tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-371118212024-02-08T07:04:26.645-07:00Random Musings...A collection of random thoughts that either can't or won't fit in whatever project I'm working on.Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-69642326382709324842011-05-13T16:21:00.006-06:002011-05-13T16:34:21.481-06:00Learning Curve<span class="Apple-style-span">No work today meant I could take care of a few things needing some TLC in my happy world. I touched my characters and they touched me back. Today, my protagonist and I had a heart-to-heart while I allowed a gentle breeze to play over my skin as I absorbed the sun's rays. It truly was a beautiful day in my neighborhood. I swear, I could almost hear her talking to me. The good news is she isn't entirely upset with me about what she's about to experience. Bless her, she's a fighter!</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Strangely enough, my quiet gave my protagonist a chance to assess her life. And you know what she discovered? She ain't half bad. We kind of played "Do you remember?" ala Claire Huxtable. Remember how she would ask Clif that very question, and he knew he was in trouble? Not so with my heroine. She laughed at how foolishly her insecurities prompted her to behave. Granted, she's not out of the woods, but today she felt strong. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The characters beckon. As I return to their world, I'd like to think I'm not the only writer who's learned something from a cast of fictional friends. What's something your characters have taught you?</span></div>Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-28990102647498106432011-05-07T09:17:00.001-06:002011-05-07T09:17:31.220-06:00I'm ba-a-a-ack!Almost a year since the last post. Good grief! I can't even call myself an intermittent blogger. My book is really taking shape, and though they scare the devil out of me, I love where the characters are taking me.<div><br /><div>Last weekend was a big writer's conference, and I was extremely fortunate to have been in attendance. I didn't pitch anything because my work in progress is just that. For the first time, I participated in a read and critique by an agent. I didn't end up with this agent as the work of random chance. I've followed this woman's career for YEARS and watched it and her agency grow. For this read and critique, participants were allowed to submit the first page, which should have been no more than 16 lines.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was nervous about that limit. Would the agent have enough time to get a sense of my protagonist? Would those few lines set the stage adequately for the rest of the novel? And why, oh why couldn't I have a full page? The third question was answered for me when I sat in on some R&C's in a previous workshop. The editor hosting that one was was tough, and her insight into the industry made me even more nervous. She told us she knew whether or not to buy a book based on the first page. I'd heard the first line bit before, but that was always couched in writerly encouragement along the lines of making every sentence count. Everything with pores on my body began to sweat. I wasn't sure I was ready.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let's be honest. Sending a query to an agent or editor is daunting, but there's a distance that makes the entire process bearable -- even the rejection piece. Standing in front of either an agent or editor and in front of a group of writers who also know the rules, is plain butt-clenching. I was the second reader up in my group. I read my log line (which I'd made hours before) and launched into my first page. I got laughs! The agent said my work was good and fit within the scope of the genre. I started with action. Her praise went on, and I felt more nervous. I will query her with the finished project.</div><div><br /></div><div>Conferences are awesome. Creativity ignites, and the writer in me loves to be surrounded by others who hear voices! Now, it's time for me to get busy about the work of writing. I've got more ideas about how to help myself be more productive, and I'm putting them in play. Write on, writers!</div><div><br /></div><div>What's the best take-away you've ever gotten from a conference?</div></div>Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-22380884164762061782010-05-29T20:55:00.002-06:002010-05-29T21:29:17.159-06:00One Fell Swoop ...In one fell swoop, my life has changed. Didn't I say this a few months ago? Nevertheless, it is true. This afternoon I had the opportunity to listen to voice mail I received Thursday morning. Yes, I'm a tad behind. Hopefully, that gives you an indication of the kind of week this has been. It was graduation, my friends threw me a surprise going away party and I completed my last day of work at the school -- hence the going away party. Really, all those transitions were plenty for me to manage today. My goals were simple -- turn in what needed turning in, and avoid tears at all costs. Submitting my materials was easy. I've been ready. Since I'm not a crier, I didn't expect the tears to be an issue, and they weren't at work. It was when I finally returned home and checked the voice mail that I lost it. <div><br /></div><div>Please, someone tell me how you respond to a message heralding an impending death? My friend, who has been ill, called and left a message to let me know she should be dead by Saturday. Tears sprung to my eyes as I realized that today is Saturday. She asked me to please check the obituaries so I would know when her service would be. I want to be there -- even if that means putting off my vacation for a couple days. It seems that the good people die young while the bastards of the world live on to make life as hellish as possible for the rest of us. What is important to note is that her life was not for naught. Without her influence, I would not be the lady I am. I would be less willing to embrace growth opportunities and still be steadily beating up myself for every mistake I make. I would not have had the courage to hold up my head through the loss of my job. I would have only been able to view this change as negative instead of seeing it as a chance to stretch my legs and skills in order to find something more suited to my passions and aptitudes. Via con Dios, Rose. Please rest in peace, free from pain and wrapped in love. Thank you for everything!</div>Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-67568587204840426312010-01-11T19:56:00.004-07:002010-01-11T20:16:57.005-07:00Glancing Around Corners ...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I'm counting down again -- not for anything flashy or significant in the writing world, but because I'm approaching a welcome transition. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Over my break for the holiday, I wrote. Perhaps not as much as I wanted to, but I was and am proud of what I accomplished. My dear friend Kay read what I produced and proclaimed it worthy. Why is it I return to my blogging when my characters have worked their way to the bedroom? Maybe I'm nervous and am seeking validation. Okay, let's be real; I'm a writer, so of course, I am seeking validation!