Writing in a Vortex

Were T.S. Eliot to B-Slap Someone...

2012-01-26T10:22:00.001-06:00

One thing I love about being a writer is the freedom I have in crafting beautiful, scathing correspondence.

Case in point: Someone from an organization owes me money. To me? A sizable amount. An I've-had-to-half-fill-my-gas-tank-for-a-month-while-awaiting-reimbursement kind of amount. So I went over said person's head to her boss and crafted an email that reflects what a total *&^*%&^% said person has been to me throughout this process in elegant prose that might put T.S. Eliot to shame. I love that I can write subtext of HOLY CRAP, GIVE ME MY MONEY while being overtly polite and respectful.

The written word is a beautiful thing.

Update: (makes me feel all Robert Stack) Inside of ninety minutes from hitting send, I had my money. Now that was a T.S. Eliot b*slap. God, I love writing.

Here...Have a Lorna Doone

2012-01-18T12:48:00.001-06:00

The band 3 Doors Down has a song, Pages, that's never really heard on the radio, never had a video depict its message, never really met with the success of so many of their other songs, but it speaks to me on a level most people can't understand. It's easy for reviewers and readers and consumers of stories to feed on the words writers lay out for them. It's easy to interpret and hate and love and take ownership without stopping to consider the level of vulnerability and courage it took to put them out there.

Some days, it can't be done. The rawness and honesty fail to surface. Some days it flows like a fresh cut. And some days I hide it in a sentence, a detail only I know the significance of. Today it was a box of Lorna Doone cookies. I've never eaten one, but the visceral response I have just seeing them on the grocery store shelf is powerful. Selfish, perhaps, because the reader will never know this secret we share, this moment from my past for them to interpret or hate or love or take ownership. Writers must keep something for themselves because so much is given away on the page.

Why write, then? Easy. So others will interpret and hate and love and take ownership. To open your heart to a stranger is a beautiful, magical thing so fundamental to the human experience. Writing isn't sales or autograph lines snaking out the door of a bookstore or royalties. Writing is you and me and maybe a blanket to cover your feet from the cold.

Last Movie Watched: Nature's Grave (Long Weekend remake). Seriously, Jim? WTH were you thinking? I thought it was interesting that the (supposed) screenwriter posted to the imdb message board, in essence, telling us the director would not allow him to deviate from the original script. Was this an apology? Perhaps.

Last Song Listened To: Here Without You, 3 Doors Down (my Mississippi love hanging out)

Last Accomplishment: Five Charlie's Angels kicks in kickboxing (tried to find a link, but can't-just know I could get those Girl Scout cookies out of your hand with one stealth move)

Einstein Was Not An Impotent Word Slut

2012-01-16T16:10:00.005-06:00

This week's helpful critique by a non-industry, non-reader of why I have yet to score a major publishing deal: "You aren't using them big words are you? Society is dumber than it used to be."

Now that we have our mental juices warmed, I can't begin to tell you how excited I am that the time travel goodness is overflowing. Who else is going to spoon-feed you this stuff?

The Time Travel Mart, which we Vortexers have patronized before, is now offering a set of devotional candles by artist Mickey Duzyj depicting the holy trinity of time travel physicists: Hawking, Einstein and Mallet. Lauded as patron saints of time travel, these beauts each contain the artist's rendering of the scientist, a quote about time travel and information regarding each man's contribution to time travel. $35.00, all proceeds to charity.

Speaking of Stephen Hawking, two fist-bumps and a snap for his smart aleck response to a reporter asking him for a time travel formula.

One of seven Delorean prop cars used (only three survived) in the Back to the Future film series was sold at a charity auction for $541,000. All proceeds benefit the Michael J. Fox Foundation, the largest private funding organization dedicated to Parkinson's research.

Scholastic, the powerhouse behind the phenomenally successful 39 Clues empire, will launch its newest multi-author, multi-publishing platform venture titled Infinity Ring in September 2012. The series, pitched as an alternate history time travel series targeted at the 8-12 year old market, will feature bestselling author James Dasher for books one and seven.

Check out Julia Wood, a forty-two year old woman who renovated her Victorian-era home down to the smallest detail and walks the walk of a Victorian spinster. If I were eccentric enough to pull this off, it wouldn't be in a corset.

Remember when we talked about the artistic merge of an old photograph with the exact same setting in present day? Taylor Jones has created Dear Photograph, a website that features these time travel-ish photos that followers send in each week. Best part? The notes below them.

This week, I'm backing away from my Words With Friends addiction. Apparently, I am the only random opponent who uses WORDS THAT EXIST. I don't like the practice of slutting up any old combination of letters until something sticks for sixty-three points. I suspect Mr. Sheen may be one of these impotent word sluts. Withdrawls and DTs (dialogue tremors) may ensue, but I assure you I'll be far less linguistically frustrated this time next week.

Fabio's Pinpoint Forecast: No Bird Migration Today

2012-01-13T12:56:00.001-06:00

I'm a little jacked today. And not in a favorable way. I'm pretty sure I'm not quite in harmony with the universe. How could I have just now learned that I can't lend the same book twice on my Nook? I get the whole go-out-and-buy-your-own-damn-book copyright premise behind it and how it's in place to protect the interests of the publisher and authors, and to that I say hot damn with buffalo sauce, but how much does it suck that it still, after all this time, fails to simulate my bibliophile tendencies to share the written word with a hard copy? It makes me cringe that I've traded technological convenience for my lending passion. Books aren't meant to be hoarded unless you have sixteen cats, a bathroom packed with adult diapers and a dolly fetish.

