The Inner Bean

Stone Wheel

2009-09-03T11:45:00.001-04:00

Stone Wheel
Originally uploaded by ldglandon

The Goblin Market is Coming....

2009-06-27T10:25:00.003-04:00

Just a quick note to those who are still following this blog, I am releasing the first episode of my upcoming podcast novel, "Goblin Market" via my official website on Wednesday, June 1, 2009.

Tonight, I am holding a special contest, allowing three people a sneak-peek at the first seven minutes of episode one. Tune into http://jenniferhudock.com tonight around 7:30 PM EST for full details on how you can get inside the Goblin Market early. In the meantime, pop on over and visit the site: Goblin Market, have a look around, take a listen to promo one and definitely let me know what you think.

I am so excited about this project, and I cannot wait to share it with you.

The Inner Bean is Moving...

2009-05-09T09:21:00.004-04:00

Hello everyone! As I have mentioned over the last few weeks, big, big changes are coming my way. One of those changes was unveiled this morning, so I thought I should pop on over here and spread the news, and hope that you will join me in celebrating. This morning I finally launched my own website: JenniferHudock.com where I will be blogging regularly, sharing snippets of my work, and of course, poetry.

I do hope you will readd me to your blogrolls under this exciting new address, and come to visit me there soon. I have already added many of you to my new blogroll, and once I complete my move, I will be making blog rounds more regularly.

Putting together my own site has been an incredibly rewarding experience, and something I've wanted to do for a long time. I want to thank my friend Jackie for all of the hard work she did to help make this possible. Without Jackie, there would be no awesome new site for me to celebrate, and I appreciate her so much! Jackie, you rule!

So, again, please redirect your visits to me to the new site: JenniferHudock.com. I can't wait to see you there!

Have You Ever Gone Mad?

2009-05-06T17:34:00.002-04:00

Well, have you? I have, and let me tell you, it is the most liberating and incredible feeling in the world! That's why this summer over at eMuse we're breaking out the straitjackets and encouraging creative projects inspired by full frontal lobe corrosion.

I mentioned this earlier, but I wanted to go over it again because we are still accepting submissions for the next month. One month from today, June 6th, we will be closing submissions for the Personal Effects: Dark Art Contest that I blogged about just two weeks ago. Yesterday, I made this exciting video in honor of the contest.

If you missed my original post about the contest, and you'd like to read up on it so you can get your submission in, check it out HERE!

Monday Morning

2009-05-04T09:29:00.003-04:00

I'm back! I bet you didn't even know I was gone. My daughter and I packed up for the weekend and went off to enjoy the solitude. While I would have been happier with brighter skies and warmer weather, overall it was a great weekend. I got my edits done, I reevaluated my present frame of mind and I discovered some pleasant news while weighing in. The sleeping accommodations left my back in a twist, but long soaks in the hot tub totally made up for that.

So it's Monday morning and I am about to embark on finishing the second draft of my novel. I've got the file open and I'm ready to charge at it later this evening, but first I have errands and a some freelance work to do. I will say that tentatively, on top of everything else I've got going on right now, that I would like to have this second draft completed by the last day in the first week of June. That is June 6th. I can do it. I've won NaNoWriMo once and JulNoWriMo once, and I've already got a pretty strong skeleton to build upon. So that is what is on my agenda.

I am also planning to start piecing together some of my poetry into a chapbook, so be on the lookout for more details to come there.

On top of all this exciting news, I am also preparing to move. Over the next few weeks I will be packing up my life into boxes and by the second week of June, I will be moving into a new place. Wish me luck.

So as I stand on this precipice of change, I leave you with this poetic thought I had:

Fearless
atop the world
looking down
up here
it all seems small
Breathe
sense of knowing
being, eclipsing
exhale
and fall.

I hope you enjoy your Monday, and it isn't too manic for you. Take some time to pop over and visit the awesome people in my blog roll, like James Melzer, J.C. Hutchins, Nicole Ireland, Matthew Wayne Selznick, and Ray Onativia just to name a few. You won't be disappointed, I promise!

Thankful Thursday

2009-04-30T23:29:00.003-04:00

It's Thursday again, and though I am swamped down with so many things, I wanted to take a quick moment to offer my thankfulness. Since I've been so busy, I'm going to keep it short this week, and only pay homage to one awesome inspiration.

Helen Ginger. I found Helen's blog through the Blood Red Pencil, as she is a regular editor/blogger on the BRP. Her columns are always insightful and fascinating, so I started to follow her actual blog, Straight from Hel. She covers a wide variety of topics on her blog, including writer interviews, writing advice, editorial advice and trends in publishing. There is never a dull post on Ms. Ginger's blog, so if you have never visited Straight From Hel, I highly recommend it. You can learn a lot from this woman. Take my word for it.

Sorry it's so short this week. It's late and I've got a lot of edits to get done. I'm just about to put this manuscript to bed, so wish me luck!

For the Muse

2009-04-29T22:05:00.004-04:00

My muse has been incredibly generous lately, providing me with gallons of inspiration to drink each day. I've got two short stories on the verge of completion, and I've been writing poetry like mad.

I have been so busy trying to get this manuscript completed so I can get it back to my author and things in my personal life have been rocky, but every night I manage to write a poem before bed, and sometimes I write one when I wake up. Since I don't have much time, I wanted to share a quick poem with you. I haven't forgotten about my faithful readers, and hope to find more time to blog soon.

Nectar

I drink you
like nectar
resting in the
cup of a flower
mouth to mouth
skin to skin
we dance around
obstacles, shedding
fabric like
a snake sheds
its skin
then wrap together
like crawling vines
reaching toward
the sun.

I'm off to cram in about 20 more pages of edits, then dreamland. I hope you're all having a fantastic week! I need to make my blog rounds, and I apologize if I haven't popped by to visit you lately. Life certainly has a way of interfering with play time.

Don't forget, tomorrow boasts the return of Thankful Thursday. See you there.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes...Turn and Face the Strange...

2009-04-27T23:32:00.003-04:00

It's been a gorgeous last couple of days, with plenty of sunshine and a gentle breeze most days. I spent some serious time outdoors contemplating things, and just enjoying the fact that I am alive. As I mentioned in my previous blog, things have been busy, and my life is heading for some major changes. As I step into the precipice before me, I feel like I am wearing a blindfold. I don't know where I am going, only that I am about to drop off into the unknown. It is both terrifying, and liberating.

I have always operated under the philosophy that we are interactive participants in our own destiny. Life is what we make it. When it comes time to making the hard choices, if we shy away out of fear, then we create regret. Regret festers in the soul, and for many people it becomes an infectious disease that eventually overruns their life.

Despite the things I have done in my life, I have no regrets. Regret is not even a word in my vocabulary. There are things I look back on and shake my head at, but I would not ever take a single one of them back. As I step forward, into that which awaits me, it is with trepidation and curiosity. I leave behind aspects of my life that no longer serve me or my future. It is hard to let them go, but I know that if I am to grow into the person I am meant to be, I must sever those ties.

More poetry to come this week, and maybe even some special news. Stay tuned. This is Major Beans to ground control.

Busy Busy Busy...

2009-04-25T12:49:00.004-04:00

As anticipated, this week has been incredibly busy. Not only am I juggling two short stories, getting started on some heavy edits for the June edition of eMuse and novel edits for a client, I also had to work all week and save my own personal universe from crumbling in upon itself. There's been a lot going on, needless to say, but despite the pressure, I feel resilient and strong. I've had a very helpful and awesome support system all along. It's been amazing. Thanks friends. :) You all rock.

The weather is finally shifting, and the disappearance of the cold, damp of winter/spring has gone at last. This has completely altered my physical health in a way that confirmed what I believed all along... the death-grip on my lungs all winter was some kind of indoor-allergy. I think it's something in this house. That's insane. When your house becomes your physical enemy and tries to drive you out with disease... hmm, I smell a short story.

With so much to do, and so little time, I'm off to the chocolate factory for a full tour... not really. I'm actually just going to hop in the shower, drop the squeenager off at the mall and sit outdoors with an iced coffee to do some editing. I may check back in later tonight after the wee one is asleep. (I'm keeping my four year old niece over night, YAY!)

I'll leave you with this morning's waking poem:

Dawdling Sun

Empty morning,
too much bed.
Wrapped in cold warmth
and the last fragments
of a quiet dream
still linger.

It's five.
The sun dawdles,
but soon
it will claw
away the last
remnants of
this darkness.
©2009 J. Hudock

Thankful Thursday

2009-04-23T22:30:00.003-04:00

red pencil
Originally uploaded by Rat Phlegm

In the tradition of thankfulness, I wanted to spend my thankful Thursday sharing with you one of my favorite blogs: The Blood Red Pencil. The Blood Red pencil is a blog for writers by a group of incredible editors. Each and every day they share their wisdom with a mass of followers, wisdom on everything from grammar and style to editing and publishing one's writing. In the months that I have been following the BRP, I have learned a great deal and been reminded of a few things I let myself forget from time to time. I highly recommend following and subscribing to the Blood Red Pencil. You will not regret it.

I also want to nod my hat this Thankful Thursday to author J.C. Hutchins. J.C. Hutchins inspires me for a number of reasons, and not just because he was kind enough to let us use his novel in our contest over at eMuse. I am one of the fortunate people who gets to Twitter with J.C. every day. Not only is he incredibly prolific and creative (this guy can market, let me tell you,) he is also one of the most positive and uplifting people on Twitter. His attitude is simply amazing, and though he knows that sometimes you might get "no," for your answer, that doesn't mean he won't at least ask the question. He's done amazing things to promote his upcoming novel, Personal Effects: Dark Art, reaching out to some of the biggest names in the horror industry to vlurb the novel, and he's succeeded. Hat's off, J.C. You inspire me every single day, and for that, I thank you.

That's it. That's what I got this week. Thank you to J.C. Hutchins and the awesome bloggers over at the Blood Red Pencil. You all inspire me every day!

Looking forward to another fantastic Friday. See you there.

Warrior Wednesday

2009-04-22T22:35:00.003-04:00

notebook noir
Originally uploaded by theilr

I had a great day, and I'm just settling in now to get a bit more writing done before bed. I wanted to pop in and post a couple of poems to tide you over until tomorrow's Thankful Thursday post. :)

Morning

Tin roof rain drops
and wings like sheets
flap toward freedom
perched atop the pine
single branch sways
nothing but the rain
can cleanse me now
face to sky, arms to wind
warrior waiting
behind a peaceful mask
ready to pounce...
always watching.
© 2009 J. Hudock

Numbered

Every night's pain
echoes into silent
voices across the void...
She picks up her pen
and tries to capture
it in words, but
there is only the
way it makes her feel:
speechless, but full
replenished, but alone,
as if she's numbered
every one of her own days
and given them new meaning.
She's sure that
he would never understand,
so she closes her book
and goes to sleep.
© 2009 J. Hudock

Untitled

Let it all writhe
and tangle together
like a bed of snakes
tale to mouth
euroburos

Let it all burn
and smolder together
like a pile of ash
blackened soot
funeral pyre

Let it all fade
and wash away together
like a bed of sand
loose shells
watery grave

Let it all go
and dwindle into nothing
like a galaxy into a black hole
spinning rim round
the end
© 2009 J. Hudock

Have a good evening everyone.

April Showers... Bring May Flowers

2009-04-21T17:37:00.002-04:00

Its raining in my backyard-Hooray
Originally uploaded by aussiegall

Sometimes it has to rain. I know that. After a long winter, however, the transition from frigid and icy to beautiful and green is not always smooth. There are a lot of grey and icky days, as the fingers of death uncoil from the spring maiden, allowing her to go forth and bring life back to the sluggish and tired earth. This morning, I woke up to the sound of pouring rain, (as usual, I started to sing Skin Row's "I Remember You... because I am from the 80s, and that is what I do). Before I climbed out of bed, I thought about how sad today was going to be. A lot of intense things are underway in my life right now, some incredibly frightening changes, and the rain and gloom felt perfect for my mood.

I got out of bed, didn't even get dressed, and put my shoes on so I could take Loki the wonderhusky outside for his morning business. It was warm. Not cold, as I had anticipated, and though it was damp, there was humidity to because of the heat. I looked out into the backyard and realized that all the dead and barren plant life had been brushed by the hand of spring. Everything was green. It gave me hope.

I've got a lot to do right now, so my blogs may be a little sporadic. I will try to keep at them daily, as I do enjoy the interaction and sharing with those who take time to read. Today, I leave you with a couple poems that encompass my frame of mind right now perfectly.

Matches

What would she say to me
if she were to live
beyond expectation?
Would she say, "Light the
match," and exhale
smoke in tiny fingers
that dance upon the
wrinkles in her skin?
"My pretty girl, so smart,"
but not smart enough
to outwit her own defeat,
her own indulgences. My
kingdom for a compliment,
my entire world to be
shattered like an old
barn house window.
"Make a wish," then
she blows out the match.
© 2009 J. Hudock

Burn Scar

Sucker punched by the moment,
left struggling for breath.
Long after the heart stops,
pale ghost of want
flounders on the floor--
no one hears it screaming.

Strangled disease ended torment
flat on the back of a dream.
Short pulses of of subtlety
shine like a beacon
pounding at the door of
something to believe in.

Small and curled like a ball
a fetus in a womb of web,
snap judgments tear through
white waves of silence.
Grounded forever more,
nothing but a burn scar.
© 2009 J. Hudock

What is this?
Sundown and the strange
suffocation braces my lungs.

I thought we were over this,
basking in the cure
and absolved from old punishments.

Imprisoned by notion,
barred within my fear...

I open up the cage
and with this final breath
I set you free.

Fly, fly away from me.
© 2009 J. Hudock

Even if it's raining wherever you are, go stand under the downpour,and think of yourself like a flower desperate for a drink. Grow--like a vine if you have to. Stretch your arms toward the sun, even if it's hidden behind clouds. It'll be shining again before you know it, and you'll be all the better from all that rain.

Oh, and before I forget, my friend, James Melzer will be revealing the cover art for his novel, The Zombie Chronicles: Escape, tonight on his personal website at 7:45PM EST. James will also be stopping by Projekt X Radio around 8PM EST to talk about the cover. Check it out! I've sneak peeked the cover, and it's AMAZING!!!

When It Rains... It Pours

2009-04-19T18:17:00.003-04:00

Luck of summer rain
Originally uploaded by lepiaf.geo

You know how the old saying goes... when it rains, it pours, well this weekend was a virtual downpour of awesome things. I made a lot of jokes over the weekend about taking over the world piece by piece, but as the ideas kept paying off and the achievements weighing in in my corner, I decided to polish my Hatori Hanzo sword and just Kill Bill.

It started on Friday, which I had decided to dedicate to finishing the short story I've been working on. While I was proofing over what I had already written, this idea arrow struck like lightning. I needed to put together an eMuse contest, as I had mentioned one in passing a couple of times. It was time to act on it, but what could we do that would not only benefit our contributors and readers, but also a fellow writer? That was when the name J.C. Hutchins popped into my head. I've been reading an advanced copy of his upcoming novel, Personal Effects: Dark Art, to review after its release in our June issue, when I thought to myself, "Wow! We could give away copies of the book for an insane asylum related contest." I ran my idea by J.C. and he agreed that it was a great plan, so I drew up a plan, checked on our eMuse funds and dove in.

Later that evening I was talking to my good friend, James Melzer about review writing for eMuse, as he was going to cook up a review for me, when we got to talking about him doing something bigger. The result was integrating him into the zine as a regular columnist and his column, Behind the Mic was born. Not only is James working on publishing his first novel, The Zombie Chronicles: Escape with Permuted Press, but he also has great insight into new media. Needless to say, it's going to be amazing.

I also have another idea for a column that is still in the hush-hush stages, but to give you a little preview, it will be a he said/she said column on writing. We are still working out the details, but stay tuned for news on that.

So just when I thought that my weekend couldn't get any more spectacular than it already was, I went for a walk last night. Did some thinking. Relished in the good feelings that come with achievement and obvious movement in the right direction. I came home, and sat down at my computer planning to get a little writing done, and checked my email. I had an acceptance letter from the editor of , 42 Magazine. She wanted to buy one of the poems I sent to them back in early February. Needless to say, I danced like Snoopy all around the office, drank three beers and proceeded to squee all over anyone who would listen.

Good things. They come to those who wait, and it's so important to remember that just when you think nothing is going your way. Look for little signs that the universe is on your side. It's there, and it wants you to succeed and be happy just as much as you want those things for yourself. If you aren't sure, maybe it's time to think about what you want for yourself, and how badly you want it. A wise man I know is prone to saying that the world don't owe you, and that is definitely true, but you can still go out there, kick some butt and take names every single day. This is your life. Live it!

eMuse Summer Madness is Here!!!!

2009-04-18T12:26:00.006-04:00

Before eMuse kicked off as a site, our founders ran a small writers group where we took great pride in tossing out writing prompts and then awarding fabulous prizes to the best contributors. We have grown leaps and bounds since then, publishing our quarterly literary arts journal and featuring the most amazing talent we could find on the net. Last summer, we had our first official eMuse contest, the Summer Camp for Writers. eMuse Summer Madness kicks off now, and we're locking you all up in the nuthouse and prescribing art therapy!

eMuse and author J.C. Hutchins are teaming up to bring you an amazing contest. As many of you know, J.C. is prepping to release his new book: Personal Effects: Dark Art through St. Martin's Press this June. The novel takes place in an insane asylum, and we thought it would be fun to break out the straitjackets and put together a contest to support the new book.

Since we are a literary arts magazine, we will be accepting submissions in three categories: Art, poetry and fiction. The central focus of all submissions must be an insane asylum, but need not directly relate to Personal Effects: Dark Art. Poetry must be at least 15 lines long. All short stories should be at least 1000-1500 words in length. We may consider longer pieces in cases of exceptional storytelling. Please submit one to two pieces of art, saved as a .jpg files and attached to your email.

I know you're begging for us to get on to the fabulous prizes, so here it goes... Not only will the winning submission in each category be featured in the September edition of eMuse, the lucky three will also win an autographed copy of Personal Effects: Dark Art. This book is amazing. Not only is it insanely creepy, it's an interactive game. You can find out more about the novel by visiting the official site: Personal Effects: Dark Art.

You may start sending in your submissions on Sunday, April 19, 2009, and we will accept them through June 6, 2009, at midnight EST. Winners will be announced along side my own personal review of Personal Effects: Dark Art in the June edition of eMuse, which goes live on June 15, 2009. Please title the subject of all emails: eMuse Summer Madness Contest and mail your submissions to:
art_submissions@emuse-zine.com
fiction_submissions@emuse-zine.com
poetry_submissions@emuse-zine.com

When You Don't Know What Else To Do...

2009-04-17T12:24:00.003-04:00

HeartBroken-Tears are the Baptism of Soul
Originally uploaded by honikum

Recently, a friend confided in me that she and her family were going through some troubled times. Her son had gotten himself into some trouble, and she and her spouse were at the end of their rope. They had tried everything in their power to mend the strange rift in their family and to help their son heal, but much to their sorrow their efforts seemed to be for naught.

She and her husband recently decided that the best course of action for them to take was to put their son into the hands of someone who could help him. This was a heartbreaking decision for them. I know that she has been beside herself all week, asking if she made the right choice, if this was going to tear her whole family apart, if her son would one day understand that she was doing this because she loves him...

Parenthood is not easy. Anyone who has ever had a child can tell you that you are faced with some of the hardest decisions you will ever have to make. You are responsible for the health, well-being, shaping and outcome of another human being's life.

Maybe you are a parent of a troubled teenager, but you're not sure what to do to help your child. Maybe you're not having trouble now, but anticipate there could be some later. This blog that she is keeping about her experience is heartfelt, a little dark, but meant to guide and comfort others who may be faced with similar situations. Anyone with children will find this blog both heart wrenching and touching. Please take a moment to stop over and read about the process my friend had to undergo. Offer thoughts, comfort, support for a mother and father who had to take drastic action in order to ensure that their son had a future.

A Mother's Tears

Thank you for reading.

Thankful Thursday

2009-04-16T11:59:00.004-04:00

It's Thankful Thursday again, everyone. That's right. It's Thursday, and I'm here today to talk about people I not only support one hundred and ten percent, but that also inspire me with their continued dedication to doing whatever it takes to get themselves and their work out there so the world can see it.

