Monarchy of Suckdom

I was inspired again last night. I have a lot of the historical motivation worked out for my characters in book 2/3, I'm quite excited. In fact, I was geeked until 4 am last night/this morning. It's rare that I am in a good mood for seemingly no reason, but I was excited to the point of fidgeting last night.

Hey anyone see Blood and Chocolate yet? I'm wondering how it is. It looked fairly interesting although to be honest, I think the title royally sucks.

Ya know what else royally sucks?

- People who say irregardless, Idear instead of idea
- Small dogs in purses, animals are not accessories
- Clowns, in any way shape or form
- ICP, oh lord I shouldn't even have to mention ICP, how anyone in the world can like them is beyond me.
- Michael Jackson, fairly self explanatory.
- Anyone in the Jackson family, they are all messed up, it's pretty obvious.
- Guys who wear pants so baggy their underwear shows and they trip over the bottoms... it makes no sense, why wear pants at all? Just get some baggy leg warmers and you'll essentially get the same effect.

Hmm, I think my list is done for the moment. Feel free to add some of your own!

Okay this movie looks WAY too good (oh and so does Gerard Butler *raar*): 300

Solar Power

I am not the last of my kind. I am the only. Not a creature of the night, nor the moon, I am of the sun.

Stepping out of the shade, my skin tingles. If there was hair on my arms, it would be standing on end. There is no hair though, I will tolerate no obstruction of sunlight, not even clothing. Hair tops my head, like a wick on a candle, serving a purpose. The colors of flame in my hair marks what I am. Colors is the proper term, I assure you. Fire has more than one color. At the root, my hair is an iridescent blue, fading to white then yellow. The majority of it is orange, tipped with red. The finest hair crowns me, moving with every convention current, dancing to honor its creator.

I am the Phoenix. I would like to say I am feared, but alas, that is not true. Too few know me to fear me. The ones that do however… fear is too light a word.

Spontaneous Updates

Finished the Tanya Huff novel, Blood Price—a good read. I believe it was the first DAW novel I’ve read. I wanted to check out what type of books they publish because I like their submission policy. DAW asks for the complete manuscript, which to me seems like the best way to go about things.

Saw The Departed this weekend—a good flick. A tad on the longish side though. I was hoping that Martin Scorsese would win an Oscar for this, but I’m not sure it’s good enough. While enjoyable, I wasn’t awed by anything in particular. The movie was well made of course, just like all his are.

Random fact about me: For four years growing up I participated in something called Odyssey of the Mind or OM. OM is a creative problem solving after school activity for children of all ages from elementary up to Military level. The program consists of a long term problem and a short term problem, called Spontaneous. The long term problem varies and there are several to choose from each year. The teams I was a part of tended to pick the technical problem, sometimes mixed with a performance. The first year, my seventh grade year, we built a robot that had to perform certain tasks. Following that, we made musical instruments that were played without directly touching them. My third year it was mainly a technical program, we had to devise a plan for certain size packages to go to different locations without our interference. The fourth and final year I participated, we had to invent a technology that would help someone with a disability, then present it’s usefulness in an entertaining way. The first year we won the much coveted Ranatra Fusca award, the highest honor that can be received, a proud day that one. My team, which changed members from year to year, advanced to the State level each year and the final year, we did the best we had yet.

Now, onto the spontaneous problem. You have a very short time to solve this one, typically a few minutes. There are physical problems, such as a pile of items with which you need to build a bridge that needs to hold a certain weight. Then there are the word problems, for instance the problem may be “Name as many kind of ships as you can.” Three minutes to think, two minutes to answer. The problems seems mundane, but you are scored based on your creativity, for instance, steamship would not garner as many points as friendship would.

Pest Control

Continued...

“Now tell us something interesting about yourself.”

“Like what?”

“Anything that may perhaps set you apart from the others. We want unique individuals in this institution.”

Hmm, unique, huh? I have a whole lot of unique, unfortunately, not much of my set-apartness can be vocalized to the masses.

“I’m just your everyday, ordinary girl, Professor Klum.”

“Doubtful, young lady. Just tell us anything. Did you have a job over the summer perchance?”

Looking directly at Mr. Stone Cold Killer, I said, “Yes, I did as a matter of fact.”

“And what did you do?”

“Pest Control.”

His thin lip sneered to one side.

“Interesting summer job for a young lady. See, I told you, you are unique in some way. Now pass the ba—”

I threw the ball at Sneer’s head. He caught it, but it took him two hands and he wasn’t as quick as me. I could take him. It was my turn to sneer.

Pale green eyes stared back at me. I’ve seen those kind of eyes before, goblin eyes. They almost glow and have little variation or texture in the color. The light color was accentuated by the slash of cheek bones and a roman nose. His strong jaw jutted out at an angle to seem proud. How could I have thought his former expression was a flirtatious one? A face as serious as his isn’t capable of flirtation. It was only capable of one thing that I knew of.

This is my gun...

Yesterday I did blog. Despite what it appears on here. I was having difficulty with blogger yesterday so I had to blog on myspace, but I did in fact blog. For those of you who look at my blog on here, I will include yesterday's blog in today's. Today's is an extension of the little ditty from yesterday anyway.

Here she goes...

The metal gleamed in the sunlight pouring in from the small window at the top of the wall. She was a beautiful thing, too bad I’d have to dull the shine. Smooth and sleek was nice to look at, but not very practical in my line of work. Closing one eye, I used the other to sight down the barrel. I swung my body around to aim at
random items in the room.

“She’s a beaut, Ray.”

“That she is, girl, that she is.”

I laid the weapon on the counter, running my hands slowly over it. “Wrap her up.”

“Thought you might say that.” Ray pulled a case, the kind I prefer, from under the counter and got to work on putting the gun away.

Turning my back to him, my eyes took in the “store.” Not much had changed since I was a kid. A few pieces of higher technology, but other than that, the appearance was identical. Nice to know some things stay the same.