I also ventured outside my writing bubble to edit at Starbucks today and remembered why I don't do that anymore. I adore children, but not when they're racing a Matchbox car up my leg when I'm trying to get the p-e-r-f-e-c-t opening line perfect. And did I mention how the taste of coffee makes me gag? Oops, wrong drink. So perk-ily sorry for $4.05, Miss. I could have funded breakfast for a hungry child in my community for a month for that nip. And the guy next to me found my screen infinitely more exciting to read than his spreadsheets. Creeeepy. Give me my jammy bottoms and kitty paperweights at home any day.

But lest you think this is a Debbie Downer post, I must share with you in rare Jim-Caveziel-Count-of-Monte-Cristo-style goodness that edits are going swimmingly, Fabio as a weatherman makes me laugh and no one has guessed my hero crush for this book. Why does this make me happy? Because my IR (Ideal Reader) exclaimed, "Him? Are you kidding me? He looks like he's on smack!" when she learned of his identity. Some things are best kept secret, though if someone guesses correctly, I shall fess up. I am nothing if not honest.

Be good to each other. Write much. Feed a child in your community. Enjoy Fabio's cold front. And have a great weekend!

No, My Hero Crush Wasn't Herve Villechaize

2012-01-11T10:41:00.000-06:00

For ten minutes of my life I'll never get back, I watched Millionaire Matchmaker. I know nothing else about this show, thankfully, but in the segment I channel-surfed, the matchmaker asked the client who her celebrity crush was so she could get an idea in two words who the client might be physically attracted to. This had me thinking (and maybe my romance writer is hanging out a little) that this method is not that much different than what writers do to get inspiration.

In editing this previous manuscript, I'm trying to get back into a mindset and characters I knew intimately years ago. Like a love affair that went sour, it burned hot in my mind, but I can no longer remember the details, what my hero felt like on the inside, or would he even stop to feel the sun burn his eyelids while he is standing near the lake? The only way to reach the physical and emotional and spiritual person he was at the beginning of the story was to start back at square one. Let's call it a "hero crush" because every romance writer I know germinates a character from a famous seed. Little about the finished hero ever resembles that conceptual moment, but it is a useful tool nevertheless.

Did it work?

For me, not so much. My protagonist was too far past that famous seed to trigger anything, but I still see shades of his inspiration every so often. It was how I attempted to make him real. Now he is far more real than just about anyone I know. The magic of fiction.

Who is he?

If you're a long-time Vortexer, you might know. Guesses in the comments...let's play a game...

Hint: the Frenchman le Salle

The Manuscript Is In the Lifeboat

2012-01-10T10:13:00.000-06:00

Short one today, Vortexers. I'm pulling one out of the drawer.

Cue girly-scream.

This novel was my close-call, my agented one, my attended-the-major-publishing-house-editorial-meeting one, my doesn't-fit-what-we-publish one. Three years does a lot for perspective. And experience. And voice. They were right. It wasn't quite ready. But it will be.

This news story stayed with me yesterday, not because Titanic is cycling on the movie channels or because it's yet another way for commercialism to find a foothold in tragedy, but because of the human element-as it has always been with the subject. For many, it will complete the journey their ancestors never did.

Other Titanic mentions at The Vortex

Vortex Drinking Game

2012-01-09T05:20:00.006-06:00

I know. It's Monday. How inappropriate to be thinking of spirits so early. But I was catching up on my DVR-ed Person of Interest eppies and had an epiphany: Reese shoots people in the leg. All. The. Time.

This may not sound like a grand revelation; and if you are familiar with his Batman-ish vigilante code, you would understand why this is significant, but it started me thinking about what else we can count on with regularity here at the Vortex (It certainly isn't my posts-ha!). Here's your game:

Vortex Drinking Game

Every time you look at Jim Caviezel and cannot help thinking Jesus Christ!, take a shot.

Every time you wish you had a time machine to take you back to before you put your foot in your mouth, take a shot.

Every time someone alters "MacGyver" into a new part of speech (as in "I Macgyvered that dryer vent with duct tape"), take a shot.

Every time you watch Terra Nova and are tempted to feed the Shannon family to the dinosaurs so you can have Jim all to yourself, take a shot.

Every time you see man-titty on a novel cover, in homage to Fabio and Romancelandia, take a shot.

Every time you're watching a movie that tiptoes dangerously close to the creepy-older guy/too young girl romance (ala Thorn Birds, Portrait of Jeannie, Harum Scarum), take a shot.

Every time you wish Lost would come back, take a shot.

Every time you see a red telephone booth, take a shot.

Every time you see a chatchke that feeds into the Elvis Presley estate machine, take a shot.

Every time you hear a Keith Urban song and wish to go down under (take that how you will), take a shot.

Every time you feel the injustice of an unfair Words with Friends move, take a shot.

Every time someone speaks of the truth and your mind immediately heads for Mulder and Scully, take a shot.

Every time you hear the word quantum, take a shot.

Every time you see a close-up shot of Beth Chapman's talons or spiked heels on Dog the Bounty Hunter, take a shot. (Seriously, we got that she's a vixen already)

Every time you watch a Harry Potter movie or a Beavis and Butthead episode with another person who then insists on imitating the unique vocal qualities of either ad nauseum, take a shot.

Every time your watch stops, take a shot.

Happy Monday and Happy Drinking, everyone!

The Holy Shee-at, Bedazzled Purple Button

2012-01-06T11:10:00.002-06:00

Somewhere in the brain scientists have yet to discover, I'm convinced there lies a mental button that when pressed leads to unquestioning jubilation, unfailing loyalty and a precise, resounding note in our soul's song. What should such a power button be labeled? Words like glee and awesome are watered-down. Holy shee-at!, while closer to the exuberance the button captures, seems to Lindsay-Lohan it up. I'm pretty sure mine is purple and bedazzled, but the real beauty is in finding what pushes it.