I'd like to start today by tipping my hat to my twitter associate, sci-fi sexpunk author: The Moped Ronin, who is perhaps best known for his work on JunkDNA Fiction. Recently, he came up with a really awesome idea for some of his flash fiction. He set up an etsy store: JunkDNA Fiction and started selling handwritten flash fiction postcards on quality postcards and shipped to you straight from Japan! When he first told me he was doing this, I thought it was an awesome idea, so once the store was set up, I ordered my very own copy of "Space Patrol." Every postcard is numbered for originality, and I have to say, I've never seen neater handwriting in my life! It is definitely worth the $2.50 (USD/shipping included). The story was awesome, and now I have my very own collectible JunkDNA Fiction item. Check out the store and if you're into sci-fi sexpunk, definitely pop over to JunkDNA and check out the stories posted there.

Next, I want to take a moment to sing the praises of Nicole Ireland. Nicole and I met while working as freelancers together several months ago. Something came up that made Nicole realize it was time for her to move on to bigger and better things. Out of work in a time when the economy made it look impossible to earn a buck, Nicole started freelancing wherever she could. Since then, she has had articles published in several venues, including eHow. She is a prolific American Idol blogger, and last month she became a movie/entertainment contributor at The Examiner. I am so proud of her, you really have no idea. She is doing amazing things, and her articles for the examiner have been getting a lot of attention. If you are not already subscribed to her Examiner feed, please do. She's always got interesting things to say, and a great nose for entertainment news!

Last, but certainly not least, my friend James Melzer, author of The Zombie Chronicles, is asking for YOU, yes, you, to blurb book one of TZC: Escape, which comes to print later this year. There's still time to get your blurbs in, even if you haven't started listening to TZC yet. If you haven't, what are you waiting for? It's free, it's available on podiobooks.com and it's a good story. To find out more about what James is looking for, watch this video:

That's it for this week, three Thankful Thursday inspirations I hope you'll check out. All three of these writers are people I have the utmost respect for, and I hope you will too. Who are you thankful for this Thursday, and what have they done to inspire you?

"Call of the Selkie"--An Excerpt

2009-04-15T23:02:00.003-04:00

seal-6
Originally uploaded by Multiple fragments of tissue

Maybe it's my Scottish and Irish ancestry, but I have always been enamored by the idea of the selkie. While many people don't even seem to know what a selkie is, once you hear the typical story, you'll gasp and say, "I know that story..." Generally it features a beautiful young woman bathing naked in the sea. A young man comes up on her and finds an empty sealskin on the beach. He takes the skin and hides it from her, forbidding her to return to her home and her kin in the sea. Because she knows that he has that skin, she marries him, has children with him and plays the role of dutiful wife, until one day she finds his hiding place. Without a word to her own flesh and blood, she takes it in her arms and walks off into the sea, looking back only once with conflicting heart and lament before she disappears forever.

I wrote several stories about selkies, and here is an excerpt from one that I had published a couple of years ago when we were first getting eMuse off the ground. If you enjoy the story, I will leave a link at the end, so you can go and read it in its entirety.

"Call of the Selkie"

Despite living in the middle of farm country Pennsylvania, all of my father’s paintings were of the sea in its many guises. Each painting was a tiny piece of him that he’d left behind, the only goodbye note before he mysteriously disappeared that afternoon while I was at school. Every night after he left I sneaked into his studio, stood in the half-dark of the setting sun and tried to decipher the messages he’d left me. Orange slices of sunset slanted through the blinds behind me as I watched the raging sea roil inside the canvas. Alive and overwhelmingly real, in the silence I could hear the distant call of gulls as the waves smashed like fists upon the shore.

Eventually my mother put a lock on the door and gave me a stern lecture about putting the past behind us. She did it just to punish me. She was jealous that the paintings spoke to me, but more afraid that I might discover some hint about where he’d gone. Maybe she worried that I would follow and forget her just like he did. She hid the key so well that entry was impossible. I didn’t cry, or fight her though I needed to. I wanted to scream and tear the smug look from her face, but instead I acted like I didn’t care. She took away from me the last physical connection I had to my father, and for that I could never forgive her.

It wasn’t long after she locked the door that I began to dream myself inside the paintings. Drifting from wave to wave, surrounded by a host of sleek, grey seals, whose joyful song soared high above the waves. Around and around the seals swam in an ancient spiral dance, and then my father appeared from the edge of the circle, young again, younger than I’d ever seen him even in photographs, but his eyes always gave him away. He smiled, and it was a real smile.

“It’s time to come home,” he said.

He held out his hand, and I grasped his fingers, but as he disappeared beneath the water, the waves pushed me upward every time I tried to follow. I couldn’t follow where he went, as though the sea itself kept spitting me out. One by one the seals all disappeared and darkness drew the sun away. Alone, buoyant, wave over wave of salt musk and hundreds of miles between me and dry land, I laid back and floated beneath the endless stars while moonlight rippled silver sheets over my ocean bed.

"Call of the Selkie"

Have a great night everyone, and don't forget, tomorrow is Thankful Thursday! I'm already planning a great blog full of awesome people I can't wait to share with you.

Changes Brewing on the Wind

2009-04-14T21:28:00.002-04:00

Noche de luna llena - Full moon night
Originally uploaded by *L*u*z*a* return to nature

Well, after all of my whining about the difficult time I had working on my short story last week, I am proud to say that Sunday I finished draft two. I sent it off to a couple of friends I workshop with, and this afternoon I made third draft edits. I then folded it into a cyber envelope stamped TEAM AWESOME and sent it off to the secret project that requested the story to begin with.

Aside from feeling incredibly accomplished today, I was also quite flattered when my friend and colleague, Steve, told me that the story reminded him of Edgar Allan Poe. That is probably the most amazing compliment I have ever gotten as a writer. Thank you, Steve.

I am now working on a group of short stories for a concept I'd like to propose, but the project is very secret, so I can't share details at this time. I have one story finished, and a second one about 1/4 of the way done. I hope to have the first draft of that story finished before Friday. Wish me luck.

All of this has left me feeling incredibly good. Big changes are coming, and I'm excited about them. I leave you with this poem, and wishes for a wonderful wednesday!

Brewing On the Wind

Tangled clouds like webs of dust
blown from hiding under the bed
and the dragon's open mouth
smokey teeth glisten
preparing to chomp down
on the light of the moon.
Hallowed Mother, suffocate
beneath speeding
atmospheric veil.

There are changes brewing
on the wind--
I can smell them.
© 2009 J. Hudock

I Reject You, Rejection

2009-04-13T22:31:00.001-04:00

Calgary Zombies 2007-10-20 211
Originally uploaded by thivierr

Rejection is part of every writer's experience. Unless you're insanely lucky, and you've managed to escape the cold hand of rejection, you know that momentary twinge you get when you see the words, "We're sorry..." at the top of the letter.

It happens to the best of us, and the good writers know that you can't let it get to you if you want to make it in this business at all. One editor's rejection could very well be another editor's rejection, but that third editor just might feel that you have written exactly what they are looking for. It's all in persistence and inner-strength. You can't take rejection personally, even if you think the editor is a fool for passing up your incredibly awesome story.

My experience with rejection has gone on for years, with intermittent successes in between. Early on, I let it bother me, but today it barely washes over me anymore. It's just something that happens, and I move on.

Today, however, I got the weirdest rejection letter. While I won't share the details, as I'm not a huge advocate of the #editorfail movement, I did actually find myself laughing at the lack of punctuation, along with the reason behind the rejection. Said editor remarked that my story was, "Very well written," but the subject matter, zombies, was by their standards, outdated. It was a zombie love story, serious, a little stark with minor bits of gore, and considering that they publish a lot of vampire anthologies, it made me laugh a little at their definition of outdated. Some things will never go out of style. The living dead are on that list.

You may think this is crazy, but I was glad for the rejection. A company who thrives on vampires alone... I'm onto more versatile publications, thank you very much. So on that note, I folded up my submission, stuffed it in the next cyber envelope and resubmitted with hours of receiving the rejection.

I'm sure we've talked about this before, but how do you deal with rejection? What is your turn around time before your resubmit a story you've gotten back?

"Manhunt," an Excerpt...

2009-04-12T10:29:00.002-04:00

Flashlights
Originally uploaded by Yogi

Here is a short excerpt from the memoir I recently had published in "Watershed: A Journal of the Susquehanna." Growing up out in the country in the Susquehanna Valley, I was one of about twelve or so kids in our neighborhood. In the spring and summer, we used to play flashlight tag between the yards. This excerpt picks up after the younger kids have been called in for the night. Left to our own devices, the older kids embark on a more dangerous game called Manhunt... In the scene preceding this, I had actually discovered my supercrush, the neighborhood ninja's hiding place, no small triumph, let me tell you. He's so cool, it's terrifying, and I'm afraid he's going to make me pay back my insolence tenfold in the upcoming game of manhunt.

“Who wants to play Manhunt?”

Manhunt was a game only similar to flashlight tag in that it involved hiding and then seeking with a flashlight. The older kids told us the stakes were higher, and had never allowed anyone under fourteen to play in the past.

“We’ll play in teams of two,” Matt announced.

He had hypnotized simply by asking us to hang out with him. He had always been a center for us to gravitate to. When we were small we often sought him out for answers to complicated gaming questions, or to help us create new games. Unfortunately his games often involved violence and cruelty, while he oversaw the results from far enough away to not be directly associated with things if somebody’s parents came along.

Much to my surprise he had paired himself with me. All of the teams were opposite gender, “To even out the odds,” he said. Was his teaming up with me a vendetta, an opportunity to get me alone and knock me down a peg after having discovered him during flashlight tag.

“So who’s going to be it first?” Hands on hips, Eve tossed her hair in a boyish, flirtatious fashion. She’d been paired up with Ed, whom she’d had a crush on since the third grade.

“Do your stupid bubble gum game, Eve.” Matt smirked.

She had to feel stupid kneeling down, “Bubble-gum, bubble-gum in a dish. How many pieces do you wish?” She had stopped on Gary’s shoe and he answered five. “One-two-three-four-five, if you want to stay alive hope that I don’t count you out, ‘cos you are it!”

There wasn’t enough money in the world that could have forced me to purposely humiliate myself in front of Matt like Eve had done. Most times I felt like breathing was humiliation enough. I glanced down at her finger tapping shoe-tops, waited for the extended version that landed the tip of her nail on top of her brother’s shoe just after, “. . . who will be the next one, and you are it!”

“I’ll fucking kill you, Eve.”

“You said to do it, Matt!” She hopped up.

Under ordinary circumstances, I’d watched him pummel her for being cocky in the past, but instead he shrugged and said, “You better hide good. If I find you, you’re dead.”

The partners huddled close and disappeared whispering into the blue darkness. Matt and I watched, and for awhile I could still hear Eve and Ed’s voices and then nothing except the first frog songs of spring. I was Little Red Riding Hood all alone with the big bad wolf. I glanced toward him and felt my stomach twist inside with nerves. He leaned against the wooden support beam of the pavilion, head back, and I thought his were eyes closed.

He was so cool, even cooler than Han Solo. I hoped he’d never find out, or else it might swell his already enormous ego.

“Come here.”

Was he talking to me? I moved toward him, taking small, awkward steps. He reached out to grab my arm and drew me closer. I nearly fainted when his arms looped around me, one lowering slowly down my back in repeated strokes, “How’s that?”

I swallowed, “Fine.”

“You’re freezing,” warm hands brushed across the bare skin of my forearms. “Move closer. Do you want my sweatshirt?”

My vocal cords were paralyzed with shock. Within seconds he had tugged off his sweatshirt and draped it over my shoulders. It had all happened so suddenly that only one thing seemed able to explain it: I was dreaming.

“You’re nervous,” he lowered his face to mine, and the warmth of his breath sent shivers through me. “You’re shaking.”

The greater part of me wanted to pull away and run home because this wasn’t Matt, at least not the Matt that I knew. The Matt I knew would never help Steve win a game of flashlight tag, or offer someone his sweatshirt. In fact, earlier in the summer he had convinced me that the character Madeline Usher, in the movie Fall of the House of Usher, was going to reach out from under the chair I was sleeping next to and strangle me in my sleep because my name was Jenny. He’d chased me around for hours repeating my name in zombie tones.

“You’re intimidating,” I said.

“Intimidating?” He laughed and held me out at arm’s length. He had probably enjoyed my admission; intimidation had been tactic of choice. “I won’t hurt you.”

I wanted to believe him, so I relaxed and as my body loosened he drew me closer. “Shouldn’t we be counting, or something?”

“I am counting,” he looked into my eyes. I could tell that he was calculating something, whether it be the number of minutes they’d been hiding or something else.

“When should we look for—”

His mouth pressed against mine in a silencing kiss and I stiffened against him. He hadn’t been my first kiss. Earlier that summer all the girls in the neighborhood had taken turns kissing David’s friend Greg. Matt was the first kiss I’d dreamed of since I’d come to know that kissing and cooties had nothing to do with each other. His slow arm moved along the length of my spine, instigated relaxation. Trapped in his arms, I should have been in heaven, but instead I felt like a rabbit just out of reach from a vicious dog’s chain.

And then, just as if nothing had ever happened, he pushed me to his left and said, “Let’s go.”

If you are interested in obtaining a copy of "Watershed: The Journal of the Susquehanna," contact their staff at: river@bloomu.edu for more information.

Of Nietzsche and Witchcraft...

2009-04-11T13:30:00.003-04:00

Every three weeks, we pack up our books and head to Williamsport, the largest local public library in our county. Sadly, when I say it is the largest local public library, that is really nothing to get thrilled about. As long as I can remember, the James V. Brown library has been the best of the competition, while the other local libraries in the county are beyond pathetic in comparison.

This saddens me. It is a library. Recently, the James V. Brown library built a whole new building just for children and teens, with a cyber cafe and coffee bar for kids to come to after school and on weekends to hang out and do homework. They turned the old children's wing into an adult cyber cafe. That's great. We all know that the days of print books are numbered, but they are certainly not over.

In the past, we have donated unique books to better and broaden the horizons of the community. About ten years ago, we donated nearly a hundred books, all in brand new or barely breathed on condition on subjects like paganism, wicca, philosophy, demonology, self-help, vampirism and actual witchcraft. Three of the one hundred books we donated appeared between the six libraries in our county. Three. All of the other books disappeared. Since then, I stopped donating books and money to the library because of continual and obvious censorship.

I know that about 80% of the libraries I have visited while living in Pennsylvania have suffered this same fate. Even living in downtown Pittsburgh, the Carnegie library system's several branches were completely bereft of books on things like the occult. The Carnegie branch near our house was an absolute joke, not even carrying a useful selection of books on Catholocism.

Libraries, you are a wonderful resource. You provide knowledge for people of all ages, encouraging literacy and a love of reading. Because I have always wanted my daughter to love books, we have spent our weekends combing through the weak, censored selection of books in the public library. It worked. She loves books, but now even she is disheartened by the lack of variety in subject matter.

Here are five examples of library failure in my county:

Books by Friedrich Nietzsche: 0
Books on the subject of Paganism/Wicca/Witchcraft: 0
Books by Charles Bukowski: 0
Books on Christianity: Over 1000 between all six libraries
Books by or about Aleister Crowley: 0

Nietzsche? How can there be nothing by Nietzsche? And when you search on the subject of Wicca, one books comes up: an anti-Wiccan book called Dewitched : what you need to know about the dangers of witchcraft and wicca.. The fact that there are no books by Bukowski actually makes me sick. In high school, before there was an internet to google everything under the sun, I did a biographical research paper on Aleister Crowley. There were three books in my school library that had incredibly limited information on Crowley, (One of them eas actually about Led Zeppelin...) and literally nothing else in our entire county on the man. I borrowed books from friends and family to complete the report. The fact that there are over 1000 books on the subject of Christianity between the six libraries in our system is a grave sign of religion influenced censorship.

Well guess what. Living in this forsaken town my entire life, I still followed my curiosity. I went to the city bookstores for books when necessary, and today I use the internet. It is this type of blatant meddling that disheartens me so much that I could really care less what happens to the library system at all. When you are drowning and floundering, looking for a hand, I will not hold mine out. Not when you deny the actual spread and pursuit of knowledge and wisdom.

Before I'm Swallowed by Sleep

2009-04-11T01:47:00.002-04:00

Massive Old Oak Tree - seen on Coon Creek docent hike, Montaña de Oro, 18sept2008 - Leader: Jerry Kirkhart
Originally uploaded by mikebaird

It's late. I just got home from a night out with a dear friend. I will leave you with this poem. When I was growing up, I was fortunate (mostly,) to have grown up in a rural neighborhood with a group of adventurous kids. I have many fond memoirs of those days, including those of my first "crush." While there was never any future for us, we did some fun and crazy things, and this poem is one of many in tribute to the boy that I knew then.

It Always Comes Back to This

left arm scarred
cinder-block burn
a scraped escape
one hiding place
to the next

two in a tree
bark-brushed thigh
a chance maneuver
and blood chills
under the wind

love's agonizing scrutiny
these left-overs
nothing but empty
shells litter the earth
spilled seed pods
scatter with the
same breath
that says goodbye.

Maybe your Saturday linger as long as you like, unless you have to work, in which case, I hope it flies.

Thankful Thursday

2009-04-10T01:08:00.006-04:00

Though the timestamp on this post will probably tell you that it was actually Friday when I posted this, I have always operated under the notion that the current day doesn't end in my personal universe until my own head hits the pillow. I decided to call this post Thankful Thursday, after my friend, James Melzer mentioned this morning that Thursday should be a day to be thankful for our inspirations. James posted his own blog about the people who inspire him, including new media pioneers like Mur Lafferty, J.C. Hutchins, Scott Sigler, and Matt Selznick. In honor of thankfulness, I wanted to take today's blog and use it to give kudos to a few incredible people who have inspired me.

Neil Gaiman has been an incredible inspiration for the last eighteen years of my life. Gaiman is a master storyteller who has gone places and written things I have dreamed about all my life. It's like he has access to this other dimension that many of us only glimpse in our nightly wanderings, and barely wake to tell of it. While I don't know Neil Gaiman personally, and have never interacted with him on any level, he is one of my greatest inspirations. I truly believe that when all is said and done about two hundred years from now, the supposed big names will be forgotten, and Gaiman will be taught in colleges the way Shakespeare is today.

On a more personal level, my friend Christine Makepeace and her boyfriend Dylan Santurri are an inspiration to me. Who are Christine Makepeace and Dylan Santurri, you ask? They are the mad genius duo behind Paracinema, a magazine that studies Paranormal Cinema from the inside out. Christine inspires me because when we first met, she used to talk to me about how much she admired me for writing. How much she looked up to for braving the long and difficult road of writing. Today, she's a driving force behind one of my favorite magazines. I don't just say that because she is my friend. Paracinema is awesome.

Then there is Jacqueline Roth. When I first met Jae, as her friends know her, I was working as a moderator and mentor at one of the largest fanfiction sites on the internet. We were both submitting authors there, and I got to know her after interacting over a story she was submitting. We started to exchange stories, and eventually became part of a great many enterprises together. We are both founding members of an incredible online literary arts journal called eMuse, and for many years we shared a fantastic, but small online writer's critique site. I watched Jae grow over the years from someone who only dreamed of writing, into a woman who thrived. In the last two years she has had several books published through Cerridwen Press and their sister site, Ellora's Cave. She has written some of the most character driven, amazing stories I have ever read. If you've not heard of her, she comes highly recommended. She's got an incredible imagination. Her successes continue to inspire me on a regular basis.

There are so many people that inspire me that were I to name them all, I would literally be sitting in this chair until the latter part of next week. Since it's going on 2 AM, I'll wrap it up here with a simple and humble thank you to all of the people I know who dedicate themselves to following their creative destinies. You are all an amazing inspiration to me, and your successes, both great and small, light a fire under me every day.

On that note, I will say goodnight, and good Friday, apparently in more ways than one.

Let the Cards Fall Where They May

2009-04-08T23:37:00.004-04:00

When I was fourteen, I got my first deck of tarot cards. The Rider Waite deck, which is one of the most well-known and basic decks on the market, it was the only one they had at our local bookstore at the time. A friend I went to school with had done a demonstration speech on how to read tarot cards, and I had to have them.

Long had I been into the metaphysical, checking out books on the Salem Witch Trials and demonic possession from our local library when I was all of about ten years old. Learning to read tarot cards seemed like the next logical step in my journey toward self discovery.

I've amassed quite a tarot collection over the last nineteen years, having a total of thirteen decks at present. Three of those decks are Celtic, in tie to my Scottish and Irish ancestry, and each of the others has its own special significance.