“Your pop would’ve liked this one too.”

Attention now drawn to the aging man behind the counter, I stifled a sad face. The mention of my pops always did that to me. Hardened face, I gave Ray a sly grin.
Whistling air escaped between his teeth, “That is one look I don’t want to see directed toward me again. Yet another way you’re like your old man.”

“I may have some of the same mannerisms, Ray. But I won’t go out like him.”

“No doubt about that. He taught you everything he knew. Now you have time to learn past that. Considering how good he was at his job, girl, I wouldn’t want to be on the opposite end of this where you are concerned.” He patted the gun with obvious affection.

“And that’s saying something coming from you.”

“Damn straight it is.” He handed the case over to me in exchange for the briefcase I gave him. He didn’t even open it to check. No one would dare cross him, not even me. “Now get out of here and don’t tell me where you are going.”

“Like I would anyway, ya old geezer.” I grabbed the case and made my way up the stairs. No, I wouldn’t tell him where I was going. For if I did, he wouldn’t let me walk out of here.


3 years earlier…

He was still staring at me. I fought down the urge to lash out at him. At barely eighteen, most girls knew how to deal with guys staring at them. I didn’t. “Home schooled” with an education that would turn most people’s hair white, I wasn’t prepared for the attention.

First day of college, what the hell was my pops thinking? Sending someone like me, like us, to mainstream college—it just wasn’t done. I had to admit though, that despite not being prepared socially for this, my pops had a good idea. You see, my major is criminal justice, minor in art antiquities. The possibilities of our joint venture would expand exponentially with my new found knowledge. All I had to do was get over the urge to put Mr. Google-eye in his place.

I eyed the clock, expecting something different to happen. A watched pot never boils and a class clock runs five minutes slow, guaranteed. This class was a bunch of bullshit. I don’t know why I had to be here anyway. “Freshman Orientation,” ha, what a pile they are feeding us.

I turned my head back around to the front of the class, only to have a beach ball almost hit me in the head. One hand shot out and caught the ball an inch away from my face. Curling my lip, I glared at the rainbow orb in my hand. My hand wasn’t big, but my fingers are quite dexterous. I held the ball with the tips.

Glancing at the teacher…er… professor, I schooled my expression.

“Nice catch young lady, now tell us your name and something interesting about yourself.”

Panic settled in. I don’t give information out about myself, it was a rule. Pops had registered me under my legal name though.

“Come on, we don’t bite,” assured the Prof.

“What if I do?” I replied coolly.

Mr. Google-eye snorted, directing my attention to him. He raised one eyebrow and his eyes turned to stone. Gone was the good natured flirt, arising in its place was something I recognized, something that made me feel at home. This guy was a stone cold killer.

Without taking my eyes off him, I let my predatory self show though. “Tarena. Tarena Simp.”


Since I'm on dial up now, I can't view this whole thing... I hope it is appropriate!

Who, What, Where, When... but WHY???

I watched Lady in the Water last night. A well made movie, sparking creativity in a mind. The role of a character in a storyline is key to the plot. The main character of the film, Cleveland, had to identify who would play certain roles in the events that were unfolding. He was given a description of the role played and he had to find the personality that would fit.

My book came to mind. Do I have logical assignations to key roles played in my drama? My brain was off and running. My first thoughts were of book 2 in the series, tentatively called “Forever is a Long Time...When one is Immortal.” The plot has been giving me trouble. I don’t have the details worked out. I have the Who, generally the What, and part of the Why. I’m mainly missing the How.

At the end of Lady in the Water, every one gets what they deserve. It is a fairy tale after all. Perhaps something from their past prevents them from doing something… they will have to overcome the obstacle in order for the story to progress. My brain was off and running again. Do my characters have that? My main ones do, but what about my secondary, colorful, characters? I have general motivations but not a large amount of back story or purpose. I started jotting down plot ideas and motivations, personalities, how they would act in certain situations, etc… I already had some concrete ideas about their character in my head, but I didn’t necessarily have the Why they are a certain way.

Now comes a more difficult task. Let’s say I have all the motivations worked out for my characters. My series is written in first person. How am I going to reveal the Why about my other characters without it seeming like my main character is a psychologist? Why would everyone go around spilling their secret motivations to her? The answer to that, at least where my series is concerned, is I’ll have to go slowly. Being a series, I don’t have to have it all done right away. But if I have certain plot devices planned later, I can allude to them now. I can add some quirky behavior that will be explained later. Hopefully my readers will have an Aha! Moment when the pieces start to click together.

I have been receiving quite a bit of praise about book 1, but I still feel that it needs a lot of work. I know I can make it better, add more intrigue/depth. I wasn’t quite sure what I was missing. I had foreshadowing, dropped hints that worked themselves out later. I believe what the book lacks currently, is some of the characters intrigue falling into place. They need to have character arcs too. I do it in a subtle way, they just naturally changed with the progression of the story. I do believe I need to be more conscious about their change. Perhaps I will be left feeling more satisfied.

Today is a Sad Day.

A glimpse into a world.

A snapshot.

Says what about the people captured? Peering through a keyhole into the lives of others reveals what? Imagine someone only viewed snippets of your life. What would it say about you?

The lie you told you parents to get out of trouble. The lie that caused the neighbor to get in trouble. Only you didn’t know that the neighbor was abused by his parents and your one lie caused him weeks of pain and his mother a black eye.

The call into work because you had imbibed too much alcohol the night before. That call caused your fellow employee to be overworked. She left work late that night, and was hit by a drunk driver, thus ending her life.

The cutting remark to the classmate who later on killed themselves, or worse, killed someone else.

The yanking of the dog’s tail one too many times. He bit you, and had to be put down.

The guy you cut off on the highway. He went home after being laid off and in a fit of rage, bashed in his television, thus electrocuting his baby daughter when she wandered too closely the following day.