Remember when I told you I watched a 1948 movie called Portrait of Jeannie over the holidays? One ~~obsession~~ habit I have after watching a film is to hit imdb to find out more about the movie: goofs, trivia, Q&A, discussions. While I'm still on that movie-high (you know that high, right?), it's like breaking out the York Patties and hot cocoa with strangers who just took the same ride you did and are forever bound because of it. Yes, there are the jack-a-nubs who get on with bad grammar and comment on something as Linsday-ish as the visibility of the protagonist's nipples in a particular scene, but mostly they are people who love good stories and seek a deeper level of understanding.

The Portrait of Jeannie boards contain post after post of people who not only liked, not only adored, but obsess over this movie. Some had watched it two or three times in succession. They loved it so much they asked for other movies that would make them feel the high they felt at the movie's conclusion. Their Holy Shee-at! button had been pushed. And when I considered other movies that captured what I felt after watching it, I realized mine had been pushed as well. We had identical buttons. This movie, though seventy years old, hit the exact note of inspiration from which my fiction germinates. Every movie the imdb visitors suggested I had had the same visceral reaction to: time, love, gothic, dark, suspense.

So what is it about them that makes movies like The Ghost and Mrs. Muir and Somewhere in Time gather a subversive, cult-like following? Mattel produces a Rex Harrison and Gene Tierney Barbie/Ken set that probably sits adored somewhere deep in a Kansas farmhouse curio cabinet. Mackinac Island has a weekend where people gather from all over the world to be part of Somewhere in Time's Grand Hotel setting. I've certainly seen movies with better plot lines, better characters, more memorable themes. What is that magical, elusive note that makes people want to replay it over and over?

I can no more define it in myself than I can anyone else who also has this button. I can pinpoint market and genre and target demographics, but even that fails to satisfy. I could lay out a line about the redemptive power of second chances, the human urge to have a reset button in our journey, the belief that love surpasses all that we presently understand about our world. But that would be like a Devo song: sounds great until you actually try to understand it.

If you believe in the supernatural, let's call that note magic. If not, we label it luck. Either way, it is what writers spend a lifetime tuning and readers and audiences spend a lifetime listening for.

What pushes your button?

I Charlie Sheen-ed Myself

2012-01-04T14:07:00.000-06:00

Let's do some tidying, shall we? First, I enticed Vortexer Sherry to watch Unlikely Angel after my last post and was delighted to learn that I am not delusional or overly sentimental. It gave her that warm-all-over feeling in a sweet, non-Josh Holloway-kind-of-way, and she emailed to tell me about it.

The Time Twavel (I know, isn't that a corny Twitter-ish name?) Giveaway for retweets was a success. I hooked up with some fun new contacts and want to thank everyone who participated.

After being in Colorado for almost two weeks, I had some serious Vortex-obsessions to catch up on. Terra Nova (yes--I am still watching) dipped back into the time travel waters after being in campy-family Land of the Lost for too long. You can imagine my glee. I Charlie Sheen-ed myself in protest over my current Words With Friends battle when my random opponent insisted that qui was a word. Um, yeah. Last I checked, we weren't playing in Latin. I watched a 1948 movie called Portrait of Jeannie about a struggling artist who falls in love with a woman who visits him from the past (I know, right?). I also sank packed snow the size of a softball down a loved one's shirt. Does it get any better than that?

My domain renewal reminded me a few days ago that I began this whole blogging thing five years ago this month. Must. Think. Of. Celebratory. Fun. There were times I seriously considered giving it up but couldn't. You either love blogging or you don't. I guess I fall into the love category. Love of Fabio, fiction and all the Vortex holds sacred. Mostly, that's you reading this. Thanks for coming back year after year and being a special part of my writing journey.

Holy Jim Caviezel, I'm Flying My Freak Flag

2011-12-07T12:13:00.002-06:00

You know that Cheese-Whiz holiday movie called Unlikely Angel starring Dolly Parton? I adore it. So instead of doing a random holiday meme that I was tagged with two days ago, I want to sum up how I feel about this time of year by getting all up into this movie.
If you haven't seen it, it's about a less-than-angelic singer who dies and visits St. Peter at the pearly gates. He refuses her, but not before he gives her a second chance to earn angel wings. Her goal becomes to bring together a family that has lost the emotional ju-ju Hallmark says families should have this time of year. Story goal set, St. Pete drops a ticking time bomb to ensure you won't swig down the sap on a hearty sip of egg nog and nod off: by Christmas Eve. He drops her on this family's front lawn with a guitar. Because, really, who would Dolly be without her guitar?

The family mistakenly assumes she is the new nanny-stop me if you've heard this before-because the troublesome children have exhausted all other nannies. But Dolly's got spunk and a penchant for breaking out into Christmas carols and warming their adolescent hearts. She can't replace their dead mother, but she can be a go-to girly-girl because the overworked, overstressed non-Dad-of-the-year simply has no time for them anymore. He's emotionally vacant. Dolly plays matchmaker and brings cheer to a grieving family. At the risk of a no-surprise spoiler, she accomplishes her feat of bringing Hallmark to the family by midnight on Christmas Eve, thus earning her wings and a primo spot in the choir of heavenly hosts. Ick, you say? Whoa, there. Back up that four-wheel drive.

My opinion of this movie could be colored by my love for Dolly. At the risk of waving my freak flag in a parade of pop culture mainstream, she has a space in my ipod parked right next to Pantera and Avenged Sevenfold. Her I Will Always Love You voice has got to be about the closest things to angels singing as it gets. Like a preview of heaven. She has never apologized for who she is. She's never had to. She has risen above that which has defined her-which, don't get me started, but anyone who has ever told a joke at her expense has never known the emotional pain that goes along with that particular feature-and crafted an empire based on old-fashioned Southern values. Let's face it, the world could use a heaping dollup of that gravy on its plate.