Over the last three months a lot of things in my life have been up in the air. I've had serious career doubts, work trouble, emotional ups and downs and our financial situation could use a serious boost! Of course, all of those things put strain on our romantic relationship, which until about two weeks ago had been going so perfectly, I had never felt closer to my incredibly talented and wonderful spouse of nearly thirteen years. Suddenly the weight of the world slumped down on me like a fat man's belly let loose from the belt after an all you can eat buffet. I literally found myself tossing and turning about an hour before the alarm went off this morning because my mind was chewing away at some unprocessed worry that needed sorting out.

When things get this jumbled in my life, pulling out my tarot cards and taking a look at what life is trying to tell me is an absolute necessity. While many people think of the Tarot as evil, some even going so far as to belief the messages from the cards come from demonic spirits, there is actually nothing demonic about them at all. Just as all things in life have a tendency to do, the cards fall where they may, and the symbolism in the pictures act as a guide, offering clarity into situations in one's life that may not be registering clearly.

So I spent some time with my cards. I actually pulled out the Rider Waite deck. The shuffling of cold cards over the years has become so familiar that it's almost second nature. I know when to stop, which card to take and as I turn it face up I see exactly what the universe wants me to know based on my circumstance and situation.

The good news is, I'm not only on the right track, but I am on the giddying brink a serious breakthrough. Apparently, I'm hanging on tight to the thread of an old ideal that I need to clip, so I can go spiraling into the great, wide unknown. Excellent, because change is what I need. As a Gemini, stagnation is worse than death, as at least with death, it's an unknown new adventure.

So, as I pick up my cards, and tuck them back into their satin, red back, that old cliche, "It's always darkest before the dawn," pops up like a banner in the background of my thoughts. I think I'm going to need a new pair of sunglasses for that sunrise.

(these are not my cards, but an image from SanFranAnnie on Flickr)

Because it's Tuesday

2009-04-07T21:04:00.002-04:00

Spring Lamb
Originally uploaded by Essjay is happy in NZ

I'm happy to say that I haven't been blogging as much frequently because I've actually been writing. That's always a positive thing. Right after finishing the draft on my short story Sunday, I actually started another short story. I've also been writing a lot of poetry, some of which I share here with you.

Whole

In the lion's jaws
this lamb lies still
bent neck, bleeding
all fear receding
as he lopes off
away from the pride
finding some dark
secluded place to hide
where he can lap at her wounds
until saliva mends the skin
and she is whole again.

© 2009 J. Hudock

The Sea

Waves rush in against the cliffs:
that is the crushing breathlessness of you.
Three gulls circle overhead, little spies
that carry pieces of me away in their cries.
I am nothing but the spray of rain on stone,
an essence of color, refracted light.
Breathe in all the mist that is left of me,
and carry me back out with you to sea.

© 2009 J. Hudock

Here's hoping your Wednesday is bliss.

It Has Been Done

2009-04-05T22:17:00.002-04:00

Wax Satan
Originally uploaded by Jacob...K

So today I spent the majority of my day working on finishing up the first draft of a short story I started about three weeks ago. I finished the draft about two and a half hours ago, and as I wrapped it up, I felt slightly unhappy with how it turned it out.

I already gave myself a talking to while on the treadmill. First of all, it's a first draft, which means nothing is set in stone. It's not like I'm handing it over as is (cringes at the thought). I'm letting it rest for a couple days, and plan to pick it back up Wednesday or Thursday to read it over and see how it can be polished and improved.

In the meantime, I've had an idea brewing for a couple of days for a new zombie story, and while I was on the treadmill tonight it clarified itself. So I'm gathering some research before bed and getting to know my new characters.

Overall, I feel like I had a productive weekend. Last weekend I really did not get a lot of writing done at all, and I felt the drain of it during the week. Especially considering how much I had accomplished the two weekends before that. I was on a roll there for awhile, completing a short story or memoir each week, polishing it up and workshopping it, then sending it out. I hope to get back into that routine, where I'm at least sending out one thing each week.

I'm off to get this new piece started, then a little reading, then bed. Oh, and if you're wondering why I have the glorious devil from "Legend" as my picture today, it's because the story I finished today featured that fiery fiend, the prince of darkness.

P.S. I wanted to clarify that the story I was talking about in yesterday's blog was, in fact, a short story, and not a novel, for all you wonderful folks who commented on yesterday's blog. It would absolutely take me way longer than 3 weeks to write a novel... unless it was during NaNoWriMo and I was on a roll. :)

The First Draft

2009-04-04T23:22:00.003-04:00

The first draft of a story is always the hardest for me. It doesn't matter if I finish it with the worst ending in the world, once it's finished there is a confidence there that allows me to go back and rewrite and polish until my heart's content, even stripping out entire sections and adding in new ones.

For some reason, the story I am writing right now has been really struggling against me. I think most days I'm exhausted from writing for work, that when it's time to sit down and write for real, I'm just not in the mood. I have been writing every day, though, even if it's just 200 or so words. Today, I managed about 1100 words and I'm nearing the turning point in the story. Tomorrow, I plan to finish this first draft so I can sit on it for a few days, then come back and start the editing process.

The funny thing is how long it takes to get that first draft out. I have been working on this story for about 3 weeks. I'm not sure if it's because I have higher expectation or a little bit of outside pressure, but despite the very clear outline of the story I mapped out in my head before writing, it has been like pulling teeth to get it out.

It's coming though. I'm excited. I can't wait until this first draft is done. I have passed up on a couple other ideas, writing them down for safe keeping, just because I wanted to commit myself to finishing this project before I moved on. I will be grateful when I'm done.

Now, I'm off to bed with a handful of Horror Fest to spur on nightmares. I will be back tomorrow, the proud author of another completed first draft.

A God Never Forgets...

2009-04-03T23:50:00.002-04:00

Temple of Apollo @ Delphi
Originally uploaded by Giorgos~

Apollo Rejected

Slowly fan these flames
in attempt to blow them out
yet they burn on,
lapping thirstily at my skin
like tired dogs.

Apollo's fiery fury, and I blister,
consumed with passion
behind the wavering reality
evaporating with every breath-
to let go, would bring freedom,
but what immunity have I?

Scarred from the inside out
a molten reminder
of incomplete sacrifice-
A god never forgets!
© 2005 J. Hudock

Just a bit of poetry today... had a busy day, got some writing done, prepping to do a bit more before turning in. I hope you all had a fabulous Friday.

The Great Communication Fail...

2009-04-02T16:57:00.003-04:00

A couple of weeks back, I read about the twitter project, #queryfail on someone else's blog. Intrigued, since I presently don't deal with an agent but had hoped to one day, I read all about it. Needless to say, I was a little disgusted by the attitude around it, more than I was by the overall idea behind it. The woman who started it *rubbed her hands with glee* which made the whole thing sound like a witch hunt, more than an exercise designed to show writers the types of mistakes that are likely to not only make agents laugh at you, but toss your query right into file thirteen.

A lot of writers were outraged by the idea. #queryfail was cruel, many said. Even if it was done anonymously, there was still the potential for some poor author to log in and see a mockery of their own query. Anonymous or no, the humiliation of rejection is often enough to put some writers off of submitting their work. Seeing their query get torn apart right there in front of thousands of Tweeters could do some damage.

So in response, #agentfail was set up to give writers a chance to talk back and address some of the problems authors have with agents. In an anonymous forum, maybe that would be better, because though authors can pick and choose the agents they deal with using a certain degree of choosiness, agents tend to hold all the cards in the writer/agent relationship. Many writers don't want to step on proverbial toes, get caught up in some web that is going to hold them back from even getting representation.

I think the whole thing is a little sad. I thought about starting a twitter movement called #youallfail. Why? Because more and more often, it seems that people are only happy when they are making other people miserable. The whole you stepped on me, I'll break your arm mentality is so high school, and I really did believe (probably foolishly,) for a long time that adults were different; the knew how to behave and get along with each other in ways kids didn't understand. Talk about naivete.

I write because it's my passion. It is all I have ever wanted to do with my life. I don't think about things like making agents and editors giggle when I write a query letter, I think about taking the next step in my career. I think about how it takes guts to slap your soul down on a three hundred and twenty page manuscript and then put it out there to be torn apart. Then I find myself thinking that it's no wonder there are so many writers publishing and podcasting their own books. The traditional medium has been such a joke for years that soon the snooty and persnickety may find themselves out of jobs. They may tune in one morning to check the book ratings and find a manuscript they took a dump on once is now a #1 best seller on the NY Times.

It doesn't matter if you're an agent, an editor or a writer. At times in my life I have been both on the writers end and the editorial end. I've had manuscripts fly across my desk with the craziest cover letters, and have seen so many writers who didn't even know there were rules, but I took a look at their manuscript anyway. There were times I was incredibly glad I did, because if I judged every manuscript that happened across my desk, before reading it mind you, on the cover letter or query that accompanied it, I'd probably pass up the opportunity to read and publish quite a few amazing stories.

The same type of garbage goes on in the music business, and the representation are the first people to start crying when they find themselves out of work.

In the end, it boils down to how we treat each other. Not just in the publishing world and the music business, but in every day life. I'm a bitch, I won't lie. I've been mean to people both on and off the internet, but I don't walk around looking for a fight. I don't push buttons for the sake of pushing buttons. Most times it's because I feel like I'm in a position that requires me to fight back. I'd just really like to see the world change, and for the better. It'd be fantastic to wake up one day and find people more willing to help each other, rather than crush each other on the ladder to the top.

Reflections...

2009-04-01T15:37:00.003-04:00

Every night before going to bed, I process all of the day's thoughts and events, and then I write a poem. I have had other things going on lately, so I thought I'd post a couple of the poems I wrote this last week:

Underwater:

bubbles of frustration
squeeze from my lungs
small alien beings
like clear jellyfish
rise toward the distant
flickering daylight
fingertips glow underwater
extraterrestrial, unsound
I can see through my own skin:
blue veined, peaceful,
and it takes me back
connects me to the source
intravenously sustained
floating in the womb...

-----

Reflected

the mirrored reflection of something so yesterday
and yet beyond tomorrow wavers in front of me;
grins, not devouring, but straight and white,
clean and new, with an undercurrent of memory
of that whole time when I gave myself away
to someone that never really wanted me,
but took parts anyway to make himself stronger.
Somewhere, out there, he's walking around
with more innocence than he deserves and
bits of heart that do him no good.
He wears sheepskin, but cannot hide his teeth.

Random, completely. No structure, no rhyme. I've felt a little random myself lately, distracted, but it happens to the best of us. Perhaps I'll make some time later to actually blog, but until then...

"My Ancestors Believed"

2009-03-31T19:26:00.003-04:00

corbel 28: sheela na gig
Originally uploaded by Sacred Destinations

The ocean was a sly, hungry goddess
who seduced and swallowed husbands.
Rarely spit out again and never seen
they dove willingly into her warm folds,
swam in the depth and bliss of her love
only to be carried away from wives
and children to distant paradises.

Can paradise be unveiled before a
billowing cloud of bubbles and fish schools,
or is that all part of the illusion?
The lure that captured their attention
bobbed on the surface like glass baubles
the ones ancient druids used
to interpret and determine the future.

It is not open for discussion,
or interpretation. All manner
of female oppression becomes
central. In reality not one
of those fisherwives needed a man,
and the boundaries of fidelity hang
wide open, like the Sheela-Na-Gig.

©2003 ~J. Hudock

writing...

2009-03-30T23:54:00.002-04:00

writing...
Originally uploaded by © dabawenya © (believes in the power of smile...

Despite having a rough day, I gave myself an hour to write tonight before bed because I wanted to put my mind into something besides that which is work related. I had planned to write most of the weekend, but the muse was on vacation, I guess. I sat down to write several times, but not much came out. There was a period around Saturday evening that I did manage to pump about 600 words into the short story I am working on. Oddly enough, every time I put something into it, I wind up taking it right back out. The good thing is, after spending my writing time tonight shaving things down, I finally feel like the plot is ready to move forward.

Now that taxes are out of the way, I am diving into the writing tomorrow after work. I can't wait. I am still very much in love with the idea behind this short story and am dying to see it in completion. Even first draft completion.

I'm off to bed for now. Sweet dreams full of rich plot ideas.

The Internet is a Weird Place

2009-03-29T20:06:00.004-04:00

When I was a kid, my mom was into the church, and a few times I remember hosting weird choir people from out of state at our house, because that is what you did back then. These days, I think about the funny things my daughter will remember when she is my age, like the weird guy from England we had stay with us when she was just 5 years old. One of my first, major internet experiences was with a group of people who were all fans of the same Brooklyn based band. We met on the official site, eventually branched off into our own site and had at least two "unofficial" get togethers right here in Pennsylvania.

During the first gathering, I invited one of the group members, a young man from England, to come and say with my family, so he could enjoy his time in America by saving some cash on a hotel. He was very pleasant, a lot of fun to talk to, but shortly after he stayed with us, I lost touch with him completely.

When the second gathering came around, I invited another young guy to come and stay with us because he didn't have a steady job and couldn't afford a hotel. Before he got here, he was excited about coming, and was really looking forward to meeting a dear friend of mine for the first time. Oddly enough, he was so shy that the experience was just uncomfortable. He left without even thanking us for letting him stay at our house, and though we kept in touch for a couple of years online, I eventually lost track of him as well.

I am blogging about this because it seems a strange thing. My parents rarely had total strangers come and stay at their home, much less people they met on the internet, but I can think of at least four times that I had complete, physical strangers come and stay in my home. One year, a friend who has become very dear to me over the last few years, flew me out to California at her own expense and put me up with her and her husband while we visited San Francisco. Before I stepped off the plane, we had never met in person.

I know there are dangers with meeting people online, but I enjoy meeting people. The internet has brought some of the most amazing people into my life over the last ten years, people I would never have had the pleasure of getting to know. I've worked with some, built empires with others, and plan to take over the world with a few.

What about you? Have you ever met anyone in person that you first knew online? What was your experience like? If you haven't, would you consider doing so?

Is the Key to Violence Awareness?

2009-03-28T19:34:00.005-04:00

andrea 110
Originally uploaded by elward-photography

When I became a mother, a part of me shied away from the horror I had enjoyed all of my life. The years of reading Stephen King and watching bloody horror films... I suddenly realized that not only was I someone's mother and had to be a good influence, but that the horrific things in a lot of those movies were even scarier with a child to think about. This was even truer when it came to psychological thrillers like the original "Last House on the Left," and films of that caliper.

As she began to grow, and we started to return to some of the horrific things that had once attracted us like spectators at a train wreck, I heard more and more about horror and violence being responsible for outrageous societal horrors like Columbine. Then the so-called experts started saying that allowing children to watch television and film violence and experience violent video games desensitized them.

It's easy to fall for that when you have nothing in front of you to compare it to, but history is ripe with violence, including thousands of years of war, atrocities like the Spanish Inquisition, various witch trials and the Holocaust, and bloodthirsty killers like Elizabeth Bathory and Gilles de Rais, just to name two.

For centuries, human nature compelled mankind toward brutality, but as we became (supposedly,) more civilized, we started to cry out against the violence we carried with us from the very cradle of civilization itself.

As I grew into adulthood, having experienced some pretty evil things in my life, I was surprised to learn how many other people, men and women, who had suffered the same types of atrocities that had been committed against me as child. The more people I learned of this from, the more I started to think that the world itself was going mad.

Then it hit me. The world was always mad; we just have the means of telling more and more people about it thanks to the constant growth of communication and media. The truth is in our history, probably embedded in our very DNA. Mankind has been on a spiraling power struggle since he climbed up out of the swamps and staggered toward a cave. He stopped long enough to club his fellow cavechick on the head along the way, and dragged her off against her will. Another man came along, coveting the cavechick of his neighbor. The first brutal acts of rape and murder all within the first few hours of on two legs...

Yes, I realize I'm being blase about the whole thing, as if I know. I probably don't, but I do know that blaming television, films and video games for violent behavior is not the answer.

As a mother, I have always felt it was my top priority to be honest with my child about everything she asked me. If she asked about sex, I geared our conversation toward her age level. If she asked me about murder, I approached it from a standpoint she could digest. Opening the lines of communication with her when she was old enough to speak may seem like I didn't offer her much of a childhood, but she is so innocent compared to her group of friends. Her thirteen year old best friend just went through a pregnancy scare and was ready to commit suicide rather than tell her mother about it. We sat down and talked about the situation, the consequences and the behavior like human beings, and while I know she'll make her share of mistakes, I also feel confident that she would come to me, rather than commit suicide or homicide over them.

I know I've rambled along here, referencing some pretty crazy things that might even seem random to you, but communication is the key. I know it is. This last week, I found myself in a position no mother of a teenage girls wants to be in. A fifteen year old boy on the school bus was literally trying to molest my daughter. A fifteen year old boy whose parents don't pay attention to him, who has no sense of self or community. The really sad thing about the whole ordeal is that in reporting the incident, she finds herself "punished" by having to limit where "she" sits and goes. But the thing is, she came to me. She came and told me what was going on even though she was afraid I might resort to "violence" and murder the little bastard.

It all boils down to awareness and communication, maybe even a little bit of acceptance. Violence is a wretched thing, whether it's against our fellow human beings or even animals, but it does happen. Being made aware of the difference between what is real and acceptable and what is not acceptable at a young age may hold the power to make all the difference. Maybe I'm wrong. *shrugs* But I do know that my fourteen year old isn't going to be heading into school with a shotgun in her lifetime, no matter how much the jerks at school tease her.

Shakespeare in Repose

2009-03-27T15:51:00.005-04:00

Shakespeare in Repose
Originally uploaded by jaochang

Times... they are changing. While some of us sit back and shudder in fear at the horrific possibilities for what's to come, others are fearlessly paving the path into the future.

I have blogged before about my decisions in college. I went back to school at 26 with the intention of getting a "real" career education in forensic psychology, but once I was on campus and taking my first writing class, the gloves came off and I fought back against that societal voice that told me I would never be able to sustain myself or my family as writer. I was told that there were only so many great writers in the world and the chances of becoming one of those who makes enough money to survive are slim to none.

The thing is, like many writers, I have known since I was a little girl that if I didn't write, I would die. Not some lame bodily death, not suicide, but a much more dramatic, inner-death. When I entered the workforce at 21 (yeah, I tried desperately to avoid conventional work even then,) I worked nights and came home every night after work and wrote my heart out because I would not allow the shackles of convention to hold me down.

It wasn't until college that I really started to find myself and my voice as a writer. With college came the confidence I needed, the awareness and that extra push to start sending my work out. The internet has reinforced all of that, and while it seems that the conventional literary world is crumbling down around us I see a light at the end of the tunnel.

That light has come in the last couple months, as I've been fortunate to have become acquainted with some incredibly talented and creative people through the internet. As I explored the worlds they created, I realized that those people had taken all they had inside them and pushed it back out into the world where it belonged. Conventions are no longer an option, whether it is in light of publishing or music. They've exhausted all resources available to them to get their work out there, working conventional jobs by day and pushing themselves hard by night to share themselves and their vision with the world.

Because that's what you do when you're creative. You put yourself out there and you shake the world into submission. I know in my heart that we have passed the brink and a new revolution in creativity is rapidly unfolding before us. Old cities of convention crumble beneath new boots, and a new empire rises from the rubble.

For those of you I know who have stepped into the chaos of this strange new world without trepidation (coughJames Melzercough}, your bravery both inspires and compels those us of still standing on the brink. Know that I am right behind you, both as a supporter and a fellow creator, ready to join in and help in the process of building this strange, new world.

It may not be the world we expected to grow up into, or that we dreamed of as children, but I think it'll be better.

He Whispers to Me While I Sleep

2009-03-25T22:59:00.002-04:00

Lord Byron on his Death-bed
Originally uploaded by Kien Nguyen Photography

Lord Byron... ever since I was about thirteen years old I had a bizarre obsession with him, and not just his work, but him as a person. It occasionally rivaled with my fascination for Shelley, but for some reason Byron always wins out. While both had equally depressing volumes to offer before their deaths, Byron always felt more dangerous to me. In fact, as I mentioned yesterday I always thought the name George Gordon would fantastic for some Romantic obsessed serial murder. I've even had a few really creative ideas on how to insert Byron into fiction over the years, things both dark and hilarious that cannot be shared until the ideas are more complete.

The short story I am working on right now reminds me of Byron in the most twisted way. I had even named the main character George at first, but then upon realizing the connection changed it to give myself some distance and to let the character grow into his own personality.

