Okay, my Twitter bestie, Stephanie, tagged me for the Lucky 7 dealie! And for the sake of doing this correctly, I’m gonna post the rules for the meme first!

The Rules:
  • Go to page 77 of your current MS/WIP.
  • Go to line 7.
  • Copy down the next 7 lines–sentences or paragraphs–and post them on your blog.
  • Tag 7 authors and let them know ;-)

Only problem is…pretty sure most of my writer friends have done this? So – as I am wont to do – I’m gonna tweak the last one and invite anyone with a wip that I don’t know about to share your seven in the comments (or on your blog, if you have one and want it on yours)!

Except Lisa. O_O Lisa must do this.

So I’m using Keepsake, my speculative literary novella. Get ready. It’s a really gripping seven sentences! (Is she joking?)

In the moment that followed, all I could feel was his warm hand on the bare skin of my elbow. “What color was it originally?”

When he stepped back and turned to face the house, it was as though he too was seeing it for the first time.

“Sort of a rose. Or salmon, Dolores once called it. I don’t know the difference.” I was becoming accustomed to the occasional revelation of a dimple in his right cheek and I admired it rather than explain how very different one color was from the other.

Tada! Now show me yours. O_O

Well, I’m back which means something must have got me thinking. (Way to make it sound like that’s a rare occurrence, B.) It’s not really something new, which you’ll see in a moment, but it will never stop being of interest to me and that’s all the reason I need to bring it up again. ::kisses::

So, I read this article about literary fiction and it not getting the attention it deserves, by and large. And before you say “blah blah Franzen blah blah cover of Times”, let me answer you with “blah blah Obama blah blah all Black men are now treated fairly”. Right. So let’s jump back to reality, shall we.

I read many of the comments which, as any peruser of the internal webs can tell you, is a risky business. In this case, it was pleasant enough, which isn’t too surprising. It was a group of people who write or love to read. Ta-da, not a lot of stupid made it to the end of the article. And yet, there are several things stated that are just not true. (Oh, I guess we’re done talking about the article – which I enjoyed – and will be focusing on the comments?)

(1) The statement that commercial fiction doesn’t badmouth literary fiction = blatantly untrue. Sorry. I’m deeply entrenched in the online writing community and just like there’s no pure faction in any other dichotomy, there’s no sage martyr here, yo. Only it’s supposed to be “understood” that literary fiction thinks she’s better than you so when we slather that stereotype on, no one’s supposed to be offended. Because it’s true, don’t cha know. Which…right, is badmouthing. The “you hated us first” argument doesn’t change anything.

(2) Literary fiction “makes you think”. Nope, not always. Sometimes it’s purposely inaccessible, self-gratifying and cryptic beyond necessity and purpose.

"Shouldn't have to. Shouldn't have to."

I will go so far as to say that writing speculative literary fiction and writing for the mainstream market made me keenly aware of when I was losing people and – more importantly – failing at my endeavor. I’m not talking about giving up on my love of language and pentameter and falling into a commercial cut-out, I’m talking about realizing that sometimes I’d get lost myself. [He fool he-self!] As in, WHATDIDIMEANWHENIWROTETHIS? Too in-my-own-head. Do I pretend that I now write “for everyone” or even for most people? Nope. But I’ve found that there was room for improvement in pacing and that there’s a reason for white space, for one thing.

(3) Literary doesn’t have a larger audience because it doesn’t have action/plot. Well, firstly, I find that bias on its face. If we’re defining plot by genre standards, then it’d be true but who said that was the *only* standard? Sula has a plot, my pet. And there aren’t explosions but there’s a fire. ::wink!::

Additionally, high concept and plot does not equate to a satisfying read. The most frustration I’ve experienced as a reader is being intrigued by the plethora of awesome concepts only to find that the writing, heart and execution left far too much to be desired. Particularly when it was hailed as “page-turner” or the like. Blech.

And full disclosure, yes, I treated my wounds in the literary section. I am not exaggerating when I say I can open a random book and be immediately pleased. That’s how I know where I belong, I guess. I can’t do that with genre fiction; I’m very, very selective elsewhere, despite being able to name titles elsewhere that I ADORE.

HUNGER GAMES. O_O ENDER’S GAME. (I’ll stop there so it seems like I just like titles with the word “game”.)

Example: I just started reading an excerpt for a forthcoming novel called Inukshuk? Yep. I wanna read it. Immediate images in my head and no sound of a motor running, no regard for time or previous activities. Or, last time I was in the bookstore, I came across a book by Lawrence Hill? Gah. Instantly added the book to my TBR pile AND read the first page of every other available title? Yep. All of ‘em. I want everything he’s written.