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Those seventeen pages were some of the most challenging I've written to date. What's it like writing again after so long a break? It's like learning to ride a bike when you're 5, not touching a bicycle except for shifting it about in the garage to make space for junk, and then going for a five-mile ride at the ripe old age of 30. Not impossible by any means, but definitely a venture requiring effort.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">In a wild moment Sunday, I decided to go to a local coffee shop and write. First, I went on a walk and played with some random doggies. Then I had to shower -- for the benefit of myself and all those fortunate to be downwind of me. Finally, I dressed in bright colors because they felt right. Off I went to the shop, ordered a coffee and a nutritious cupcake. The couch was empty, and I took it as a sign that I was meant to pause and spend time with my characters. They were naked -- right where I left them. Kinda makes me wonder if their action is really in suspense when I neglect them for months on end, or if I peeked in on them while they were unaware, would they be living their lives without me, waiting for me to catch up with their progress?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div>Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-40290682366106849092009-12-25T23:57:00.002-07:002009-12-26T00:16:32.829-07:00Merry Christmas!I spent the day with my little people who are becoming increasingly large, and it was awesome for lack of a better term. We chilled and just enjoyed each other's company. As the time drew near for them to return to their dad's, the tension was palpable. I saw them looking at the clock; the baby repeatedly asked for updates on the time. It's kinda like knowing you're going in for a root canal -- time takes on this steady canter, and nothing you can do slows it's progress.<div><br /></div><div>Rather than sit around feeling the emptiness of the house, I ventured out for a movie. If you're thinking about seeing It's Complicated, stop thinking and DO! That's one I would like to see again, and I've only just left the theater! Women age gracefully, and men -- well, I'm becoming attached to the opinion that men are probably grateful that a lot of women cling to pleasant memories when bellies lop over the belt, man-boobs become apparent and the chins increase. That must be love -- seeing through the imperfections to embrace the real person beneath the shell.</div><div><br /></div><div>In many ways I'm the atypical woman -- can't stand shopping, I have shoes in two colors (brown and black) and I don't always have to fill airspace with meaningless fluff. In other ways, I'm very typical -- love make-up, love the telephone and am desperately afraid that someone will see my faults, be they physical, psychological, real or imaginary, and determine that I am lacking. If fiction writing is somewhat autobiographical, my audience will have a glimpse at not only my imperfections, but they will have access to a part of me that I work diligently to keep under wraps.</div><div><br /></div><div>Once again, as a writer, I find myself standing before the world with my pants unzipped, hoping against all hope that the keen observer won't point and laugh but will help a sista out! My hope is that in writing I will see myself as I'm meant to be seen and that my readers will do the same. Not that our observers will deny the existence of these so-called imperfections but that they will see them and recognize that every stretch mark, every crow's foot is an indelible part of what makes each of us unique and beautiful.</div><div><br /></div><div>Merry Christmas!</div>Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-87840847503329375702009-12-06T19:25:00.002-07:002009-12-06T19:37:49.219-07:00Driving the Short BusWhile I haven't written much more than comments on my students' papers, I have been quite busy. Yesterday, my entourage and I did one of our favorite things -- went to the museum of nature and science. There's always so much to discover, and I've been dying to see the Ghengis Khan exhibit. So what in the world does that have to do with driving the short bus? That was how we got there! For the colleagues I like, there's nothing I won't do, so when I was asked to drive for a field trip, I was happy to say yes. I should have known the trip wouldn't be uneventful.<div><br /></div><div>The trip up was easy. Coming home proved more of a journey than I'd expected. The students wanted to eat at a restaurant I'd never heard of, but I agreed to drive there -- following their directions. Any thinking person would already be formulating ideas as to how this little scenario went wrong. Stupid is as stupid does. Students who don't drive in the city and who don't really pay attention to their surroundings shouldn't be trusted to give directions, but I think the Boo-boo the Fool Award goes to moi for following said student's directions! We were rapidly approaching Wyoming when I pulled the plug on our adventure. I laughed, and frankly am still laughing because I create these situations often. </div><div><br /></div><div>All of this made me think about the writer's journey. How often do writers take advice from the well-meaning clueless? Writing doesn't just happen, it's not a hobby; it is work that demands a high level of commitment, and comments from the peanut gallery are unwelcome in this writer's world.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've decided it's time to re-acquaint myself with my characters. They recently finished Thanksgiving dinner and I left them hanging. C'mon, folks! Richard Simmons would be so proud of me! I'm pushing away from the table and am ready to write, write, write!</div>Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-80452587860336979882009-12-02T13:02:00.002-07:002009-12-02T13:15:18.842-07:00Cheer up, Charlie!How can I begin to sum up the activities and happenings of a year in one blog post? It's not gonna happen. You don't want to read it, and I don't want the hand cramp from writing it. <div><br /></div><div>If the truth be told, a lot of what I've done this past year is hide from my work. Hide from the writing because it costs too much to labor for hours to find myself in a maze that seemingly has no exit. I wrote my characters into a corner, laughing all the way as I did. They've been stuck in the corner for months, and when I think about going all Johnny on them, "No one puts Baby in the corner," I find something else to occupy my time -- like cleaning piles of vomit. This happens and continues to occur because I'm afraid that if I pull up my big girl Underoos, I will have a major re-write ahead.</div><div><br /></div><div>Just because I've hidden from my book doesn't mean the characters have hidden from me. Oh, no! Those ladies and gents scream at me as soon as they sense I'm surrounded by quiet. Just let the kids be sleeping in my non-ghettoland home, let the TV be off and the phone on silent. The characters call me out. Some of them are down right rude! I haven't been called heifer for real ever! To my knowledge. They asked for an off-scene character to have her spot in the sun. Maybe this is what we all need. To get out of my dreams and onto the page ... beep, beep. Yeah!</div><div><br /></div><div>Enough silliness, I guess. Must get back to corralling kittens, otherwise known as mucking through piles of puke! And just in case it doesn't appear so, I am grateful for the opportunity of cleaning vomit. That just means there was plenty to eat. Now that's what I call a shift in perspective!