The strange obsession has brought about the Byronic cycles that sometimes haunt me in my sleep. In the morning, just before I open my eyes and while still suspended in that web of some dream, I hear a voice whispering familiar poetry to me. This morning that voice said:

"Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,
They take a weight from off waking toils,
They do divide our being; they become
A portion of ourselves as of our time,
And look like heralds of eternity..."

Funny, but that is how I have always viewed dreams. A separate reality, a weight upon my waking thoughts that divides me into two beings. As a Gemini, that sense of duality has existed all of my life, and I walk a thin line between the dream world and the waking place most people consider every day life.

I'm sure that's all crazy to you... but I'm happy here. Wherever I am.

I've Been Committed to "The Brink"

2009-03-24T16:09:00.005-04:00

J.C. Hutchins just sent me my commitment papers:

You can view the larger version, in which you can read about my illness and the crimes I committed against humanity Here

I also got this nifty avatar as a thank you for participating in the project:

My husband sent his own contribution in this morning, and was also committed to "The Brink."

You can see the expanded version and read all about his life as a sociopathic serial murderer here. His name really isn't George Gordon, or Lord Byron, but George Gordon is the best serial killer name EVER!

As I mentioned yesterday, you really should take a look at J.C. Hutchins' site and preorder his upcoming project, Personal Effects: Dark Art. This interactive novel experience will have you on the edge of your seat! Here is a blurb straight from the site:

"Set in a mental institution for hopeless dead-enders, Personal Effects: Dark Art chronicles the life of Zach Taylor, a young and optimistic art therapist. Gifted at his job, he uses his patients’ personal effects — the personal items cataloged during their admission to the hospital — to help decipher the secrets of their mental problems."

As a reader you will be able to call the numbers in the book, visit the websites and more. This promises to be an amazing experience, with excellent reviews by the likes of Scott Sigler, Anthony E. Zuiker, Daniel Myrick and several other talented horror aficionados.

If you haven't had a chance to check it out, please do. J.C. Hutchins will be offering more opportunities to get personally involved in "The Brink" over the next few weeks, so be sure to check the website often. What are you waiting for, go get committed already!

Because I'm a Lunatic

2009-03-23T23:15:00.004-04:00

Brinkvale Psychiatric Patient Gallerygreat free widgetsWidgetbox

I am going to be submitting a piece of artwork to the patient files at "The Brink," part of J.C. Hutchins' upcoming thriller experience. You can find out more about Personal Effects by visiting J.C. Hutchins' website: Personal Effects

Update: I sat down with my oil pastels and created this hideously insane self portrait:

Formulating an Idea

2009-03-22T20:07:00.002-04:00

John Singer Sargent: Countess Laura Spinola Nunez del Castillo
Originally uploaded by freeparking

One of the toughest things for me as a writer is getting the story out of my head. I realize that is probably a tough thing for a lot of writers. I can sit down and verbally tell an entire story from beginning to end, but when I am behind the keyboard it is extremely hard to put it down the way I originally saw it in my head. Now I know that it is all part of the process, that I need to expand on it once the original idea is out on paper, but my word! Tell my brain that, someone. I keep telling it that we will worry about expanding the details and polishing it up in the second draft, but my overactive brain keeps crying about how unfair it is that nothing comes out perfect the first time we write it down.

Does anyone else go through that? I've written entire novels in my head, all the way down to the most obscure details, but then had difficulty committing them to paper, and I really think that's why. I get upset that it doesn't come out the way I saw it in my head. But I learned while I was taking art classes in college that just because you draw something the first time and it doesn't come out like you saw it in your head, through the refining process you can mold and shape what you have produced into a masterpiece. I already know that the solution is telling my brain to chill out and just write already! My word! Worry about the details once you have a solid base to work from.

The story I am working on has an air of Romantic Horror, though I plan for it to be bloodier and somewhat more twisted than any Romantic horror I ever read in college. There will be a portrait of an Elizabeth Bathory inspired Countess, a young man with murder on his mind and the obvious hand of the devil orchestrating the goriest acts of the story. It'll be a short story, and I have special plans for it, so here's hoping it all comes together as I have seen it in my head (at least by the end of the revisions process anyway!)0

I finally got the paint I needed to do the full moon on the bedroom wall. I'm pleased with how it turned out. We will now gradually add stars to the ceiling, possibly have a few trickle down into the clouds. Pictures upcoming. I have about sixty pics I need to tinker with in photoshop since my niece just had her fourth birthday party on Thursday. Once I get a spare moment to do that, I will add the photos I took of the moon.

Lastly, I was saddened today to read that Nicholas Hughes, son of the famous poetess Sylvia Plath, committed suicide this weekend. To have lived under the weight of such a tremendous shadow, more than likely with the strange guilty burden of his mother's suicide... so sad indeed. I think I will write a poem about it later.

I'm off now to get on the treadmill after a lazy day of reading, napping and writing, and then I want to get some more writing done before bed. I hope you all had a lovely, stress-free weekend.

The End is Here....

2009-03-21T00:26:00.003-04:00

Well, the journey that started back in 2003, when the Battlestar Galactica re-imagined series first aired its mini-series on the Sci-Fi channel. Six years and four seasons later, the series aired it's final episode tonight. I have been fearing this day for months, worried that all of my questions would not be answered, that they would bump off my favorite characters unjustly and that the fleet would wind up stranded in deep space for all eternity.

I read several interviews with Edward James Olmos over the last few months, and his word was what held me in check. He kept saying in his interviews that the series ended in the only way it could. He was right. It's only been over for about an hour and fifteen minutes, and already I've see a ton of complaint across the net. People who felt like it was a waste of time to even watch, but it really was fantastic.

Most of today's Battlestar Galactica fans have followed the series since day one, others joined later, but no matter when or why you picked up, everyone wanted to see the series end well. I believe that it ended as well as it could, revealing just enough to leave the magic and mystery that drove the series well in tact.

If you missed tonight's episode, it's airing again at Midnight on Sci-Fi, and will air again next Friday, according the IMDb. It was definitely a relief seeing it all wrapped up, but I will miss it so much. It was such a deep and touching series, often crossing lines into our own reality that made it feel incredibly real.

Maybe it's the Margaritas....

2009-03-18T22:48:00.002-04:00

Mexican margarita
Originally uploaded by Mel B.

I am not a drinker. I used to drink every weekend when I worked in a bar and my coworkers and I would spend our Saturday nights laughing in the corner table while our regular customers tried to get us really drunk. But because I come from a long line of alcoholics, I don't like to drink often. Now and again, I'll have a beer or a glass of wine, or if we go out to dinner I'll get a margarita, but the stress of this week had me longing to unwind.

So, I put the lime in the coconut and mixed it all up, and I've been unwinding with my salt-rimmed glass. I definitely needed to relax, and something inside of me was holding me back from just letting it go. I didn't meditate last night because I had a headache, and my poor husband said I was a virtual nightmare all night long: kicking, yelling in my sleep and sawing logs like a lumberjack. Apparently, I even told him that I was going to pop him in the face if he didn't stop nudging me. Poor guy.

I've had a sleep disorder ever since I was a little kid. I used to sleepwalk, and have sleep-talked and snored since I was about 3 years old. In times of increasing stress, my body shuts down, but my brain just keeps going. I wonder how I get any rest at all, and realize during these spells just why I wake up feeling exhausted.

Meditation is the key, and maybe some muscle-relaxing margaritas. I feel nice right now, and ready to drop into a hot bath with my new zombie anthology. I'm sure some would say that reading about zombies before bedtime would inspire nightmares in them, but those are the kinds of dreams that stories come from for me. So here's hoping that the margaritas and the zombies tickle my inspiration. I have an unfinished zombie story that would LOVE it if I finished it this weekend.

But first, I'm off to check out Episode 19 of James Melzer's Zombie Chronicles podcast. If you are a zombie/horror fan, and haven't checked out this podcast, you don't know what you're missing. You can check out more about James Melzer and listen to the podcast for free at James Melzer. Good stuff! Check it out.

A Rock and a Hard Place

2009-03-17T21:40:00.002-04:00

Backbone Rock
Originally uploaded by pfly

Things this week have been unraveling in a most peculiar way, often leaving me feeling like I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. No one likes that feeling because it's suffocating. Even the mental visualization of being between a rock and a hard place gives me the creeps, and makes me feel like I'm going to hyperventilate.

Tight squeeze. The whole world feels like that right now, or at least that's what the news would have us believe. Sure, we feel the crunch, but isn't there something we can do about it?

So that whole rock and a hard place analogy got me to thinking. What does nature do when it's stuck between a rock and a hard place. At first, it may seem like nature does nothing, but that nothing is actually more commonly known as erosion. Wind, water--both eat away at the surface, slowly devouring it over time until a hole develops and nature can pass through.

Of course, I am a force of nature, but I am also man (woman....), which means that I need to use the forces within me to eat away at the rock that has lodged itself and pinned me to this hard place. I think about dynamite, but that's too messy. It also has the potential to destroy me while destroying my predicament. So patience. It is the only way. Patience, and the slow burning knowledge that the forces within me are wearing a hole through this rock. One day we (yes, I'm a Gemini, I speak in dual,) will slip through the hole in that rock, and we will be free.

Watch out then. There's a reason forces like this are kept between rocks and hard places.

In other news, I spent the afternoon with a dear friend and her family. We hadn't seen each other in over thirteen years, and it was so wonderful to sit in the sun together and just be. It was like time stopped for a couple hours, but then it had to pick up the pace and move forward again. The sun burned my face a lovely shade of pink, but it was worth it. Here is the photographic evidence:

If it isn't broken...

2009-03-16T21:33:00.003-04:00

Not Drowning
Originally uploaded by Thunderchild tm

You know that old cliche, if it isn't broke, don't fix it? Well, today that theme cropped up around every corner, and I couldn't help but wonder what life was trying to tell me. Aside from the obvious: that if you do something really well, and people continually tell you how great they think what you are doing is, don't compromise that greatness. And especially don't do it out of some strange need to get things done more quickly and more shoddily. There's nothing in the world worse than something that's going to fall apart ten minutes after you put it together. (ahem, Chinese toy manufacturers...)

I really thought this was common sense, but as many times as it came up in my life today, I had to wonder. Is fixing unbroken things going to become part of this super cool world we live in filled with rude service personnel who don't think they should have to serve anyone and snarky bill collectors who brutally patronize you for being late with your Verizon bill, but then go home and scream at T-mobile because they can't afford to pay their mobile bill on time?

If anything, the above two paragraphs should completely showcase my mood, and explain why this blog post has been stopped: here.

(almost... on to bigger and happier things tomorrow. Promise. Oh and for the record, G.I. Joe is NOT broken, nor is he drowning. He's taking a water nap!)

When Ravens Crawk... er... Call?

2009-03-15T19:33:00.002-04:00

Raven on a fence in front of a yellow car 1
Originally uploaded by Atli Harðarson

I have had a novella length story I've literally been working on for three years and one week. I started writing it on March 6, 2006, and just finished it today. The sad part is, it spent about two years and nine months shuffling between intention, minor update and the back burner.

As the weather's been changing, of course, I've gotten to spend a lot more time outdoors. We get a lot of crows in the yard and in the field across the road, but among them is a strange imposter. A raven. Their throaty crawking call is so unique that it's not easy to dismiss when I set out in the morning with my dog to do the daily yard patrol. So every day, this raven gives us a throat full of hell as we parade the yard, and as soon as I spot it, it takes off and flies over to the field, where it disappears.

What does this have to do with my novella? Well, one of the main characters in the story is actually a raven. And for the last few weeks, I've felt as if that raven were prodding me to dive back into my story and get it finished. On Friday morning, I stepped outside to test the weather, and there it was in the massive pine tree beside the house. It squarawked at me twice, bobbing it's head, and then we both went about our business.

I came inside, brought up the document, and got to work. About twenty minutes ago I finished the first draft. Sadly, I worry that my raven friend may disappear now that I've fulfilled my part of the bargain, but I hope not. A lingering raven will make sure I get through the workshopping process, as well as second and third draft edits.

Any of my friends who might be interested in a proofread, please let me know. I'm always more than grateful for the extra feedback, even from non-writers.

And speaking of Cyborgs...

2009-03-14T21:05:00.005-04:00

As promised, my short story, "Black Velveteen" has been published in this month's issue of eMuse.

"Black Velveteen" is the story of a cybernetic service unit named Velvet, who is brought into the police station on murder charges. Only during questioning does the detective in charge discover that there is more to Velvet and her story than meets the eye.

Also in the March edition of eMuse is the artwork of Andy Kaufman, an article on breaking into freelance writing by Nicole Ireland, fiction by Janet Yung and poetry by David Kowalcyzk, Doug Mathewson, Ray Succre, Anne Brooke and Tomás Ó Cárthaigh.

I know that currently, eMuse is accepting submissions of fiction and poetry for their June '09 issue, and any authors who would like to have their books reviewed, now is the time to get in touch with the staff. You can email review requests to review_submissions@emuse-zine.com, and someone from the staff will email you back with details.

I hope you enjoy my story, and thank you in advance for checking it out.

I'll leave you with this very sexy Lenny Kravitz video for the song that loosely inspired my story:

How to Build a Better Cyborg...

2009-03-12T20:13:00.002-04:00

Cyborg manual
Originally uploaded by runran

A lot of my writing lately has either been about zombies or cybernetic beings, and the other day while I was writing down an idea I had for a future short story about androids, I started thinking about some of the best stories ever written about cybernetic beings/androids.

The funny thing is they all seem to call into question the same issues. Phillip K. Dick's "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep," has an elite model of android that blends in perfectly with mankind, but mankind still feels the need to wipe it out, while the androids just want to live a better life.

First and foremost, why on earth would mankind create cybernetic beings that LOOK and ACT just like mankind? Beings that could infiltrate the ranks of humanity undetected, live among us...

Then I thought about the movie AI, one of the most moving films about artificial intelligence that I have ever seen, and I realized that if we created things that were like people, that is probably exactly how we would treat them. We would make them as real as we could, so they were just like human beings, and then we would demoralize them and use them for circus entertainment and target practice.

Which, of course, is probably what prompted the cylons of Battlestar Galactica to retaliate against and attempt to annihilate their inhumane, human masters. So that brought me back to my original thought. Why would we create something like that if we were only planning to be cruel to it all along?

The short story that I will have featured in the upcoming issue of eMuse speculates on the above, basically posing the question, "If mankind could create a pseudo mankind to take his aggression out on without the guilt, would he do it, and would it be guiltless? In abusing a replication of mankind, is he not abusing mankind?"

What do you think? Is the portrayal of mankind in these types of stories a prelude of things to come? Will we one day create beings so real that they are indistinguishable from their creators only to treat them like crap?

Anyway, back to the keyboard. I'm thinking of clever ways to combine zombies and cyborgs... should make for some whacky horror/science fiction.

Does Clive Barker Believe in Cenobites?

2009-03-10T19:54:00.002-04:00

Pinhead
Originally uploaded by Boogeyman13

How do you write convincing fiction about things you don't believe in? This is a question that has been weighing on me for a couple of years now. I have a series of stories I wrote years ago that all take place in a remote Pennsylvania town where Lucifer resides and wreaks havoc in the lives of the residents. Sounds like an interesting horror series, right? It was, and for the most part, I had fun writing it, but the problem arose in that my personal beliefs do not include "the devil." In short, I felt at the time like my portrayal of the devil would be unconvincing because I do not believe in him.

Then I got to thinking. Do those who write ghost stories necessarily believe in ghosts, or do they just do their homework very well? Do fantasy writers believe in dragons, or again, do they spend a lot of time researching and exercising their imagination? Does Clive Barker believe in Cenobites? (I dunno, he just might...)

When I told my husband I was blogging this topic, he looked at me and shook his head. "You don't have to believe in something to write about it!" he said. And maybe he's right. Enough research on any topic will definitely add an element of realism as you're writing, but is it the same believability established from genuine belief?

And I'm not just talking about horror here. If you're writing a book or short story about life after death or the existence of angels, do you personally think the book would have more credibility if you were a firm believer in the topic? I'm interested in your thoughts on this. I don't know what I think yet. I'm still thinking about it and can see how belief in something would definitely establish more strength in its portrayal. On the other hand, I think that knowing something inside and out could also provide this type of strength. I'm torn.

Thoughts? And I'd really like to know if Clive Barker believes in Cenobites.

Edited to add:

Apparently Mr. Barker does believe in "evil things" all around us.

Almost there...

2009-03-08T21:38:00.003-04:00

We spent from Thursday through Saturday remodeling our bedroom and finally making the space our own. After moving into our house four years ago, we never knew what we wanted to do to make the space our own, but finally we put our signature on the bedroom, a place where we spend quite a good deal of our time. We're about 9/10's of the way finished, having only the moon scene to paint on the wall I didn't photograph. We're waiting for the paint, and then we'll finish. So far though, I have these pictures to share with you:

Once we're all done I will update the photos and show you the overall progress. I'm very happy with it. Every day I've woken up feeling rejuvenated and excited to finally have a room that I chose and decorated the way I wanted. So far it is a great embodiment of our mutual creativity, and we had a really good time doing the work together. It definitely got us in the mood to do other projects around the house, so look out bathroom. We'll be coming to getcha!

In other news, the bedroom project suspended both of our creativity for the weekend. I think I wrote maybe 1000 words all weekend and two poems. It's time to get back in the chair and get some of these ideas completed.

I'm also pleased to say that the next issue of eMuse going live on March 15th, with artwork by Andrew Kaufman, poetry by David Kowalcyzk, Doug Mathewson, Ray Succre, Anne Brooke and Tomás Ó Cárthaigh, fiction by Janet Yung and Yours Truly, and an article on breaking into freelance writing by Nicole Ireland.

We are currently working very hard on the June issue. I've already nabbed some great material from our slush pile for the June edition and I'm currently putting together an interview with James Melzer, author of The Zombie Chronicles. Needless to say, I am very excited about everything going on on the eMuse front. We recently joined twitter, so if you tweet, I hope you'll join us: eMuse on Twitter, and stay tuned in to all of our happenings (as well as some of my random musings.)

Creating Your Space...

2009-03-06T17:17:00.003-05:00

As a writer, environment is essential to my mood and my level of creativity. One of the things that attracted me to our house when we bought it was the room I have turned into my office. French doors, beautiful falling vine wallpaper, hunter green textured paint has left me feeling like I'm in a spring environment even on the coldest days of winter.

Presently, we are redecorating our bedroom in a night sky colors. We plan to add a full moon complete with stars mural over time to induce a peaceful atmosphere not only for sleeping and dreaming in, but for creative reflection.

Between my husband and myself, we spend a great deal of our creative time in that room. He practices guitar in there during the winter months, writers poetry and keeps his journal. Our bedroom is also our meditation space, so we wanted to create an atmosphere reflective of nature. So far it's coming along beautifully. Though we have both sacrificed quite a bit of time away from our creativity this weekend to set this mutual vision in motion, I feel like it's completely worth it.

As creative people, I think having a conducive atmosphere is absolutely necessary in keeping the mind always in the frame of mind we need to keep up our endeavors. Do you have a special, creative place in your home, and if so how have you decorated it and why?

Stay tuned for upcoming photos as we finish our adventure in roomscaping. :)

Cheerios Donates to Healthy Women's Hearts...

2009-03-04T08:27:00.003-05:00

I got this nifty little badge this morning when my cheerios and I donated to the fund for free cholesterol screening for women. Go healthy hearts!

And so She Speaks... but He is Silent...

2009-03-03T13:20:00.003-05:00

A couple weeks ago, my good friend and fellow writer, Jacqueline Roth, posted a blog about Heroines. In her blog she talked about her difficulty writing from a feminine perspective as a romance author. While my own writing spans over several subgenres, I realized something critical during my 2008 NaNoWriMo: I have a hard time writing from a male perspective.

I suppose I have always taken a feminine approach, even to the most dire and brutal situations. The only male character I can recall having had any kind of success with as a writer was the detective in my to-be-published in the March edition of eMuse short story, "Black Velveteen." The thing is, the detective in that story came off somewhat cliche to me, even as the writer... the dime-store bin detective with an angry ex-wife, estranged child, overzealous longing for truth and justice and a voice like Edward James Olmos. In fact, the character himself reminded me very much of Edward Olmos (ironic in a Blade Runner sense,) and that is one of the reasons I stuck by him as a character. Edward James Olmos tends to play gruff, serious characters who stand behind their moral principles no matter how bad things get.

