare you. Do a word count in your document and see how many times you've used it. Now go back and figure out if it's necessary (unless you're writing a cookbook, and then, disregard). It's not. Change it. You sound ineffectual and your character sounds wishy-washy.

*********

Enough boring grammar shit. I'm totally snoring on my keyboard. (Okay, I'm so not, but that's because I'm into this stuff, like some people are into Star Wars or Dr. Who (I've never even watched a single episode of Dr. Who, despite the fact that I live in Canada and folks here are sorta rabid about it).)

I write/edit for LitStack. Check us out and feel FREE to recommend topics. 

I'll have a review coming up for The Maid by Kimberly Cutter. BEAUTIFUL BOOK, guys. Seriously. And I'm not just saying that because I have Joan (Jehanne) of Arc's autograph tattooed on my left forearm. Cutter's book is beautiful, haunting, and inspiring. I don't typically read historicals, but this one pulled me right in.

I don't know what else to talk about. I could complain about not having adequate uninterrupted time to get anything of import accomplished secondary to the needs of my family, as evidenced by the fact that my last blog entry was almost two months ago . . . But then someone will whine at me and tell me that I should be grateful that I have kids/a family because there are lots of folks in the world who don't have either who wish they could. Yeah, I know. Thanks for making me feel like an asshole. Like I don't spend enough time every day flailing the cat-o-nine tails into my squishy flesh.

I read other folks' blogs about how they have time to write and work out and volunteer at Various Social Events, and it floors me. You people have clones, right? That's it. You're cloned. There are at least two of you being wonderful, losing your post-baby fat (especially since said baby is now seven), serving peanut-free cupcakes at the Halloween party and doing community crafting sessions ahead of the school's annual Christmas craft fair and delivering Meals on Wheels to the elderly and infirm and sitting in as treasurer for the PTA and organizing a team for the Cancer Walk/Global Cleanup/Food Drive. It's awesome that there are folks who have the ability to do all this shit lovely stuff, but maybe, could you just develop a little crack dependency or vodka-for-breakfast problem so that the rest of us don't look so damn lazy and uninvolved? Wait. You're a hoarder, aren't you. That's IT! I knew it! Oh, I feel so much better now. Instead of growling at you when you walk by tomorrow, I'm going to paste on that self-satisfied smile I'm so good at, knowing that you have to crawl over mountains of hamster poop and old magazines to get to your half-buried crockpot. VICTORY!

One last thing: Sleight's sequel, Stratagem, has obviously been delayed. Remember your manners, kids. I had some bad mojo happen this summer and thus have run into a few issues getting the book done, especially once September hit and I was faced with the piano/acting/soccer/work schedules of the four other members of my household. Just for an example, it has taken me three and a half hours, with about 412 interruptions to break up fights, clean up messes, make breakfast, reload a stapler, find someone an eraser, help someone find warm socks without holes, change laundry, give the cat treats so he'd stop yanking on my sweater, and deal with iPod issues to write THIS post alone. Imagine how effing frustrating it is to find more than 32 seconds strung together to finish a 120,000-word book. (I curse a lot.) Oh, and I've been working, too. I'm a copy editor, remember? SO, look for an early 2012 release for Stratagem. I'll let you know if anything changes. And yeah, I'll get a cover soon. I just am sorta particular about what I want, and I have to find a graphic designer who isn't going to cost the equivalent of my daughter's first year in college. But thanks for asking. Sorry I'm not like other indie writers who release books every 27.2 days. (Then again, my books are always over 100K words. Many writers hover in the 50-60K range. I wish I knew their secrets. Oh, right. Write less.)

Now someone tell me a joke.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

October. That means Thanksgiving is almost here. Yes it is. Don't argue with me.