</div>Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-73947909952363654302008-08-02T15:24:00.003-06:002008-08-02T15:46:00.389-06:00The Final CountdownSo, it's only 3+ months since my last blog. Not bad for a slacker. Work and school have been CRAZY!!! Let me recap. No, I will sum up. I got the teaching gig, so rather than being a pretend teacher, I will be real!!! Just like the Velveteen Rabbit!!! I am so stoked. My last class required 34 assignments completed in 6 weeks. Had I no life, this would have been no problem. But alas, the kiddos had all sorts going on this summer. And I had to do some work at the new job as well. I've not written too much lately, though I did have fun critting some of my friends' work. Frankly, this makes me feel connected to the writer's world even when I'm not the one crafting.<br /><br />Even though I haven't written a whole lot lately, I did do some submissions to agents on my previous works. So far, I've received two form rejections. C'est la vie. I must finish this book, get it polished and ready for its moment in the sun. How I will fit all this in with schoolwork and work-work, I don't know. What I do know is that November 20th is the last day of class. No more projects, no more writing insane blogs about my classmates. It will be great!!! Only 15 weeks and 5 days left to go.<br /><br />How many rejections would it take to wallpaper your bathroom? I'll be nice; you can choose the smallest bathroom in the house.Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-30729890773323148232008-04-23T08:52:00.004-06:002008-08-02T15:22:38.933-06:00Walking through the world with my pants unzipped ...Yep, folks, that's me. I'm beautifully coiffed (if I do say so myself) and dressed for success. Pink blouse, chocolate slacks that lengthen my legs and make me look like your typical professional female. I walked through the school, stopping to talk to teachers and smile at students. Despite the fact I didn't want to get out of bed, the sun burst through my windows, BBC world news played in the background and my body felt compelled to get dressed. I'm glad someone did, looking in hindsight, it would have been a little bad for me to show up to work this morning in yoga pants a sweatshirt and a busted hair-do. Once I got dressed, I felt ready to take on the world. Maybe it's the pink. Who knows?<br /><br />So back to walking through the halls. I made my way from one wing of the school to the other. (My room's been commandeered for mandatory state testing.) I climbed two flights of stairs to reach the teacher's lounge, made some kool-aid to keep me happy, brushed off a dusty apple from the abyss I call a travel bag and proceeded to work. I graded a bunch of papers, managed to smile at the progress (not the grades -- prepping my speech for the class tomorrow) and glanced down. My pants were unzipped! This wouldn't be bad if I were wearing underwear that matched my trousers. That would have been too easy. Oh, no. I am wearing my Vickie's Secrets bright coral undies -- these things match neither my flesh nor my slacks. How many people now know me more intimately than I wanted them to?<br /><br />This got me thinking about the writer's life. We writers constantly walk the world with not only our pants unzipped, but with our bare bums hanging out for everyone to criticize. <em>Oh, look at that lump. Thigh master, anyone? </em>People have no qualms about deriding someone's work because, well, because it's there. And you know what? I am totally cool with that. If I'm out there, or rather my work is, and someone wants to criticize they are welcome to do so. Bring it on!!! I'm sure I'm not the only contrary person who buys books on purpose because of arising controversy. In fact, that is why I initially read the Harry Potter books. And I'm sure she cried all the way to the bank -- NOT. Controversy breeds readership, breeds discussion and dare I say it, thinking!<br /><br />And if that means I'm going to walk the ends of the earth totally unzipped, then I hope the world is ready for me. Write on, writers. Write on!Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-47550101857355829572008-04-10T22:53:00.000-06:002008-04-10T22:54:26.525-06:00In the Words of Our Lord ...It is finished. Never were more poignant words spoken! Tonigh marks the last of one of the most tortuous classes I've taken. And to think! I paid for it!<br /><br />So what's up? I've been working and writing. Big surprise, right? I've also reattached my cajones and entered a few writing contests. We'll see how that goes. Just once, I'd love to final and see my name in lights -- dim though they may be. Something Kay said to me tonight struck home. I don't want to be famous, just rich. This gal wants both! While I dread the thought of not being able to buy toilet paper unmolestes, I'd love people to stop me -- WHEREVER -- and say they'd read my book and for one moment been able to forget whatever trauma/drama life's thrown their way. How awesome would that be? To be the author of relief, the one people turn to when they want to curl up with something comfortable and consistent. Me and my aspirations!<br /><br />I know the statistics. No, I won't share them for those of you who just felt your rear iris pucker. I know not all of us enjoy math. The odds are I will be unsuccessful. Not just unsuccessful, but an abysmal failure. Yet, I can't stop. The words pour into my head. I hear conversations and think of how I can simmer the themes into lines for my characters. The bottom line is that all of us want to be remembered, immortalized somehow. I am egotistical enough that I am not only willing to admit this fact to myself, but shout it aloud in the streets. Hell, if I'm not my own biggest fan, who else will be? That's why we procreate, and one of the many reasons I want to be in the classroom.<br /><br />I don't want to fall into the abyss, forgotten. What are you doing to ensure your legacy? Who's life are you touching? Think about it! Each of us has the potential to impact the lives of 10, 000 people. Ten thousand! That's a lot of people, a lot of lives. By now, you're probably wondering how I came by this number. Warning, there was some math involved, but no brains were injured in the computation.<br /><br />Look at it from a 6-degrees of separation perspective. I won't put down numbers, but if you can stretch your brain to think about the interconnectivity inherent in relationships, you'll see that my theory is neither inflated nor sheer rubbish. In fact, I may have underestimated the figures. So, recognize what you do matters. None of us chooses our race, nationality, sex or orientation (debate me later, it's my turn to speak now). What we can choose is our attitude. I can be hateful, and when I am (notice I didn't say if), it is my choice. That is how I've determined I will make my mark on the world. How I will touch thousands of lives.<br />Knowledge is power, folks. What will you do with it?Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-91237449826347280422007-12-02T09:13:00.000-07:002007-12-02T09:31:01.069-07:00Where's she been?I talked to a good buddy the other day who asked what was up with my blog. Guess it's time for confessions: I've been a little unfaithful. Okay, how can one be a little unfaithful? That's one of those all or nothing things. I've been spending emotional time with my other blog -- saying all the things that I can't shoehorn into this one.