Do you have these types of difficulties as a writer? Do you feel more comfortable creating heroines or heroes? At present I have two unfinished pieces in which the main character is a male. Both of them are less than six months old, but snagged by my present hang up over the proper portrayal of men. Tell me about your experiences, your successes and failures with characters of the opposite and same sex. Do you feel as a writer that this is completely gender related, and is there a way around it?

Now, without further ado, here is a small excerpt from my upcoming eMuse publication:

Black Velveteen

“Cybs.” Velvet’s voice wavered on that one word. “Man is not happy unless he labels everything around him. Labels give him power over things, and without that power. . .” She looked down at her hands. “Without that power he would not be Man. She would not be woman. I would not be as you call me, Cyb.”

The corner of Hank’s tightened mouth twitched toward expression, but he held back his admiration of her observation. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea, to try and use his appreciation for her cleverness against him.
“Be that as it may,” he began, “your lack of understanding for human reason and emotion would make it difficult for you to understand violence and its implications if you had not been programmed to.”

“I am not programmed to act or react with violence. That is correct.”

“And yet you murdered a child,” Hank reminded her. “A little girl no more than seven years old.”

Hank’s voice hardened, he heard it himself. He had a daughter once—still really. Her name was Keyana and she had just graduated from college with a Bachelor’s in Philosophy. She hadn’t spoken to Hank in more than seven years because according to her mother he was a bad father and an even worse husband. His ex-wife said he didn’t care, but then he’d let so few people get close enough to tell the truth. He cared. In fact, having a daughter had fine-tuned his misery when it came to cases such as this.

Sychronicity... Zombies March Across My Life (Again)

2009-03-01T15:34:00.005-05:00

I love synchronicity. Whenever things in my life start to line up in an obvious way, I can't help but step back and feel the confirmation from the universe. The current synchronicity may not seem new, considering how frequently I blogged about it during October and November, but zombies are back on the writer's block.

An inspiration for a short story popped up last week that I've been toying with between getting a few last minute reviews done for eMuse, which is scheduled for a March 15th release (ooh, the Ides, Beware,). I spent most of my weekend taking care of last minute business so the contents can move on to the next round and into the hand of our amazing tech team. While I won't delve too deeply into the plot, let's just say I've got two kids facing off against a zombie infested world. I'm already really enjoying working with it.

How is that synchronicity, you ask? For the last week, since the idea popped up, zombies have been everywhere. Now if it were closer to zombie day or Halloween, I could see it, but there aren't even any zombie films out right now to increase the zombie population. So everywhere this last week, zombies keep popping up. They were in my email, in a podiobook I downloaded to my iPod, on television, in my mailbox...My friend Susan even sent me a link to weird college courses in the U.S. in which a zombies in culture course existed. They are literally everywhere. They may even be gnawing on brains in the room behind me, but I'm afraid to turn around and look.

The fact that I started this new story and zombies began to reappear everywhere felt like confirmation from the universe that I was on the "write" track. So YAY!

Along with working on eMuse last minute bits and pieces, I also wrote a memoir for Chicken Soup for the Soul and sent it out this morning. That's two pieces out this week. I'm really happy about that. Do you have goals you try to adhere to on how many pieces you send out each week, or how many words you write each week? Has synchronicity been at work in your life lately? If so, how, and did you feel reaffirmed, or just completely creeped out?

I leave you with Elvira and Leslie and the Lys...

ReadingWriters Silent Characters Contest

2009-02-27T21:17:00.004-05:00

I just spent the last three days working on a short story for the ReadingWriters Silent Character Contest. The minute I saw the contest criteria for the contest posted at C. Hope Clark's blog, I couldn't resist. The silent character in the competition just so happened to be a mirror, and I had a really neat idea I wanted to try out.

I'm excited. I've been trying to send out at least one short story or packet of poems each week. It's progress. I've sent out quite a few things this year already and I'm really proud of myself for doing it. Last year I hit a bit of a rough spot and felt so discouraged that I didn't send much of anything out.

Wish me luck! I hope that you are all having the best of luck with your own submissions and deadlines.

If you're interested in checking out the competition, you can do so at ReadingWriters. If you decide to enter, good luck.

What's your motivation?

2009-02-25T18:03:00.004-05:00

As writers it is imperative that we devote time to our craft every single day. Whether you have a strict daily regimen that you follow or a basic routine that motivates you to write each and every day, holding that motivation in check is so important. For me personally, if I go for any great length of time (more than a couple of days,) without writing, I get very depressed. On the other hand there are days like today that no matter how I try to motivate myself to write it's just not there.

What do you do on days that the motivation just isn't there?

The wise are prone to saying that motivations isn't enough and that you can't rely on motivation to get you buy. You have to take action. That even when you don't feel like writing that you should sit down at your computer or your desk and write anyway. Just write whatever comes out until it feels right. Some people can do this, while others cannot.

There are a lot of writers who operate under a strict regimen of special rituals whenever they write. Perhaps they require use of a special pen, or maybe they need to light a certain number of candles before they start. For me it's best if I'm alone. I can listen to music, write with the television on, but if there are any people within a fifty foot radius of me that want to talk, I will forgo writing and chatter like teeth at ten-below. So timing is often a motivator on how much writing I get done. If it's early and the morning and everyone's asleep or at school/work, I can sit down and write entire short story drafts and full-length chapters without looking back. It's just as easy to do this at night, but when the house is full of people, even people doing their own thing, writing is just not an option.

I'd love to hear about some of your motivations. What pushes you to sit down in the chair and get things done. Do you need a deadline? Do you have routines you need to follow in order to write? Special pens or a candle fetish? Talk to me about your experiences.

When the Universe Speaks...

2009-02-23T14:29:00.005-05:00

...Perk up your ears and have a listen. You'd be surprised how much you might be missing simply because you aren't paying attention to the signs. Yesterday I blogged about characters and their relationships to us writers, and for the last week or so my fabulously creative musician husband and I have been talking rather deeply about where inspiration comes from. We've also been talking about synchronicity. Of course, yesterday as I finished posting my blog on our relationships with our characters, I checked my blog roll to see what my fellow bloggers had to say. I was drawn immediately to a post by Matt Selznick, author, blogger and podcaster extraordinaire titled, All Creators Please Take Twenty Minutes to Watch.

So I did. And I called in my husband to watch it with me, because frankly we both felt like we could use a little creative advice from the universe right now. And it was exactly what I needed to hear. So now I want to share it with you, because I think that as creators we all come from this weird place that the so-called normal world can't identity with. We've all gotten the complimentary eye-rolls when we mention that we're writer or artists or musicians. You tell someone you're a painter and automatically they want you to help them coat the outside of their house. You mention that you're a writer and automatically everyone wants to know if they've read your novel. Musicians must come from famous bands or orchestras, otherwise how could they classify themselves as musicians.

Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love spoke at the TED conference earlier this month, and she put into words a lot of how many of us have felt for years. She also spoke at great length on the magic of the creative process. It was such an inspiration that I want to share that speech with you now. I hope you will take twenty minutes out of your day. I know sometimes it's hard to find twenty minutes to do half of the things we want in the span of a day, but this speech is well worth the listen.

We get so wrapped up in the daily motions of the world, in the rat race and that longing to simply belong that we sometimes forget to celebrate our creativity. I strongly believe that we all have a little genius in us. I hope your genius is doing its job, and I hope that you all continue to show up and do yours!

Please stop over and subscribe to Matt Selznick's blog. He's always got something interesting to say and you won't regret it.

Who Are These People and What Do They Want From Me?

2009-02-22T19:03:00.003-05:00

A lot of writers walk around thinking they're insane. After all, we hear voices and sometimes we talk back. We learn to love and appreciate the voices. In some cases we think of ways we can torment them and in others we do everything we can to get them out of jams. In a way, we are like their Gods and Godesses, answering their prayers, meddling in their affairs. We have control over the outcome of their stories, or do we?

It's easy to play the role of divinity in our characters lives, but is that really our purpose? Or are we there to give them an outlet? As often as I would like to think I had control over my characters and what was supposed to happen in their lives, they tend to fight every step of the way when they disagree. Is this because they are art imitating life, or perhaps it's even deeper than that. Maybe we are conduits somehow, tuned into the universe.

It sounds wacky, I know, but sometimes the people in my head seem so real that it frustrates me to no end when they take on a life of their own. I remember a story I was writing years ago in which a teenage character with a mind of her own wanted to kiss her best male friend during summer break. She already had a boyfriend whom she loved very dearly, but the moment and the connection between her and her friend made her react as though she might die if she didn't do exactly what her impulses dictated. I actually felt myself being pulled in that direction, started writing out her wish and then stopped. That was NOT what the story was all about. In fact, there were several stories that followed, stories that had already been written, so I knew for a fact that there was no secret kiss between them and there never would be. But she was adamant. She fought me every step out of that scene and actually refused to "speak" to me for a full day.

There is definitely a strange connection between a writer and her characters. I used to think of myself as their creator, but now I'm not so sure. They certainly come into being with their own agenda, their own names. I've "tried" to name characters, but they always name themselves, and if the name I've chosen at first is wrong, they quickly correct me, lest I not go on writing with any luck at all.

So I ask you, what kind of relationship do you have with your characters? Do they speak to you? Do you hear their voices in your head? When you go against their wants, do they let you know? What kind of role do you see yourself as in their lives? Are you simply the bard spinning their story, or are you the great creator to whom they cling and pray?

Jacqueline Roth's Circle of Wolves

2009-02-21T12:12:00.003-05:00

My friend and fellow author, Jacqueline Roth released her newest novel yesterday, so I wanted to take a moment to promote it! I have been fortunate enough to have this novel and it is WELL WORTH the read.

For an excerpt and synopsis, check out her latest blog post: Circle of Wolves and be sure to check out her book. Rich with magic, history, culture and animal magnetism, this book is a must-read!!

Truly Terrifying...

2009-02-20T15:34:00.004-05:00

Ever since I was a girl, I have been fascinated by the truly terrifying. The oldest of four children, I was the evil baby sitter who stayed up late after the kids went to bed munching on popcorn and watching A Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13th. My mother was a huge Stephen King fan, so by the time I was twelve I had read some of his most hair-raising work and still recall going to bed and pulling the blankets tight up around my neck after reading Salem's Lot.

I have often blogged about my own endeavors into horror writing. During NaNoWriMo I worked quite a bit on a zombie novel and the novel I am trying to complete right now is a ghost story. This afternoon I was working on a writing prompt that came out like some twisted version of Revelations that ended badly for humanity, and it got me to thinking about what types of things other people might find horrific and terrifying. What scares me might not scare you, and visa versa.

Writers like John Saul often incorporate the supernatural and demonic into their work, relying on the Christian fear of God to frighten their readers, while others use monsters and apocalyptic situations. More and more often these days, it seems as if horror has employed a "nothing's shocking" approach, taking nightmares right out of every day life to give their readers a scare. Serial killers and stalkers are the boogeymen of the new millenium, and it would seem that the more outlandish their murder tactics, the more appealing their stories are to most readers.

I personally have a hard time getting into that type of horror and prefer a more paranormal threat. There's something safe (and yet equally mortifying) about the monster under the bed when he's a zombie or a vampire, something we categorize as unrealistic, but it seems that the lack of paranormal proof has pushed the limits of horror into the ghastly and realistic.

Psychological thrillers are another big seller these days. Stories that test the bounds of what is real and suggest that the most horrific of all horrors is the reality we create for ourselves. For example, Stephen King's short story, "1408," which tests the bounds the between the paranormal and the human mind, have the capacity to be truly thrilling because one has to ask, "Is this real or is it a product of the imagination?"

So whether you write horror, read horror or occasionally enjoy a horror movie, what brand of horror scares you the most and why? Has this changed in your lifetime? It has for me. When I was younger I was all about the slasher films. While I definitely appreciated a good ghost story or zombie film, the idea of a serial murder hacking up teens was my idea of a good scare. As a mother to a teen those types of movies now just depress me more than anything.

Writerly Readings... The 4 A.M. Breakthrough

2009-02-18T20:19:00.004-05:00

I am a lover of books. You almost have to be to want to write them. Even before college, however, I was always fascinated by what other writers had to say. The advice they have on writing, publishing, beating back writer's block and sharing their secret rendezvous with the muse. It's like sitting in on a secret conference with someone you admire, listening to their methods and exploring their techniques. The most inspiring writers who have delved into the "How to..." market have not approached the genre with holier than though professorial pomp, but often incorporated stories of their darker days as writers.

One story that touches me every time I read is Stephen King's memories of writing Carrie. He was so frustrated and agitated with the script that he wanted to throw it away, and probably would have had it not been for the insistence of his wife Tabitha that it was some of the most brilliant fiction she had ever read. On her encouragement, he finished the story and went on to become the master of horror we know and love today. He has often spoken of the rejection letter nail on the wall so thick with rejection that he didn't think he would ever hear the encouraging words, "We're pleased to inform you that..." Imagine if his wife hadn't pushed. If she hadn't seen in him that which he was most afraid to see in himself: success.

I am a sucker for books about writing. I think that no matter what your level of education is there is always something you can learn from others in your craft. There are techniques you would never have imagined, scenarios you may not have come up with without a little nudge. Many writing books come complete with instructions, tips and writing exercises, which is what the book I am reading now is all about.

Follow-up to his The 3 A.M. Epiphany, Brian Kiteley released The 4 A.M. Breakthrough: Unconventional Writing Exercises that Transform Your Fiction. Kiteley's intent with the book is to teach writers to make creation itself a more organic, automatic process. I am only on the first exercise, titled Parataxis, a 500 word prompt with two options. One of the things I like about Kiteley's book is that he draws references from other well-known source material to show not only example but how it works and the usefulness of the techniques.

There are two hundred exercises in the book overall. That's two hundred prompts that offer you the opportunity to explore a side of your creativity you may not have even known was there. It's a great tool to get you off of the excuse wagon and into the writer's seat. I highly recommend that you check this book out. As I said above, even as a master craftsman or published writer, you should never stop learning about your craft. There is always something to discover.

Brian Kiteley is a creative writing professor at the University of Denver. You can learn more about him by checking out his home page: Brian Kiteley. The site has information about his other books, including an upcoming fiction novel scheduled to release in the fall of 2009.

Tiny Dream in Swan Dive (sounds like a poem...)

2009-02-17T16:56:00.006-05:00

So this afternoon, my friend and colleague, the lovely and talented author, Jacqueline Roth, and I were talking about the difficulty of making a living as a writer these days because of the economy when Jae gave me some very disheartening news. Realms of Fantasy Magazine, of which I have been a lowly reader only (despite several attempts to sell them my brilliance,) for the last ten years or so, is going under. Their final publication is at the printer now, and will hit the shelves next month. Woe is me. That hit me pretty hard, considering one of my goals in life was to have a story published in that magazine, preferably in an issue that mentioned Neil Gaiman's name at least four times.

Now it will be gone, and one little dream will wither to ash. Lo, tho, I do digress... My disappointment is more sympathetic than anything, sympathetic to the other aspiring fantasy and sci-fi writers who will never see their name on the cover or their works in her pages.

I enjoyed the magazine overall, and it was still one of my goals to be published in its pages one day, but in truth the editorial choices for a lot of the stories printed these last few years have not really been that memorable, which is incredibly sad since I know there are literally thousands of talented sci-fi and fantasy authors out there submitting like mad. In fact, the last issue I purchased was only because my aforementioned brilliant author friend Jacqueline Roth's book was going to be advertised in its pages, and the stories in that issue... I think I remember one.

The thing that does make me incredibly sad is that there are already so few beautiful and glossy fantasy and sci-fi magazines as it is. Asimovs, Fantasy and Science Fiction and Analog often have better quality stories, but not near as many pretty pictures. It really is like watching a giant fall, and as I sat by last week and mentioned to my husband that I really didn't like many of the stories in "that magazine," I know I'm going to miss it when it disappears from the newsstand.

Times are changing. Coinciding with yesterday's epublishing post, with more and more people looking to the internet to publish their work, or actual magazines and papers moving to an internet audience to cut back on costs, it's only a matter of time before just about everything is electronic, and long gone are the days of hiking into the bathroom with a brand new issue of your favorite rag.

In more positive news today, I managed to send a poem out to Strange Horizons. Here's crossing my fingers. It's been 2 years since I had a poem published with them, and would very much like to end the poetry dryspell with a publication. I've made some progress on my novel, but have come into the tangled web of rewrite hell that warrants me to pick it apart like a quilter with a stitch-ripper tearing out a crooked patch. I know that in the end it will be worth it, but the process itself can be stressful.

So, as an outro to the demise of Realms of Fantasy, here is a guy on YouTube playing Cradle of Filth's "Swansong for a Raven" on piano. Anyone who ever said Cradle of Filth was untalented trash, as far as I'm concerned this is just testament to their incredible deity-like talent. No one makes music this melodic or complex anymore. NO ONE! And this guy does an outstanding job on the cover.

The Wonderful World of ePublishing...

2009-02-16T13:47:00.004-05:00

Publishing articles, short stories, poems and memoirs is easier today than than anyone would have ever dreamed even just twenty-years ago. The simplicity of epublishing has opened up the writing world to anyone and everyone who has ever had an idea to share. Magazines and publishers that once only accepted submissions via snail mail have opened up their email boxes, making the submission task for writers just a little bit easier.

The fact that submitting your work is easier than ever is no cause for slacking off! Editors are definitely going to be pickier than ever when it comes to your queries, your cover letters and formatting, so you'll want to make sure everything is up to date and in tip top shape before you submit anything.

Now, before you start thinking I'm some kind of expert on epublishing about to spin you a fascinating and useful yarn on how to polish your esubmission, stop right there. I'm just a writer like you, fascinated by the ever-increasing opportunity to share my work on the world wide web. I've learned a few tricks along the way, as I'm sure you have to, but what are the editors learning?

Well, I just so happen to be the poetry and fiction editor for the online literary arts ezine eMuse, and I can tell you that it has been an eye opening experience over the last eighteen months. Not only is our small staff responsible for all of our own promotion on top of editorial duties, we also have to make sure that our contact information is always up to date, that our contributors are properly attributed and that we produce our issue on time, as promised every quarter.

Editing for eMuse, something I enjoy and look forward to every issue has been a major challenge because as I'm putting together the poetry and fiction resources for each and every issue, I'm reminded of my own experiences as a writer. Being a writer has pushed me to a point of professionalism as an editor that I hope I never fail at.

You see, in the last year, I've had two lousy experiences with online submissions that I would like to share with you. If you're an editor, I hope that it will inspire you to practice editorial professionalism to the best of your ability (and I am sure that you are already at your professional best as it is...) If you are a writer, I hope it will inspire you to step out and draw attention to this kind of unacceptable behavior as well.

Publishing is not a joke to writers. Whether we are publishing for no to low or even professional pay, getting our work out to the public is a top priority for us. Sure, we can all say that we write because we love to write, but in the end we all know the truth: we write because we want to share our thoughts and dreams with the world. When you as a publisher send an acceptance letter to a writer it is one of the most thrilling things in our world. We will dance around, parade, blow our horns and promote the hell out of your publication because we want the world to not only read our piece, but support the people who support us.

When you send an acceptance letter to a writer and then never follow through with the publication it is one of the most crushing experiences you can imagine. I recently had an experience like this with a "motherhood" magazine that accepted one of my memoirs about teaching my daughter the value of everyday magic. I originally submitted the memoir in February of 2008. I received a response in June apologizing for how long they were taking, but asking me to hang in there for a little while longer. Finally in September I received an acceptance letter, telling me they were going to print my story in their next issue. That issue was set to publish after the New Year. It is now mid-February and not only has the editor put off mailing me the proper permissions forms twice, the new issue has still not gone to print. I just checked their website again before starting this blog, and there is no information about an upcoming issue available at all.

How does this make me feel? Like strapping on my Christian Bale attitude and sending a letter to let them know I'm done with them professionally, that's how. It's not only completely irresponsible, it's downright rude.

You have a responsibility to your contributors and your readers to publish on time. Get the correct information from every contributor in a timely manner, or don't run a publication. If you can't act professionally, no matter how busy your personal life is or whatever other excuses prohibit you from being professional, don't run a publication.

Now my second pet-peeve is outdated contribution information. This is the information age, people. If you're accepting submissions via email, promoted through your website, make sure your guidelines, email address and contact information are all 100% up to date, 100% of the time. My second story today is about a submission I sent out back in November. There was a deadline, an estimated time of contact regarding acceptance of rejection. I waited and when I finally sent an inquiry to find out why I never heard from them, the email bounced back to me. So I contacted the editor via another email address on the site only to find out that email is now defunct, and she gave me a completely different email not even listed on their site, in their magazine or anywhere else. How disappointing is that, and how many other possible contributors had their submissions lost by the wayside? The funny part is that the editor (who is really one of the nicest people alive,) told me they were lacking enough submissions to go through with the theme of that particular edition... well, no wonder.