On the other hand, perhaps all snippets aren’t bad. There is always the generous benefactor, the charitable sort. Not many people know that he diddled with his younger sister growing up, but the charity helps out just the same.

The clown that brings joy to so many children; she has a drinking problem.

The dedicated teacher who volunteers her time to teach inner city children remedial reading; she does so out of guilt. She ran a child over in the bad part of town one night when she was younger. She fled the scene of the crime. A hit and run by a car that looked like any other.

I’m not one to bring up religion or faith all that often and not on my blog. But we are all sinners. Everyone has skeletons. How well do we know people? I find out more and more that I know people less and less. I used to think of myself as an observant person. I would’ve been identified as such by others. Was I naïve in my thinking? I know that I was quite delusional in other aspects of my life.
I used to be think I was able to take on the world. I could do anything, when faced with whatever adversity. I don’t believe that anymore.

Maturity?

Perhaps.

But what if I’m just becoming complacent? What if I’m supposed to keep my spirit. My spirit isn’t supposed to be squished like a bug on the bottom of the shoe called life. I’ve blogged about this before in different terms, but I will reiterate.

Indifference. It is a disease that plagues our people, and part of us knows it. That same part fills their time with TV, movies, music, text messaging, shopping, and a multitude of other reasons. And yes, even books. I will admit, I am guilty too. Hell, I feel guilty for things I shouldn’t. I definitely feel guilty for everything I should.

Do our people still have a conscience, either as a collective or as an individual? Are you leading a life of distraction? Is the world, America in particular, living a life of escapism awaiting the end?

A picture says a thousand words, if not more. That is true. But the picture is a snapshot from your life. What words does it say? Are the words it says the right ones?

War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength.

Peace comes from within. Freedom is the right to fight for what you believe in. Strength is doing what one knows to be right, regardless of how difficult.
How many of us have Peace, Freedom and Strength?
-------------------------------------------------

I wrote this last night in preparation for my blog today. This morning however, I found out a friend from Michigan, whom I lost contact with, killed himself on Saturday. Now this blog just seems like mindless drivel of a pompous raving idiot.

Today is a sad day.

R.I.P. Jeremy.

Puking on a dog and my plans for the weekend.

Things have been pretty busy today. The hubby and the boys are going on a Boy Scout campout this weekend, so preparations are being made. Only one of our cars is working well enough to drive around, and since we have dogs, I will be home all weekend. Which kind of sucks, but it's good too.

If everything falls into place, I'll get more on Book 2 written. Book 2 you say? It's been so many weeks since I've spoken of Book 2. You thought it was a figment of your imagination. Well, it's not. At least 60 pages of it exist currently. I don't have the plot details worked out in my head, so I'm having a difficult time progressing. There are some parts that I know for sure will be happening, so I will try to write those. In the mean time, I'm hoping the plot will work itself out for me while I making progress.

I haven't put revisions behind me. I'm simply waiting for a critiqued edition to come back to me. No sense in spending my time going through all these, only to have to back over themm again.

What else have I been busy with? I'm trying out this work from home search engine thing. So far its promising. It's called ChaCha. Its a search engines that has human guides to help you search. Check it out, it's very helpful. You may even get me as a guide. :)

Now for your insane enjoyment... a true ranting of Sandra as a teenager. Everything in the following story is, unfortunately, true. It is, however, the story that launched Sam's... so I'm happy about that.

Did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally puked in a dog's
mouth? (It was a homosexual dog at that) No? (I'm assuming you
answered no so play along.)

Here it was my senior year in high school… so it was 97-98. I was
with some friends at a party in downtown Kalamazoo, Michigan… There were some
guys who lived there that were in a ska/punk band and being the cute
charismatic guys they were, there were tons of people there (mostly
college kids and punks.) It was an old house from the turn of the
century that had three regular floors a basement, and an attic.

The attic was no place for a girl like me, it was the drug, techno music,
glowstick area of hell. The top two floors held bedrooms, one
bathroom and various other places people decided to relieve
themselves. The main floor, more my style, was where the keg was and
had decent punk music playing fairly loudly. The basement was where
they had shows but no one was currently playing.

At the back of the house on the main floor was a little red recliner made just for me
(not really but it was my spot for that night) it just so happened
to be conveniently located right next to the keg. I was the keg
beast that night. Can't really say for certain how much I had as I
never actually got to the bottom of my cup, but I was perfectly happy
to just sit there by myself, so it was quite a bit.

Cute guy #1, singer from said Punk/ska band, was talking to people on the other
side of the room. He smiled at me, I smiled back, I tilted my head
and projectile puked onto their floor. It wasn't from nerves, he
wasn't that cute, I was just that drunk. I had gotten pretty good at
puking, as I always drank to that point back then, hey just made room
for more eh? I never got a drop of puke on me and none dripping off
my chin either. It was a proud day for Mom and Dad.

So, I made a mad dash for the door. Please observe I was at the back of the
house. One other detail I forgot to mention? It was wall to wall
people and no shittin' ya, there were at least 500 people there. So I
made my dash to the Great Outdoors (bathroom was not an option, line
too long, the toilet was probably clogged up anyway so I'd have to
puke in a dresser drawer or something if I went upstairs)

Surprisingly, everyone knowing where I was sitting, how drunk I was
(and how underage I was) people parted like the Red Sea and I made it
out in record time. The outside was crowded too (downtown, no real
yard space) so I puked over their chain link fence.

Said gay dog (Let's call him Rover) came running at me. I say he was a gay
dog, because he was. He only had one other doggie to play with and
it was male. Perhaps it was a dominance thing… but they did things
that nice girls don't talk about. So, being the animal lover I am,
even if they are gay, I ran (okay stumbled quickly) down the fence to
get away from the dog while puking, not quite so projectile anymore
but I still had a decent range. Well, the dog followed me, jumped up
into my face while I puked, thus going into Rover's mouth. Thus
ending my story.