<br /><br />My goal was to keep this blog more writerly and less random than the heading implies. Writing, in general, is my way of venting, re-hashing and getting my thoughts in line with my present reality. My life has become a Lifetime Movie of the Week, and while I've got lots of writing done that's not what needed mulling over. To catch you up, my [blind] mother has moved in, my brother-in-law is staying with us for a bit, and my kids still haven't figured out how to hit the porcelain bowl that's filled with water. Forget movie of the week. More like a Porto-potty.<br /><br />Let's move to the writing because that's much less depressing than real life. I'm finally feeling as though I know where the story is going (thanks, Kay!). I know the characters and can see them -- in some cases, smell them. So much is swirling through my head, I'm afraid my fingers won't be able to keep up with my thoughts. Unfortunately, I've put off some of my schoolwork and have to play my favorite game, catch up.<br /><br />Still no word from the agent who has my full, or the editor to whom I sent pages. Gosh, almost forgot about that. Today, I will write the critique I promised, read another contest entry and go back to the hospital to have my wound cared for. Beyond that, I will try to keep the threads of my sanity from unraveling.Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-33102171806107212892007-11-14T20:25:00.000-07:002007-11-14T20:36:46.829-07:00What have I been up to?I've been MIA for a long while, so I figured I owed you a rundown. Since my last post, it's been more of the same: school, work, writing and hanging out with friends. Somewhere in there, I made time to refinish my table (again). Now, I'm ankle deep in contest judging. The Linda Howard Contest is in full swing and I have been reading and re-reading entries. This contest is awesome because they actually want the judges to offer input rather than simply assigning a score and moving to the next piece. I won't say which category I'm judging, but I will say it is one I'm keenly interested in.<br /><br />Getting in on this side of contests is important to me because I not only get to see what fellow writers are up to, but I gain perspective on my own work. Before I write a comment, I put myself in the writer's shoes. How would I receive a comment posed in such a manner? Am I trying to play God? Is my response related to jealousy? Judge doesn't mean unchecked power; it means responsibility. Probably a naive sentiment, but true for me nonetheless. Seeing these entries has made me want to give my newer works a go through the contest circuit. Maybe this year I have a chance.Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-76449301123811770962007-11-08T23:58:00.000-07:002007-11-09T00:03:29.407-07:00Happy birthday, brotherToday is my little brother's birthday. I don't know where he is, and the sad part is I don't want to know. Somewhere along the road he chose a path I can't condone. One I hope he comes out of. Until that time, I will love him from afar and wish him all the best. And I pray that today he knew somehow that he was on my mind. That he wasn't forgotten and isn't unloved. I hope that he managed to eek out some birthday cheer from whatever hell he found himself in. And I pray that this is his best year ever. Makarisomos, T.Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-27387874021080669852007-10-28T20:07:00.000-06:002007-10-28T20:39:59.227-06:00A peek inside the mind of manHere's my disclaimer before I even take a ride down this street: This blog relates to the guys I know, so the behaviors/actions/whatever I describe may not be typical.<br /><br />Last night, I got to spend time with some great folks. Granted, it was a bit heavy with guys at first, but I was there with my girl so it was all good. How do I know these people, you may ask. Well, mostly through the former job and school. These guys are so awesome. For one, they kept an immaculate apartment. You see what I mean about being atypical? Once we got around to conversing, I learned things I didn't expect about the other sex. Men feel more than I gave them credit for. They want to be in committed relationships and are in favor of the old stick 'n move as much they enjoy root canals. Okay, so sometimes stick 'n move works but they really do want to have one special person who will care for them forever. They idolize their moms, and call them repeatedly just because they love them. And you know what? They know they've been dumb at times (with their parental units) and they actually admit it to their parents. Even though their friendships differ from ours, they are dead loyal and care for each other as much as women care for their friends. And have I mentioned they like the ladies with intellect? Stupid and hot will only take a girl so far with these fellas.<br /><br />Who'd have thunk it? Now, as I approach my writing, I have to consider these things. It would be more than unfair for me to fill my stories with callous jerks. Not that those don't exist. I've met more of them than I care to recall. My buds give me hope that happily-ever-after isn't a myth. I know these guys will make fantastic spouses one day, and I can't wait to see them find bliss with people who are equally fantastic.Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-67668495260272843972007-10-19T21:41:00.000-06:002007-10-19T22:12:24.538-06:00Good times, rough readsOne of my nearest and dearest friends had exciting news this week. Kay, you know who you are!!! Her screenplay, one that I was dead lucky to read, was optioned! Yea!!! For those of you, who like me have minimal knowledge of the screenwriter's path, think of optioning as selling to an editor. This is big time, and I am so proud of her accomplishments and glad to skim the circle of greatness that surrounds her. Let me tell you though, this has been no easy road for her, nor is this the endpoint. She's worked diligently. Always writing, always producing, editing and doing the things someone who claims to be a writer must do. Have I mentioned how proud I am of her yet? I am looking forward to seeing great things for this lady, and you know I'll keep you posted on her success.<br /><br />In Elayne's world, I'm still waiting to hear from the agent on my manuscript. I still have a week or so left before I should hear back, so I'm chilling for the moment. Tonight, I opened the suspense manuscript that was requested at the September conference. It needed more clean up and still does, but I made it through about 80 pages. Something that hit me in the midst of edits was how much I genuinely love this story. The characters are solid, and with touching up, I've made my heroine more transparent and relateable. My hero is still a hottie, and I heartily admit to being a little in lust with the guy. Isn't that the point, though? I've written dribbles on the current project -- don't know what else to say on that score.