Look what BLOGGER went and done did...they made themselves SPIFFY! So spiffy, in fact, I'm a little lost. And right when I was about to go and get me some WordPress action. Just in the nick of time, Blogger, in the NICK of time. (Jury might still be out. This is sort of a ridiculous layout. Feedback, please!) Wait -- I need a photo here, to make this entry look visually appealing and to catch your attention. QUICK! What picture shall I use? Omigod omigod omigod, I'm sorta panicking. I got nothin'. I might have to Google more images of Mark Strong to give you something to stare at. I know I enjoy staring at him VERY much. You're welcome in advance. WAIT! I found one! THIS was my birthday breakfast. 


I turned FORTY on September 19. We went to a fabulous new joint here in town where everything is francais (that's FRENCH, for you hillbilly types). This photo, snapped on my cell phone, doesn't do justice to what is happening to my taste buds at this very second, but yes, that is a crepe, filled with fresh fruit (banana, pineapple, kiwi, strawberry, honeydew, cantaloupe...what am I forgetting?) on a thin layer of very fresh, light custard. It was awesome. Best breakfast EVER. Or at least so far. I didn't feel like dying after we left. No post-meal regret or tear-inducing stomach spasms. I call that a win-win! The morning prior to this caloric funfest started with a very lovely $40 Chapters gift card stuck through the mail slot (thanks, Bobbie!) and a gift card for the movies from my darling Janey-O. I got me a new cardigan to carry on with the slovenly writer look I am so good at. And it's RED. Saucy, I know. Kids made me some cards. Husband made butter chicken for dinner. All in all, I made it to forty, and the day wasn't so bad after all. 

RE: I mentioned Thanksgiving in the post title ~ Remember, lovies, I am in CANADA. That means Thanksgiving is in October. As in, a week from tomorrow. On a Monday. MONDAY?!? No, I have not adjusted to eating turkey before the Halloween costumes have been sewn. CanNOT. Not even after ten years. Thanksgiving is four days in November when the Macy's Parade is on, when the National Dog Show trots across the screen, when I put on the fat pants Wednesday night late and don't look back until I'm nursing a vicious tryptophan hangover on Monday morning when I'm lying on the floor, flailing about in mashed potato and gravy leftovers, begging the children to just bring me some cranberry sauce and that will make it all better. Mommy needs cranberries...please, have mercy on my bloated soul...

Whisper one word about how I didn't blog the entire month of September, and I'm outta here. If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm not good with blogging. In fact, I sort of avoid it, sort of how I avoid Pap smears until at least the third reminder follow-up call. Then I finally shave everything nice and purty, go in and throw on the paper gown, put my feet up in the stirrups, scoot my ass to the edge of the table, and PRAY that she's warmed up the speculum. (Boys are so lucky that they don't have to do this. Speaking of, it's time to start nagging Husband again about having his prostate checked. Spread 'em, boy!) That's sort of how I feel about blogging. I have to warm up the speculum before I get going. Plus, who the hell CARES what I have to say? Shit, I usually can't stand the sound of my own voice, and I'm am certainly not going to give you advice about anything useful. Unless you have a dirtbag ex and you need someone to remind you how much of a dirtbag he (or she) is/was. I'm super good at that. If nothing else, I will steal your angst, bottle it, and channel it into some written fantasy about torturing dirtbag spouses.

And tonight, all I really want to do is make fun of the people over 30 who are getting their patronus and house assignments on Pottermore. But that would be rude. And I think a lot of my friends over 30 are on Pottermore, so I shouldn't giggle. (But I still will. Nerds.) I'm sure Evelyn Hussy Lafont will sic her patronus on me now that I've mentioned this, but whatever. (Nerds.) I'm still giggling. You guys...really? Okay, I collect rubber ducks. I guess we're even. (Okay, we're totally not. Nerds.)