Ok. This is turning into my love of literary fiction. Sorry.

(4) I can’t remember the rest of the comments despite the fact that I could a moment ago. But one thing that really stands out to me is this whole “let’s just stop calling it literary because it’s intimidating and it implies that nothing else is literature”. This is funny to me, for several reasons. First of all, it has a definitive distinction and culturally understood definition so why should we change the name just because it makes you self-conscious? O_o I mean, I guess we’ll try that just as soon as I’m able to convince you all to capitalize Black and stop calling me African-American. Or you know, stop calling America “America” because it isn’t fair to Canadians or Mexicans – you know, despite the fact that America is literally a part of the name of our country so calm yourselves. OH! Or can we stop referring to soy drink as “milk” since it didn’t come from a teet?

What I’m saying is, really? That’s where you wanna distribute your energies? Why not – in the same way literary writers “should” write “better stories” – change what you’re doing to please readers of literary fiction? OR write what you write, accept that no one writes for everyone and stop bullying the one who’s no longer allowed to call you on it.

I’m not apologizing for my bias because that would just be silly. But come ‘ere. Give us a cuddle.

I couldn’t blog about The Civil Wars when I was over the moon because you only get that feeling once. I can remember several instances of “I want to die with this song”, when I could listen to it a dozen times and feel the tingles shooting up through my chest every time. If I’m lucky, there’s a part of a song that can do that forever (e.g. the climax of the prelude to Bach’s cello suite no.1) – but more likely, you have to love hard because the locking-myself-in-a-room-with-you stage can’t last forever. Sigh. Lament.

But something is still gorgeous about them. It’s almost heart-stopping the way they look at each other while they sing. Even with the sound off – which I take to mean, even if they didn’t sing like the single soul of an ANGEL – I almost cry when I watch this.

It also didn’t help the way they sang “home” while performing in my redwoods. ::waves to college years::

Yeah. My husband and I watched about five videos in a row. It was a cuddle fest and I’m not sorry.

I waited to blog about this not just because sometimes I have to enjoy something rather than write about it (I know, it’s a scary concept for me) – but also because I didn’t want to bombard you with a jillion videos. (Seriously, who knew their Michael Jackson covers would be so freakin’awesome!?) But I can’t not post this next one. And you can beg and then I’ll post seventeen more videos later. >.>

::Rushing before we fade to black:: Oh! And also -

 

It’s hard to beat yourself up for not writing one day when – upon starting work the next – THIIIIINGS happen that you hadn’t planned or known were going to happen. Because then you wonder, would those things have manifested if I’d written last night as opposed to right now? How can you know?

These are the questions, people.

 

Well, I told you in the last “awesome authors” post how Cressida Cowell wrote back but I couldn’t talk about it – she asked for Ezra’s address to send him a surprise letter! So we made this to remember the experience! Enjoy!

Well, darn it. I really thought I wasn’t going to care about Valentine’s Day. I mean, I’ve been married to the same guy for the past nine and a half years and he does something for me literally every day so why is today supposed to be any more special? Plus we’re not gonna see each other until late this evening. And Valentine’s Day is so [insert cynicism].

And then he gave me a card before he left this morning. (I can actually show you which one since it’s an Elena Original – that is not the name of her company, I should mention.)

And then I read his note – written in orange pen… methinks the blue pen he started my name with ran out? – and then I watched this video I made for him a couple years ago, after he dedicated this song to me. Which I’m now gonna share with you and Valentine’s Day is my excuse because you’re suPPOSED to care about other people’s love today! (That’s how this works, right?)

If you were born before the 90s, God bless you. I mean, that title has you singing a really annoying song. If you weren’t…here:

And now we get to ponder why that video has a picture of the wrong band in it… hmm. Sidebar (totally used incorrectly) – I seem to recall frolicking down the Santa Cruz boardwalk beach singing this really loudly. Because I was an annoying teenager once, too.

That is not *even* where this was supposed to go. Let’s start again.

This is Ana.

Ana’s real name is Anastasia and Anastasia is my sister. Anastasia has a son six weeks younger than mine, whom I sometimes call Cabbage. Cabbage is blessed to be alive. Why, you ask? Because my dear sister is a Bake-A-Baby. You know how it is. Sometimes new mothers express love through bundling the baby in an unnecessary swelter-fest of clothing. Forget that our kids were born in sunny California. And hers in beautiful September, coming off the hottest summer of our LIVES. Suffice it to say, there’s never a time in that state for this:

Really. Never.

