In Pursuit Of Writing

Planning To Go Back To School. Really, I Am!

2013-03-17T23:31:00.000-04:00

It’s been so long since I’ve written anything here. My latest update is that I’ve decided to go back to school and pursue my Bachelor’s Degree. I haven’t been in school in over twenty years so I’m not entirely sure I’ll be able to absorb anything. But I heard that every time we learn something we grow dendrites in our brain. Research suggests that the more active we remain not only physically but mentally, the longer we can prevent Alzheimer’s (which I fear more than death). So back to school is the plan and try to keep the brain from becoming a “couch potato”.

I’ll be pursuing an online degree because to be honest if I have to sit in a classroom after I leave work at 6:30, then travel 1 ½ hours to get home, I’ll experience burn out in the first semester. I’ve been speaking to several College Advisors but I found out that CUNY and SUNY also offer online degree programs and the cost per credit is less, so I will go this route instead of Kaplan, Phoenix, Ashford, or Argosy University.

Researching schools, filling out the FAFSA, and trying to find scholarships is exhausting. All in all I’m a bit overwhelmed. I have to submit a writing sample with my application. I shouldn’t have a problem with that, right? Well, it’s kicking my backside.

You see, if the writing sample could be on anything I want, it would be no problem. I would write a brief story about the vampire who loves the girl, but the werewolf is in love with her too making it a love triangle and the twist is that she loves them both. So what if that’s Twilight? The Admissions office wouldn’t know, would they?

Of course, that’s not what they’re asking for. There are a series of questions that I must answer in essay format. Boring! I have difficulty writing in that style. I’ve drafted something but I’m terrified because it’ll be a determining factor in whether I’m accepted or not.

I took stock of all I’m feeling and have determined that I’m 60% terrified and 40% excited,. The two emotions are sort of twisting together like two snakes in love. So basically this makes me terri-cited!!! In addition I missed the deadline to start in May so I won’t be able to start until September. Bummer!

The Diva Strikes Again!

2013-01-30T23:36:00.002-05:00

I came home to discover another book package from my friend, The Diva. She's on a mission to get me to read different genres this year. And with that mission in mind, she sent me Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L. James. She's right, I would never buy this book. But now that I have it, I must read it because somehow there's an unspoken acceptance of her challenge.

Now, I've heard of the book before. The fact that everyone is raving about it didn't stir me. Even though it's on the New York Times best seller list, it still didn't move me read it. Of course, once I received the book I had to call The Diva, tell her how naughty she had been by sending me another surprise book. The next thing I did was call one of my girlfriends who works with me and tell her about the book.

In an unprecedented turn of events I've been given a mission, which I have accepted. My mission is to read the book to the girls at the office during our lunch hour. I will do my best when reading it aloud so that the girls may absorb all that the book has to offer.

Well, it's been told that in order to be a writer and write well, a writer should read - a lot. I don't know the first thing about writing romance and I know even less about writing erotic romance. So Fifty Shades of Grey has now become research. I might learn a thing or two...about writing, of course.

One last thing before I go,

Diva, the ladies thank you.

Gifts From A Friend

2013-01-19T22:33:00.002-05:00

On Friday, I stayed home from work. I've been feeling fatigued and with the bug that’s going around, I thought it would be best if I rested. And so I did and didn't get out of bed ‘till lunch time.

It felt great to lounge around in my pajamas sipping coffee and relaxing. That was nice - wish I could do that every day.

By 2:30 I decided to check if there was any mail. When I opened my front door, there was a flat, rectangular brown paper package that was shoved into the gate. The address label told me right away from who it was and a smile lit up my face.

After I slid the package out, I saw a small box on the steps. The box was also from the same person. I got more excited!

I opened up the flat package first and it was this Woodland Faeries calendar. I love faeries!

Next, I opened the box and inside was a book.

It made me so happy to receive these gifts. Now, normally I don't like surprises but this surprise was very nice.

It’s a beautiful thing to be blessed with friends who are wonderful people. I'm surrounded by people who are uplifting, positive, supportive, and won’t hesitate to give me a verbal scolding if I need one. I love them very much.

Today, I’m especially referring to my friend, The Diva. I assigned this moniker to her because I see her as strong, feminine, intelligent, charming, gentle, compassionate, loving, and fierce when she needs to be.

She has been very supportive of my writing. I like Fantasy. I read Fantasy, I write Fantasy, I daydream Fantasy. I'm not much into Romance unless there's a vampire, wolf or some other kind of otherworldly character involved.

The Diva has suggested a couple of times that I try reading a different genre. I usually make some non-committal comment. Well, this time she wanted to ensure I gave a new genre a try and included this note inside the box that the book came in.

I had a chuckle when I read this. She got me this time. I started reading the book.

The Diva always has some eloquent tidbit to impart on numerous subjects that she may be contemplating. So, I sort of persuaded her to start a blog. And she did.

But somehow, she was discouraged from writing. Sometimes I wonder if she believes that in order to blog she must be a great literary writer. I’m trying to make her understand that blogging can be an outlet of expression for all of those thoughts, opinions and ideas that circulate within her mind. I've checked a few times to see if she’s added new material on Sterling Street, but she hasn't. Maybe she’s reluctant of sharing her inner thoughts in a public way. It can be a bit scary. I understand that, it's not easy for me either.

Maybe blogging isn't for everyone, but I sure hope she changes her mind.

Some Projects I Worked On

2013-01-13T00:39:00.002-05:00

Since I didn’t blog in November and December, I kept busy with a couple of projects. The first was a simple curtain that I made to divide the living room from the dining room. The second was a table runner, place mats and a runner with tassels for the radiator cover in the dining room.

I took this picture with my cell phone, so the picture is quite dark. The fabric is a burgundy taffeta. It was an impulse buy. The taffeta was on sale for $4.99 a yard (it usually sells for $9.99 a yard) and the trim was $1.99 a yard. The trim is ivory and burgundy and although you can't tell in this picture, it complemented the fabric well.

I had a bit of trim left over and decided to make tiebacks with it. I improvised with a bit of gold craft wire (which I already had) to make the hoops that would hook unto the wall bracket. I used picture hanging brackets (extra ones I had laying around), which were small but were very effective in holding the tiebacks in place.

In the end I was happy with the results. Overall, I spent about $40 to make this. I felt it was a bargain - a frugal way to decorate. You see the fabric was about 60" wide. Although that isn't unusual, often fabrics will come in widths of 36" or 45". The 60" wide taffeta allowed me to cover more of the entryway without having to purchase additional yardage. I made two panels to cover the same space that would normally require four panels. So I saved money. And even if I hadn't, making it made me happy and THAT is pricelesss!

After this, the endorphins were flowing and I immediately set to work on the next project. When I was at the fabric store, I found this beautiful autumny bolt of fabric. It was on sale for $1.99 a yard. How could I leave the store without it? I was high on the euphoria of my previous success!

The design has metallic thread and I love it so much. It's upholstery fabric but I decided to make a table runner and placemats instead.

The runner is squared off so it doesn't have those cute points at the end, but I did make it long enough to drape over the side of the table. Aren't those little pumpkins adorable?

Did I mention that it's reversible. Same design on both sides. I loved it so much I wanted to see it twice!

My table is oval and sits six people. Here it's set up with the runner and placemats and some candelabra.

The curtains in the dining room are white. The radiator cover in the dining room is white. I felt there was too much white and since I had some fabric left, I set out to make a runner for the radiator cover. I'm telling you it was like an obsession because this time I wanted tassels. So off to the fabric store I went in search of tassels. I know, I'm insane.

There. A touch of color broke up all that white. I felt much better. I was in the midst of decorating for Christmas, so I only had Mr. and Mrs. Snowman. Love them! I've had them for years.

I've never made a runner or a placemat before but thanks to YouTube I can find videos for just about anything I want to make. And just between you and me, I made tons of mistakes. Luckily, the pictures don't show them. It looks almost as if I knew what I was doing. My motto is "Make It Work" and I did!

New Year's Resolution for 2013

2013-01-09T00:20:00.000-05:00

The first week of the New Year has come and gone. It’s time for the yearly tradition of making resolutions. I don’t know about you, but I had several things I wanted to improve on last year. Sadly, I didn’t manage to accomplish what I had set out to do. Many people experience this and give up or they stop believing that having a New Year’s resolution is even something they should do. Perhaps it’s subjective but I’m not ready to give up yet.