However, I will add a little epilogue for you. Two
years later I saw Cute guy #1 again. I had been to some shows and
quite a few parties at his house when I was in high school so he
remembered me. But of course, he remembered my projectile puking
record better than anything else. I told him the rest of the story,
as he only knew the parts with the little red recliner.

Needless to say, he was quite amused. Was it love at first retching? No. Was
it the worst thing that had ever happened to that house? Definitely
not. Til next time…

I looked up dog puke on youtube and this is what it came up with... Lord forgive me.

Read it, Learn it, Love it, Believe it.

I met with a published (many times over) author last night. We discussed my manuscript, The Beginning of Forever, and she had a lot of good things to say. She gave me a list of things to fix, but lucky for me they are all grammar related. My story and characters as they sit, she says are good. "You can't teach someone how to tell a story, but you already know how. That is a relief to me." Was approximately something she said to me that gave me a bunch of warm fuzzies. It seems like I'm on the right track.

I finished a good book last night, in fact I stayed up WAY too late so I could finish it. It was a historical romance by Susanne Enoch called Invitation to Sin. Quite an enjoyable read. I adored all of the characters and I look forward to reading more of her work.

This quote has nothing to do with anything today, except that I just saw it and was again reminded of how much I like it.

In a time of deceit telling the truth is a revolutionary act.
-George Orwell

One book I recommend for everyone to read is 1984. Read it, Learn it, Love it, Believe it.

This video is a complete novelty, but I found myself awed none the less.

The shits.

I expanded on a story. I posted the beginning on Dec 11th. I will post the whole thing this time, for those who didn't read the first part.
_________________

If it wasn’t from the cheap beer or open-all-night diner food, than it was from nerves. The news said he was out again tonight, and in my area. Living alone in the woods had its advantages but this wasn’t one of them. I was virtually glued to the pot with icky business passing through my guts. I don’t care how tough of a guy you are, the combination of diarrhea and crazy murderer in your area will do anyone in.

My physique normally scares people away. Being well over six feet tall and over three hundred pounds of solid muscle will do that. The shaved head, goatee and tattoos don’t hurt either. But this guy got to me.

The news said they received a report of him seen with a pack of wild dogs. Fitting isn’t it? Some crazy guy running with a pack of wolves? It would be, if that were the case. He wasn’t running with the wolves, he was attacking them. Dismembered may be a better word. My neighbors were finding pieces of animals in various places on their properties.

I had over a hundred acres and as soon as I heard the news I hightailed it out of here, he was targeting tough looking mother fuckers after all. So, I went and got drunk, then got some food well away from here. If pay day wasn’t until tomorrow, I would’ve gotten a hotel room tonight, most of my neighbors had. Sure, I could’ve stayed at the diner all night, but who can have diarrhea in a public bathroom? Not me. No, my tough-looking, leaky ass hauled itself back home to die.

And that’s where I sit, glued to the pot, stinking the universe up to high heaven and wishing that I hadn’t ordered chili cheese fries at the diner. The bathroom was getting dangerously warm. My cheeks were overheated and my breaths were coming in short breaths. I used the newspaper I was reading to fan myself. Reading the article about him wasn’t making me any more comfortable.

The tree outside scratched against the side of the aluminum-sided house. I was in a fucking horror movie. My only saving grace was I didn’t have a basement to run to, a second story to get trapped in or a barn full of sharp implements hanging on the wall. Things could always get worse.

The scraping turned to a sharper, more defined noise, then was replaced with a wet noise. It sounded as if a wet towel had been smacked against something. Turning my torso around, I saw a dark wet spot on the small window behind me. He was here.

Grabbing the shotgun I placed next to the commode, I was ready for action. I could almost smell the musk that was associated with him. I smelled dirt, and blood and death. I’d been in a scrap or two in my life. I knew the smell of fear, but there wasn’t any, at least any that wasn’t coming off me. He wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t even angry. Hungry didn’t even cover it, he was just out looking for a good time, but our definition of a good time vastly differed.

My heart rate increased when I heard the screen door open with a creak. Heavy footfalls tromped over my floor. He didn’t even try to conceal his presence. The clomps neared the bathroom, becoming ever louder. He was close enough now that I could hear his wheezing through the door.

He knew I was in here, hell half the neighbors could smell I was in here. I was dumb for coming home, but this was the only place in the world I would choose to make a last stand. I would’ve preferred it to wearing pants and not in the bathroom, but now wasn’t the time to be picky.

Pumping the shotgun into action, I aimed at the door. The second that fucker opened, I was blowing a hole or two in it. Eyeballing down the barrel, my innards rumbled, distracting me. Aww shit, helluva time for another bout. I let my ass explode, no reason to hide, I may as well try to be comfortable.

A thump sounded on the door. The handle turned and the wheezing grew to a higher pitch, coming faster. He was excited. I heard the latch on the door release from its housing. I fired. Then I fired again.

Leaning forward to see my kill that fell through the doorway, I grimaced. That didn’t look like him and the smell wasn’t as strong as I expected it to be. The bloody mangled figure on the floor moved, slowly turning. I fired again. The body landed facing me this time. Fuck! It was my neighbor, who not only had just been shot three times, but had his throat ripped out.

Glass broke behind me and I shot backwards through the window. Glass cut my arms; my pants got stuck on a piece of broken glass. He pulled me harder; my ankle broke as I was forced through the window to the ground.

I closed my eyes and I saw a shadow rise above me. My stomach threatened to revolt at the smell. The shadow rose closer, blinking out the light I saw through my eyelids.

I snuck a peek then. I wish I could say that I couldn’t remember, but I do. That wasn’t my last memory either. The man kept killing, but the killings became more frequent, for now there were two—of us.