Not only did Anastasia have the Bake-A-Baby gene – taking the bun in the oven metaphor far postpartum – she has a debilitating case of jumping to infuriated and indignant conclusions about any woman she sees, anywhere, who is wearing more clothing than the child by whom said woman is accompanied. Once again, she lives in California. But still, the offending woman who has the audacity to wear a light jacket while her child wears a t-shirt, regardless of the weather, is an awful excuse for a bag of bones. O_O That’s why yesterday was such a good day.

So I get a call from Ana yesterday evening and she is upset. I can tell she’s already preparing for my response and there’s a slight amusement in her voice but it’s outweighed by her repeated use of the words “panic attack”. So apparently, Cabbage had refused to wear his jacket into Costco and she had elected to wear hers. (Do you see where this is going?) Along comes a LOVELY old woman who is my undisputed HERO and she is not only indignant at the sight, but not silently! She approaches Ana and demands why *she* is wearing a jacket and her *beautiful* little boy is *not*! (I like to assume she slapped Ana across the face with the back of her hand.) And only because of Ana’s history of being on this woman’s side, I’m sure, did she attempt to explain that her son had been asked to bring his jacket and had not done so…but the woman did not believe her. {Break for laughter} In short, Ana. Got. Told. BAM. That woman was not HAVING IT. Horrible, senseless mother!

I’m laughing my head off over this story, of course, particularly the part where Ana goes rushing from Costco – guess Cabbage don’t get no food neither! – and hyperventilates before calling me. I ask her, “So what have we learned?” in my sweetest, most syrupy voice ever.

There’s a long pause in which I can hear the wind in the hollow of her gaping mouth. Finally, and as though she’s actually racked her brain for the answer, Ana says, “Nothing!”

Bravo, my love. Bravo.

The Autograph Is Awesomesauce

The title of that picture should be Verklemption.Which also sounds like a fragrance now.

So this is what happened when author Brandon Sanderson wrote the awesomest message before signing the book. I guess Andy deserves some credit, since he’s the one who actually went to the book signing and told Mr. Sanderson (wait, that makes him sound like an 8th grade social studies teacher…no, that was Mr. Mothersole. Carry on.) about the “big shelf”. Oh, I guess you’ll wanna know what it said and why it was awesome.

Josh – Hope I make it to the big shelf…

^.^ This was hilarious because he either had to just write whatever Andy told him to (which he does, which is already awesome) or he had to let Andy tell him how we brought one bookshelf to Montreal. And how we therefore had to decide who got to go on the big shelf. Seeing as I’m a pretty discriminating purchaser of books, all mine are good. Aside from our books from university, which of COURSE go on the big shelf, Josh reads pulp science fiction and also the Left Behind series so… there was a chicken coop-esque smaller book holder (that’s as classy a name as it gets) that was more like a literary lean-to.

Brandon Sanderson is cooler yet because we felt we had to email him to say thanks, since we didn’t actually get to meet him. And he wrote back! Seriously, he’s one of our favorites for life. I follow him on Twitter and Facebook so I get to hear how he makes other people’s day all the time, too. You rock, sir.

I don’t think it can be overstated how amazing experiences like that are.

So, number two:

Ezra and his How To Train Your Dragon Series. So you know how his grandma gave him the first book when he was six because he we are rightfully obsessed with the masterpiece that is the movie? And you know how he looks smacktacular when he’s reading? Okay, but anyway so he’s now on the sixth book in the series and he has never loved one of the books this much. Which is saying a lot. He has been so excited about this book that he is tearing through it and instead of restricting himself to a chapter a day (which he used to do unless the chapter was really short), he’s been reading three. So he’s sitting next to me and every couple minutes he asked if he could go. When I realized he’d been asking to go on to the next chapter (he makes rules and then tricks himself into thinking I made them…), I was like. I have to write this woman. So I did.

While he was breathing really quickly next to me and saying aloud how the Hairy Scary Librarian is without. mercy! I wrote Cressida Cowell and told her all about it. (I misspoke at one point and accidentally said he finished the first book on his sixth birthday instead of his seventh – FORGIVE ME, CRESSIDA!! Tell me why I’ve been freaking out about that.)

The next day – the next morning – she’d written back. This is how I looked.

So now I had to be giddy all day waiting for Ezra to get home from school so he could read the email. :) To which he responded with the biggest, most painful looking grin ever. It was awesome.