I think part of the reason I wasn’t successful with last year’s resolutions is that I had several things that I wanted to work on at once. It was too much. Life is always throwing curve balls and while we’re trying to avoid those we may inadvertently step into one of life’s potholes. Curve balls vary – some hit harder than others. Potholes vary too – some are deeper and wider than others. I find potholes to be worse than curve balls because they’re harder to recover from. Curve balls may hurt but you can brush it off and keep going. Potholes on the other hand, can bring all sorts of problems: sadness, despair, depression, etc. Last year I had a spicy blend of curve balls and potholes. I just finished climbing out of the latter.

This year, I’ll concentrate on the most important things first, and if I’m able to accomplish those then I’ll see what else I can work on. The most important thing to me this year is my health, so that will be my priority. But I don’t want to just concentrate on a health regimen, I want to pamper myself too – give myself the opportunity to feel pretty.

As a mom, I’ve put myself and my life on hold to care for my family. I don’t remember when was the last time I pampered myself – gone to a salon, had my nails done. Well, that neglect is now over. 2013 is for taking care of me. This is my New Year’s resolution. If you’ve been afflicted by the “mom” syndrome, I hope that you add pampering yourself to your New Year’s resolution. May you have a wonderful year!

ALL HALLOW'S GRIM Blog Party 2012! Today's Story is called: The Necklace

2012-10-25T08:00:00.000-04:00

Waxen rays of moonlight filtered through the gauzy clouds casting shadows across the graves. Dave was having second thoughts. He shouldn’t have accepted the dare but, Mason could be quite persuasive in that forceful compelling influence that only a bully can pull off. All he needed to do was find the necklace that Mason had stashed among the statuary.

His only tools were a flashlight whose battery threatened to die out and the hand drawn map that Mason had given him. Kicking himself for not being stronger he replayed the memory in his mind.

“Relax chicken shit. It’s just a Treasure Hunt. Haven’t you ever been on a Treasure Hunt?” and with that, he shoved the crumpled map into Dave’s chest – the force pushing him back a couple of steps. Mason’s eyes bore into Dave daring him to do something.

“Alright, fine. I’ll do it.” What else could he say? If he didn’t agree, Mason would rearrange his face with his corpulent fists. He didn’t have a chance against him.

“Good! You have an hour to find it and bring it to me. Otherwise, kiss your chances with Mindy goodbye.” Mason sauntered off chuckling.

A hooting sound in the distance snapped him out of his reverie, and reminded him that he didn’t have much time to find the stupid necklace and get it back to Mason. If he could, if only he were strong enough, he would shove the damn thing down Mason’s throat. He moved forward, darting from grave to grave aiming the flashlight this way and that. He was farther into the heart of the cemetery than he had wanted to be and so far, he hadn’t found it. Mason hadn’t given him a description of it and he had never thought to ask. All he could do was hope that the necklace reflected the flashlight’s beam.

The cemetery was creeping him out. He had never been afraid of them, but it was completely different at night. The darkness gave the myriad obelisks, Gothic Angels, age-worn tombstones and archaic mausoleums an eerie substance that contradicted the peaceful essence it emanated during the day. He wasn’t sure if the effect was caused by the feeble moonlight that occasionally made its presence known or the pallid streams of light his flashlight emitted.

He felt as if the watchful eyes of the Gothic Angel statues disapproved of his trespassing. He couldn’t help but look at them twice keeping the flashlight directed at their faces for longer than necessary, just to ease away the feeling of being watched.

Dave made one more effort to figure out Mason’s basal attempt at cartography. His rudimentary writing skills left no doubt in Dave’s mind that Mason was a prime example of why socially promoting kids should be outlawed. The artless drawing showed a clumsy arrow indicating to turn left at the Jacob Frankel grave.

Dave turned swinging the flashlight from left to right trying to cover as much ground as he could. A shimmer in the distance caught his eye and Dave hurried in that direction which took him even deeper into the cemetery.

After several steps continually pointing the flashlight in the direction of the shimmer, he came to a mausoleum, dilapidated with age or neglect. And that’s when it happened.

He knew that red eyes are always a bad sign and in a flash he replayed in his mind every horror movie he had ever seen. The first thing he did was run, his legs moved of their own accord while the rest of his body wrestled with the confusion of either being frozen in terror or releasing his bowels in ardent fear. Dave shrieked like a banshee running in the direction of the shimmer, somehow not forgetting the darn necklace. After all, he didn’t know what he was more afraid of – the undead or Mason.

He could see a mound of dirt where a fresh grave had been dug. Next to it was the statue of a weeping angel, kneeling on a marble base, wings spread and hands covering her face. Chest heaving, heart pounding and legs trembling Dave stood in front of the angel. His eyes focused on the glint of the tiny crystal embedded on the center of the necklace’s locket.

The crystal must have been what was reflecting the flashlight’s beam. Now that he had found it, he convinced himself that he had imagined the red eyes he saw. The necklace was out of reach and Dave had no choice but to climb on the marble base. He was sure he could get it and leave the cemetery before he hallucinated again.

He stepped onto the base, grabbing on with one hand and holding the flashlight with the other. The necklace was wound around the groove of the angel’s fingers, so Dave had to hold the flashlight with his mouth while he held on to one of the wings and simultaneously worked the chain of the necklace off the angel’s hand. The cemetery’s quietude was blatantly loud. The eerie silence engulfed him until all he heard was the beat of his heart booming in his ears. His hands shook but he finally managed to remove the necklace. He shoved it into his pocket, took the flashlight out of his mouth and started descending from the base. His foot slid off, but he recovered quickly and carefully climbed down.

He did it, he had found the blasted necklace and now he was going to hurl it at Mason and show him what he was made of. He was going to stand up to him. Tonight was the last time Mason pushed him around.

Feeling pretty good about himself, Dave took a step back not realizing the freshly dug grave was behind him. His foot slipped, his arms flailed, he screamed and she caught him. At first, he froze in surprise. Long dark hair moved in a windless night, pasty skin, high cheekbones and almond shaped red eyes captivated him, while she gripped his hand at the edge of the grave. Her cadaverous beauty was unblemished and her delicate form belied the strength she possessed.

“Stay with me” She told him, her voice an enchanting whisper that promised hidden pleasures.

“I, I can’t” Dave barely managed to stutter - an involuntary whimper escaping his sweat beaded lips.

“Stay with me or death in the grave – choose.” The proposal uttered in a siren voice didn’t leave him much choice. He didn’t want to die. As much as he feared Mason, as much as he was scared shitless right now, he didn’t want to die.

“Okay, I’ll stay.” He panted, his chest heaving. She smiled – a slow almost demure smile as she pulled him effortlessly away from the grave.

“A deal has been made. It must be sealed with a kiss.” Dave still too close to the grave’s edge couldn’t back away from her embrace. His innards recoiled, his fists clenched, and his breath rushed out culminating in a blood curdling scream as her lips neared his.

Later that night, Mason woke up to the rapping sounds against his window. He hurled the sheets aside and shuffled his hulking mass to the window which he opened with unnecessary force.

“Watcha want dumb-ass?” He slurred with grogginess.

“Brought the necklace” Dave answered blandly.

“You’re late, shit face. Give it to me.” He glowered, his menacing look no less threatening in his drowsy state.

“Fine, I’ll give it to you. Let me in first.” Dave countered and Mason frowned at his sudden display of back bone. But Mason was all brawn and no brain, so he didn’t bother to think it through.

“Get your ass in here, dweeb.” He bullied and stepped aside crackling his knuckles - ready to backhand him across the room. Dave’s expression didn’t change as he leapt swiftly into the room.

The following morning, police cars were parked outside Mason’s home – the emergency lights beaming red and blue. Uniform officers kept nosy neighbors behind the barricade. Crime scene tape marked restricted areas and the flicker of flash bulbs quietly confirmed the gathering of evidence. The detective shook his head, jotting notes, sharp eyes looking for clues throughout the room – finding none.

In the end, he took one last look at the bed where the mangled body of Mason lay contorted. His eyes were open wide frozen in terror at the time of death. The gold chain of a necklace hung from his unhinged jaw and draped over his chin. The locket buried deep in his throat.

Invitation to Magaly's Party

2012-10-21T21:44:00.003-04:00

Hello everyone,

Join me at the ALL HALLOW'S GRIM Blog Party that Magaly from Pagan Culture is hosting. She has a great blog, is loads of fun and throws great parties. So, on the 25th hop on over and check it out.