The movie is trite and loaded with saccharine, but Holy Jim Caviezel, it makes you feel good at the end. For that one Christmas Eve night, all is right with the world. As it should be.

And please don't get me started on holiday Folgers commercials. You really don't want to go there.

If you want to fly your freak flag and watch, CMT is showing Unlikely Angel on December 21, 24, and--when else?--Christmas.

A Dickens of Adjective-Overload and a Time Twavel Giveaway

2011-12-02T08:48:00.000-06:00

What could be more fun than Charles Dickens's time travel classic, A Christmas Carol, a scavenger hunt through his bloated original manuscript and free stuff? Check out this New York Times feature, complete with a magnifying glass to find words Dickens used to describe Scrooge that he deemed unworthy for his final draft. Nice of you to show restraint, Mr. Dickens. Seven adjectives in the same sentence seems perfect. Two more would have been too much.

I've found them, but can't make them out. Can you? Hint: Page 2, paragraph 2. "Grinding" and "turdly" is all I can come up with.

In the spirit of the season and my all-in Twitter movement, I'm giving away a $20 Barnes and Noble or Amazon online gift card (winner's choice) to a random re-tweeter! For every re-tweet of my tweets from now until December 31st, midnight CST tweeps will be entered in a drawing to be held January 1, 2012. Really, can it be any easier? Just an RT click. If you're not following me on Twitter, or still flying the old-school flag, I get it. I still adore you. Everyone on my newsletter loop and every blog comment also gets an entry. And if Dickens can use "turdly" I can make up a Twitterlicious word: Twavel. Heretofore, the giveaway shall be known as the Time Twavel Giveaway. Catchy and annoying at the same time, no?

So search, re-tweet, and be merry and have a happy weekend!

Oatmeal, If You Must Know. With Slices of Time Travel.

2011-11-30T14:12:00.001-06:00

I promised myself I would get back on the social media wagon after my intensive edits were finished. Guess that time is now. Prior to this week, my tweets were primarily feeds from the Vortex posts. I'm not totally on-board yet. It's hard to jump all-in when I'm reading about what people had for breakfast. Here are some nickpicky ranty-mc-rants from my first week wading into the deep waters of Twitter:

#1. I know tweeting is the social media equivalent to shouting in a Cowboys Stadium/Death Star sized arena to be heard but do not bombard me every five minutes with your self-promotion. Yes, I followed you because I'm friendly like that, but I will drop you faster than tofu at a cattleman's convention if you clog up my publishing industry stream with one more announcement about your iPublish masterpiece.

#2. Save the all-caps for your in-laws and gleeful screams that a Hollywood celeb is now following you.

#3. Is there such a thing as hashtag overload? I think so. It's like whoring your message out to whomever might be using the same restroom at the stadium. Your #message #disinterests#me #if you use # too many.

#4. Do not tell me what you're "fixin'" to watch on television. If you used #storagewars in your tweet, I get it already. You're a fan. 'Nuff said.

Great. Now that that's out of the way, how about some Vortex-rific links?

I stumbled upon 10 Codes You Aren't Meant to Know when researching cop codes. Now I know that a code 20 in Wal-mart doesn't relate to ass crack or spandex.

I wasn't living entirely under a rock for the past few months. Why is the dystopian thriller In Time just now coming onto my radar screen? Great premise. Not so stellar reviews.

Speaking of social media and well, time travel, The Future of Us by Jay Asher and Carolyn Mackler promises to be a fun marriage of 90's nostalgia meets YA.

Trying to find a website long gone? No problem. The Wayback Machine, named after a Rocky and Bullwinkle time travel device allows searchers to find digital footprints of web pages that have gone the 404-Not Found path.

And just to get your freaky chills on, check out this short YouTube vid of a look-alike guy immortalized in photos. Way more believable than the John Travolta-time traveler theory.

The itch to give something away has come back. Must scratch. Details Friday...

The Communist Chocolate Hellhole of Time Travel

2011-11-28T13:12:00.002-06:00

First, some pesky business. Vortexer Charles Gramlich is all up into the time travel thing, and it snuck up on me. I learned via a cold Google Alert that "Battles, Broadswords and Bad Girls," is part of the pulp fiction anthology A Rip Through Time. Charles, Charles, Charles. You've been holding out on us. Vortexers, head over to Smashwords and pick this up. Ga-head. I'll wait.

Terra Nova is holding its own in the ratings battle, coming in last week in the middle of the pack in its time slot. I've held on longer than I anticipated after the second episode. Maybe it's the sixteen pack abs and that Jason O'Mara-time travel-effect, but it still slides into my DVR dutifully each week, and I still watch it when I'm caught up on all my Alfred Hitchcock Presents eppies. There are no stellar award-worthy actors here. The CGIs are laughable at best. Do I care that love is blossoming in the younger set? Nah. Give me a skeleton autopsy and a wicked hot flip of the collar, 80's-style, any day. This is, after all, Thriller Island.(Middle Aged Male clip)

Though a bit of old news, still Vortex-worthy and waaaay too sweet to pass up...

A man claiming to be from the future was arrested at Switzerland's Large Hadron Collider back in April 2010. He was searching for his time machine power unit, something that resembled a blender, near the facility's kitchen. According to police, he wore a bow tie and "rather too much tweed for his age," and refused to reveal his country of origin. Upon arrest, the man claimed, "Countries do not exist where I am from. The discovery of the Higgs boson led to limitless power, the elimination of poverty and Kit-Kats for everyone. It is a communist chocolate hellhole and I'm here to stop it ever happening."

To show you how much I adore this six-ways-of-awesome randomness, I will inject a young man with a bow tie and "rather too much tweed for his age" into my next story. When the world becomes a communist hellhole, I can't think of anything better than a Kit Kat to make that medicine go down.