It's hard enough to 1. work up the courage to send our work out under circumstances of rejection, 2. make sure every submission is perfect according to each individual editors preferences and 3. to wait for months and months on end to hear a response about the status of our work. When you add unprofessionalism to the list, it's a crying shame. The standards writers are expected to live up to are exceptionally high, and that is as it should be, but editors and publishers need to be held accountable to the same standards. Keep your word, make the process of submitting as easy as possible, and for blog's sake, publish when you say you're going to.

We all understand that things happen. People make mistakes, disasters pop up, but lack of communication is simply no excuse for unprofessional editing and publishing. The wonderful world of epublishing is supposed to have made things easier and more accessible to writers, publishers, editors and readers. Let's do everything in our power as a unit to keep it this way.

I'll step off my soapbox now, and get back to editing my novel. In the meantime, may the writers keep writing, the editors keep editing, and may all of us enjoy the successes we believe we so rightly deserve.

Write What You Know

2009-02-15T17:25:00.007-05:00

I have heard this my entire life, "Write what you know," and it will be the truest form of your gift. Whether it's poetry or prose, writing from the heart and soul is the fastest way to reach out to an appreciative audience, but what counts as "what you know?"

I love to use Stephen King and Anne Rice as examples, even as they are both fading out of the limelight and into the annals of literary history these days. Now I know you're asking yourself, "So what are you saying, Beans, that Stephen King is in league with the devil, and that's where all those dark and terrifying ideas come from? Or that Anne Rice really is the secret head of a vampire coven located somewhere in New Orleans?"

Silly, silly, that's exactly what I'm saying. Stephen King and Anne Rice write from experience. And not with the dark and demonic, though a great deal of Rice's inspiration is obviously the result of her Roman Catholic upbringing, but with their region. You can't read a Stephen King story without venturing off to Maine as he sees it, and it's a rare thing to wander too far from Louisiana in one of Anne Rice's stories. These two authors have taken their hometowns and run with them like Olympic torch carriers.

Whether we're travelers, or we've spent the last thirty years of our lives living in the same town, that which surrounds us often the perfect muse. All I have to do is walk down one of the main streets in the neighboring towns surrounding me, and I can literally find dozens of short stories just waiting to be written--from the macabre to the sweet to the romantic.

The reason I am blogging about this today is because I'm currently polishing off the second draft of a novel I'm working on. The novel actually takes place in an imaginary town nestled mysteriously into Pennsylvania county I grew up in. It draws from the atmosphere, the region and heavily relies on the fact that this is farm country. I grew up with people who lived on farms, my family's house smack-dab in the middle of dairy farm central. The interesting thing is, I hated that when I was growing up. I hated being a bumpkin, being stuck in this small town atmosphere where everyone no only knew your business, but more often than not, knew it before you did. I grew up in a small neighborhood where we often joked that our neighbor's mom was a super spy, and if she was around, there was no getting away with anything!

What better plot than a character resistant to this environment, a character who managed to get away, but finds herself drawn back home after a tragedy? I felt that way myself. I hated this place I grew up in. The minute I turned eighteen, I was in the backseat of my friend John's Rabbit, hightailing it to the nearest city. Even after tragedy and circumstance brought me back to to my hometown, I promised myself for years I wouldn't stay. One day I would get out of here, but then it snaked in around me, showed its appeal. Time passed and the urge to escape didn't feel as strong as it once was, and eventually, I felt like this was where I was supposed to be.

No matter where you live, your region, your neighborhood, your weather patterns are unique to you, and they are the perfect fodder for inspiration. As I mentioned above, today I need only walk down the street in my area to find short stories and poems just waiting to be written.

So the next time you're wracking your brain for something to write, step outside and listen to the voice of your neighborhood. You might be surprised by the unique whispers of that area, and how well you can personally put those whispers into scenarios that appeal to the world. And if you're a memoir writer, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Places soak up memory, withhold the past, and as a writer you can unlock those secrets for all the world to hear.

On another note, writing what you know doesn't mean just sticking to your area, it also refers to your personal experiences. Whether you've been a soldier, a mother, a sister, a teacher, a student, a postal worker... you name it, every experience you've ever had is simply asking to be related through your work. There are characters inside all of our experiences simply begging to have their stories told. Maybe you once worked with someone who claimed they spoke with the dead, or there was an old lady that walked her cat into the post office every day to get her mail... All of these things are stories simply begging to be told.

I guess one of the reasons I'm feeling so passionate about this lately is because with all of the Hollywood film remakes, it starts to feel like there really is nothing new under the sun. The thing is, I don't buy that. I think all of our experiences in life are unique because of our unique perspectives (the same logic the movie remakers are using, I'm sure...) so even if we all lived through the same experience, our stories would be unique based on our regional upbringing, our experiences and our personality. So the next time someone says there's nothing new under the sun, look out your window. You'll see it there. I can almost guarantee it.

I Pick Up My Books, I Read Bukowski

2009-02-14T11:20:00.004-05:00

I've been reading a lot of Bukowski again, lately. It comes and goes. Sometimes when you feel like you've descended into a new place dirtier and grimier than any other place you've ever been, it's best to have Bukowski in your pocket. He's like a tour guide through Hell.

Not that I'm in Hell, or anything like that. It's just a dark state of mind to sink into when you're carrying old Buk with you everywhere you go. I think that so much of his work can be likened to this time we're having now, this endless depression, where all the stakes are changing once again... There are experts saying we won't ever recover from this if we collapse... that unlike Soviet Russia we have all tasted too much wealth to ever recover if our economy falls apart.

Well here's the thing. I grew up in a house with two brothers and a sister. We were only four children, but during the eighteen years I lived at home with my family, my parents were always on the verge of losing everything they had. That was why mother stressed the importance of not only dreaming, but standing on the tips of your toes until they break to reach those dreams. So that is what I do. That is what I will do all the days of my life.

Believe it or not, I've been places, seen things I hope to never be exposed to again in this lifetime. The first year we lived together, my husband and I shared a house with three other roommates. We spent an entire winter without heat and we rarely had enough food to get us by. We literally lived off of rice and ramen noodles for days and days on end, until some miracle presented itself and we were able to buy food. We spent a week on a bus going out to Arizona, where we couldn't get jobs because we had no place to live, and despite having enough money for an entire year's worth of rent, we couldn't get a place to live because we had no jobs. I was pregnant at the time, and desperately afraid of the kind of life I would provide for my child. In Arizona less than a month, we felt like we had failed, so we headed back to our hometown, and wound up living in squalor for about a month with my husband's friend.

It was the most disgusting place I had ever lived in my life. I should have known it would be bad. The guy's car had always been a virtual nightmare-you know, the kind when half a bag of garbage came rolling out whenever you opened a door. You had to arrange the garbage to make yourself comfortable in the back seat. Imagine how his apartment looked. He had a cat. An old Tom he'd found inside a car or something, but never got him neutered. The cat walked around and pissed on everything. Furniture, clothes, blankets, food.... anything he could lift his leg on, he did. And the guy we lived with chewed tobacco, so all over the apartment were cups, bottles and cans filled with putrid brown ooze.

I cleaned the apartment from top to bottom because I was not raised that way. How anyone could live like that and think it was normal, I never understood. Even after I cleaned it, he worked very hard to mess it up again. I remember an instance shortly after I had sterilized the apartment from top to bottom that another guy who was staying with us woke up because he felt something crawling on him... it was a maggot. Talk about never wanting to close your eyes again.

Shortly thereafter, my parents found out what kind of conditions we were living in and came to the rescue. Sometimes I think it was a miracle that we had their help, but we sacrificed a lot of what we believed in by going to stay with them. It was a year and a half that we stayed with them, and in that eighteen months, spirits were crushed, dreams were lost and our small family was nearly torn apart. But we made it through. We finally moved out into our own apartment, and while it wasn't exactly the Ritz Carlton, we made it into a home, and there we stayed for nine years.

During that time we struggled to maintain that which we felt was important to both of us, while also trying to keep up with our financial obligations. In order to provide the best family atmosphere for our daughter, we worked opposite shifts, so someone was always home with her. It wasn't until she started school that I actually got a day job so we could all be home at nights together.

After September 11, 2001, I felt like I'd been hit with a reality check. I was twenty-six, and still hadn't gotten any closer to achieving any of the goals I had set for myself throughout the years. I had no success with publishing, and even worse, had no idea where to start. Within weeks of September 11, I had decided to go to college. And I did.

The thing is, the quality of our life improved dramatically during the time I was going to college. Our finances were looking good, we had gotten rid of past debts and had finally started to save enough money to buy a house. Eight months before graduating, we bought our house. I had the promise of a college education behind me to help me get a better job, and it looked like some of the things we wanted in life were finally going to pay off.

Then the housing market took a dive. Our very first winter here was difficult, as my husband struggled to maintain his job. It wasn't until June that he went back to work full time, but come December he was right back on the same boat. The next year he didn't go back to work full time until July, and by the time September hit in 2008, they were already back to working three day weeks. He's been laid off since the second week in January.

Sob story? Not really, but after everything we've been through it's a real motivator, let me tell you. Not to go out and work nine jobs to maintain material happiness, but to step up our game and start doing some of the things we hesitated on in the past out of fear. Fear of failure, fear of loss, fear of whatever.

I know that so many of my friends are in this same boat. So many of us struggle from day to day to make sure there is food on our table, while our big bosses go on elaborate trips around the world, deny their employees security, claiming that the economy is bad. How bad can it be when they are out living it up like celebrities while the rest of us worry from day to day whether or not we're even going to get our next pay check. My husband's employer has sent the salesmen group every year on a week long cruise to the Bahamas as a reward for work well done... Well guess what, the salesmen haven't sold anything in months, but they leave to go on their cruise at the end of next week.

I very rarely talk politics, and I certainly don't like to blog about them because differences of opinion often tear friendships apart, but this bailout garbage is like trying to stuff a wad of chewing gum into a dam already about to burst. The same people who have always had it easy get another leg up while the world crumbles underneath them, while we're left down here at the bottom wondering NOT where our cruise to the Bahamas or our full-sponsored trip to Pokerfest 2009 is, but whether or not we're going to lose our home or have enough money after paying our mortgage to feed our family. Our jobs, which were propositioned to us as full-time employment just a year ago, waver in the balance, thin as spiderwebs about to break.

The thing is, and I know you're wondering what the hell does any of this have to do with Bukowski, Charles Bukowski defied odds during the depression, World War II, after the War... He painted accurate portraits of the world around him that we can look back on today. If you are a writer, a poet, an artist or a musician of any kind, now is your time. Catalog these days. Paint portraits of the world as it falls apart and rebuilds itself again. There is more than enough inspiration right now to go around. Draw on the misery around you and turn it into something pure, something beautiful.

I know that this blog was probably one of the more depressing blogs I've penned this week, but don't miss the underlying thread of hope glimmering within the darkness. We write our own future, our own destiny, and right now, as it seems like sky is falling, there's a pen or a paintbrush or a guitar waiting for you to pick it up and show the world what you've seen.

The Aliens, by Charles Bukowski

you may not believe it
but there are people
who go through life with
very little
friction of distress.
they dress well, sleep well.
they are contented with
their family
life.
they are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
and when they die
it is an easy death, usually in their
sleep.

you may not believe
it
but such people do
exist.

but i am not one of
them.
oh no, I am not one of them,
I am not even near
to being
one of
them.
but they
are there

and I am
here.

Mahalo Sports Coverage: It's the Daytona 500

2009-02-13T20:23:00.002-05:00

Two major sporting events are going on this weekend, the NBA Slam Dunk and the Daytona 500! Be sure to keep up to date with the coverage by tuning into Mahalo this weekend for all the latest stats, scores and more.

In the meantime, check out these pages:

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda...

2009-02-11T16:38:00.003-05:00

I have done a lot of crazy things in my life. From the time I was very young until about thirty minutes ago when I was at the gas station, I've done things that have the potential to make other people feel ashamed or even worried. Not ashamed of me, of course. I'm not that outrageous, but I do take risks that many people would consider foolish. The difference between me and them is that some people will take the same risks, but they walk away feeling ashamed and foolish... beating themselves up and crying over spilled milk.

The three words I chose for the title of this blog are perhaps three of the most useless words in the English language. Should. Could. Would. Think about what each of them means, what they really mean, and while you're thinking I will use each one in a really silly sentence.

1. I should have passed on that cheesecake.

2. I could have volunteered for the fundraiser, but I didn't.

3. I would have doublechecked the answers if I'd had more time.

Whether you've come up with your own examples, or you've read over mine, you can clearly see the error in each sentence. Yeah, maybe you SHOULD have passed on the cheesecake, but the fact of the matter is, you didn't. You can't take it back now, so why are you crying about it? I'm sure the people you could have volunteered for were really happy to hear about what you could have done (but didn't...) for them. And obviously, whether you would have doublechecked your answers or not, the simple fact of the matter is you didn't.

Those three words are the types of things we utter whenever we have remorse or regret. Unfortunately, so many of us are walking around everywhere we go, all day long experiencing regret and remorse over everything we do. The foods we choose, the people we talk to, the words we say, the choices we make in the grocery store and the money we spend. If I had a nickel for every time I said, "I shouldn't have bought that (insert object here)," I would be a millionaire.

The thing is, I've spent a great deal of time in the last ten years trying to rid those three words from my vocabulary entirely. Believe it or not, there are ways you can do it. There are two methods I employ in my own life and they work very well. The first one is that I decided a long time ago that as far as I know, I've only got this one life to live... Even if science and spirituality one day discover that reincarnation is a fact, in another life I am not the same person I am in this life. When I do things, no matter if they are stupid or brilliant, the last thing I want to do afterward is waste time thinking about how I could, should or would have done them better. I decided a long time ago to live my life without regret, which cuts back on the amount of time I spend moping over decisions made and executed. The second thing is boils down to responsibility. When you take responsibility for everything you do, no matter how brilliant or foolish, there's no need to reevaluate what "should, could or would" have been done better or differently.

Dr. Wayne Dyer once talked about using should, could, would on children. Children automatically see the error in those words because they operate on that mindframe. They inherently know that you can't go back in time to fix what you should, could or even would have done differently.

So the next time you're about to say, "Oh, I should have...could have...would have... done things this way," stop before it even leaves your mouth and think about those words. If you can still change the outcome, just do it. If it's said and done, let it go. There's nothing you can do to change it.

Now before you say, "But what about learning from our mistakes? By saying, could, should or would, I can think about the next time and change my reaction..." Let's face it. There isn't going to be a next time. The next time you're thinking about is going to be a completely different experience than the one you just had. If you already know your error, you'll correct it without dwelling on what might have been. Like I said above, we get to live THIS life just once. Why not own all of our choices, even the ones we're not so proud of. Instead of ending this blog post with the words, "I should be editing my novel," I'm just going to go and do it!

Another One of Those Days

2009-02-10T19:54:00.003-05:00

I don't like to sink into the because it's just negative energy, so instead of letting the little things get to me today, I schluffed them off and washed them down the drain. Now I'm sitting here with a warm hot chocolate and Bailey's reflecting on where I need to go from this new perspective of mine.

Things have been a little tense for quite some time. When you aren't able to rely on something you put 100% of yourself into, it's incredibly disheartening. Especially when you put so much of yourself into that thing, often sacrificing other things that are important to you for the sake of someone else's success.

If I've learned anything today, it's this: my successes are my own. Times are tough right now, but if I let that discourage me from following my dreams those who would oppose and oppress me win. Maybe the ideals I was raised under are outdated, but they shaped and molded me into who I am. My dreams are my own, they will be my successes, and nothing short of death can take them away.

That's the great thing about being free. Even under tyranny and oppression they can't take your dreams away from you. Dreams are what provide hope on an individual and mass level. I've heard tell recently that the time for being childish and dreaming has come to an end now that the economy has plummeted, but if you ask me what better time to strive for a better reality?

It doesn't matter if the things in your life that are holding you back right now are simple or so major you feel you'll never be free. I hope you take a moment today to remember at least one dream that has sustained you through thick and thin, and pay homage to the power of that dream. It may just lift you up and put you in a place of empowerment.

When You're Just Not In the Mood

2009-02-09T19:34:00.004-05:00

Today was a little rough around the edges, though now that it's winding down it doesn't feel like the little annoyances really mattered all that much. Despite it all, I managed to spend a great deal of my day laughing, and in the end that is all that matters.

At the end of it all, I just wasn't in the mood to blog tonight, at least not on a philosophical or technical level. But I did want to share a laugh with anyone who needs it at the end of a long Monday.

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

There are No Fair Weather Dreams

2009-02-08T12:43:00.004-05:00

I am not a winter girl. I have never been about winter. Born in the second half of May, there is a great longing that begins inside me right around the end of December that is not quelled until I can open the windows for an hour or so each day to start airing out my house. This doesn't usually start in Pennsylvania until the end of March, sometimes the end of April, but these last two days the weather has actually been mild. After spending the last three weeks on edge over temperatures borderlining the negative, yesterday's rising temperatures inspired a bit of hope in this winter weary heart.

My husband thinks I'm crazy. I can't imagine leaving this side of the country because I would feel empty without the change of seasons, but winter weather wears on me so quickly. For years now I've joked that in another life I was a bear because I hibernate the long winter months away, preferring to stay indoors in my comfy clothes, rather than venturing out into the ice and snow. My temper is also just a tad bit higher during the winter months, like a mama bear just daring someone to push her too hard.

The thing is, winter has been a tough time for my family for as long as I can remember. My husband took on a job in the same field as my father because it paid well at the time, but even as a child the housing industry lulled during the winter months. I remember my dad getting laid off from his job, the long months of unemployment barely enough to get our family through. Now my own family struggles through winter under the same pretenses. It's been worse this year than it has been in the entire time my husband's been employed there. For the previous three years he was working half weeks, three day weeks and collecting partial unemployment. This year, he's only worked three days since the New Year dawned.

Despite the financial lag, I enjoy having him around. We get to spend a lot of time together, something that is tough under the strain of his job. During the summer he often worked ten hour days and was required to work at least four on Saturdays. I miss the money, the stability that comes with it, but on the other hand I am reminded of how much he never wanted to take that job in the first place. He is an artist and musician. Plagued by the calling of his craft to create, not being able to answer the muse's whim can be somewhat devastating to one's creativity. Now that he's home, he's been juggling creative projects slowly, trying to regain a sense of what was lost during those long years of slaving for something he really didn't even believe in.

We all do it, and of course I have heard it said, "What else can you do?" I disagree, even though I've been in this situation myself. Suffered through the wrath of disappointments, the hardship of struggling financially through the winter months when work was slow for both of us, but to sacrifice so much of one's self for material gain seems a shame. While I was in college I worked two very flexible jobs, one on campus and one in a restaurant and bar I had worked in on and off for about five years. It was still not enough.

It got me to thinking about all of the gurus out there that talk about doing what you love. There is even a book titled, "Do What You Love and the Money Will Follow." How many of us sacrifice that which we know in our hearts we are meant to do out of fear of failure? Even as we know that if we put our hearts into our dreams, anything is possible. I realize it's difficult to keep that frame of mind when times get tough... even now as the news touts the economic disaster that is our time, there is still possibility. We just refuse to grasp for it out of fear. The thing is, as long as mankind has been recording his history, there has been art, music, stories and even sports.

Sure, we need manufacturers, farmers, computer technicians, teachers... and there are people who are born with that passion in them as well. My mother, for instance, has said for the last fifteen years that all she ever wanted was to be a teacher. So she went back to college, got her degree, became a teacher... And it wasn't easy. Sometimes it's still difficult for her, especially now as it's so hard to find permanent work in our area, but there is potential, and she knows it. My own history hasn't been easy. Since I was ten years old, all I ever wanted was to be a writer. It's how I express myself, how I communicate. I can say things so much more eloquently if I type or write them out, but my own mouth is like a curse, often spewing forth things that don't make sense at all compared to the thoughts I have inside my head. So I've written... I've had my share of minor successes and continue to have them even now. I went to college thinking maybe I should study something that might actually bring me a job, but halfway through my first semester I knew that I was lying to myself. I declared English/Creative Writing as my major despite the hesitation of my advisers.