Changes

2012-10-15T01:30:00.000-04:00

It’s been a while since I've posted anything. A lot has happened. I finally found a cocktail dress and went to my friend’s wedding. Within the same time, another friend passed from this world. There were electrical problems in my house, which lasted five days. So there have been a few ups and downs in my life.

But I’m not the only one who experienced changes.

My cats have experienced some ups and downs too. It’s my doing. I have two cats: a boy, Loki and a girl, Jade. I love them, but they drive me up the wall. They’re fully aware of what they're not supposed to do and make sure to do just that when I’m not watching. For instance, they’re not allowed on the couch. When I’m about, they don’t go near the couch. When I go to bed at night, however, they go to bed too – on the couch! In the morning, when they hear me come down the stairs they jump off. You’d figured that cats being nimble and all, would jump off the couch light as a feather and soundlessly land on the floor. Not my cats. I hear the loud thump as they land on the floor and scatter.

Finally, I said enough! I’m tired of cleaning hair off the couch. It takes a long time and I don’t like doing it. I've bought citrus scented sprays because I read somewhere that cats don’t like it. Well, it only works while the scent is strong, but it doesn't last all night. Eventually, I gave up on that.

I went on line and read that cats and snakes don’t get along. I said: Aha! So I embarked on my quest to find a snake prop that would deter my cats from getting on the couch. At first, I thought I would get some cheap two dollar rubber snakes. But I figured that once the cats realize that the snakes aren't going to bite, they would jump on the couch.

I kept searching until I found a motion activated snake prop. It was more expensive than what I was ready to spend but decided to give it a try. The moment it arrived, I removed it from the package turned it on and put it on the floor in front of the couch. The cats immediately went to investigate the object in front of the couch. Loki was the first to get close to it. And that’s when it happened. The snake activated and made a snapping motion with rattling sound. Loki jumped straight up in the air and Jade scattered. I have to admit, it was very funny to see my cat fly in the air like that. But they’re learning not to get on the couch without chemicals or other harsh substances. I've named the snake, Sheldon.

Here’s a clip I found on YouTube of the snake I purchased.

At first glance it seems mean, but I'm trying to train them from lounging on the couch. I've heard it takes longer to train cats than it does to train dogs. So far, this method has been effective. Yet, Sheldon has become annoying because every time I walk by it snaps. But, if I don't have to clean hair off the couch, it's worth it to have Sheldon rattle and snap when I pass by.

No Writing Until I Find A Cocktail Dress

2012-09-13T16:20:00.002-04:00

I’ve been sidetracked lately. I haven’t written, blogged, visited the blogs I follow – nothing. Why? Because I have nothing to wear! My friend is getting married in 9 days. And I have nothing to wear. Yes, I have clothes in my closet but those that I would have chosen to wear no longer fit as well as they did last year. Actually, I have two dresses that might still fit but they are also black. Black happens to be my comfort color so approximately 90% of my wardrobe is black. My girlfriends tell me I shouldn’t wear black for the wedding; that I should instead find something to wear that has color.

I’ve been trying, but that’s not working out either. I’ve gone to a few stores and everything I find that might possibly fit is either hideous or so outside of my non-existent budget that I want to scream. The other problem is that when I do come across something that may fit and possibly not burn a hole in my wallet, it turns out to be too slinky or inappropriate and built for someone who is a foot taller and has breasts.

I’m desperate! At this point, I need not one, but three Fairy Godmothers to show up and make me a fabulous dress. But I don’t want just any Fairy Godmother.

I hope that Flora, Fauna and Merryweather show up and make me a dress – so long as it isn’t pink. I’m sure Sleeping Beauty won’t mind since after all, she’ll be sleeping.

She’s really lazy and after the divorce she moved back in with the Godmothers. Between you and me, I think the Prince got everything in the divorce settlement.

But in this modern age of technology, waiting for the proper planetary alignment so I can send the Godmother’s a magical message won’t do. I don’t know their Facebook page or email address but thankfully, I found them on Twitter: @3badassfairies. I’m going to hit them up on Twitter now.

Medieval Dress For Renaissance Faire 2012

2012-08-26T00:38:00.000-04:00

I finally finished the dress, which by the way is called a Bliaut. I made tons of mistakes along the way but I’m very proud of my work. My efforts were concentrated on historical accuracy and ensuring that I, in fact, made a dress and Not a costume. Costumes are flimsy things that are constructed of poor materials and are not made to last. Clothing is made to be used and of better quality fabric and I kept this in mind while I worked on the Bliaut. Of course, the first mistake I made was purchasing a Brocade fabric when Bliauts are made out of Silk. Well, now I know better for next time.

Actually, I finished the dress around 2:00 am this morning just in time to go to the Renaissance Faire today! I did a lot of walking and I’m exhausted!

First I’ll show you some progress pictures and then I’ll follow it up with a picture of me wearing the dress.

I forgot to take a picture of the fabric before I began to work. Here, I have the beginning of a dress that is mostly pinned and baste-stitched. The sleeves you see here were not quite right, so I redid them.

Continuing my research, I learned that during the Medieval period grommets had not been invented yet. All lacing was done using hand made eyelets. I lost count at 40. My hands hurt - a lot!

Another thing I learned is that lacing was done is a spiral motion instead of the criss-cross motion we use when we tie a corset or shoe laces. Here, I'm testing out the eyelets and practicing the spiral motion (the dress is inside out). My hands, kept out of habit, trying to criss-cross the cord. Also, the Bliaut is laced all the way up the upper sleeve.

There are many variations on the sleeves that were fashionable during that period. I decided to scale down the bell sleeves this year because last year I had a difficult time managing my sleeves. They trailed the floor and extended beyond my wrist. The simplest things weren't simple and things became especially challenging when it came time to eat. I can't help but think that perhaps I scaled them down too much.

Also, purses as we know them today were not used. Instead, a simple pouch looped through a belt was the way that people carried their valuables. Originally, I constructed it with a belt and loop design. After testing it with my wallet, cell phone, keys and camera, I discovered that the belt and loop weren't strong enough to keep it secure.

So, I removed the loop and added a clasp. I instantly preferred this method not only because it was more secure but because it gave it that Medieval touch to finish it off.

Because the Brocade fabric I chose was so detailed, it was very difficult to find trim that wouldn't clash with it. So, I improvised and purchased plain ribbon, some simple trim - sewed the trim onto the ribbon and used this to create the belt (girdle) and to trim the collar and sleeves.

Here I am in my front garden just before I left for the Renaissance Faire.

I'm at the Renaissance Faire in Tuxedo, New York. The sleeve of my chemise is peeking from under the bell sleeves.

Although I wore a circlet, I wasn't historically accurate in that area. During the Medieval period people were ruled my modesty and religious piety - especially women.

A woman's beautiful and classically long hair (reaching and sometimes extending beyond the hips) would've been an allure and temptation to the men and therefore a sin.

You might see young girls and the occasional maiden on her wedding day sporting uncovered hair. Married women always kept their hair covered.

To ensure historical accuracy, today I should have worn a wimple, a veil, and the appropriate head dress on top of that like a Torque (a type of pill box hat). I did a quick search on Google and found the image below of a woman wearing a Torque with the attached veil and wimple. This is what I should have looked like today.

Terror In The Mansion

2012-08-20T23:34:00.000-04:00

I had a dream that was so vivid, its lingering essence stayed with me for a while after I awoke.

It was night time – not too late – perhaps seven or eight o’clock. The night sky was clear, the moon large and beautiful and the wind calm. Nothing so far gave any inkling of what was to come next. I approached the Estate; it wasn’t a mansion in the modern sense but a Georgian Manor. It had an air of Old Money – made of stone, grand in size and class. I found myself inside where the décor was purely Victorian as if the house inside was different from what the exterior implied it to be.

Immediately, I felt the change. Where a moment ago I was calm, now I felt apprehensive but didn’t know why my instincts felt this way. The environment was formal, ultra posh, stiff, to say conservative is an understatement. The chandeliers glittered, the wood gleamed as if oiled daily and the diffused lighting was comfortable to my eyes but also lent itself to darkness.

The servants because I had the sense that’s what they were, that they weren’t treated as employed staff but people who were beneath the elite’s station. The servants’ were dressed in formal Victorian uniforms. The man with stiff shoulders and scrutinizing stare that bore into you as if he could read your thoughts was, without a doubt, the butler and his demeanor was beyond reproach. The maids with their impassive faces moved stealthily about the house and would appear as if from nowhere. Their eyes, like the butler’s, were disapproving as if they had taken the measure of me and found me lacking. I feared them, I feared them realizing that I didn’t belong there. That I was an imposter and shouldn’t be served at the table along with my betters and should instead be relegated to eat on the kitchen floor like a common mouse. The problem was that I didn’t belong in the kitchen because I didn’t belong with the servants either. It was unexplainable how all these feelings kept projecting into me; some from glances or from tea service being served in restrained politeness. The type of politeness that lets you know without a doubt that you’re not welcomed here.