Bad Dream

Ahh, someone commented on the book signing. *sigh* Alas, I was not able to make it. We had some family things going on. I was pretty excited about it too, although I will admit, I was not excited about having to drive in Orlando rush hour traffic on a friday evening... who knows when I would've made it there anyway. A friend of mine did go (she works there, she kinda had to haha) she had a really good time and said Janet Evanovich had a lot of goo things to say. JE was courteous and her hubby is her biggest fan/cheerleader, which was really good to see. I'm sorry I missed out on it.

I had a bad dream last night, like a horror movie dream--it seems cheesy when you tell it to people, but I swear to God it flipped me the fuck out, enough to wake up at 5 something am after less than 4 hours of sleep and stay up. I'll sum up and y'all can tell me I'm a dumb scaredy cat.

I was riding in the back seat of a car with a gentleman, a woman was riding in the front seat and I have no idea who was driving. We all worked for some corporate whatever. The woman in the front was the CEO's right hand man--woman whatever. I had an inkling from the dream that somehow I was tied to this CEO, some office fling or something, who knows. I don't know what happened but the woman in the front was talking nonsense, albeit seriously, and somehow we all knew what she was talking about. Something major had to be done to help the corporation, and by major we mean something illegal and probably a little gruesome. Now this world in my head last night was a little sci-fi-ish Lots of glass and gunmetal gray. Gray skies, huge buildings with a bleak landscape around it.

The car we were in was parked on the side of the drive out of the corporation's parking lot, next to some gun metal gray abstract sculpture.

All of the sudden (you know how that happens in dreams) The woman gets out and I feel like I'm in a cop car. She fiddles with some charm bracelet thingy talking about how she has one for each of his, per HIS request, but she got to pick the ways. I had no idea what the hell she was talking about until she took a charm off and threw it at the guy next to me, it was a charm in the shape of a mallet, it turned real and life sized. The guy next to me was helpless, he was forced to grab the mallet and started bashing his face in as hard as he could. Some unseen force was making him do this to himself. He was compelled and couldn't be stopped. The woman laughed, seeming pleased then went around the front of the car.

I have no idea where guy #2 came from but he ran along the opposite side of the car and she went after him with a chainsaw (yes cliche, it was still scary though, shut up!) I heard the motor rev and the guy scream, then the woman cursed and came back to the front of the car. Her chainsaw had broken, the dude was still screaming, but she had another one laying around and went after him again. She marched for him, he screamed there was a horrible gushing, splatter, crunching noise.

Shaken out of my stupor, I ran, not wanting to find out what death she had planned for me. I went into hiding, which meant all the dark damp places where nothing was clean.

I snuck back into my place of work and saw a girl I used to work with. She looked different not bad, just weird. She knew what happened with me running away and she told me not to fear dying, because we were brought back and you don't even remember it. I don't know how the hell they killed to bring her back looking like that, but chainsaw and mallet man weren't going to be so pretty.

Sneaking around again (all this part is fuzzy, some of it was just understood that it happened, being a dream everything is messed up, so I'm trying to tell this in a way that can be understood)I came upon some sort of crazy assembly line type thing. Zombies essentially were walking around getting something injected into their necks. They looked more human after that.

The CEO was the one doing the injecting. (this is where I start to look real dumb if I didn't already) I thought he would help me. We had had a "thing" and I thought he'd have some sort of soft feelings for me. He embraced me, then injected me in the neck. But since I wasn't a zombie, I don't know what the hell it did to me. Which is when I woke up... there are those lasting impressions that one has when a dream fades though and here are those...

The deaths had to be violent; for the horror of death, brings the horror to life. He was creating some zombie horde to wreak horrific havoc on the world, and I was to be the bride to his Frankenstein or some such nonsense. Getting the shot before I was dead meant one thing for me, that my death was going to be even more painful than normal, if possible, and that I would remember it all in every gruesome detail. The woman in the front seat? She had been vying for my place as bride and I have no idea what happened to her. I had a notion that I was to die in some ritualistic way (of course, this is, after all, all about me) which I think had something to do with inflicting pain upon myself with pieces of plywood, one small piece after another I stuck into my self prolonging it as long as possible... a bit anti-climatic, but it was freaky enough to get my heart pumping when I woke up. The misty dark swamp outside my window didn't help much either.

So there, I'm dumb, a coward and whatever else...

And now for something COMPLETELY different...

Productivity

I’m feeling pretty good. A lot of good rewrites happened. I’m feeling like its really starting to come together.

I went out to an Irish pub with a friend this past weekend. Very cool, haven’t done that in a long ass while. It was good silly girl time.

I did watch Dracula 2000 and I have to say… holy shit Gerard Butler is like the hottest fucking vampire ever. OH MAN!!! I’m sitting here biting my knuckle right now thinking about it… woof!

I finished watching the first/only season of Firefly on DVD. Quite depressing that that’s all there is. I haven’t seen the movie, Serenity, that comes after it yet, hopefully this week we’ll get it in the mail.

We watched a behind the scenes/making of documentary on the special features. When I see something like that, where the creative people working together create a cohesive team… well it makes me miss making movies. It is rare to have something fit as well as it seemed the cast/crew of Firefly did. I really enjoy working with other creative people, it’s when egos spring up that trouble starts. If everyone can keep the main objective, and if everyone doesn’t try to be director, the feeling on a set can be amazing. I imagine it would be a similar feeling to being in a band in a jam session… where the vibes are flowing or whatever nonsensical terms are used for such a thing. If everyone has the greater good in mind, the end product is truly a work of art and the feeling of accomplishment surpasses a great many joys.

Should my manuscripts ever sell, and eventually be turned into movies/tv shows etc… I really hope I am able to be a part of the process. My mom tells me that I write books as if I’m a filmmaker, and considering that’s what I went to school for, I can’t deny it. I do tend to have a certain composition in my head when I’m trying to describe something. It is also probably why I feel I write best in first person. I tell the story from one angle and let the reader figure out the rest through how my characters “act” and what details I show them through my main character.