Why would you want to get an education that isn't going to serve you? That was what one adviser asked me. He told me stories about another girl who majored in art, but worked at Wendy's fast food restaurant now because who was going to hire an art major. But the thing is, my education does serve me. It serves my soul. I know in my heart that despite struggling from time to time, I've made the right choices. I have been true to myself, and I hope you have to. If you haven't, maybe it's time to start listening to your calling. There will always be a need for people to step into places they don't belong, but even greater is the need for people to step into who they are meant to be.

Be yourself. Be true to yourself, and even as the winter months are long, and you find yourself feeling like a bear trapped in a hibernation stupor, remember that the spring will come again. The sun renews the soul and your dreams are waiting for you to remember them.

Believe in yourself
To the depth of your being

Nourish the talents
Your spirit is freeing

Know in your heart
When the going gets slow

That your faith in yourself
Will continue to grow

Don't forfeit ambition
When others may doubt

It's your life to live
You must live it throughout

Learn from your errors
Don't dwell in the past

Never withdraw
From a world that is vast

Believe in yourself
Find the best that is you

Let your spirit prevail
Steer a course that is true
--Author Unknown

Pack Up Your Knives and Come Cook for Me

2009-02-07T16:31:00.004-05:00

I haven't done this often on here, as I blog entertainment from time to time with my bff on the 2 Screaming Chicks blog, but I love food and I love this show, so the time has come for me to strap on the foam finger and wave Top Chef's Stefan Richter right on through to the Top Chef New York season finale.

I realize that supporting Richter could potentially earn me a bit of slack. After all, he's possibly one of the most arrogant contestants ever to have appeared on Top Chef, as if anyone thought that was even possible after Marcel. On the contrary, there is something much more appealing about Richter's arrogance, and he has certainly proven himself these last few weeks.

I started routing for Stefan when he decided to take it upon himself to seduce the series' lesbian, Jamie, to no avail. Then there was his shirt, "I Make Great Babies." How could you not love a guy with confidence in his sperm count? One of the greatest motivators, however, was when rival contestant Hosea decided to compare his own skill level to Stefan's, grasping at any opportunity he could get in front of the camera to bash the Danish-born, German-raised chef.

During the entire season of Top Chef, Stefan has been on the bottom only once (a complete farce, let me tell you,) which just goes to show he obviously likes control. And if you've got any doubts about his skills, watch this man handle a writhing eel!

Mad Eel Skills

While his arrogance is obviously an issue for many Top Chef viewers, I think there is a lacking "entitlement" that makes that arrogance endearing. The same arrogance on Hosea is lacking in charm, evidence of definite overwatered-wallflower syndrome (ie, he thinks he deserves better, but won't take action to prove himself, unless it's when making out with fellow contestant, Leah, but that's another story.)

My Top Chef prediction is that Stefan is going to take it all the way to the finale and mop up the competition because there hasn't been a chef on there this season who can compare to his skill or his confidence.

You can find out more about Stefan Richter by visiting his website: Stefan's European Catering

Pictures of you....

2009-02-07T08:14:00.004-05:00

One of my favorite writing outlets is the personal memoir. I didn't realize this until I took a creative non-fiction writing course in college with one of my favorite writing professors. I had always viewed non-fiction as history, essay and hardcore fact, completely forgetting that some of my favorite non-fiction books were actually auto-biographies and memoirs. The thing that makes memoir-writing exciting to me is that no one ever remembers the same event in exactly the same way. You could have four different people experience an event, and two weeks later have all four people write down the memory of what happened. You can almost guarantee that while all four stories have a similar theme, each one will be completely different.

Not everyone experiences things in the same way. Not everyone processes things in the same way. It's one of the reasons that there is often discord within society. Mankind just wants others to see his point of view, to experience things in the same way he does, but it's just not possible. Sure, we meet up with people that we share views with all the time, but that's not the same thing as trying to get someone to see things exactly the way you do. This is where a good memoir comes in.

I was fortunate enough to grow up in Pennsylvania farm country. Though if you had asked me as a kid how fortunate I felt about that, I would have laughed in your face. My family bought a home slap-dab in the center of a middle-class neighborhood that housed about fourteen kids ranging in age from seventeen years to one year. Because of where the neighborhood was nestled, at the base of a small mountain and just above the banks of Muncy Creek, the fourteen kids in that neighborhood had more potential for adventure than you could possibly imagine. Even within the smaller branches of the group, generally based on age, we saw tragedies, wonders and learned a lot about ourselves from each other.

My memories of the way things were are probably much different than the people I grew up with. My views were shaped by perception and personal experiences that none of the others had gone through. My emotions were often altered by my own dealings with those other people, shaping my reactions and experiences. I often wonder how the people I grew up with would react if they were to read some of the stories I've told about our quiet little neighborhood. The revelation of a number of skeletons would probably horrify some, while drawing others together in mutual acquiescence. I often wonder what parents will think when they read some of the things we got up to, and not just my own parents, but parents I respected as a kid immensely. I wonder who would call my memories lies, and who might call them exaggeration, as both have been known to happen where memoirs are concerned, but in the end I don't care.

Those experiences were my own. They were some of the most vivid and colorful years of my life, even on days the color was a hideous shade of blackish-green.

If you've never taken the time to write a memoir before, I can tell you, the experience itself is liberating. All you need for inspiration is an old photo album, maybe some old letters, or just a little time strolling down memory lane. You can start out the process by telling and retelling stories to others by mouth. After all, the art of story telling itself was once verbal, and the more you tell your stories aloud, the easier it will be to write them down.

Many of us who are adults today grew up in a time uniquely different than the one we live in today. There were no cell phones or personal computers when I was a kid. There was no cable television or satellite in my neighborhood. We grew up so far out there that the cable company refused to run a line out our road. Kids didn't spend all of their time indoors battling imaginary video game forces. Sure, we had systems. I grew up on Atari and Sega Genesis, but we knew when to put the paddles down and go outside. As writers, even better as memoir writers, we owe it to our time and to the people who will never get to experience that time, to share our memories. Otherwise they'll be forgotten.

So next time you're wracking your brain for inspiration, and you just can't find a plot, why not take a trip down memory lane? Once you're on the path it'll come rushing back in ways you never dreamed, and that's the stuff history is made of.

Sneak Peek at 2009 Grammy Awards

2009-02-06T09:21:00.002-05:00

Into the Dreamscape

2009-02-05T15:41:00.006-05:00

As long as I can remember, dreams have been one of my favored pastimes. Whether I was waking up from an intense escapade and hurriedly recording it in my dream journal, or sitting by the window as it rained daydreaming about some faraway place I'd rather be, my life has been a myriad of wonders thanks to how attentive I have been to my own dreams.

So fascinated with dreams have I been that it is a rare occasion for me to write anything longer than a short story without some kind of dream sequence in it. Main characters dreaming of the symbolic guidance they seek or slipping into a world dictated by dreaming itself... the dream world is a place in which anything can and usually does happen.

Whether you're Freudian in your dream beliefs or you've evolved with the studies over the last century, what we know about dreams and their actual function in our life is very little. Some theorists believe that dreams are the mind's way of processing events, thoughts and occurrences from the day before. Others think that dreams are important messages sent to us by the brain about things in our life that we might be overlooking, ie. health problems, struggles in relationships and so on. There are even people who believe that because dreams occur during an altered state of consciousness they are messages from the divine or the universe that occur in symbolic forms. People have told stories of the divine messages they've received, of how they dreamed of things before they happened, dreamed of people before they ever met...

The thing about dreams that makes them great fodder for stories is the interpretation of symbols. Universal symbols are easier to work with, and if you do a little research into basic dream symbols it's easy to incorporate a little dream mystery into your plot line. Deeper research into dream interpretation methods holds the potential to create a rich plot steeped in subtle symbols. The thing is, we all create our own symbols, based on our personal experiences, so the universal symbol for a bumblebee might not mean the same thing to someone who lives in the Tundra as it would for a person who lived on the equator.

Another great idea that has actually proven pretty productive for me over the years is writing down your dreams and drawing story ideas from the bizarre occurrences and symbols within. This morning I dreamed about robots that looked exactly like people (yeah, yeah, we all know I watch too much Battlestar Galactica while on the treadmill...) infiltrating a city school system to destroy the children. I was chosen, along with four other people to go back into a specific section of the school to secure the area. I had one person to back me up. As I walked into the school, my back up person behind me, there was a flash of light that revealed a person up ahead. I shot and hit the person, and we surged forward to detain them. It was Arnold Swarzeneggar... ironic because of his role in the Terminator series... Now I'm certainly not going to write Battlestar Galactica/Terminator Crossover Fanfiction, but there were several inspiring ideas in the overall span of the dream.

And what if you're not into writing fiction? Poetry! My personal notebooks are filled to the brim with dream-inspired poetry. Abstract and structured poems alike, the unstable territory of the dreamworld is an intense medium for channeling the profound.

I know there are probably quite a few people out there who are already shaking their heads while reading, ready to assure me rather matter-of-factly that they don't dream, but that's just not true. Everyone dreams, every night. As long as your body enters into REM sleep each night, you can guarantee that you have dreamed. Unfortunately a lot of people don't remember their dreams. If you happen to be one of those unfortunate people, you can work to change this by thinking differently about dreams. By deciding that you will remember your dreams, you increase your chances of waking up with the aftermath of nightly wanderings still fresh in your mind. The next step is to start writing them down. Keeping an active dream journal will guarantee that you not only increase the frequency of your dreams, but you become more likely to remember them.

In a world where they continually say there is nothing new under the sun, why not step out onto the dreamscape and take a gander. The sun may not even shine where you dream, so what on earth are they going to say about that?

I leave you with these final thoughts by Edgar Allan Poe:

"Dream"

Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
'Twere better than the cold reality
Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
But should it be- that dream eternally
Continuing- as dreams have been to me
In my young boyhood- should it thus be given,
'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright
I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light
And loveliness,- have left my very heart
In climes of my imagining, apart
From mine own home, with beings that have been
Of mine own thought- what more could I have seen?
'Twas once- and only once- and the wild hour
From my remembrance shall not pass- some power
Or spell had bound me- 'twas the chilly wind
Came o'er me in the night, and left behind
Its image on my spirit- or the moon
Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
Too coldly- or the stars- howe'er it was
That dream was as that night-wind- let it pass.

I have been happy, tho' in a dream.
I have been happy- and I love the theme:
Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life,
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality, which brings
To the delirious eye, more lovely things
Of Paradise and Love- and all our own!
Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.

Watch Your Mouth... or Your Pen...

2009-02-04T13:41:00.003-05:00

Or even your keyboard. This is not something I ever really wanted to do. Watching what I said for the simple sake of sparing someone else from disagreeing with me has never been my style. Not that I go around looking for ways to offend people, but with the luxury of free speech, why not speak our minds?

I started thinking about this when last night, while writing my nightly poem in bed, I had a great starter line for a short story. Offensive, completely! As I scrawled it on the back of the poem so I didn't forget it to today, I thought about all of the people that one line had the potential to offend. Neighbors, old family friends, former professors, hell, just about everyone I'd ever met really. It made me want to get to work straight away on writing the story, even if it's already been hinted at or done in other places.

Why? Because watching what we say has made us soft and boring. Soft like goo, oozing through the world's fingers without thought or opinion of our own. I swear if I could go back in time and erase political correctness before it became a trend, I would, but then what?

So tell me, fellow writers, even fellow speakers or just human beings, how often do you hold back and refrain from exploring a plotline or avenue of interst out of fear for what the majority will think? While biting down on your tongue so hard you start to taste blood, does it ever occur to you that maybe the people you're afraid of are thinking the same thing? It's a fine line between being honest and just being crass, I realize that, but by not being honest with the world, we lie to ourselves.

So the next time you have a really good thought that you shy away from simply because you're afraid of what others might think of you for writing it, or speaking about it, embrace it. Maybe you're not out to start a revolution in the way people think, but your words may be powerful enough to inspire someone else to do it. Don't bite your tongue. It hurts.

On that note, this is what I want for my birthday:

CAD - Starbucks mug design @ © SplitReason.com

A Health to the Company

2009-02-03T20:45:00.005-05:00

We all have our blessings, things we go to bed at night thanking the Gods for. When I step back from the shadow of the day, I can't complain about the hand I've been dealt. Sure, I have wanted more at times, and there have been other times when I was sure that I deserved more than I got, but when it all comes down to it, there has been very little in my life I have had to do without.

As I mentioned in Sunday's blog, I was blessed with the good fortune of finding my soul mate early in my life. On that same note, I was lucky enough to encounter two of the greatest friends I would ever know in those final years of high school, and I'm sure it was their love and friendship that saw me through some of the most awkward and difficult moments of my youth.

Good friends are hard to come by, especially when you're young and the way you define friendship is so confused by all the nonsense going on around you. There were a number of people I kept in touch with for awhile after I left school, but even they dwindled out of my life, our experiences and dreams putting a wedge between us that made us no longer as identifiable to one another as we once were.

Maybe our values changed, or our habits differed. Maybe one grew up and the other didn't. The truth is, people move on, but you can tell who was meant to be a part of your life longterm when after eighteen years, you can look to your left or your right, (or even on your facebook page,) and see their smiling face beaming back at you. Even after all this time, you can still share a good laugh together (sometimes so hard you almost pee your pants.)

Today, my friend Mindy commented about how lucky she was to have been blessed with real girlfriends in her life. People she had lived with, gone through weddings, births, divorces and deaths together. People you could call at any hour of the day when you needed someone, and that was one of the things that got me to thinking about this topic.

I know that I am blessed. I have some of the most wonderful friends in the world, people I have shared dreams and shattered hopes with. People who stood on the sidelines and cheered me on, or got up and walked the walk with me, even through rain and sleet and snow, sometimes without shoes. People I would do the same for without any expectation whatsoever, because that's what love is.

So, here's a health to the company, let us drink and be merry all out of one glass. I hope you'll all raise your glass tonight (be it filled with water or wine,) to all of the friends in your life, be they old or new, borrowed or blue (they could be aliens... I don't know). In a world that all too often seems at odds and war, the more often we reach out and squeeze the ones we love around us, the less daunting the hardships will be.

The Beatles once said, "All you need is love," and I'm inclined to concur. Thank you, good night, I love you all.

25 Random Things About Me

2009-02-02T21:03:00.003-05:00

So I was tagged a couple different places for this one, and the same list is getting posted everywhere because if I kept doing it it would like 100 random things about me, and frankly if you think I'm random now... keep asking me to create random craziness and you'll see I get much more random. I also already tagged about 40 people all over the net for this, so no tags attached. If you do decide to post a 25 random things about me blog, please let me know. I'd love to learn 25 random things about each and every one of you.

Now, without further ado, 25 Random Things About Me:

1. I am not afraid to admit that I kicked the treadmill's ass today!

2. I currently want to throw my dog out the window... Seriously, who eats pumice stones, Loki? Who?

3. I have giant hair. It's massive. Seriously.

4. My favorite show every created in the history of the universe is Battlestar Galactica (the reimagined series).

5. I am secretly hiding the fact that I am a cylon. Call me a toaster again, I dare ya!

6. I have one daughter who just turned fourteen and I think she is the most beautiful human being ever to have been brought to life.

7. I have two ideas for new tattoos and can't wait until I have the money to get them.

8. Didn't think I would like facebook, but it brought me back to a couple people I really missed. Go internet.

9. I went to college with the intention of getting a degree I could enter the workforce with, however, once I got there, I couldn't stop myself from becoming the inevitable English major.

10. Firmly believes that what you focus on expands. If you're sitting around whinging about how crappy your life is, guess what, it's gonna get crappier... Suck it up and think positive.

11. I have a secret crush on Sting... shut up, it is too a secret. :p

12. I have never met my biological father. He likes to pretend I don't exist. The good thing is, I got a good dad without him, so take that. *karate chop*

13. I think the world needs to laugh a little more and whine a lot less.

14. I have very little tolerance for people who refuse to help themselves. It's a flaw, I know.

15. I plan to move to Scotland to live out the rest of my days.

16. It was firmly decided upon my tenth birthday that I would grow up to be a writer. If only I had known that not all writers make Stephen King's salary.

17. Have I mentioned lately that I'm a cylon?

18. I believe we need to step backward in time and return to the place where family and friends were more important than money and "things."

19. I was fortunate enough to have met my soul mate early in life. Spending life together has been an adventure. YAY for adventure.

20. I think everyone in the world should have an iPod. Music is love, people.

21. I think we need to return to a time of patronage so that real artists with real dreams aren't left to suffer in factories.

22. I think it's lovely that everyone gets to express themselves these days, but people who can't tell a story shouldn't be allowed to get paid to write them.

23. I am not ashamed to admit that Neil Gaiman is my hero.

24. I am glad that I only need to come up with one more random thing-a-ma-whats-it.

25. I miss living in Pittsburgh sometimes, but I would never raise a kid there.

Out with the Old, In with the New

2009-02-02T17:23:00.002-05:00

This is the perfect frame of mind for this time of year, Imbolc, which is also known as Midwinter and Candlemas, depending on who you are. Imbolc is an ancient, Celtic pagan holiday that honors the first inklings of the coming spring. In days of old, it was the time when the ewes udders began to grow heavy with milk, a sure sign that the birthing season was on its way.

Today, Imbolc is more commonly known across the western world as "Groundhog Day." Prognosticating woodchucks all across the states climb out of their holes and dictate whether or not winter will flee or linger based on whether or not they see their shadows.

For my family, however, it is a household holiday in honor of the Goddess Brigid. Brigid was the daughter of the Dagda and the Morrigan. She is often turned to by poets and smithies and those who practice the healing arts. Brigid also centers around the element of fire, something that is both abundant in our hearths during the long winter months, but lacking in our skies with the sun only just beginning its long journey back to warmer days.

In honor of Brigid today, and to show the sun how much I long for his return, I took our holiday wreath down from the door and burned it in our fire pit out back. As one of the last symbols of yule remaining in the home, it was a farewell to winter ritual that left me feeling filled with hope for the loosening of tension to come as the weather grows warmer, work returns to our region and the earth prepares itself to receive our seeds. Because Imbolc is an early celebration of fertility, it is the perfect time to begin planning out the garden we will plant this spring.

For those who feel wound in the endless twines of winter, Imbolc is a time to loosen the twine and take a deep breath. Rest assured that spring is on the way, and before you know it tulips will be pushing through the fresh, green grass.

Last, but not least, Imbolc is a time to look to the future. Spring cleaning is obviously not a favored pastime for many, but consider it a time in which you can make room for new things in your life, but packing up the old and removing it. Think of your life and your space in terms of how full it is. If your home is filled with clutter then in order to create space for new things you'll want to part with that which no longer serves you. This also applies to people, ideals, thoughts and habits. It is a great time to remove negative energy from your life in order to make room for positive energy and growth.

Blessed Imbolc, and may Brigid whisper endless inspiration into every muse's ear, providing a year's worth of creativity and prosperity.

Love...it's exciting and new...

2009-02-01T10:56:00.005-05:00

This morning was a great wake-up. To be able to roll over and cuddle up in those final few minutes before climbing out of bed. I have been married to my best friend for almost thirteen years. We've known each other for nineteen years, and even after all this time, there is no one else in the world I want to spend time with as much as I do him? We've been through a lot of difficult times together, and yet even through the toughest of them we managed to come out of them even closer than we were before. That is love.

What got me thinking about love is the interaction between two of the charcters in the current story I am working on. A male cybernetic being is talking to a human woman about love and death. She mentions that her husband died before war broke out, shot by terrorists in the park, and had she not shortly thereafter discovered that she was pregnant, she would have taken her own life. She tells him that now if anything ever happened to her son... if it ever came down to it, she would throw her life down without a second thought to save his. He is perplexed by this, not able to process the notion of love being strong enough to dictate the outcome of one's life, but for some people it really is that strong. Romeo and Juliet... suicidal at the mere thought of one losing the other. Characters in a story, yes, but as Oscar Wilde once said, "Life imitates art fare more than art imitates life."

Love is such a powerful force. Those five words seem limp as three day old lettuce in comparison to the actual power of love. When I sit down and try to imagine what my life might have been with him in it, I seem nothing. No him would mean that the child I have now would never have come into being, and thinking about a life without either of those two people just isn't something I like to do.