I interacted with the Lady of the House, an elegant matron whose presence commanded attention. She was impeccable in every way. Her manner bespoke grace and good breeding; her age did not detract from her beauty. I was in awe and I felt small, inbred and homely in comparison. The conversations around me were muted and I couldn’t make out what was said. Occasionally some of the other guests at the table would speak to me, but I don’t remember what they said or what my responses were.

I was dressed in a beautiful Victorian gown of a dark color that I can’t remember the details of, my hair coifed in an elegant bun with ringlets fringing my temples and the nape of my neck. I wore pearls at my ears and neck and they were simple but elegant, my bearing was graceful – I looked like I belonged. The sense that this was a bygone era but the modern me was going through the motions was very strong in me as if I was reliving someone else’s life. The setting was so upscale that I had no doubt that the crystal glass I drank from was pure crystal, the china dishes I ate from were the finest china and the silver I cut the meat with was ultra fine.

The servants watched in silence – forgotten statues until needed for service – their eyes missed nothing; and I knew they watched me.

The dream became scarier after that and yet I still don’t fathom where the danger came from. The house was enormous – extremely expansive, where rooms let into other rooms and I knew that there was no getting out. I knew that I was trapped and that I was running out of time. What I didn’t know, which added to the feeling of dread, was what would happen once I ran out of time, once they discovered I wasn’t one of them.

I measured my words, I was aware of my movements – how I walked, not too fast a Lady doesn’t rush, even how I drank my tea, handled the silver and how I managed to extricate myself from room to room opening doors, only to find other rooms beyond. All my movements, all my expressions and mannerisms were controlled, repressed in order to portray a persona that would fit the environment I found myself in.

The inexplicable fear kept mounting urging me to keep searching for a way out of that house. After the first few rooms, I barely noticed the lavish décor – the paintings, sculptures, richly upholstered chaises, and tile mosaics. I rushed from room to room, the rustle of my skirts trumpeting in my ears. The eeriness crept up my spine and I had to remain calm, smile when someone would enter the room I just trespassed and pretend that everything was fine. I kept constantly moving, encountering people in some rooms but not in others and trying to appear at ease while moving on.

At the end of a corridor behind thick drapes was a window, which I opened only to discover that I was three stories up when I didn’t climb any stairs. This went on a bit longer, perhaps another minute, but my heart thudded. I saw my gloved hand reach for a door knob, turn it and pull the door open. The room was no bigger than a broom closet with a ladder that led the way up, I glanced behind me to see if anyone was coming and seeing no one lifted my skirts to climb up.

I was terrified and never got to find out why because the alarm woke me up. It’s difficult to describe the dream and convey the suspense, dread and terror that I felt. I didn't watch it like a movie, I lived it. And there wasn't a monster or anything I could point my fear to. But I knew in my core that there was something utterly wrong with all of those people.

I knew I had to escape if I wanted to live. Although there were no signs that I could see or hear, my instincts told me to get away. My life depended on maintaining the façade that I was like them.

As the day went on and the fear finally began to ebb away, I realized that the reason I had been so afraid was because I had been the only Human in that house. What they were, I don’t know.

There is something inexplicably terrifying about being in a room with people that may appear to be Human but who are not.

Too Busy Sewing To Write

2012-08-07T00:40:00.002-04:00

I've been very busy sewing since I last blogged. After looking at various gowns, I decided to make a Medieval gown (think Lady Guinevere) instead of a Renaissance gown. And although I've been working without a pattern, I've made some progress. I started with the chemise first. The chemise is now finished and I can concentrate, worry and panic about sewing the over-gown (because unlike the chemise, that's what everyone is going to see).

I didn't want to make a simple chemise because what can I say? They're just too plain. I found an image online of a noble woman's chemise and, of course, that is the one I wanted. I printed the pictures, taped them to the wall and between scrutinizing the pictures, muttering to myself that I'm a nut job for adding more stuff to my plate, and re-watching the X-Files starting from Season One; I finally have something to show you.

Here it goes:

Luckily for me, I have a dress form that comes close to my measurements. I picked up the fabric, pinned it to the dress form and then tried to figure out how to begin cutting it.

Here, I'm trying to give the fabric some shape as I stare and stare at the pictures taped to my wall and try to duplicate the form with the fabric.

Aha! Now we're getting somewhere. By this point, I think I've developed a nervous tick and possibly Schizophrenia since I keep having these dialogues. Yes, I said dialogues not monologues because I keep answering myself. I suspect there's more than one personality inside of me. That's alright, it'll go away once this project is finished. At this point it's still mostly pinned and basted in some areas, but as the picture shows it's looking like a chemise - which is actually a dress used as underwear.

As you can see from the picture above, although the fabric isn't white it is quite sheer. So I will not be uploading a picture of myself wearing the chemise. I did take a picture and once I saw it, I was like "Oh No, I'm not uploading this picture. You can see my knickers!"

Here you can see the detail of the trim and button on the sleeves. I like it - hope you like it too!

In the end, I wanted to show you what the garment looks like worn, but didn't want you to see my cellulite. So I played with the camera trying different angles and finally settled on the picture below.

There I am wearing the chemise and you can see the trim at the hem. I like the end result and am pretty proud of it. Wish me luck with the over gown.

Writers Are Passionate People, But Can They Be Multi-passionate? Yes, They Can!

2012-07-28T14:00:00.000-04:00

I’ve written before whining and moaning about my writing difficulties and insecurities. But have I told you about the other things that I'm passionate about? For one, I like to make jewelry. I find myself staring at women in the street, the bus, the train or when I’m out to lunch. No, not that way; I’m looking at their jewelry and trying to deconstruct it with my eyes so that I can figure out how it was made. Then decide that I can do that.

Another passion of mine is Archery and I try to enjoy the sport whenever I can. Sadly it isn’t as often as I would want, but I try to do it once a month. I’m also passionate about Halloween and love to dress up and make my own costumes which can be a bit time consuming.

Next up on the list of passions is that I like to go to The Renaissance Faire. Last year, I dressed up in a blue Renaissance gown and pretended to be a Princess. I had my hair braided with flowers and gave a slight bow of the head when the occasional peasant curtsied before me saying “My Lady”. I really enjoyed that part. Soon, it’ll be time to go again so I started looking online for a new gown because a girl, I mean a Princess, can’t go to The Renaissance Faire two years in a row wearing the same gown. It’s a rule, look it up. It’s in the guidebook of Renaissance Faire etiquette that I made up.

I found several gowns that I liked but unfortunately they were priced a bit beyond my budget. Apparently my kingdom’s coffers aren’t as full of gold and jewels as I would like. The reality is that I don’t have a budget for such things but you know how it is. When you really want something you figure out a way to get it even if it means siphoning money from the utility bill payment. Not that I would do that, of course, but I did think about it and was sorely tempted.

But something happened instead. I got this crazy idea. You see, I looked at these dresses and decided that I can do that. Why not? Just cut a few pieces of fabric, pin them together, stitch and voila – instant Renaissance gown. This crazy wonderful idea wouldn’t leave my head, so I bought the fabric and I’m going to dive right into making this gown. I don’t have any formal sewing training but my motto is “make it work”, so I’ll repeat it over and over like a mantra until the gown is done.

Hopefully the end result won’t scream "amateur home-made dress!" So this is now my latest passion that I have to schedule into my life and maybe it won’t intrude into my writing time too much. I might do another post and upload progress pictures. Wish me luck!

Can't Find The Time To Write? Make Time - Use A Kitchen Timer

2012-07-23T00:30:00.003-04:00

I like to visit writing websites for tips and ideas on improving my craft. Recently, I came across an article giving a helpful tip for those of us who have a busy schedule and can’t find the time to write. The tip is to not only turn off phones, not check e-mails, visit social media sites or even surf the net, but to buy an analog kitchen timer. And my first thought was “yeah right, I have a kitchen timer app on my phone; I can just use that.” – then dismissed the tip.