I'm meeting with a fellow writer this upcoming week. I look forward to bouncing ideas off of her and possibly getting a smidgen of the feeling I get when working on a movie.

And now here are two of my favorite YouTube guys...

Status Report and a Day in the Life Of...

I’m going to see Janet Evanovich today. She’s having a book signing at a Barnes and Noble in Orlando. I don’t believe she does a lot of signings so I’m excited to be able to see her.

My rewrites have been moving at a steady pace. I wrote in two new scenes last night, verranice.

My internet is on the fritz today so I am forced to deal with dialup, which means no video today. Sorry folks. To make for it, here are some funny pics and a funny email I received. I did not write this, folks, I’m just amused by it.

a dogs diary.....

7am - oh boy! a walk! my favorite!
9am- oh boy! dog food! my favorite!
noon- oh boy! the yard! my favorite!
4pm- oh boy! playing ball! my favorite!
8pm- oh boy! dog food! my favorite!
11pm- oh boy! sleeping in my people's bed! my favorite!

a cats diary-

day 183 of my captivity.
my captors continued to taunt me with bizarre dangling objects.
they dine lavishly on fresh meat, while i am forced to eat dry cereal.
the only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction i get from clawing the furniture.
tomorrow, i may eat another house plant.
today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded- must try this at top of stairs.
in an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, i once again induced myself to vomit on thier favorite chair- must try this on thier bed.
decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body in an attempt to show them what i am capable of, and to try and strike fear into thier hearts. they only cooed, and condescended about what a good little cat i was.
hmm, not working according to plan. there was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. i was placed in solitary throughout the event. however, i could hear noise and smell the food. more important, i overheard that my confinement was due to my powers inducing "allergies." must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.
i am convinced the other captives are flunkies, and maby snitches. the dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. he is obviously a half-wit. the bird, on the other hand, has got to be an informant. he has learned to speak in thier loathsome, shrill toungue, and communicates with them regularly. i am certain he reports my every move.
due to his current placement in the metal room, his saftey is assured.
but i can wait, it is only a matter of time.


Don’t forget to check out my website: www.SandraTuttle.com

I am politcally correct in every way

Except when I'm breathing...

Feeling a bit humorous in a bitchy way today... my less than appropriate sense of humor shines through... haha

__________


I was twitching—again. If it wasn’t the twitch they gave me, it was heart palpitations. You think I’m joking, but I’m perfectly serious. Some people annoy me to the point where I develop physical manifestations of my annoyance. It started as eye twitching, moved on to heart palpitations, and the newest one, Tourette’s Syndrome.

I got fired for that one. Not surprising really, considering it was the boss who annoyed me.

Once, I was so annoyed with a customer when I worked in retail, I couldn’t stop bashing my head against the cash register. I prayed for it to end, and the head bashing wasn’t much fun either. That was the best job I’d had too. I worked for a music store. Great benefits, but the people there were more annoying than most. Like I give a shit about the merits of a certain Kenny Loggins CD. Not to mention that people still came in looking for Vanilla Ice albums, or Hammer’s (formerly known as MC “Maxed CreditCard” Hammer) 2 Legit 2 Quit. Ha, 2 Legit 2 Quit spending money. Yes, people were stupid but I managed to last for a whole week there. I was quite impressed with my self control.

I shouldn’t be in a job where people ask my advice, because I give it to them. If they don’t like it, I get annoyed and lash out. I bet the man who wanted to know if “fries came with that” would never wear a tie again. Everyone with a brain knows that fries come with everything. His brain needed some oxygen deprivation; maybe it’d give him a jumpstart, or at least make him appreciate the air his useless body was stealing from me.

If not being able to keep isn’t bad enough, try relationships. My last boyfriend has no idea why I started carrying around a crucifix and threatening him with it. The guy gave me a hickey for Christ’s sake, what was he thinking? Like I want to walk around with some god awful reddish-purple mark on my neck. People who were born with birth marks killed themselves over marks less conspicuous than that. The crucifix was a safety measure for him. Whenever he’d get near, I’d want to stab him with an ice pick (which I couldn’t prevent myself from carrying on my person at all times) in his throat. If he couldn’t suck anymore he couldn’t create a hickey. It was self preservation really. He was quite offended but the gesture, but in reality I saved him from having to get a tracheotomy. The dude should at least be grateful he doesn’t have to have a robotic voice box for the rest of his life.

More to possibly come later!

Distraction!!!

Dishes rattling, silverware tinking, dog's collar shaking, feet clomping, clothes rustling, people breathing a bit more loudly than normal, the hum of the computer. That is what's going on in my head right now. No ideas, no complete thoughts... just the noises of my house... the insanely loud noises that are not allowing me to think. What... do I have rabies or something? I feel like lashing out. My brain can't concentrate on a damned thing right now.

I really would like to do an interesting blog today. Perhaps write another short story or writing prompt, but my brain can't stay in one place for at the moment and time is ticking away. 3:00 pm, I like to blog in the mornings, but today it is 3:00pm.

Cars driving by, dog barking, dishwasher tray being pushed in, heater kicks on, more clanking of dishes, more tinking of silverware, okay now we have banging of pots and children arguing... is it any wonder I can't think straight?! Oh, and my hubby just put on a punk rock CD. AHH! I'm going insane.

Have I gotten anything done today? Yes a bit, I got some rewriting done, which was pretty much just putting things back to the way they used to be. I taught my sons something I've already taught them, but they forgot. Okay, it is totally one of those days. Those days when everything works against you. Those days where you are tested, but for what, only God knows.

This sounds like a good idea (it may be a repeat of a video post... but it's fitting today so eat it.)

That Dread Pirate Rewrites again...

Blogger was down when I tried to blog earlier, so this blog is quite a bit late. Sorry for that.