Have a great Monday, everyone.

So That I Don't Spontaneously Combust

2011-11-16T13:41:00.000-06:00

At the risk of inspiring non-writer Vortexers to stab nail scissors into their eye because this post is completely non-time travel, non-Fabio and non-snarky, I must wade into the writing craft waters for fear that if I don't, I might spontaneously combust. Yes, I'm that excited.

I did three things at the end of this round of novel edits that I've never done before. I can feel the difference in my writing, a literary seismic shifting where there had been only fifty-million years of erosion. So that's an exaggeration. Sort of. What are these three secrets, you ask?

Secret #1: echo word list
I kept a file on my flash drive for these little buggar words that constantly crept into my prose. Sometimes when writers think they're clever because they found a way to knit the word tether or decay into their character's introspection, they're really just being tired and lazy because they've already used it five times before and don't remember. Thus, the list. During page-by-page edits, any notion that I might have described someone's nostrils ad nauseum gets an entry on my echo list: nostrils. When page-by-page edits are complete, I pull out the echo list and plug them into the Find/Replace feature in Word. Replace nostrils with nostrils and Word tells you how many times the word appears in the document. Often I would find that I wasn't tired or lazy and the word only appeared twice in 70,000 words. More often, I found better, tighter ways to edit the line, always keeping in mind Stephen King's advice: throw out the thesaurus.

Secret#2: Find feature meet Achillies' Heel
My name is Laura, and I overwrite. Hello, Laura. We're talking goopy, black-tar prose that even Faulkner would have to strap on his rubbers for. I adore long sentences. I mourn that their time has come and gone in modern fiction. My Achilles' heel is the simile. I would eat them with whipped cream if I could, but as with all things sweet, too much is a stomach ache. So I used the Find feature to type in "_as_if_" and "_like_" (underscores being blank spaces) and page-by-page made every simile earn its place. Sometimes I had used three on the same page. Ick. If that isn't enough to make a reader have sugar-stomach, I don't know what is. This will work on any Achillies' heel: passive voice, -ing clauses, throw-away words like would and had.

Secret #3: The Anatomy of Body Language
In striving to find fresh visceral responses, body language and voice cues, the well runs dry. Body parts like heart and lungs and chest and stomach become tired and lazy. So I went to an anatomy Internet site and printed a list of human body parts. How could I have written an entire novel and not used esophagus? Seriously, at the risk of sneaking in creepy words like thorax, it is a gateway to fresh writing.

Of course, secrets do not come from the ether. They are a gift for which one must thank the giver. I've given many nods to Margie Lawson over the years. This one comes with a visual. Thank you, Margie, for all your practical advice and your cheer leading.

Great company, a heart-pumping vertical hike and nothing but 360 degrees of mountains

And if you are a writer and are still unfamiliar with Margie, my holiday gift to you is this link to all things that will take your writing to the next level.

What's your best editing trick?

Keep Your Mustache Out of the Hole

2011-11-14T04:43:00.114-06:00

It's been a bit, but I'm back in full force. You know how those final edits can be. One "find" feature search of a word like "had" unearths all kinds of ugliness. But while I was seeking out potential things to add to chapter breaks, like quotes-which usually annoy me, so why would I go there?-I found old-school phone etiquette rules published before Heloise or Miss Manners were out of diapers. They were so charming, I added them to my must-share list.

Circa 1910-ish, ATT sent out telephone pledge cards to all their customers that read: "I believe in the Golden Rule and will try to be as Courteous and Considerate over the Telephone as if Face to Face." I suppose they expected the rich-y families who could afford such a luxury to gather around the parlor and recite it as if it were Gospel. If they knew we now butt-dial in discourteousness, they might declare "Astonishing!" as they rub their tonic-slicked mustaches in disgust. I love this 1910 ATT ad:

Not only is the guy on the left a handsome Kevin Costner, but he's sporting a pleasing smile while talking to the grumpy old codger on the right. Next time I'm tempted to unleash on my security company for withholding my refund for their mistake for yet another month, I'm going to think of Mr. Costner and how he was able to hold it together while the old guy uses his fist and his middle finger to make his point. Whew! Glad there weren't video phones in that decade. Tisk-Tisk, you old fart. Profanity via telephone was punishable by fine or jail time.

Speaking of mustaches...

"Speak directly into the mouthpiece," said one instruction manual, "keeping mustache out of the opening."

Also, an invitation by telephone was never acceptable. Prevailing thought of the day was that it put the invitee on the spot to accept (or lie), which is the real reason answering machines, voice mail and texting were invented: better lies come with a zen moment to construct.

Lastly, and most egregiously, was the practice of saying, "Hello?" when answering the telephone. Again, from ATT: "Would you rush into an office or up to the door of a residence and blurt out 'Hello! Hello! Who am I talking to?' No, one should open conversations with phrases such as 'Mr. Wood, of Curtis and Sons, wishes to talk with Mr. White...' without any unnecessary and undignified 'Hellos." The most undignified thing about this is the mental picture of someone barging into someone's residence at all.

So where does this leave us? I can't see that breeches in phone etiquette have changed much. People still talk on their phone when they get to the front of a line, speak too loudly in public, blow off the company around them in favor of those who are texting them, and think everyone appreciates their Lady Gaga soundbyte ringtone. Thankfully, keeping the mustache out of the hole is the least of our worries, which must be a tremendous relief to the Tom Sellecks of the world.

What is your biggest pet peeve about cell phone etiquette?

No, You Can't Go As a Nude Clock Guy on Halloween

2011-10-31T08:59:00.001-05:00

Happy Halloween, Vortexers!