But then I remembered that the article said to turn off phones because phones are a distraction – calls coming in, checking voicemail, calling your teenage daughter to see where she is and what she’s doing, who she’s hanging out with today. See? All of that distracts you from writing. And the point of the article was that we all have the same twenty-four hours to work with. There isn’t any extra time. So we have to carve time out for ourselves and not allow anyone or anything to distract us from it. Basically, we are to set the timer for twenty minutes and write unimpeded. Once the timer rings, we’re to stop writing. Maybe some of you can set your timer for longer but I thought this was a great idea because twenty minutes doesn’t seem like a lot to ask for.

Last Friday, I set out to get the kitchen timer. I knew just where to get it, Bed Bath and Beyond – a place that I can’t go to without adult supervision and a 20% off coupon. I went anyway by myself sans the coupon and yes, I put quite a few things in the shopping cart. Why was I pushing a shopping cart when all I went there for was a kitchen timer? I don’t know. I have a problem. The good news is that at the end I put everything back and only bought the kitchen timer.

Okay back to that. Every kitchen timer I saw had a face: owls, pigs and even a very cute ladybug. I didn’t want a kitchen timer with a face because my crazy imagination runs rampant sometimes. Okay it happens all the time and I didn’t want to imagine the ladybug telling me in a nagging voice: “That’s all you wrote?” So I kept rummaging the shelves until I found the One! It’s a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket timer and I thought perfect! This timer is a symbolic representation of celebration and it was the last one and at $3.99, I said “Sold!”

I haven’t used it yet but I’m anticipating that I will carve out twenty minutes this week. I’m very excited! Of course, I’ll be even more excited if someone sends me a 20% off coupon so I can go back to Bed Bath and Beyond. Just kidding! I told you I have a problem. Maybe I’ll write about it or maybe I’ll browbeat my friends into handing me their coupons.

Anyway, when not in use it’s stored on my wall cubbyhole so that it’s in front of me gently reminding me to use it and also as a sort of Law Of Attraction subconscious nudge.

P.S.: This post isn’t really about writing. It’s about my insane obsession with getting 20% off coupons for Bed Bath and Beyond. You know what? Why don’t you scan your coupon and email it to me? Will they accept that? I wonder…

Book Review of Become by Ali Cross

2012-07-13T16:57:00.000-04:00

Become is the fabulous story of Desolation, a girl torn between two worlds - Helheim, where she grew up and Midgard where she now finds herself.

Desolation struggles with the decision to become what her father, Loki, wishes her to be or to give in to the warmth she guarded deep in her heart. The warmth she knew came from her mother - a Guardian - a mother she never knew.

Desolation is placed in the care of fallen humans under her father's command as she deals with past memories, unresolved turmoil, self doubt, and the urge to take the easy way out and return home. Her only source of comfort came from Lucy, a woman who embraced her with love.

Loki expects her to Become - to give in to the darkness and transform into a being that personifies mankind's depravity. She despises her name and what it signifies for her to transform into that which her name means. Instead she insists on being referred to as Desi – her small attempt at rebellion knowing that in the end her father will get what he wants. In order to Become, Desi is to assist Miri, an alcoholic and tortured soul end her mortal life, but in the process Desi opens her heart and instead chooses to protect Miri.

Things get complicated when she discovers that Michael, an Angel of Asgard and the boy from her memories, goes to the same school. She's conflicted by feelings of warmth and love whenever she's with him - feelings that spark old memories of a garden. It’s too much to bear when she looks into his golden eyes knowing he’s an Angel and she's a demon – and demons can’t love nor do they deserve to be loved.

Akaros, her father’s right-hand man and the demon who trained her in combat, is preparing for war. He’ll stand at nothing to either force Desi to Become or destroy her in the process.

Now the time has come to make a decision - to fight and protect Midgard or Become as her father has commanded.

I really enjoyed this book. The story flowed smoothly and the characters were believable. Desi had to choose between Helheim, the world she’s always known, and Midgard, a world in danger of destruction and the world where her friends live, while at the same time learning to believe in herself and her destiny.

Desi is a strong character, who is full of self doubt but her inner strength grows as the story develops. When we first meet Desi, she’s a character with amnesia, whose brief remembering of old memories leave her fearful and impotent but in the end she discovers her true purpose and gains the strength to fight for what she believes.

My favorite aspect of this novel is the way the author infused it with Norse Mythology. It's a refreshing change from the heavily saturated Catholicism that permeates most stories of good versus evil.

My Time Out For Writing

2012-07-10T00:46:00.000-04:00

I’ve been away for a while and my reason or better yet my excuse for going away was that I needed the time to get back to writing. Yet my focus remained foggy and redirected to other areas. I guess that’s fine. Sometimes, life gets in the way of things and people can’t just sit around and write all day and forget about every aspect of their lives. It would be nice if things just sorted themselves out so that I could while the hours away daydreaming all sorts of adventures. But after a while, the laundry piles up, the dishes need washing and the dust bunnies are larger than my cats. Then there are the other aspects of life, like the relationships that we have with our family and friends. How the dynamics of these relationships will not survive nay tolerate neglect. And even though I took that time off for myself to focus on the whole “I’m a writer” bit, it didn’t actually happen. Not the way I had envisioned it would, anyway.

I worked on a book review for the book I finished reading called Become by Ali Cross. It took me forever to get it done and I sweated and struggled through every bit of it. I’ve never done a book review before. How could I call myself a writer if I can’t write a book review, right? After all, writing a book review is writing, isn’t it? Eventually, I finished it and that is the product of my time off. Can you believe it? One page - just one page of writing in over a month. But the real secret is that it didn’t take me a month to write it. For the first two weeks off, I did nothing!

I’m amazed at other writers who manage to amass 1-2,000 words a day. When I try to write keeping track of my word count, I freeze up. The word meter plummets instead of rising. I’m weird; the way I write is strange I guess. Usually inspiration hits me and sometimes it actually feels physical. It’s like a left hook that leaves me reeling and other times it’s an almost electric nervous energy that courses through me. Each time and regardless of the symptoms I must get the story out. I type and type heeding nothing else - not food, drink, or household chores and often don’t stop until I’m about to collapse from sleep exhaustion. If, I don’t let this happen; if I restrain myself from letting the story, chapter, scene whatever it is out – it dies. I lose it never to regain it no matter how hard I try. And let's not talk about plotting; that's like pulling teeth. It's either painful or it puts me to sleep because there's nothing happening in the gray matter.

So I began to believe that I must be a writer because normal people don’t go through this. Do they? Yet at the same time, I think that no, I couldn’t be a writer because the compulsion to write everything down doesn’t touch me. I detest journal writing – could never write my personal feelings down – ever. What if someone were to read them? I don’t write about what happened on my vacation, not like I’ve had one but you get the idea. I make lists but that’s different. I relate that more to a sense of organization. If I don’t make a list, I won’t remember everything I need to get from the store. It’s as simple as that.

Well, I don’t know what I am but I hope someday to finish the novel I’m working on. Maybe then, I can say I’m a writer and all this nonsense about what I am and what I’m not won’t matter.

Time Out - Writer At Work

2012-05-30T22:52:00.001-04:00

I’ve been busy with other things that have pulled me in different directions and taken me away from writing. I haven’t worked on my novel or any of my other incomplete WIPs. There aren’t enough hours in the day to do everything I need to do. So, I will take a little time out to work on my writing. Even if I only manage to write a little, I have to get back on the wagon.

My neglect has been rampant and I must do something about it before my characters mutiny. It’ll be a day or two, maybe a few days. Just long enough but short enough that I can convince myself that I’m back on track. That way I can believe myself to be a writer and not feel guilty about my lapse or even worse feel like a poser.

Anyway, I’m stalling now so…later.

Phluvoighan Aggression - Episode Three

2012-05-23T17:58:00.000-04:00

The Biogeometer’s signal bleeped in shorter intervals as they approached the mines on the left outermost edge of the mountains. Veudan, his shoulders hunched, led - his phaser rifle set on level three. He wasn’t taking any chances that a stun setting might not be enough to protect his commanding officer. Although the RBC suits protected them from the storm’s effects, the force of the winds slowed their approach through the rocky landscape. Drokkan pulled at the medi-beds to keep them from blowing away – the powerful winds made it difficult for the hover-mechanism of the medi-beds to remain steady. They had only managed 50 paces and were nearing a large mound of rock debris, when phaser fire erupted from different directions. Veudan returned fire with expert ease while Drokkan tied down the medi-beds to a large rock.

“How many do you see?” Drokkan asked as he shot down a Phluvoigh

“Too many sir - we’re surrounded! Veudan answered killing three Phluvoighans in a single pass. More Phluvoigh replaced their fallen comrades; most were perched above the cliffs ruthlessly targeting them while others faced them head on.