I cut and dyed my hair last night, which means that I now appear to be a completely different person. I have that spy quality to me. Simply change my hair and I have a new identity.

Now, onto my rewrites... well they are being a bit difficult. I know what needs to be put in, and am writing the new scenes, however my character, Sam, isn't at the same place in my head. She has already gone through her character arc and has moved beyond the place where she was in the first book. So it's making it a bit difficult to write. I have to go back there and pretend she hasn't went through the things we both know she's already went through. We all know that hindsight is 20/20, but I can't write it like it is hindsight... so yes, its been a challenge.

On top of that, my writing style has developed and my rewrites may be in a bit of a different style than the beginning of the first book. I have my work cut out for me.

Not being a person who watches tv, at all, I've succumbed to minor peer pressure and got the first season of Firefly from Netflix on DVD. Actually, there was no peer pressure at all. A person with whom I have similiar taste likes it very much so I thought I'd give it a try.

I found some bloopers from the show... Don't wanna give anything away...

The music the soul plays

Something I wrote this morning...


A dainty finger lightly traced over the wandering path the ant took in the dusty earth. The zigzagging back and forth seemingly had no method to its madness. Her eyes focused solely on the trek her finger was taking, all else blurred around it. Nails cut short, her hands were serviceable. Her long, slender fingers had a peculiar set of calluses.

Her hands were not a clue as to what she looked like. They did not match her. She was on the short side, and not much about her could be considered long and slender, except perhaps her hands and feet. Most women at 5’3 did not wear size nine shoes. But if the price to have long fingers was having long toes as well, she’d pay it. For her fingers brought her livelihood. They brought her joy.

Fighting the urge to pick up the ant carrying away a piece of her lunch, and place him near his hill a mere few feet away, she continued to trace. She was much too direct a person anyway, much too focused. She always knew exactly where she was going, and took the most direct route—not necessarily the path of least resistance, but short all the same. The meandering path the ant took fascinated her. What would it be like to enjoy all the twist and turns of such a path? It was always much more fun to drive on a curvy road and roller coasters certainly didn’t have straight, flat tracks. When one had no destination in mind, the more exciting path became important. There is no thrill without risk and her life had no risks. Thus, no thrill.

She was becoming bored with life. Which was understandable really, considering she spent four years of her life perfecting one single piece of music. She had mastered it, as none other had, but now what? Now, she had a decision to make. She could either find a new goal and map out the familiar direct path, or… or what? Just amble along? Part of her longed to do so, longed to be free—carefree. Perhaps that wasn’t her lot in life, however. She may need structure, need a set course.

Forgetting the ant and his ambling, the woman walked through her open patio door into a larger room, an almost empty room. She was drawn here and again and again relentlessly. Sitting in front of a baby Grand, her fingers were poised and ready. The music ran through her blood, making he heart feel heavy. She was not sad. She was simply full. The passion required to play her song hadn’t eluded her, if anything it was stronger. Her heart hung in her chest, full to the brim. Life and passion consumed her to the point where conscious thought was not possible, and there was only one way to relieve it. This state was required to play this piece, the greatest a pianist can ever hope to achieve. But there is a reason why this piece is the last any pianist plays. Not only is it the crowning achievement, but nothing can compare after it. The work one’s soul must do to play the song was great indeed. The musician was never the same afterward. She was starting to understand that. This song, her song, filled her with the life she had left behind in search of her dream. This song gave her back her lost years. This song made her want to live, to let everything go out of control and live life with the zest the song demanded of her.

Dare she?


The song mentioned above is fictious as far as I know. The song played here is not meant to replace that song, I simply thought it went with my writing exercise today.

I am not an indifferent person.

I finished watching Dracula last night. Ugh I hate Keanu Reeves and Wynona Ryder isn't much better. Gary Oldman did a pretty good job (but he just doesn't allure me the way I think Dracula should) I must've had a brain fart because I either didn't know, or didn't realize that was a Coppola film. The acting was horrible... and I mean, it was really bad. The casting wasn't too much better. I heard Dracula 2000 was better but haven't seen it... anyone want to clue me in?

Now a bit about my personality here... I want to like things. I want to like movies...books... people. I want to like almost anything. It seems easier to like than dislike in my mind, although sometimes it seems more difficult in the long run. So I probably wouldn't be a very good critic, but having went to Film school and now attempting to become a good writer... I've started to notice things...

In books, I notice headhopping more often, or I notice when the author tells us instead of showing us something. I've started to notice that I would write things a certain way and would prefer it to be written that way. I just recently saw Eragon too, granted I was warned that it wasn't all that good so I may have been a bit biased. But I think regardless (and I haven't read the book for those of you who think I'm against it for that reason) I would've noticed some glaring continuity issues. The timing was way off and they glossed over parts I definitely would've touched upon a bit more.

What does that have to do with anything you ask? Well, I must say that knowledge is a double edged sword. Do I enjoy movies and books more because of my newly acquired knowledge? Sure I do. But do I dislike more because of it? Most definitely. I do believe, however, that my propensity to like everything is a saving grace in this way. It combats the knowledge bat that repeatedly beats me over the head. My liking everything has acted as a helmet against the cynic inside of me.

Going a little further... just because I want to like everything and everyone doesn't mean I do, it just means I give people a fair shake. It also means that I've made quite a few bad decisions, especially involving people. So I guess this is one big announcement to tell people to take advantage of me. I'm an easy mark... have at it.

P.S. I liked Superman Returns... imagine that haha

Delving into a new series...

A few months ago on a forum someone posted that they had just started to read a certain series of books. Another member posted a thread in reply, saying that they were jealous (in a happy way) of person A for being able to being able to read the books for the first time, to experience the world as new and wonderful.