<br /><br />All I know is I'm exhausted and sapped of creative juices. Tomorrow is supposed to be a fun day -- fall party with the old workmates. I adore them, so I know I will have a blast. But I'm so tired now I feel like an old lady. For the celebration, I made one of my infamous cheesecakes. Going with the fall theme, it's pumpkin gingerbread. It smells amazing, and I'm not too humble to admit it's one of the best looking cheesecakes I've made in a little while. Hopefully, everyone enjoys it. Okay, I'm pushing against stone here. I'm going to take my butt to bed, but not before sharing about my recent reading experiences.<br /><br />I just finished a book by a local author that I'm hedging about. The premise was interesting. Sorry, I won't share the concept or title here, but you can ask me in person if you're that curious. What bugs me about the book is the bland writing. In fiction, I expect more interesting prose and imagery. I want to read something that sticks to me like the drippy caramel from a freshly dipped caramel apple. That's not the case here, and I am so disappointed. On one hand, I celebrate the author's ability to garner the attention of an agent and editor -- to get her work on the shelves. On the other hand, I wonder what it is that the experts saw in the book. A title does not a book make, and after all, the publishing house probably changed the title anyway. But I can say this in all certainty, I've never seen the subject matter therein presented in contemporary material as it was in this work.<br /><br />Maybe I'm jaded because I'm looking through romance eyes. That happens more often than I care to admit, my being biased because I've been steeped in one genre before leaping to another. I will have to re-read and re-evaluate. I am currently reading a paranormal romance. Again, a local author, and again a bit disappointing. The words/world/concept seem too closely related to so many others I've read before. In this author's defense, I really like the characters. So much so that if I LOVE the ending, I will read the rest of the series. All this weighs on my mind. How can I like one book so much that I'm willing to invest more of my time when the other made me wonder who I could pawn it off on?<br /><br />I guess it all boils down to characterization. The characters in the first book I mentioned were AWFUL. I hated all of them and had the most terrible time trying to figure out who to cheer for or align my support with. They were all pretty wicked except for the one who ended up dead, and she wasn't stellar but I could at least understand her behavior. I don't think a re-read will change my perception of that, but I'll give it a few months and give it another go. Have you ever read or watched something that left you feeling empty at the end? How did you handle the disappointment?Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-54565737883661639292007-10-15T23:32:00.000-06:002007-10-15T23:50:58.272-06:00Things a mom doesn't want to knowSo by now you all know I have a pre-teen male child. I still remember changing this boy's diapers, for God sake. Well, dear friends, he ain't in diapers anymore. DH came down to my dungeon to tell me he'd just found my Vickie's Secrets catalogue safely ensconced in said male child's bed. It's no secret that my husband and I have different ideas about all sorts of things, human sexuality included. He was having fits about our son "using" my catalogue. I laughed. It's all about the cycle of life, isn't it? And as long as I don't end up a way-too-young grandma, I'm content to let him do what needs doing.<br /><br />We talk about sex in my house. I can't say I enjoy broaching the subject with my boys, but the thought of babies making babies is so much less appealing. Looks like I get to have a talk with him about self-pleasure. Goody, goody gumdrops. Hints and/or suggestions from the crowd? I don't want to leave him scarred for life like I was.<br /><br />As to the writing ... things have been too good to be true. The KIA Marathon over at RWAOL is in full swing, and because I can't let my team down I've been a writing fool. My characters are so grateful. But here's the thing. I've come to a place where the person I thought would be dead is looking like he might stay alive. These people have taken on a life of their own. Isn't that always the way? So now I'm here trying to figure out what in the world is going on. My goal at the end of the month is to have 20K words complete on this manuscript. That means I have 12,000 to go. 48 pages. I can do it. I'll keep you posted.<br /><br />On other fronts, I just finished Susan Elizabeth Phillips' Ain't She Sweet. If you haven't read her, what in the world are you waiting for? This was such a beautiful story; I was heartbroken to see it end. Perhaps it was the Mississippi setting that got to me since I lived in Biloxi for a year. Certainly, her way of crafting multi-dimensional characters pulls you through the story. I felt as though I knew those people, and in some cases felt as though SEP had stolen my angsty teen diary. No wonder she's on the NYT Bestsellers list. Now, all I have to do is figure out why I loved that book so much and get my writing up to par. Small task that. Ri-i-ight!!!<br /><br />What have you read lately that's made you take notice?Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-44223513282467785682007-10-11T22:43:00.000-06:002007-10-12T00:23:51.916-06:00All night long...<span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc9933;">Don't get excited. I'm not channeling our good buddy Lionel Ritchie. Just lamenting my Thursday night obligation. With these four hours I will spend tonight, I could be writing all the pages that need done to meet this week's goal. Holy hell! Ten frikken pages. I've written a total of two paragraphs. Instead of writing my blog I should be thinking about my characters, but here I sit.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc9933;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc9933;">My mind spirals with all the stuff I don't do or am really and truly too chickenshit to attempt. Why is rejection so hard to deal with? Why is it so much easier to pretend that everything is grand than to jump? It's the question of the unknown. I need to know what's going to happen. I'm not one of those folks who's into surprises -- good or otherwise. Surprises make me nervous. The crazy thing is that I will do almost anything on a whim or a dare. I LOVE spontaneity. I LOVE doing what feels right in an instant, and I'm never surprised by what I decide to do. But I can't cope with not knowing the outcomes of other people's impact on my life.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc9933;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc9933;">You know you've been there. Remember the guy you were crushing on in high school? You liked him so much it actually hurt your heart. It thumped so hard in your chest when he passed within three feet of you. No matter how intelligent you were, all grasp of reason, thought -- hell, LANGUAGE, left you because he was just in the vicinity. But never would you talk to him. Never would you approach him with the idea of pursuing a relationship beyond that longing glance across the hallway. And why? Because at this point, you have something. Even if it's unrequited love, lust or passion, it's enough to sustain you. There's hope in embracing that bit of chickendom because at least, you can fantasize that he could one day be yours. When you see him with another girls, you'll even tell yourself that he's only involved with said chickadee because he can't muster the courage to talk to you. And THAT feels good.