“Drastic measures Veudan! Fire the plasma grenades!” Drokkan commanded hunching down as more phaser fire rained down on them.

“Aye sir!” Veudan answered with glee and inserted the plasma grenade clip to his phaser rifle. A brazen group detached from the rest and charged forward. Veudan targeted them in his sight and fired the grenade - the blast scattered the limbs and the Phluvoigh on the ground beat a hasty retreat. But it didn't deter those on the cliffs, who increased their phaser fire. Veudan counteracted with a few well placed plasma grenade shots - the giggle that escaped him evidence that he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Inside the cave, Crewman Inertia was brought out of her deep healing meditation by the sound of explosions. She supposed that the sounds she heard meant that Commander Drokkan had sent another rescue party for them. After communicating with Commander Drokkan, she cleared her mind of her initial trauma and relied on her training to speed up her healing. Memories of her youth in Cardia flashed behind her eyelids as she remembered the teachings of her mentor who had taught her the ancient forms of healing through meditation and energy work. It was the focusing of this healing energy that she was now channeling into herself and Captain Faasha. One hand supporting her ribs and the other resting lightly on Captain Faasha’s forehead; the thumb pressing against the temple. The dull pain of her throbbing ribs made it difficult to draw air and the intermittent coughing sent stabbing pain through her. The Biogeometer indicated they were running out of air and the unbidden thought that they wouldn’t make it shook her confidence. But she was a Cardian and Cardians were born stubborn; it was in their genetic makeup. Looking down at her captain, she decided that she would do what it took to ensure that Captain Faasha survived. After repositioning herself and placing both hands on the Captain’s forehead, thumbs at the temples, Crewman Inertia refocused her energies once more.

The onslaught of the Phluvoighans continued undeterred forcing Veudan and Drokkan back into the mines while tendrils of smoke rose from the molten lump that used to be a medi-bed.

“How many plasma grenades do we have left?” Drokkan asked limping backwards favoring his left leg as they sought shelter in the mines.

“Three grenades left, sir” Veudan responded. He had switched some time ago to standard phaser fire now set to level four.

“Acknowledged - the Biogeometer indicates that we’re thirty paces too far to the right. The only alternative left is to use the phasers to cut a section of the rock. I’ll provide cover while you work on it.” Drokkan leaned against the mine wall; the leg of his RBC suit had a large burn from when he was hit by the Phluvoighan’s illegally modified Type-1 phaser rifle.

“Sir, this section of the wall is too thick to cut through. I recommend using a plasma grenade to dislodge the fallen rocks that sealed the entrance to the cave.” Veudan asked

“The blast could cause more debris to fall and make it worse for the Captain and Crewman Inertia. Scan for a thinner section of the wall and create a passage wide enough for the medi-bed to get through.” Drokkan said noticing the sudden quiet. The Phluvoighans had ceased firing.

“I don’t like it sir. They’re up to something!” Veudan scanned the area, the rifle pointed and ready to fire at anything that moved.

“We don’t have much time, Veudan. Get to work on that opening!” Drokkan commanded

Phluvoighan Aggression - Episode Two

2012-05-17T09:00:00.000-04:00

Amidst coughing and wheezing Crewman Inertia opened her eyes to a stream of dust particles that were illuminated by the track light of a Biogeometer. It took a moment to gather the strength to move her body – first her toes and legs and then progressing to her arms. They weren’t broken but her abdomen hurt and she suspected she may have a few fractured ribs. She felt a body next to her. It was obvious that this was the person whose Biogeometer provided the only light in the darkened cave. Slowly she turned her head and even though the person was turned away from her, she could recognize her Captain. Clearly, the captain tried to rescue her and had now been injured in the process. She needed to contact the ship for help immediately. Turning on her side was excruciatingly painful but slowly she managed to sit up.

Her own communicator had been damaged in the attack so she tapped her Captain’s communicator. “Crewman Inertia to Bridge” The hoarse whisper of the Crewman was barely audible through the distortion, but Drokkan’s heightened sense of hearing detected it. “Crewman report!” he braced the Comm. Station as if willing it to transmit clearly. She kept her face close to the floor trying to inhale what little air she could, amidst the coughing fits that drained her strength. “Crewman Inertia, I repeat, report!” It took a few breaths to be able to respond to Lieutenant Commander Drokkan. “Trapped in a cave - Situation: W.U.D.I.” She could taste the blood every time she coughed and knew she was bleeding internally; her hold on consciousness slipping.

Back on the bridge Drokkan paced back and forth from one control panel to another looking over the shoulders of the Bridge’s crew as if he could find answers they couldn’t. Spiky tufts of blue hair strayed from their military regulation coif and his usual nerves of titanium were stretched taut. The circumstances were worse than he thought as he heard Crewman Inertia report W.U.D.I. – Wounded, Unconscious and Death Imminent. He tried to get more information but the only response was static. With the storm in full force, transport was impossible. He would have to send a manned shuttle-craft to rescue them, but would he have enough time to get them out alive? Should he risk additional crew to save them?

Captain Faasha’s orders had been clear: assume command in 20 kelms. During their earlier briefing Faasha had planned to leave orbit, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave them behind. His decision made, he headed towards the lift doors “Loecus and Veudan, you’re with me!” Two crewmen immediately relinquished their posts and entered the lift with Drokkan.

As soon as the shuttle-craft bay doors opened, the shuttle-craft darted forward at full speed with Drokkan at the helm. Loecus manned the Science station while Veudan monitored the Tactical controls for hostile forces. The electromagnetic waves of the Red Dwarf Sun’s flares bombarded the shuttle-craft’s shields causing the shuttle-craft to buckle and shake. “Commander, the storm is concentrated at 64.4885 degrees North by 52.2327 degrees East. Based on the coordinates that the Captain was transported to, the cave would be somewhere in the eastern region of the planet.”

“What are your recommendations?” Drokkan asked never taking his eyes off the view screen.

“Sir, according to my calculations we have to veer further southeast to avoid the worst of the storm. I recommend a heading of 12.3552 degrees South by 45.2614 degrees East. That will bring us close enough to the caves without too much damage to the shuttle-craft.”

“Agreed - enter the new heading” said Drokkan turning to Veudan “Anything to report?”

“No sir. Besides the storm, all seems quiet on the planet. The Phluvoighans must have gone underground to the mines.”

“How are the shields holding?”

“We are at 87% and holding, sir.”

“Loecus, how long before we can land?”

“At the current velocity, we should be over the caves in 11 kelms, sir.”

“Good, I’m activating the auto pilot. Loecus put your suit on first I’ll cover your station, then Veudan will go next.”

“Yes, sir.” The young Crewman got up immediately to don the RBC (Radioactive, Biological, & Chemical Agents) suit.

Within 5 kelms all three men were back at their stations wearing the RBC suits ready to enter the planet’s atmosphere.

“Veudan, concentrate main shields to the shuttle-craft’s bow!” Drokkan worked the controls trying to steady the shuttle-craft.

“Maximum shields on forward bow, aye sir!”

The shuttle-craft entered the planet’s atmosphere engulfed in a maroon corona; its trajectory heading east towards the mining caves. As the shuttle-craft circumvented the mining camp, metal doors opened on the ground, phaser cannons lifted into position, aimed and targeted the shuttle-craft.

“Commander, phaser cannons have locked on us!” Veudan shouted

“Disable the cannons!” Drokkan shouted as he implemented evasive maneuvers. Phaser cannon shots disturbed the air around the shuttle-craft as it navigated closer to the mines. Crewman Veudan’s phaser shots damaging the cannon but not disabling it. The cannon repeatedly targeted the shuttle-craft, shooting along its trajectory.

“More power to aft shields!” Drokkan commanded as he maneuvered the shuttle-craft west.

“Aye, more power to Aft shields!” Veudan confirmed

“Commander!” Crewman Loecus called out “2.2125 degrees East! Life signs, sir!”

“Confirmed!” said Drokkan as he piloted the shuttle-craft in that direction. Crewman Veudan continued phaser fire on the cannon disabling it.

Drokkan looked for a safe place to land the shuttle-craft while Crewman Loecus kept monitoring for Captain Faasha and Crewman Inertia’s life signs.