That post really touched me. It's right, when I really think about it. Let's say someone just started reading the Anita Blake series or Sookie Stackhouse... The reader would have everything fresh to them. They would be able to read so many more books in a row, and have everything fresh in their memory (or if they read like I do it all becomes a blur after awhile as I become so immersed in the stories) The reader gets to take the plunge into the world and not resurface for quite some time. They get to wallow in all the fantastical goodness.

There is a sense of loss at the end of a book, and definitely when I read the most recent book in an open ended series. I know I will feel closure when the last Harry Potter book is written and I read it. But part of me will mourn for the characters. I will want their stories to continue on.

I suppose that is why there's fan fiction. I have never really understood or been a fan of fan fiction, especially on a series that is still being written, I like to see the author's vision. But maybe I've caught a glimpse into the world of fan fic. Perhaps these people love these characters so much that they want certain things to happen for them, either they don't agree with the author, or the series is ended and they want the character's stories to continue. Personally, I much rather make up my own characters... and once I do, they take up more than enough of my time, but I think I'm getting a clearer picture of fan fic.

So to anyone who reads this... if you are a fellow lover of books: talk to someone else who is, and have them recommend a new series, preferrably one that has many books. A friend of mine said just last night... how weird it is that with as many different series as we read... we're still always just waiting for the next book. I guess that means we need more series!

Fan fiction can definitely get out of hand though!

I'm at War!

I was going to blog today about how I had some inspired rewrites and that I'm very happy with them. I was going to talk about the movie Jackass 2 and how despite being terribly funny, it is also terribly depressing.

But instead... I get to blog about this... About a little boy who won't do his laundry and has decided it is a cause worth battling over. For those of you who have ever done battle with a child who has ADHD over a chore... You know what kind of battle I'm talking about. The yelling, throwing things kind of battle. And these battles seem endless. Just when you think you have it won, some snide comment comes from left field. Oh did I manage to tell you he's 12, prepubescent?

Yes folks, I am in the middle of another Vietnam War. There are no winners.

Sandra Tuttle is now on MySpace...

WOOHOO! I decided that maintaining my own myspace, having a bazillion different emails, blogging mon-fri and maintaining a website wasn't enough... oh yea and that pesky thing called writing-- oh and my famiy haha. So I'm spreading myself thinner and having a MySpace. http://www.myspace.com/sandratuttle Check it out and add me!

It won't be so bad once I get it all established but it was a lot of work last night getting it all right and requesting friendships.

That's pretty much all that's been going on with me lately. No more writing besides the prompt I posted yesterday.

We'll start homeschooling again on Monday, so I have a bit of reprieve until then. If I'm lucky maybe I'll get some quality writing/rewriting done before then.

Random fact about me: When I was 14 I dyed my hair alpine green. It was about 3 weeks before St Patty's Day, and people thought I dyed it for that reason, which pissed me off because come on... I was obviously trying to rebel. I didn't need a holiday to do that, even if it is a cool Irish one. So the day before St Pats day, in yet another act of rebellion, I had my hair stripped... boy I think it is still recovering from that.

And now..... Teen Angst Montage Music Video WOOOHOOO!!!!!

Happy New Year and another little ditty.

2007 makes us think of the future. And as much as I'd like to be thinking positive thoughts, I'm just not. So I did a writing prompt created by The CheerLeader of Doom, that alone should tell you it may not be all ice cream bones and fuzzy bunnies. And yup, it didn't turn out so hopeful. But HOPEFULLY, it is at least entertaining....


The black twilight swirled around my body like a glove. Nothing could see me, nothing could hear me, but most importantly nothing could get me—being in a sea of strangers never felt so safe.

As the sun set, my mind calmed. I wouldn’t be stared at. I wouldn’t have to deal with accusations or glares laced with disappointment and disgust. I could be innocuous, my favorite way to be. I slid my hands up the nape of my neck and dug my fingers into my hair. I twisted and pulled until a severe bun was in place. With sly fingers, my colored contacts were out and replaced with plastic framed glasses. A little red lipstick, a bulky jacket, and no one would recognize me. I was a regular Clark Kent.

The fog and lack of moon helped as well. If there was any day I would’ve picked to tell the world the news, tonight was about as ideal as it would get. The crowd stayed where it was. Those who were not yelling, and threatening violence, were stunned, beyond rational speech. The information I’d been forced to drop would cause more damage than a nuclear bomb at Nagasaki.

Our last hope had failed. I had failed. The world’s population looked to me for answers and while I thought I’d had some at one time, I realized they were pipe dreams. I was chasing rainbows, running after tangents. There was no solution. I was the only one who hadn’t believed that, then I convinced the world of the same. Only I was naïve enough to believe a cure could be found.

I thought surely the plague was only a disease. The infertility just a symptom of a virus. All problems can be unlocked, you just have to find a key. Well we had found a key all right, but not to unlock the mystery of our plight. No, we had found the key that unlocked the forbidden door, behind which, the disease lurked, imprisoned. That door was in each and every one of us and once opened, the force was too great to close again. Who could combat the force of God, surely not me, and even the whole world combined would not stand a chance.

No, we were stuck. Stuck with this ageless decline of ours. We stayed young sure, immortality—what a great scientific achievement. What good does keeping a body young if the mind aged, if the insides still rotted. The plastic-like frame of skin and bones only led to the prolonged pain and agony of death. Death that never came.

The government may have done this to us, but I was the face of blame. In a world of soda pop “water-fountains” at parks and sugary sports drinks, our teeth had been falling apart. One World United, our global government, solved our problem. I had nothing to do with the tooth-strengthener they put in the world’s water supply, even the oceans. I didn’t concoct the calcium mixture that would keep your teeth exactly how they are, despite abuse.

And yet I was to blame, because I gave hope when there was none. I made the situation worse. I understood that, thus my current disguise. I may start feeling the effects to my fifty year old body that appeared twenty soon, but I wasn’t ready to be lynched. Despite everything, I still wasn’t ready to die. Sometimes we never learn huh?