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc9933;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc9933;">One day, you decide to grow a set of balls. Maybe you borrowed them from a friend or took them down from the jar on the shelf. It doesn't matter. You wait until he's alone, shuffling your books because you must have something to do with your hands. And finally after much throat-clearing, you take the plunge. You ask him to do something -- maybe going out for a burger or something -- and he makes an excuse. He doesn't want to go out with you. He has friends, sports, whatever that's more important than you are in that instant. The bell rings, and there you are still holding your books. Now, you want to cry in that hall. You want to curl into a ball and die, or if God truly was merciful, He'd allow the floor to swallow you to spare you from the hurt and mortification.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc9933;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc9933;">There's no mercy. You have to pick up the shards of your heart and move on. It hurts, and the pain doesn't stop. Yeah, it dulls or else how would anyone be able to survive? We do. The hurt makes us strong; the pain lets us know we're alive. And we plod along. If you're like me, you take that sliced up part of your heart and vow to NEVER let anyone do that to you again. The problem with my philosophy is that eventually, you run out of heart. You cover yourself in callouses and bullshit so no hurt can enter. But you know what? No love enters either. Trust me on this, it's a shitty way to live.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc9933;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc9933;">Tell me, dear friends, what do you do with hurt? And is there any way to remove the crust from your heart without employing one of those scraper things? Help a girl out!</span>Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-73049793655720981062007-10-10T20:13:00.000-06:002007-10-10T20:39:02.621-06:00TSTL<span style="font-family:georgia;color:#3333ff;">Think about it for a moment. What do those letters mean? Is it another stupid acronym that will mean nothing to you tomorrow? Gosh, I hope not.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#3333ff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#3333ff;">For those outside the romance writing world, TSTL means Too Stupid to Live. Lest anyone take offense, I'm not talking about anyone in particular -- or at least not <em>you</em> in particular -- unless, of course, you fit the criteria. One of the things writers rage against as they put pencil to paper is creating a heroine that makes the reader want to thrust the book at a wall and stomp on it madly. I sure as heck don't want my readers to get their sole pleasure in reading my work to come from a not-so-random act of violence committed against the paper and binding. Sometimes, though, don't you meet those people, the stupid ones I mean, and wonder how in God's name they survive from one day to the next? I know I do. And I would love to gloat and count myself amongst the intelligent ones. Those famed few who never fall prey to making the wrong decisions or hurting people because they are not grown up enough to do the right thing in the first place. </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#3333ff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#3333ff;">But I have to confess here and now. Today, and I am sure there are more days in my future, I joined the ranks of idiocy. You know what's terrible about the "dumb club" is that they're always looking for new members. Their list is never too full. Wouldn't it be great if there was a cap? Sorry, Elayne, we're too full this time around, so you're going to have to make the right choice, do the right thing. Unfortunately for me, no one says this aloud. And I've gotten so good in my old age at stomping down the still, quiet voice that I can numb myself to right and warmly embrace wrong. An old friend of mine would call this a case of loud and wrong. What's interesting about loud and wrong is that it's not an all or nothing deal. For example, I could be 90% right in my anger, frustration and motivation, but that leftover 10% can and WILL screw me every time. What's a girl to do?</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#3333ff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#3333ff;">We rage against these people when they show up in books. And God help us if they pop up on-screen. Been to a movie lately and screamed at the hussy who decided to run from the monster deep in the woods armed with nothing but her good looks, skimpy lingerie and some damned high-heeled shoes? Who does that? We get upset because it is so clear what they ought to do. Take off the flippin' heels, put on some damned clothes and don't trip over the tree roots. See, that was easy! But how hard is it when you're confronted with Mr. Right Enough and Mr. Right On? How much more difficult is it when it's about keeping your temper or flipping out because someone dared show fallibility?</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#3333ff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#3333ff;">For you aspiring authors, this is the tip of the iceberg. I promise. Your characters will do something so stupid you will want to give them a boot to the head. Guaranteed! The people you love will fail and hurt you so badly you will want to abdicate from the human race. The question is what are you gonna do about it. Will you be smart enough to trust that the people in your life, be they tangible or fictional, will do what is right? Or will you be like me, lining up in the ranks of the TSTL? As Captain Planet would say, "The power is yours!"</span>Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-49616468865471951162007-10-07T16:11:00.001-06:002007-10-07T20:36:48.285-06:00Homecoming revealed<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I went on so much about Homecoming yesterday, and totally forgot to share what happened. My college buddy and I went to the game a little late because I had some minor drama at home. Drama in my house takes only a few forms and centers around either my husband or the boys. I guess on more fun occasions, all of them gang up on me to drive me to crazy town. With as much time as I spend there, I've got frequent visitor rights. But I digress. No, I'll share the drama because it's all a part of the story.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My eldest has decided to skirt his chores. Nothing major or abnormal for an almost teenager. By the way, I got told today that I am hip for being a mom. Dude! How cool is that? Anyway, I was having folks over Friday, and while the house wasn't a mess, there was definite work that needed done if I was going to have company. I arrived home at six to find that my kitchen was wrecked -- dishes piled, the floors a rubbish heap, and the trash overflowing. My eldest tried to run the "I love you, Mom" scam on me. Complete with hug. Unfortunately for him, I wasn't wearing my BooBoo the Fool sticker. So while I appreciated his love, he was going to do the cleaning he'd skipped out on. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I had him start on the dishes while I changed into my cleaning clothes. You know the ones that are only good for working with bleach and NEVER for being worn in public. Oh yeah, I was a real hottie Friday night. I had just slipped into my gear when I heard my husband shout that grandpa was at the door so my son had to leave. I ran out of my room screaming that he shouldn't be rewarded for sneakiness by getting to leave for the Homecoming game early. My husband told me not to worry. Our son would come home and do all his chores. Right. After I was done doing all the work. Not a huge surprise that I was pretty pissed. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I started working and then my youngest came out of his room sans glasses. Of course, I asked where they were and he told me he'd lost them at recess. I just bought those glasses. When I asked my husband why he hadn't told me about the missing glasses, he said he hadn't noticed. I've got one word for you. RAGE! His concession was to send the little one out to the school to find them. Somewhere in the midst of all this chaos, my friend arrived. I'm so sorry, Patricia!</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Fast forward to the game. Yes, more family drama ensued, but I'm going to leave it in the past where it belongs. My friend found us seats, and I was stoked about being able to watch the game and one of the hottest football coaches I've ever seen. Hey, before anyone gets their knickers in a twist, I'm married, not dead! And until my eyes stop working, I will appreciate beauty in all its many forms -- especially if it involves said coach. I need to freeze frame here to make sure the rest of this little tirade makes sense. Sorry, folks. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My friend and I went to a high school football game a while ago with another good buddy. After that game, I developed a reputation for being rowdy. I honestly have no clue how that all got started. Jeez, you get a little participative at a game and next thing you know, you're castigated for getting into the game. No fights broke out, and we all had a good time so nothing else matters. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So, back to this past Homecoming. My friend and I had great seats -- until we got kicked out of them. Lest you get too excited or think <em>I</em> am exciting, we didn't do anything outrageous to lose our seats. All the empty spots we found had been reserved for the band. Shucks. It was a blow-out for our school at any rate, so we retreated to my place for chili and the first season of Coupling. After all the day's drama, chilling out was just what I needed. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Now that it's nearly at an end, what did you do this weekend?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span>Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-15201082209902400252007-10-07T08:31:00.000-06:002007-10-07T09:54:41.212-06:00Good times<span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;">It's official. Yes, I know I gave my notice a while ago, and Friday was my last day at the job but it didn't feel real until last night. An amazing send off with some of the best people in the world. And hey, there was karaoke involved. Can you tell me what would have been better? Actually, there are some things that could have been pleasant additions, but I'll keep those to myself -- fodder for the fiction. So after a great night out, why the hell did I wake at 7:30? The weekend is for sleeping and being lazy, yet I sprung from bed like I had somewhere to be. The real shame of it is that 7:30 is sleeping in for me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;">Usually, I'm moving too fast to see my morning as anything more than a blur. Today, I remember my first thought. It's over. Are any of you performers? You know that feeling you get when you're waiting in the wings. Trapped between wanting to chicken out and being so excited that if you were a puppy, there would be a big ole wet spot in your seat. That's how I feel right now. Why? I have a manuscript in the hands of an agent. I am no longer a full-time employee for anyone or anywhere. And in 2008, I will be a licensed teacher. Parents will put their children in my trust and expect me to give them something. I keep wondering what will happen when I get my class. Will I stand in front of a room of freshmen and totally forget why I'm there?</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;">When I subbed last year, except for when I was in the elementary schools, I didn't actually teach. And I never worked in my content area. When I finish this degree, students and their parents will have the right to expect me to know what I'm talking about. One thing I am immensely grateful for is the amazing set of colleagues I've met in class. All of us aspire to be in the classroom working with secondary level students. Most of us will do really well, too. I just wonder how many of my mates are sitting around with their stomachs churning. Waiting in the wings, as it were.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;">But it's definitely good times. My friends can hear the lightness in my voice when I talk. My best friend told me I sound the best I have in months. So much for me trying to ride undercover. I tried so hard to keep my shit storm from raining on those around me. Guess I'll buy everyone bigger umbrellas next time. Yeah, there will be a next time because there will always be people in the world who will work to screw you over even as you're trying to keep your head above water. It's all good though because I needed the reminder to take care of me. I was being everything for everyone but Elayne. My martyrdom ceased at 5:00 last Friday afternoon.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;">Okay, I'm off to write and finish off my breakfast of onion dip and potato chips. I'll be back, and I'll try to sound as elated as I feel. Tell me, folks, what do you do to take care of yourself?</span>Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-46742414151431039482007-10-06T15:21:00.000-06:002007-10-06T15:43:34.924-06:00Zoned out<span style="color:#33ffff;">You can say I'm wrong, but some people -- maybe it's just the sound of their voices -- make my ears want to take leave from my head. I know I say this often. Actually, every time I start a new class. Good grief! Isn't there a way to absorb necessary materials via diffusion or osmosis? Forget calling me wrong. Call me tired, impatient, frustrated and excited about the weekend. Can you say Homecoming? Not mine, but that of my DH. Funny thing is he's not nearly as excited as I am about the game. In fact, he's almost dismal. I listened to a rant about how Homecoming is not what it used to be. It's about the alumni returning -- not about dances and parties and God knows what. Three minutes into his rant, my brain glazed. I could feel that nasty-looking red jelly stuff people insist on pouring over ham, oozing over every brain cell.</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;"></span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">Have you ever felt like that? It seems to happen on a weekly basis nowadays. Every Thursday to be exact. And in no time flat, I'm back to bitching. Husbands always wonder how wives do it. I'm telling you here and now, it's a gift.