“Veudan, are the Phluvoighans in pursuit?” Drokkan asked

“No signs of Phluvoighans within 30 meters sir. Being underground their life signs can be camouflaged until they’re upon us. We must hurry!” Veudan responded

“Acknowledged.” Drokkan left the helm and moved towards the back of the shuttle-craft getting the equipment ready. “Loecus, you will stay with the shuttle-craft and scan for the Phluvoigh. Keep the shields up until we contact you.”

“Aye sir.” Crewman Loecus moved from the navigational controls to the Tactical station while Drokkan and Veudan armed themselves with phasers and gathered the medi-beds. Loecus deactivated the shields to the shuttle-craft’s aft and Veudan opened the hatch. The incandescent heat of the winds bombarded them as they exited the shuttle-craft. Crewman Loecus immediately closed the hatch and reactivated shields to the shuttle-craft’s aft; monitoring all life signs as Drokkan and Veudan went in search.

E-Book Release News Flash!

2012-05-15T23:51:00.001-04:00

New Yorker, Magaly Guerrero, released her E-Book titled “AlmaMia Cienfuegos: a Story of Blood, Scars and Nightmares" on May 15, 2012.

Ms. Guerrero is also the author of Pagan-Culture, a blog that chronicles everyday life through the eyes of a dark fiction writer. She can also be found at her writing blog, Magaly Guerrero, where her readers are entertained with snippets of fiction that are part of larger works in progress.

After serving in the United States Marine Corps for ten years, Ms. Guerrero pursued her dream to become a writer. She is a delightfully entertaining blogger and author who has a loyal following. Her easy disposition earns the affection of her readers and she demonstrates potential for a best seller in her genre.

AlmaMia Cienfuegos: a Story of Blood, Scars and Nightmares can be purchased through Amazon.com. For an excerpt of the book click here.

You can learn more about Magaly at www.pagan-culture.blogspot.com and at www.magalyguerrero.com.

Phluvoighan Aggression - Episode One

2012-05-10T09:00:00.000-04:00

“Faasha, are you sure you want to do this?” his hands hovered over the controls. She stood on the transporter pad - shoulders squared - phaser in hand. “Transport me to the programmed coordinates. If I’m not back in 20 kelms, assume command.”

“You’ll be outnumbered. The Phluvoigh will ambush you the moment you materialize!”

“Drokkan, send me now that’s an order!”

Faasha felt her body coalesce as her molecules came together. The process took seconds but felt arduously slow to her. A member of her crew was missing and possibly hurt; she didn’t have time to waste. She blinked several times to clear her vision as she glanced around the maroon landscape – her hand brushing away the fringe of blue hair from her indigo-colored eyes. The purple haze of the planet’s atmosphere allowed little light to filter in from the sun. The phaser set on stun, she scanned the area with the Biogeometer, hoping for signs of life. Scans showed that weather patterns were fluctuating and radiation emissions were at acceptable levels, but no signs of life. This meant there were no Phluvoigh in the immediate vicinity, but it also meant that Crewman Inertia was closer to the mining camps than Faasha had hoped.

Two kelms had passed since she materialized and Drokkan would leave orbit in 20 kelms whether she made it back or not. She ran towards the mining camp taking cover wherever she could, the Biogeometer scanning periodically for signs of Crewman Inertia. Twenty meters from the camp the chirping sounds of the Biogeometer alerted her of life signs ahead – twelve Phluvoigh and one Cardian. Her chronometer was set on a countdown; she had eight kelms to find her Crewman and get back on the ship. The Phluvoigh were a patriarchal mining warrior class that functioned in camps led by a Core Master. The only thing she could do was trade herself for her Crewman which she was willing to do knowing that the Phluvoigh treated females, regardless of species, no better than slaves. The fact that she was a Captain would bear no weight when she negotiated the trade and it was important that she didn’t encounter any of the others until she found the Core Master’s encampment.

The pungent smell of kroag roasting turned her stomach but it meant that except for the security detail, most of them would be at their dining hut. She crept forward hiding behind a bivouac scanning for Cardian life signs but finding none. How could this be? Either Crewman Inertia was being held prisoner elsewhere, or the Phluvoigh were employing cloaking technology. Footsteps nearby alerted her of the security patrol coming her way and she ran away from the camp acutely aware of the kelms ticking away; swallowing her frustration at not finding her Crewman. Shouts erupted from the top of the barracks where the Phluvoigh bunked. She turned to see the militant Phluvoigh fire his phaser rifle. Phluvoigh warriors swarmed out of the dining hut giving chase; their Core Master barking commands in the background.

Chunks of maroon and lavender rocks flew in the air around her from the impact of the phaser rifles firing, as she ran towards the mines looking for some place to hide. Her long legs enabled her to cover more distance as she continued her climb going east, the Biogeometer reporting Cardian life signs nearby. The Phluvoigh shouting war cries were gaining ground on her. She pushed herself harder feeling the fatigue of her earlier trek to the camp. A quick glance at the chronometer informed her that there were only two kelms left. But looking at her chronometer had cost her, a Phluvoigh jumped down in front of her – phaser rifle pointed – demanding her surrender.

This Phluvoighan was more repulsive than most. He stood a foot taller than she did, reeked of kroag and body odor, was missing his left fang and the overly long hairs of his pug nose were moist. There was nothing Faasha could do at this point but to give in, slowly she bent and placed her phaser on the ground while the Phluvoigh watched her with contempt; a little dribble escaping the side of his mouth where the fang was missing. She heard the others approaching and as she began to straighten up, she stabbed the Phluvoigh on his thigh snatching his rifle and shooting him. His scream enraged the others as they pursued and Faasha surged ahead directly to the cave where Crewman Inertia’s weak life signs had registered.

Phaser fire came from all directions and she was hit on the back of her shoulder as she entered the cave. She fell to her knees from the burning impact, grinding her teeth in pain but continuing forward using the Biogeometer’s track light to illuminate the inside of the cave. The Phluvoigh gathered outside the cave now, brawling with each other to determine who would go in after her but unwilling to act without the Core Master’s orders. Crewman Inertia lay motionless in a bloody heap on the floor; her usual mauve complexion was a pasty coral. The wound over her left ear had stopped bleeding but was encrusted with dried pink blood.

While Faasha scanned her, she signaled the ship “Drokkan, I found Crewman Inertia. We’re in a cave within the Phluvoigh mining camp. Transport us now!"

Drokkan paced the bridge trying to decipher the Captain’s message through the distortion that the planet’s weather was causing. “Faasha, we’re trying to lock on to your signal. The electromagnetic field being generated by the storm is disrupting our ability to transport you!”

Outside the cave the Core Master gave orders for the phaser cannons to be brought forward. Faasha tapped her communicator “Drokkan, transport for two. Drokkan, do you read?” The communicator emitted static sounds while the temperature dropped a couple of degrees. The Phluvoigh sang songs of carnage while the winds began to howl. Faasha scanned around her, the Biogeometer analysis showing a storm coming her way. With no way to communicate with the ship and the Phluvoigh outside the cave, Faasha knew she was on her own. Twenty kelms had passed and Drokkan should be leaving orbit. She was trapped and cornered. All she could do is continue her stand-off and if captured negotiate with the Core Master, but she feared that they would end up roasting like the kroag. The booming sound of the phaser cannon brought her back to focus as it sealed the entrance to the cave - rubble and detritus pummeling them. Faasha, kneeling over Crewman Inertia, coughed through the thick dust and silt that covered them. She tapped her communicator again managing a hoarse “Drokkan...” as she lost consciousness.

I'm Not A Trekker - Really, I'm Not

2012-05-08T21:17:00.001-04:00

One of the genres that I enjoy is Sci-Fi. Years ago, I was fascinated with Star Wars, Buck Rogers, and Battlestar Galactica. But my favorite was Star Trek - both the original and The Next Generation. After The Next Generation, I was glued to Deep Space Nine, Voyager and Enterprise. I couldn’t get enough of space faring humans who encountered advanced alien civilizations. So it stands to reason that when I write Sci-Fi stories there will be a strong Star Trek influence.

Someone might say that I was a trekker, not that I would admit it. My iPad has the Starfleet Personal Access Display Device (PADD), which is so cool! This was the device the crew always walked around with and pressed digital buttons to access information. And this App is the Official and Canon version so all the information pertains to the Star Trek TV series and the films.

Now, before you say aha! Let me explain that the iPad was given to me and it already had the PADD App installed. On the other hand, the Tricorder App was mysteriously downloaded into my phone - those darned Nanites! I might as well play with it, I don't believe in being wasteful. Especially after those hard working Nanites went through all the trouble.

I must go now - my cats are chasing hair balls that look suspiciously like tribbles.