Oh how I have missed this little slice of real estate. Hope you all behaved yourselves during the hiatus. I return bearing gifts-for the ladies especially-but I don't think any guy would have to check his man-card at the door for this. After all, they are only cartoon parts and not very big ones at that. My new favorite clock is digital and face and all male. Click on any guy at any time and it changes from analog to old-fashioned. What time-traveler-girl in her right mind wouldn't love it?

Next month, look for Stephen King's much-anticipated dip into the time travel waters. In this short clip, he talks about tackling not only such a monumental topic as Kennedy's assassination but the unique challenges of time travel. When I finished my first time travel novel, I brought it to a local published writer who read the first chapter and synopsis and said, "In more capable hands, this can't be done." Her backhanded pessimism could not have been more of a gift. The day it is published, I will send her flowers. Time travel is an enormous challenge to write and therein lies the reward. When the threads weave into a perfect pattern and I've touched on that universal "what-if" we've all experienced, the sense of accomplishment it staggering. I can't think of any more capable hands than Mr. King.

If you're in the mood for creepy, romantic flash fiction this Halloween and haven't yet read it, you'll find my 2010 Bump in the Night Finalist entry, Home, on my website.

Enjoy the night....Boo!

Excuse Me. You Have Hiatus in Your Teeth

2011-10-18T19:11:00.000-05:00

Howdy, Vortexers!

Not entirely untrue, as I'm not actively submitting the novel it touts. Random thought to start you down the path of where-I-have-been WTH-ery.

I'm on a deadline so must take a blog hiatus until Halloween. At that time, I will dance through the art museum in a sailor dress, listen to some horribly overblown pop star's music, clean out my meat drawer and paint emoticons on my bathroom wall (not kidding on that last one-will share pic when it's done). For everything there is a season, a time for activity under heaven and now is the time for final edits.

Eat, drink and be merry whilst I work. Better yet, visit those on my blog roll, check out their new releases, buy them on your Kindle. And be good to each other.

See you on Halloween. Boo!

I Take My Humor Black. Like My...

2011-10-11T20:09:00.001-05:00

Coffee. Jeez. What do you think this is, an Airplane! quote?

I'm going all random on you today. Let's see where we end up.

First, as the world mourns the loss of Steve Jobs, I'm mourning the loss of writing spot number three. Sure, I hadn't been there in three months. I'm writing at home these days. It still makes me sad to see a mom-and-pop go.

Next, a science fiction submission call for Vortex writer peeps. No romance required. Press release from Angela James, Carina Press: Carina Press is pleased to announce a call for submissions for our 2012 holiday collections. This will be the only open collection call for 2012 and is an excellent opportunity for authors interested in participating in the normally by-invitation-only Carina Press collections. Carina is looking for science fiction novellas with a winter holiday theme, to be published digitally both individually and as a collection in December 2012. The novellas should be from 18,000 to 35,000 words and feature science fiction elements as integral to the novella. The stories do not need to be romance, or even have romance elements, but can be straight science fiction, or science fiction with romantic elements, and can also feature elements of mystery, thriller, horror or other sub-genres. FMI.

Time travel and Jane Austen? I know one Vortex peep who will faint dead away.

Time travel and Disney? Seriously, who isn't doing time travel?

And who knew Wikipedia had an entry devoted entirely to time travel urban legends? Am I in heaven?

This deliciously dark-humored advertisement from Alfred Hitchcock for his newly-released Rear Window popped up in a trade magazine in 1964. Only Hitch could get away with this.

And lastly, as long as we're all dark humor at the Vortex, I had to pass this along...

Have a great week!

Terra Nova, The Dino Poo of a Lost Attempt

2011-10-06T03:42:00.005-05:00

Let me lay it all out there before I dissect Terra Nova. The show is a thinly-veiled attempt to recapture the win that was LOST, a wannabe that will never be. Good. Now that that's out of the way...

I adored the first hour of the pilot, Genesis. Maybe that's because I'm more into time travel than dino poo. Though a bit heavy-handed with environmental agenda, I loved the concept of where our planet will be in a hundred and thirty some-odd years. I loved a protagonist that I could root for from scene one. I love that he is sixteen ways of hot, is all alpha-male, resourceful, tortured and fiercely protective of those he loves. The selection process to determine who would go back in time to be part of a new colony was exactly as I'd always imagined it: first, the most desirable citizens who had the most to offer a new civilization; second, a lottery. I love the infinite and baser conflicts inherent in trying to begin humanity anew.

The second hour lost me, pun intended. With precision and extensive dissertation, I can draw parallels between the characters in Terra Nova and the characters in LOST. The waterfall, the cryptic drawings, the overbearing, mysterious compound leader, the rogue sect, the young hottie to draw in the hard-to-pull-away-from-the-CW demographic of teenage girls. Need I continue? The only difference I could spot was dinosaurs instead of polar bears. I respect what Stephen Spielberg and FOX are trying to do. Wait, no I don't. Why is it when networks get something truly fresh like Life on Mars (NBC), they give it a shoestring budget and mere weeks to get a foothold before they yank it, while they spend twenty-plus million on a tired spin they believe to be a guarantee? Sounds like another industry I know.

Will I continue to watch? For a time, I suppose. There is no crime in stacking up the DVR with Jason O'Mara deliciousness. But if they go all black fog on me, I'm out of there.

What do you think of Terra Nova? Am I just disgruntled because the only time travel will be in the pilot eppie?