</span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;"></span><br /><span style="color:#33ffff;">Got another question for you. What is the world's record for one person monopolizing four hours of class time? Bet Guinness doesn't have the stats. </span>Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-52136488266640668172007-10-02T21:58:00.000-06:002007-10-02T22:20:03.191-06:00Counting down<span style="font-family:lucida grande;color:#ff9966;">Not much time left at the present job, and I am so happy. The pressure to finish all my tasks in time so as not to leave my esteemed colleagues holding the bag is immense. Something I've learned from blogging is how public it is. Yes, I know I put myself out here. I have no intention of going back to my little box, but I feel like I've left my butt flapping in the wind. Kind of reminds me of the time one of my friends paraded through church with the back of her skirt tucked into her pantyhose. I had no idea of her plight because she and I were walking side by side, but her embarrassment when someone righted the situation still haunts me. So much so that I never leave the lavatory without making sure that all my business is covered. But once the world has seen your behind, it's too late to cover it. So I will plunge ahead -- glad that I have no shame about that aspect of self. I guess it's good that everything I've spewed here is true. </span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;color:#ff9966;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;color:#ff9966;">On the writing front, I'm feeling pressured to produce. I'm a committed participant of the KIA Marathon over at RWA Online. What I do or fail to do impacts my team's success. It's not a competition against the others, but more of a challenge against my will, my laziness and a chance to demonstrate to myself the level of commitment I have to my craft. Tonight I wrote, and in all honesty, I could write more but am afraid. Bet you knew that was coming. I don't want to write crap. I want to be happy when I open the doc tomorrow, so I will stop while I'm ahead. Told you I'm a chicken.</span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;color:#ff9966;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;color:#ff9966;">The day's been long. Filled with baking, observing and working, so I am off to bed with a GREAT book, The Alchemist. It's been a while since I've felt able or even worthy to read the book. Please, if you haven't read it, do. It makes me want to revert to childhood. In a good way! Children know what their dreams are. They don't allow themselves to be constrained by the slavery of shoulds or can'ts. Children dream unabashedly, unashamedly, without fear. That is how we are supposed to be! Living without fear, not merely existing because existence is the easiest course of action. So I will revisit childhood dreams, weep for denying them a fair chance and working to create sense from the senseless. </span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;color:#ff9966;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;color:#ff9966;">What did you want to be as a child? Who did you want to be? And what's stopped you from doing it?</span>Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-39911237042368604792007-09-29T16:23:00.000-06:002007-10-01T22:39:01.524-06:00Doing what I do ...<span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff99ff;">How much could you accomplish if you focused your energies on one thing? That's the question some of us at RWA Online will attempt to answer in the month of October. Every October, the members gear up for one of the biggest writing challenges of the year. Some of the members write for all those challenges, but one a year is just the start I need to tune my brain to productivity. Now, with our teams aligned and an objective at hand, we romance (and other esteemed) writers will do what <em>we </em>do. We will write because it's in our blood. We will honor our dear departed sister in the craft by living our dream because her life was cut short due to cancer. By the way, it is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Ladies, please check yourselves regularly and be agressive in guarding your health. </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff99ff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff99ff;">Even if none of us wins a bid for publication from this writing exercise, which I sincerely doubt, we will have done our best and stretched our wings. And sometimes exercising the faith involved in living dreams out loud is more than good enough.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff99ff;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#ff99ff;">What is your dream? And what are you doing to weave the threads of that dream into reality?</span>Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-75035745213117596002007-09-28T00:36:00.001-06:002007-09-28T00:41:23.161-06:00Forgot... shame on me!I received a request for a full of my manuscript this week! Yea!!! The agent thought my title was cute. She was the first to say so. I think it's pretty good, but what do I know? I'm stoked, and so glad that I sent it out. This manuscript was about to join the book of my heart in the realm of dustbunnies, but something told me to give it another try.<br /><br />I still haven't sent out the partial requested from the conference I attended a week, or was it two, ago. Man alive! This week is going to be creative hell, but I am so looking forward to it because writing is my passion!!! Okay, I'm really leaving this time. My eyelids have lead weights on them.Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111821.post-2628411337490738812007-09-28T00:02:00.000-06:002007-09-28T00:15:25.231-06:00You know you want to know...So today was my court date. Or should I say the court date of my fictional heroine... At any rate, I arrived at the courthouse at 0746. I fed the meter and went inside. After being processed airport style, I entered the room with about 70 others like myself. We watched a little video on how to work with the state judicial system and then we were issued plea documents. The whole process was interesting, and of course, possible fodder for the fiction. Now, I've never been a fan of daytime television. Got too much to do when it's on, but this judge had jokes. My favorite was when he told the senior citizen that she'd been charged with vehicular manslaughter in a school zone. All of us were stunned. It was one of those moments when a collective group can be said to have held their breath -- audibly! Of course all the dear lady was guilty of was speeding like the rest of us. I should be ashamed to say I laughed, but I haven't quite worked myself up to that level of maturity. Fair enough, we all needed a giggle before signing off the equivalent of vital organs in fines.<br /><br />Tonight was the last night of class. At least this class. There will be many more as I am not scheduled to graduate until 2008, but you best believe I am perched in my recliner with an obscene amount of vodka to celebrate the end of the beginning. Sadly folks, tonight's post is short as I am dead dog tired and amping up for Salsa Night. There are bound to be more stories, and I promise to keep you posted. Buenas noches, friends!Elaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00460755000714361498noreply@blogger.com0