Baking For Love - Chapter One, Act One

2012-04-30T02:43:00.000-04:00

She felt him stir, stiffen and then slowly get out of bed not wanting to wake her. But for the past month, she’d awaken before him without making him aware of it. He was sensitive to her moods so she made sure to lie still and keep her breathing even.

The shower was on full blast. There would be no steamed or fogged mirrors – there hadn’t been in months. Frigid water pounded his head and shoulders, the freezing rivulets helping him regain self-control. Violent shivers wracked his body, not from the cold but from the hunger.

She kicked the covers off taking a deep breath and blowing it loudly through pursed lips. Clumps of wavy brown hair stood on end from the static of the bed sheets. And although she had been awake for at least ten minutes, her hazel eyes refused to focus. Her contacts were in the bathroom - the last place she should be at the moment. It’d be better to get out of bed and go make breakfast. The room reeked of her scent, but it would test his control if he saw her there once he came out.

On auto pilot, she busied herself making eggs, bacon, toast and coffee, which was mostly for her. Breakfast was a light meal for him and lately he barely sipped his coffee before he practically ran out of the apartment. The sounds of movement filtered in from the bedroom as he dressed. Getting the newspaper she removed the sections she preferred to read, folding the paper neatly so it appeared as if it hadn’t been touched and placed it on the breakfast nook.

Steady footsteps approached the kitchen and she looked up holding her breath, not moving a muscle. Despite the well dressed man that stood before her in his pin striped Brioni suit, she was fully aware that she was alone with a predator. As always he was meticulously dressed but today he wore creams and grays which was a deviation of the usual dark colors he preferred. His short cropped blond hair managed to be both an example of executive excellence and playboy aristocracy.

He reached for the coffee and the paper barely making eye contact – the fringe of blond lashes cloaking his sharp blue eyes. “Good morning”

The air felt electrically charged and she knew he was shielding “Good morning” she breathed out and sipped her coffee keeping her movements slow and small in order to avoid provoking his instinctive responses.

Barely wetting his lips, he put the cup down, glanced at his watch and headed for the door. “Have to go. See you tonight.”

She barely managed a feeble “See you later” before the door closed. Appetite gone and nerves reduced to jelly she didn’t know what to do. Sure, in the beginning everything was great. He was suave, charming and handsome – romantic even. But now things had changed and she was powerless to do anything about it.

Her friends had warned her about having an interspecies relationship but she wouldn’t listen. She loved Sean but did he love her or was she just food that he was resisting to eat? She knew the answer – she is food because she’s human and at the bottom of the food chain. And now he was acting like a man on a diet – a diet he was having trouble keeping, which meant trouble for her.

How could a relationship with an incubus possibly work out? And how long would it be before he finally ate her, sucking the life out of her the way one would suck the jelly out of a jelly donut?

Getting ready for work was arduous, when what she really wanted to do was crawl back into bed and sleep or cry or both. But she was stronger than that, and before she knew it she was waiting for the elevator. The day’s agenda played through her head, which had become a form of therapeutic exercise. Focusing on work was better than focusing on her personal life; at least it helped her stay sane. A familiar voice pulled her out of her thoughts and she looked into clear golden eyes – Carl’s eyes.

“Hello” the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he smiled

“Hello” she couldn’t help sniffing and hoped she was inconspicuous. Carl always smelled of sugar and cinnamon and she wondered if he rolled around in it.

“Penny for your thoughts” bright teeth showed through his smile – no fangs though – Carl had manners. He was one of several living vampires that resided in her building and was nicer than most. The others tended to keep to themselves and never socialized with humans unless they were on the menu.

“Did you bake today?”

“As a matter-of-fact I did. I baked donuts. Do you like donuts?” he asked knowing that she did but feigning ignorance - his voice dropping half an octave and oozing sensuality. He had baked them especially for her. The kind she liked with the custard filling.

“I do actually like donuts but not jelly donuts.” The thought of which made her innards recoil.

“Then I guess it’s my good luck that I didn’t bake jelly donuts. I made Bavarian cream donuts. Do you like Bavarian cream?” the elevator doors opened at the lobby but their eyes were locked, Carl held the door open but didn't let go of her gaze.

Breathless and lost in the amber of his lion eyes she could only manage a hoarse whisper “Bavarian donuts are my favorite.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’ll be sure to reserve a few for you.” He released her gaze and Arianna stepped out of the elevator feeling a bit distracted over their encounter. A glance over her shoulder confirmed her suspicion – Carl stood in the elevator leaning against the open door, his eyes followed her as she walked. She turned away quickly and left the building, her heart skipping a couple of beats.

Xiuhcoatl

2012-04-21T19:57:00.001-04:00

Lately my blog has been neglected because my attention was directed elsewhere. The first thing I had to deal with was the issue of an electrical shortage in my kitchen. I wasn’t sure if the electrical problem affected the entire house, but thankfully it was confined to only the kitchen. Now that the matter has been resolved and my pockets have gained another hole, I can relate to you what is currently troubling me.

You see, during the winter I gained a new roommate. A squirrel decided that my home is quite suitable for her to nest in. She climbed atop my porch and squeezed herself in between the roof and the asphalt shingles. Instead of a smooth row of shingles, now I have a lifted section that resembles a hump. Every morning when I leave for work, I turn back and glance at my house. I love my house. It wasn’t easy to buy her on my own and with the financial crisis it hasn’t been easy to keep her. So, I’m very happy to have her.

Here I am looking back at my house and there. She. Is! She was perched on top of the porch, probably on her way to work too (foraging for nuts and such, which is probably harder work than what I do). I stopped in my tracks and so did she. But she gave me this “Oh, no you didn’t just come out of my house!” look. and I in turn shouted at her: “How dare you move in to my house!” That’s right, I actually yelled at a squirrel outside in the street.

The face-off began and I think that she believes she stared me down, but you see it takes me an hour and a half to get to work every day. If I miss the bus, I’ll be very late. So I left and rushed to work trying to make up for lost time. Since then I haven’t seen her, but I’ve heard her scratching on the walls. I suspect that her nest is deep inside the porch on the other side of my bedroom wall. And who knows how much damage she’s caused? I don’t even know if she has babies in there.

Considering the number of holes in my pockets, I don’t have the capital to make repairs at the moment. Every time I think of the dreaded squirrel, $$$ signs float before my eyes – $$$ signs that I don’t have. First, I have to evict her, repair the damage and ensure she doesn’t return next winter to do it again. All I think about (at least when I'm at home) is her. Since she’s occupying so much time in my mind, I’ve decided to name her. I’ve combed through the baby name sites and no name I saw captured what she’s doing to me. But I didn’t give up and continued my search until finally I found it. The name: Xiuhcoatl. The meaning: Weapon of Destruction. Perfect.

I wonder if Xiuhcoatl is trying to find a way to evict me – now that would be funny. But I tell you this, that Bi – I mean rodent – is going down!

Outlining My Novel

2012-04-09T23:57:00.000-04:00

As I mentioned before, I’m not a plotter. The thought of outlining causes an eerie sensation to crawl up my spine. To me outlining is like school work. Not the fun - dissecting frogs and exploding volcanoes in science lab - but more like where the teacher drones on and on in a monotone voice that puts me to sleep. My brain gets all fuzzy and a drowsy feeling overcomes me, effectively shutting down the creative process. However, I’m trying to approach my writing in a different way in the hopes of strengthening the writing muscles.

Since, I don’t know the first thing about outlining a fiction novel, I’ve been scouring the Internet for tips. There are various ways to go about outlining. And at this point I’ve read so many different ways to do it, that I’m cross-eyed. The lower than average gray matter that is my brain has gone on strike, apparently from information overload. The end result being that I’ve absorbed nothing but I’ve bookmarked a couple of sites for future reference.

After that I was like - “This sucks! What do I do next?” And then it hit me – “What if I searched on YouTube?” Which I did and I’m sure other people would’ve thought of it sooner, but I’m slow. Anyway, there’s a five part video series with Dan Wells, author of “I Am Not a Serial Killer”. I liked the way he explained story structure - a seven point system not created by him. In this video he uses examples from Batman Begins, Harry Potter and The Fellowship of the Ring.

As he explains, the seven point system goes as follows:

The Seven Point System

Hook
Plot Turn 1
Pinch 1
Midpoint
Pinch 2
Plot Turn 2
Resolution

Here's part one of Dan Wells on Story Structure:

Now I can refer to these videos whenever I feel stuck. And his book has been added to my TBR list.