Senior Will: Twenty Years Later

2011-10-04T13:00:00.008-05:00

One of my favorite parts of my twentieth high school reunion last month was re-reading my senior will. For those who didn't have that tradition, it was a final message published in newspaper format filled with inside jokes and send-offs before we were coughed out into the world. A death of youth where we left our last testament to who we had been. Reading it all these years later was like uncovering some ancient Tonkawan language where you and only one other person could deciper the clues that lead you back to a slide in AP European History class of Louis XIV looking like Dee Snyder. Reading it made me want to write another, newer version because, let's face it, no writer is ever satisfied with what they wrote. If I were to write a newer twenty-year senior will it would look like this:

For the guy I thought crashed the reunion from the downstairs bar: the letter A, so you can appear earlier in the posted yearbook pages instead of on top of the janitor's closet near the johns. Oh, and my hangover cure-all...oj, maple syrup and hair of the dog...because there was no prize for the drunkest attendee. For those women who made more rounds than Danica Patrick at the Daytona 500: a sparkly, light-up belly dancing bikini top, the only thing that would have said, notice me! in a more subtle way. For those who became snacky-drunks and partook of the bar appetizers two hours past e-coli: Rolaids, 10-pack. For the boy up the street I had a crush on: Scope, so your cigarette breath didn't shatter your twelve-year-old perfection. For G.P: A hug. I saw you wander the bar as you did the halls, mostly alone. You wouldn't have known me, but I knew you. You were our Einstein. You could have been discovering time travel that night instead of reminiscing in all the pretentiousness. For M.M: a photostrip that will never see the light of day but has a special place above my writing desk. For the name-badge table greeters: A firecracker to wake you. For the same ten individuals in a class of eight hundred who occupied the only scrolling photo display: a life apart from Facebook. For those drowning in a room full of people you think you should know but don't: the life raft and a cheat sheet that, I, myself needed. For those who botoxed, implanted, crash dieted or otherwise altered their appearance to come: the present. The past is no place to live. For who lived near me whose families always pretended to be so happy: my rose-colored glasses, well-worn.

I thought I would have something funny to say about my reunion. I tried. My Vortex 10 List started out as the Top Ten Ways HS Reunions Are Better Than Enemas, but the words never took off. This one night fell victim to the same dangers inherent in any time travel experiment: no matter when you are, you always wish to be somewhen else. In my case, right here, right now, at this moment. I wouldn't trade now for all evil mushroom appetizers in the world.

Next up: Terra Nova, The Dino Poo of a Lost Attempt

Vinnie Barbarino, Time Traveler

2011-09-29T17:58:00.000-05:00

Holy Scientology, Batman! Has it been that long since I posted? I'm collecting my thoughts on the reunion (read: Vortex 10 list still to come) but I couldn't leave Vortexers out flailing in the world without a spoonful of time travel fun to make the medicine of life go down.

Check out this 1860s photograph for sale on Ebay. Aside from the uncanny and obvious resemblance to John Travolta, the seller's paragraph is what interested me. For $250,000, who wouldn't want to weave a tale of time travel?

I've been so deep into my edits, I haven't even watched Terra Nova! I know, right? Time travel and Jason O'Mara! I must be sick in the head. Thus, the crickets chirping here, but I hope to have it all back in balance soon.

Next up: A Reunion Vortex 10

My Jordan Catalano

2011-09-12T11:15:00.000-05:00

I wrote this post by hand. I don't do it often, but somehow it seemed more organic that way. You see, last week when I mentioned my Jordan Catalano, it wasn't just an arbitrary memory. Sure, I have a few eppies of My So-Called Life in the DVR that I get around to watching when my movie well runs dry, but it's more than that. So much more.

I understand that I'm speaking to a certain demographic of women when I mention that name: Jordan Catalano. But I'm speaking to all women when I tell you that Jordan Catalano's character was an angsty metaphor for that one painful crush we all had in high school. The one boy who could steal your breath and reduce you to Tourette's simply by occupying the same stratosphere. The one whose random eye contact could nourish your preoccupation for months, turning you into a gluttonous warrior who fought in the Darwinian halls of education for another glance. Dramatic? Hell to the yeah. This was sixteen when the world was a Bengali jungle and you just lost your machete.

My Jordan Catalano was Donatelli. Donatelli wasn't his real name. It was a name I randomly opened to in my Character Naming Sourcebook because that's what I do-make up names. He wasn't Italian, either, though I can't be sure he was from any specific heritage but the land of Hottiemanjaro. Donatelli was the pinnacle of the trifecta of three who caught my eye those years (the two others being a mullet-sporting silent-type who was a dead-ringer for a young MacGyver, the other a too-short guy with a swagger who caught me in my most embarassing moment to date).

Donatelli was an athlete: tall, dark hair, who at seventeen already had the superpower to grow a five o'clock shadow by the time practice rolled around. I told my parents I loved Donatelli's sport so I could be a manager, code for a sweat-towel-and-statistics girl who was invisible next to the cheerleaders who also rode the game-day bus. Thankfully, I wasn't alone in my transparent conspiracy. One of my best friends, too, was acquainted with the natives of Hottiemanjaro, one in particular, so we traveled the road of obscurity together. In three years, Donatelli spoke to me once.

I learned Donatelli's sport, really learned it, for all those practices and games and seasons. The head coach wrote me a letter of reference for college and helped me get a great job that lasted long past graduation. I lettered in that sport, even had the jacket, though the idea of earning it for wiping guy-sweat courtside never sat well. I graduated, went to Europe and found a real Donatelli who loved that I could be happy watching planes land at the airport and talk about his country's history with some degree of accuracy and be the geek I always was with a panache for whomping him at a certain American sport.

So why the memory? High school reunions do that, I suppose. Saturday will be my first and last in many ways to go back to the me of twenty years ago, so I cannot help but think about Donatelli. Will he be fat? Bald? Absent? Gone?

I don't live in the past, except for my stories, but for that one night, I will be a traveler there.

If you want to reminisce in Catalano goodness, watch this (7:46) and this (:58). Leave your Catalano here, in the comments, so we can love him, too. Most of all, have a great week everyone!