Cressida Cowell is even more awesome because that same day she emailed again. Only I can’t talk about it or Ezra will find out. O_O Because you guys talk so often. And also because he reads over my shoulder so I could never come back to my blog. O_O Seriously, it’s killing me.

BUT it’s time for the verdict.

BOOK PEOPLE ARE AWESOME.

 

Sometimes I think writers have all the fun. Take last night for instance. My current WIP is a previous novel, which is to say it’s a rewrite. (Yes, we do that. Okay, not all of us. … Does hive-mind exist for *any* group?) So anyway. It’s something. By which I mean, I can’t translate what I mean and I don’t know if you’d care anyway. But it’s legitimately a rewrite and I had the most fun idea ever, which turned out to be as much fun in execution as I expected – and how often does *that* happen? Two words: Compare. Documents.

Seriously, it’s consuming, and I’m only 29k in. It also confirms that it’s not just me – it really is different. You’ve either already experienced this because you’re a writer or you’re not a writer so you don’t care to do this. (Two options. That’s it. I’ve decided.) But this is how I geek out so I shared anyway, WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

You know what Word *should* have? A word-count-to-this-point function, as in one where you right click after a word and it tells you the word count up to that point. ‘Cause that’d be sweet. … I should sell that.

And then someday I’ll talk to you about the two Sams of Being Human (except I’ll refer to them by their character names of Aidan and Josh, which is less confusing and also I’m referring to the “American” version and it’s SO not Boston so as my Jen-the-twin says, let’s give up that ghost ::snort::) and how everything’s more fun when you and your sister who live in different countries watch it at different times and then have cryptic Facebook conversation threads about it. Oh my job, we should totally do a vlog together somehow if that’s technologically possible. But for now, let me close with this: sleepiness is the new drunk. That or I’m legit dying. Like sooper close to death right now and I should probably *not* try to go back to writing. Can you imagine me just writing pages and pages of nonsense?

*crickets*

It’s been almost two weeks since our trip “home” to California… during which I did absolutely no writing, that I can recall. And that trip was three weeks long so. Yeah. But the point is that I realize my presence has been spotty. It’s not like I don’t have anything to say… but I’m pretty sure I’ve said it before, somewhere on this blog. The same ridiculousness elicits at least a similar level of indignation from me, as you can tell from the previous entry. So instead, let’s talk about California!

(1) I do not appreciate not being able to tell what month it is. I understand that my Montreal people thought it sounded awesome to be 70 degrees F in January but… like the Christmas we spent on Oahu, it made little to no sense. Where is my snow?! ::weeping, gnashing of teeth::

(2) I *fully* appreciated eating. Everything. Everywhere. @_@ Before we left, my son and I made a list of places we needed to go. When I got there, though, I was – shall we say – a bit obsessed with Mexican. [It is at this point that I want to make a general announcement to my Montrealers, particularly those who have never been to the west coast OR Mexico and yet somehow have decided that Mexican food is gross. YOU'VE.NEVER.HAD.IT. Promise. Don't eat it in Montreal and then proclaim it disgusting, silly rabbit.] AND we’re back. So, for fast food that I’d been craving something fierce, we hit:

- Panda Express

- Chipotle

- Adalberto’s

- Jalisco

- Jimboy’s

….yeah, with the exception of Panda’s. Once I had some, I couldn’t stop. Oh and there was that taco bar in Portland. NOM-tastic. And then speaking of Portland – SKYLINE!!!!!!!!!!! *I’ll always love you, Skyline*

And then, you know, I had a bunch of junk food, starting with Garrett’s in the Chicago airport.

I’ve posted this picture like everywhere. Because I am PROUD.

(3) I had a college reunion! Well, a Porter reunion! Okay, more like a B3N reunion! Well, two of us were B3N – WHATEVER. Basically, this:

Katie and Sasha drove up with their significant others – evidenced by the next pic which proves once and for all that we are a dangerous group of finger-snapping ne’er-do-wells.

Don’t cross us in a dark alley, people. Oh and – chucklesnort – in that first picture?! ::muffles dork laughter:: Katie and I swapped boots!

(4) I can’t even post all the pictures I want to force upon you because they involve other people’s children. Biological, I should say. In truth, they are really mine. My nephews, my goddaughter. TOO.MUCH.KISSUMS. Seriously. Wish I could show you all the delight. Did I already tell you I spent a week with five boys between the ages of 3 months and 7 years? And that it was GLORIOUS?

(5) And we took family portraits – since we haven’t done that altogether since Ezra was three months old..and he’s now the 7yo to whom I was just referring. So, naturally, said portraits look like this:

And that about wraps it up.

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