I'm sort of addicted to that new TLC show, "Long Island Medium." I mean, I don't get the whole Jersey thing with the long nails and the frosted hair and the ginormous personality, but that's because she's from Jersey, and I'm from Oregon. She (her name is Theresa) likely wouldn't understand why I like wool sweaters, Levis, and combat boots and how I've only ever been for a manicure twice, once when I got a job as a hand model (YES, a hand model) and another time when this psychotic ex-friend of mine insisted that it would change my life when all it really did was make my cuticles hurt and make me feel like there was shit on my fingernails. Because there was. THING IS, I want to meet Theresa. I totally want her to do a reading for me. I think I will put that on my to-do list for the future. Go to medium. Connect with important dead people in my life. I don't believe in ghosts, and I really want to. Although, it must be said, I don't want to be like certain OTHER people in my life who are convinced they can commune with the dead. Those aren't dead people whispering to you in the middle of the night. It's wine. Less wine = fewer dead people visiting your room. Just sayin'...

I think it's time for another picture. Hang on...let me see what I've got. <<<<<------ Okay, there you go. That's visually interesting, right? A fat beagle and a glorious Lazy Brown Cat, sharing a moment in the dying hours of summer? Fine. Whatever. I have to migrate iPhoto from the old computer but it won't stay on long enough to make this happen. Cut me some slack. And while you're at it, wish Boyfriend, proper name Kovu, a Very Happy Birthday on October 5. He will be 13, which in cat years, is hella older than you. Show some respect. (He bites, so you might want to just play along.)

Updates real quick like, and then I gotta go put the spawn to bed:

a. My eldest child came home in September for his two-week leave from Afghanistan. Much fun was had by him, his first return stateside since turning 21, and we were able to spend some precious hours in his presence. He's back in the 'Stan, not to return to US soil until March 2012, so keep thinking happy thoughts for him. Please. He's a good boy.

b. I've had some amazing, terrific, fantastic lovies inquire about the status of the follow-up to Sleight. Book 2 is called Stratagem, and because I am working on several projects at once, because I am a meticulous re-writer, and because I'm just now getting back into the swing of things after a rather disastrous summer (in terms of writing), Stratagem will not be released this fall, as I'd hoped. Don't be pissed. Remember, you love me. We're friends. I just can't shit it out, guys. I can't. It's like Mr. Reiland's seventh grade algebra class all over again. I wasn't understanding the material, so I wasn't turning in the assignments. Eventually, my grade bottomed out and my mother and stepfather had to come in for a conference. I was diagnosed by the school counselor with perfectionism, and as a result of said affliction, I refuse to turn anything in until it's PERFECT. I don't want to give you half-assed work. I know I'm not fast and awesome like some of the other writers in the Realm, but I'm me. They're them. And I'm writing. For those of you who are friends of mine on Facebook: every time you see me post something ridiculous or irreverent, it's because I've been interrupted by one of the many members of this household (animals included), OR because I'm struggling with a transient case of writer's block (some writers claim this so-called ailment never haunts their doorstep, and those writers are what I like to call arrogant fartyheads whose time's a'comin') that requires some sort of visual stimulation OR it might be because I am in a trough in the creative cycle and, well, I just can't write for shit. I'm not perfect, but my words have to be as close to such as possible. FOR THE RECORD: The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern debuted week before last, to rave reviews and an impressive showing on the NYT bestseller list. It's supposed to be fantastic. I have not purchased it yet, but shall. Soon. At Portland's Powell's books on September 17, I picked up said book and opened to a random chapter. The chapter was called STRATAGEM. Yes, I almost cried. Instead I started rambling to the stranger next to me, until he inched away quietly, tiptoeing so I wouldn't lash out and knock off his John Lennon glasses. Let it be noted that it was MY WORD FIRST. I did not copy her. Gahhhhhhh...

c. Check out LitStack, an awesome site for READER-CENTRIC news and reviews and even some occasional short fiction. Don't go to LitStack if you're looking for advice on publishing or writing. Go HERE for that: Chuck Wendig's Terrible Minds. (Caution: Not for those who are easily offended by the use of the F Word or who don't want to risk shooting coffee out their noses during a mid-drink guffaw.) Otherwise, check it: LITSTACK, baby! It rocks.

That's all the updates I have tonight. I think. There are likely more. I will blog again soon with said updates. If I can find a paper gown to put on first...

Xs and Os