Page Ninety-Nine Test

2011-09-09T06:23:00.000-05:00

I have to be in the right mood. And I can't be judging any other writing contests because helpful-feedback-overload makes me want to stab every page that's not mine with a nail scissors. But sometimes when I've earned a guilty pleasure and I've seen all the My So-Called Life reruns a thousand times and thought about my own Jordan Catalano a thousand more I give myself over to the temptation that is page99test.

This website grew out of the quote by English poet and novelist Ford Madox Ford, "Open the book to page 99 and the quality of the whole will be revealed to you." Writers upload page 99 from their manuscripts and readers with user names give feedback ranging from the generic Yes, I'd read more of this to a comment box where thoughtful feedback is welcome. Browsers can select their favorite genre, or like me, choose to read every genre of fiction available.

Why is page99test my newest addiction? Though I've never actually browsed for a book in a brick and mortar using this technique, its merits are undeniable. Page 99 is random. Page 99 is near the first turning point in most novels. Mediocrity cannot hide on page 99. Page 99 is the best slice of truth about an author's ability. How many times have I judged openings of novels that had been polished ad nauseum, but lacked the rawness and fire of an untainted voice? I love that I can sample, like a literary truffle, give feedback or not and move on. I love that my user name icon keeps track of how many times I've given feedback and the number creeps higher. And, though many writer-spaces on the web invite harsh words from mental giants who believe their journey to publication includes stomping on all other prospective authors on the path before them, I haven't found that to be true of this site. In that once space of time I allow myself, I hold out hope that I'll find an author's voice that I cannot resist-that gold nugget in the pan of muddied river water that all editors and agents secretly yearn for.

After a short, short login (I know, I know...one more to remember, right?) you're on your way. It isn't a site just for writers who wish to offer critique. With simple voting buttons regarding how likely you are to want to read more or buy it in a store, it's a site catered to all readers. Do let me know what you think of it. You'll know me there by my user name-guaranteed. Maybe you'll even discover page 99 of a Time Thriller there.

Have a super weekend, everyone!

Shorty T...The Story, Not Fabio

2011-09-07T04:08:00.002-05:00

I have a lamb I wish to sacrifice to the web. This lamb, heretofore dubbed "Shorty T" because it is a short story and it involves time travel-GET OUT! I know, right?-will be given away for free. Shorty T has been previously published. Some of you may be well acquainted with Shorty T, and for that may I be the first to offer you this Etsy item of win as a token of my undying gratitude:

Hottie or Nottie Fabio Light switch $9.95

The questions I wrestle with now involve how best to sacrifice Shorty T.

Does the very nature of the story lend itself better to some forms of web publishing over others? Would it be better to lay a short story out in its entirety than to serialize? Does the ease of smartphones make listening to a podcast more appealing? Would anyone really want to listen to my voice?

Recently, I talked about my serialized fiction attempt-how it became so enormously successful it took on a life of its own. Some of you may even remember my attempt on Blogger early on to serialize a romance novel with co-writers from my critique group. Good luck reading it. No really. Blogger is set up to follow a calendar dynamic, not a serialized fiction dynamic. First installment is here if you're masochistic. Why do I keep making the roundabout back to this idea? I can't deny the serialized nature of delivering stories in the nineteenth and early twentieth century has infinite appeal to me, especially when married to the time travel angle.

I'm realistic about Shorty T. He has a crooked nose and, sure, he has his stinky moments, but I still love him and I think others might, too. Because of his very cross-genre nature I cannot narrow his appeal to one publication, one print stream of revenue in a dying short story print market. My goal is that his freedom will bring others. Give it away and an audience will grow.

So my question to you, faithful Vortexers, is in what form do you like your free reads? Podcast? Serialized Podcast? An interactive experience this story would lend itself to and, perhaps, develop beyond? A self-published read on Kindle or Nook? Serialized and delivered via RSS? You Tube? Twitter? I'm in the early stages of conceptualizing Shorty T's exit, so any and all suggestions are welcome.

Friday: My new-to-me favorite writing-site addiction. Beware!

I'm Your Go-To Girl For Bull Scrotum Questions on Cash Cab

2011-09-05T05:35:00.003-05:00

Edits this week have taken me to some strange places in the merry old land of Google. Did you know there were latte art competitions? First prize in this one is a $2500 ka-ching. Looks like I picked the wrong art form to beat myself up over. Mine would look something like this:

Then I had to search for cow-bladders as ice packs to see how they would have been fastened at the top. Would it look like one of those petrified bull scrotums? Mercifully, it did not yield a photograph, but did take me down the yellow brick road of bovine bile.

I also learned what rivers flow through Clear Creek County, Colorado, what a wild fescue looks like, a personal street weapon device that could be hidden in a pocket, whether the word "roommate" existed in 1881, and that all the really cool famous gunfighters hadn't taken center-stage in the mythology of the outlaw west by that date. You would totally want me to be your street shout-out on Cash Cab with all the insignificant things I know.

Last three movies seen:

The Crush-Um, yeah. I thought I was the only one who hadn't seen this Lolita/Fatal Attraction hybrid. I thought I would find a kinship with the writer-ly lead character, played by Cary Elwes with an abysmal American accent, but mostly he was just a TSTL (too stupid to live) protagonist.

House of Sand and Fog-Could Sir Ben Kingsley be any more awesome than this? Wait, six degrees of separation puts him with Jake Gyllenhaal in Prince of Persia. There is your answer. I think not.

Life as We Know It-Not so much. I watched these DVR-ed movies in fifteen minute increments when I'm eating or doing something non-writing so I don't deviate from my edits-count. This one ranks just above watching a makeover on the Hooda-Kathy Lee hour of the Today show while gagging down my frosted mini-wheats.

Reading: Will Lavender's Obedience. Love it so far.