The funny thing is, we were destined to be together. I truly believe that. We met at the local mall while I was still in high school. He had only just come back from living in Los Angeles. Being a giggling teenager, I and my friend Liz followed him and his friend Andy around the mall for about an hour before we finally followed them out one of the exits, pretending we were going to our car. He came after us. Being incredibly shy, it was a feat for him that only fate could have pushed. He came over and gave me his phone number and the next day we talked on the phone for six hours before he finally convinced his friend to drive down to see me. That night before he left, he kissed me for the first time and told me that he could already see himself spending the rest of his life with me... like we had known each other for an eternity.

I don't like to think about what my life would be like without having ever met him. There were times in the past when things seemed tough that I thought maybe we both would have been better off had we never met, but I know better now. Life's experiences, the ones that we lay on our deathbed contemplating, it's those types of experiences I want to be thinking about. How I was blessed enough to have loved so deeply, to have been loved so deeply... how that no matter how low I felt because of things I had been through, or how badly I felt about myself, there was someone there for me who couldn't see all of those flaws I thought were fatal. And if he did see them, he could see through them, into the person that I really was, and that was who he loved.

I think about all of the people who never find love... who marry out of loneliness only to find themselves even more miserable than they were when they were alone... who marry because their parents' made a choice for them before they were even old enough to think about their own future, and it makes me very sad. Sure, some of those people fall in love. I am reminded of the scene in Fiddler on the Roof (yes, life imitates art, yet again,) when Tevye comes home and asks Golda, "Do you love me?" It seems an absurd question to her. Their relationship has gone on so long that they no longer thought about love the way the young do, but it was there nonetheless. Despite having an arranged marriage, over time they came to love one another very deeply, but not everyone is so lucky.

So when I think about how lucky I am, I don't gloat, but I do treasure it, and I hope that everyone in the world can experience the kind of love that I have been fortunate enough to know. It makes the world go around. Some days it may seem like money, war, hatred and greed are what spin the globe, but that's what the media would like us to believe. They want us to dwell on the gloom and the sorrow, but there is beauty and wonder out there yet.

There are people who are filled with love and hope, and in the end I feel very strongly that love will triumph over all this darkness. Maybe I've read too many fairy tales, but that's what I believe. The strength and power in love is more powerful than hate, it's just easier to sink into hate when things feel dark.

Love. It's the order of the day.

Oh yeah, and GO STEELERS!

I'm Still Here!!

2009-01-31T11:02:00.001-05:00

It has been an incredibly busy week, so busy that I have completely forgone blogging to work on other writing project. When the muse calls, I have to answer. So I hope you will find in your hearts to forgive me for not keeping up with everything this week. I will do my best to get out and check out everyone's happenings, and I thought of you all every day!

I've been writing like mad. In the last two weeks, I've written more than the NaNoWriMo challenge requirements. It's been a fantastic routine. Wake up, check mail, work, finish work and then write. The Writing sometimes overpowered other important things like eating, breathing and of course, blogging. I even passed on several of my favorite television shows throughout the week because I couldn't tear myself away from the plots I've got going on.

In other news, last night's episode of Battlestar Galactica still has me on edge. It was incredibly powerful, but I went to bed feeling like I'd been sucker punched. Haven't been able to catch my breath since. Now that, is quality entertainment. If you don't watch, you're missing out. If you do watch, you know what I'm talking about.

At work it's been Super Bowl Madness, let me tell you. As a semi-Pittsburgh native, I've been looking forward to the game, even as I really am not a big fan of football. The game makes little sense to me, even after having spent about four years as a cheerleader in my youth, and several games wandering aimlessly around our high school fool field checking out the guys from other schools. (No wonder I don't get it...:p) But when we lived in Pittsburgh, it was one of the coolest feelings when the Steelers won a game. There was pride there, and the atmosphere of the city seemed to shift momentarily to capture the excitement and wonder. There were always fireworks when home games were won, and we could see them perfectly because the Three Rivers Stadium wasn't far from our house. So I am looking forward to the game tomorrow night. We're actually heading out to a friend's party, something we haven't done in years. Should be fun.

Well, I'm off to check on some blogs, and then I have a date with my plot. I hope everyone has a great weekend, oh, and check out my Super Bowl post!! :)

Sneak Peak at 2009 Super Bowl Ads!

2009-01-31T10:28:00.006-05:00

At work our entertainment team hustled all week to prep pages for the Super Bowl Ads that everyone seems to look forward to all week. I was really excited when I found out that Jason Statham was going to be in the new Audi ad called "Chase." Seriously, it was the only Super Bowl ad that got me excited. On that note, however, if you're a big fan of the chaos known as Super Bowl Ad mania, check out these awesome pages our team put together for the Super Bowl Ads. Some of them even have sneak previews of the commercials, so you can get an insider look before they even air.

Angels and Demons Super Bowl Ad
Budweiser Clydesdale Super Bowl Ad
Career Builder Super Bowl Ad
Cars.com Super Bowl Ad
Cheetos Super Bowl Ad
Chuck Super Bowl Ad
Denny's Super Bowl Ad
Doritos "Free Doritos" Super Bowl Ad
Doritos New Flavor Pitch Super Bowl Ad
Doritos Power of the Crunch Super Bowl Ad
Doritos Super Bowl Ad
Doritos The Chase Super Bowl Ad
Doritos Too Delicious Super Bowl Ad
Fast and the Furious Super Bowl Ad
Frosted Flakes Super Bowl Ad
GI Joe Super Bowl Ad
Go Daddy Danica Patrick Super Bowl Ad
Go Daddy Super Bowl Ad
H and R Block Super Bowl Ad
Heineken Super Bowl Ad
Heroes Super Bowl Ad
Hyundai Genesis Super Bowl Ad
Hyundai Super Bowl Ad
Kings Super Bowl Ad
LMAO NBC Super Bowl Ad
Land of the Lost Super Bowl Ad
Medium Super Bowl Ad
Miller One Second Super Bowl
Monsters vs. Aliens Super Bowl Ad
NFL Network Super Bowl Ad
Pedigree Super Bowl Ad
Pepsi Super Bowl Ad
Sobe Lizard Lake Super Bowl Ad
Sobe Super Bowl Ad
Star Trek Super Bowl Ad
All Super Bowl Ads for 2009
Super Bowl Commercials 2009
Super Bowl Commercials Live Coverage
Teleflora Super Bowl Ad
Transformers 2 Super Bowl Ad

The Mahalo team will be doing live coverage of the Super Bowl, complete with live ad and commercial coverage as well, so don't miss it!! And please take a moment to check out the above listed pages. They look awesome!

The Dark Muse Sings

2009-01-25T16:14:00.005-05:00

There are moods that come and go for me as a writer. While most of my stories tend to be romantically inspired, I write in several different subgenres. One of my favorites has always been fantasy. You can do anything in fantasy, and yet the more realistic the worlds you create are, the better the fantasy. I've also enjoyed writing dark fantasy for as long as I can remember. Vampires, werewolves, zombies, even mummies.

The very first novel length story I wrote back in high school was about a ballet instructor who fell in love with a vampire. It turned out that the vampire had a twin brother, who was seducing her behind his brother's back, in an attempt to create a new race of half-human/half-vampires that would one day take over the world... I still have that story somewhere. It turned out very badly, but I was so passionate about it at the time that I could wait to grow up and write dozens upon dozens of vampire novels.

It was Anne Rice who pushed me over the edge. Of course, I'd been dabbling in the macabre as long as I'd been reading. As a kid I'd dig out every ghost story in the library and bring it home. This was long before the Goosebumps series was ever created, so there weren't as many stories to choose from then as there are now. My mom was a big Stephen King fan, so I read all of her books after she finished them, discovering my immense fear of clowns just around the time I turned 13, as that was the year I read IT. That same summer, I also read Salem's Lot. Needless to say, it was one of the most terrifying novels I ever read, and I spent two weeks sleeping with the blankets up tight against my neck. Anne Rice made the vampires beautiful though. The fear factor was still there, but it was a tempting fear, and during those early years, while following Lestat from adventure to misadventure, I fell in love with everything vampires stood for.

After we got home from the movies yesterday, I had the strongest pull to write about vampires again, possibly with a werewolf twist. I haven't written a vampire story in so long, that I almost forgot how to do it, but an idea came to me in full form and before the end of the evening I started my introductory chapter. At this point, I'd love to find a way to keep the idea I have as a short story, but the complexity may not allow for it. We shall see. Either way, I'm pleased with how much I've already gotten done on it. The three main characters have all been introduced, two of them named even, and the protagonist has already been clearly established.

I got a lot of writing done today, and for that I am incredibly grateful. I knew all it would take was a bit of action, and then inspiration and motivation would both follow in full force. Now, it's half an hour before bed time, and I'm thinking I need to see if I can get in another 500 words before hitting the hay.

'Night all.

Underworld: Rise of the Lycans, A Review

2009-01-24T17:43:00.003-05:00

Ever since that fated scene in Underworld when Michael Corvin sees the truth of Lucian's history in his blood, I have been fascinated with Lucian's past and the story of Sonja and Lucian, a forbidden love affair between Vampire and Lycan. There was an inkling of hope in me at the time that one day a great movie would rise out of the ashes of Lucian's story, but I never dreamed it would actually take place.

I saw the first preview for Underworld: Rise of the Lycans while watching the Battlestar Galactica series four webisodes in December. I was so excited by the prospect of seeing a fantasy movie come to life that I immediately paused the webisode and started googling for more details about Rise of the Lycans. It was true. Michael Sheen returned to the big screen as Lucian, and the history of the great war between Lycan ad Vampire would be revealed.

From what I gathered from a few online groups, interest level in this movie was pretty low. There was no way that a third Underworld film could possibly be any good. Many seemed to feel that the first film should have been enough. I even had one person tell me that everything was ripping off Lord of the Rings, and now Vampires and Werewolves were doing it to.

The story takes place during a darker time in the world. The Lycans created by William Corvinas are no better than wild animals, never able to resume their human form again. But then one day, a Lycan gives birth to a child, and everything changes. The Vampires see this as their opportunity to change their position, and using this child, whom is named Lucian, they create their own race of lycans and enslave them.

It's a classic theme that has been seen in stories throughout the ages. One race enslaving another, pushing them over the edge, treating them like animals. It's only a matter of time before that enslaved start to see that there is possibility for a better life, and then comes the revolution. Lucian's revelation comes in the face of his beloved. To spend the rest of their lives as they are, him enslaved and her unable to express the love between them is not an option, and he already knows he can ever live without her... A plot hell bent on tragedy, and you can guarantee that tragedy ensues.

The action in this movie was coupled with a gritty darkness, the type of darkness that should haunt all Vampire films. It was a very cold world the Vampires lived in, their aristocratic nature far outweighing the type of warmth that comes from relationships built on love. It becomes evident at once that this is what Sonja sought from Lucian. The love her father bequeathed her came with expectations. The love Lucian offered her was free. This sets her apart from her father and the coven in a way that the vampires find shocking. Her own father tells her that the loyalty between them is the only thing that separates them from the animals at their door, and Sonja breaks that loyalty.

I have to confess that I have not a single complaint about the movie. Well, I do have one complaint. It could have been longer. My new secret wish (which is obviously NOT a secret since I'm sharing it here with you, dear blog friends,) is that they write another prequel that goes into the War, introduces Kraven and Selene to the picture, and shows the secret pact between Lucian and Kraven. Hear my secret wish, Underworld writers and producers, and know that as a writer, I would LOVE to have my hands in the writing of that script.

The cast was fantastic. Bill Nighy is Viktor, as he so often becomes the roles he portrays. It becomes impossible to even see Nighy beyond Viktor, and there are some really incredible screen shots of him all throughout the film that would make fantastic artwork. One of the great things about Michael Sheen's character, Lucian, is that when we are first introduced to him in Underworld, there is something distinguished about him. He scolds the other Lycans in his command for acting like a pack of rabid dogs. As he was raised by Viktor, almost pampered like a favorite pet for most of his life, Lucian appreciates his humanity and knows first hand that the Lycans are not animals anymore than the Vampires are. Seeing him fight for their freedom in this prequel, it becomes understandable why he wants them to act civilized.

Rhona Mitra, who portrayed Sonja, was striking in the film. It is apparent why Viktor chose Selene and kept her close as well, based on the characteristics she shares with Viktor's traitorous daughter. While they share a similar look, both women are also fierce warriors, headstrong and determined. Taking this into consideration, Selene actually becomes Sonja's vengeance in the end, as well as her own, and that is one of the great things about this prequel bringing the original story full circle.

It was also fascinating to see Steven Mackintosh as Tannis again. His character in the second film simply begged for more backstory, and I would have been disappointed had he not been in the film.

Whether you're a fan of the previously released Underworld films, or not, Rise of the Lycans is definitely a world apart from the others. Taking place in the past, it sets a completely different tone. I can't wait to see this movie again (and again...) and though I hope it has a long run in theaters, I can't wait for it come out on DVD so I can watch it again (and again and again.)

Back in Action

2009-01-24T00:01:00.003-05:00

The last couple months have not been the best time. I've had more problems with asthma and allergies than I care to dwell on, and just after I finished on the treadmill Monday night, I felt the ache of the flu settling into my bones. By the time I crawled into bed, I had a fever of 99.6 and Tuesday morning kicked me out of bed with a massive heaviness in my lungs that could only be pneumonia. Unable to get into the doctor until Wednesday afternoon, I burned in bed for two days.

The doctor was pretty sure that it was this nasty flu that's been going around, which with asthma and allergies on top, would just feel like living hell. He was right. I'm still standing by as my lungs recover that heavy dread, the ache in my back still shifting and sharp from time to time.

The good news is, fevered dreams are great fodder for science and horror fiction. I had some fantastically frightening dreams while my fever spiked into the 102-103 range. Crazy cylon storm trooper hybrid dreams, and liquid devils lurking inside sink drains. At one point I actually dreamed that I was living inside a skull. It was crazy.

Last night was the first night I actually felt human enough to start writing. Between then and this evening, I managed to finish another chapter in my current project. It felt good.

I will catch up with everyone's blogs and tags this weekend. I missed you all.

Visiting Grandma

2009-01-18T20:49:00.003-05:00

For the last two years, Sundays have been a day for riding with my dad to visit my grandma. At ninety years old, she was finally admitted permanently to a nursing home in August, something she is very unhappy about. Unhappy in that it seems like a convenient way to tuck her away and forget about her. At least that is the impression I get from her whenever she calls me. The last two years have been incredibly hard on her. As a mother of six, she never expected to outlive so many of her own children, but as luck would have it four of her six children are dead and one is lost to her. My dad is her only living son, and though I love my dad very much, he has never been a very emotional kind of person. He doesn't express himself well, when he actually does try to express himself, and that can leave you wondering what's really going on inside his head.

Over a period of about eighteen months, his three older brothers have all died. It started when my Uncle Lee, who lived with and cared for my Grandmother for the last ten years, dying in a tragic car accident. About six months later, my Uncle Ed's condition worsened and at the time they only expected him to live a couple weeks. Uncle Ed was mentally ill and spent quite a good chunk of his adult life in and out of special care facilities. During the last year of his life, I traveled every other week with my dad to visit his brother.

Uncle Ed was an interesting character to say the least. Even up until the end he had a lot of lofty ideas about how he would like to one day work in a bakery making donuts. Our visits, which often consisted of Dad driving around for half an hour so my uncle could smoke about eight cigarettes, were somewhat hard on my dad. I'm not sure if it was because of the pressures going on in his own life, or because my uncle was mentally ill, but I could always tell it was hard on him. Nevertheless, we ventured to the nursing home together on Sundays on see Uncle Ed, sometimes driving him over to visit with Grandma.

He had hepatitis c, and though his body fought it off a lot longer than they originally anticipated, he finally passed away. Not long after that, my Grandma's oldest son, Carl, died from cancer. It was all very hard on her.

Sometimes she calls me to tell me how lonely she is. It breaks my heart that we don't go and see her more often. As I mentioned above, up until this past summer, she was very independent. She worked right up until she was 87 years old, get this... caring for the elderly. She took care of an elderly couple who were twenty years younger than she was. She drove right up until then, but finally her eyesight grew so poor that she was no longer able to see to drive at night, and eventually she didn't feel comfortable driving at all.

I won't lie. There's a part of me that fears growing old sometimes, that fears the inevitable death that claims all of our lives in the end, but it's the great loneliness that comes with being elderly that bothers me the most. She said today while we were visiting her in her small cubicle of space, cut in half to share with a woman she never met until two days ago when the woman moved in... "I guess this is my home now." There was terrible sadness in her voice, as though the realization was too much for her to really wrap her mind around. My dad made light of it by pointing out, "At least you don't have to do a lot of cleaning anymore." She didn't laugh. She would have laughed at that even just six months ago. She just twitched and said, "No, they have people, and they do a good job. They come in and dust and sweep, even underneath everything..."

For the last year she has talked about being depressed, experiencing a sense of tiredness that is so heavy she just doesn't even want to get out of bed. Would this depression be lessened if she got to see her family every day? Sometimes I wonder why we started putting our elders in sterilized homes with other elders so someone else can take care of them. I wonder what happened to the sense of family unity that more or less dictated that the young care for the old. Then I think of all the times I said myself that as much as I love my own mother, I don't think I could care for her when she was old.

It makes me a little sad. This whole blog is very depressing. I won't deny that. But the small ray of light in it all is that even though the weather was bad, I was so happy that I got to see her today. I wish I could see her every day, just so I could make her feel the happiness and sense of family she deserves. Maybe I should take advantage of the fact that Jason isn't working regularly right now and start going to see her by myself once or twice during the week. I hate driving in the city, but she's a good enough reason to do it.

I think one of the reasons I'm so melancholy today is because I'm tired. The aforementioned sleepover from yesterday's blog has me up most of the night and then out of be way earlier than I would have liked. On a positive note, in the quiet this morning while the girls all slept in, I wrote the next chapter in the story I've been working on. That made me very happy. And now, I'm off to do some research for the next chapter, which I hope to at least get started on before bed tonight.

Tag, and then I'm It

2009-01-17T21:05:00.003-05:00

Morgan Mandel was kind enough to include me in one of her blog games, so here I with my list of six things that make me happy:

1. Spending time with my family. And not just any old time, but good time talking, laughing and truly enjoying the greatest parts of each other.

2. A good book. There is absolutely nothing else in the world as satisfying as a good story. My favorite types come with characters you can sink your teeth into and plots that leave you feeling like you left a part of your own world behind every time you put the book down for even just a minute.

3. Warm, fuzzy socks. I believe it was Albus Dumbledore who once said, "One can ever have enough socks." Fictional, though he may be, he was right.

4. The distinct sound of silence.

5. A good giggle with a friend. I don't care what anyone says. You're never too old to giggle, especially if you're with friends.

6. Writing. Something about putting words on paper has always made me incredibly happy. Even those days that feel frustrating, the act of writing itself is always wonderful enough to make me feel good inside.

Now, according to the rules of this game, I am supposed to tag three of my friends. I pick Mindy, Nikki and Jae. Hopefully, each of them has time to respond in kind. :)

In other news, today was a strange day. For the last two weeks, Ms. Fourteen has been planning a birthday party. It was a huge to do. She had ten guests coming, boys and girls, and after the boys left, the girls were all going to spend the night. She had invited 5 girls and 5 boys. In the end, two girls and three boys showed up. I was a little disturbed by how bored they all seemed to be, but no one really wanted to do anything. They didn't want to play any games (not even games of the video variety...) They had no interest in the table spread of snacks we provided. They didn't even seem to be interested in talking to each other. They just kind of sat there for awhile. Maybe it was because her dad and I were both nearby. They didn't feel like they could be themselves. It's hard to tell. All I know is that even when I was seventeen we had little parties like that all the time right at my parents' house. My parents would be in the next room while eight or ten of us would gather in the kitchen and play crazy games of Uno, Monopoly, Poker or whatever else we came up with.

We easily had a blast just goofing around. Maybe it's just me, but from the outside my daughter has always seemed like she was afraid to just have fun. There's an air of, "what if they laugh at me," surrounding everything. I just hope that despite appearances, they had fun and strengthened their friendships. That's all that really matters in the end.

I got some writing done today, and managed to complete a goal I have been mulling over for about a year. There is a company I have wanted to submit to, but just couldn't bring myself to actually writing an article as sample. After a blog I wrote the other day on the pagan blog I share with Mindy and Nikki, I felt inspired enough to do some revising. After adding a whole section that wasn't here before, I typed up a letter to them, included the article and hit send. It felt good. :)

Now that the house is a little quieter, I think it's time to sneak off to the bath. It's been so cold these last few nights that a long hot soak in the tub sounds like just the thing.

And speaking of Dumbledore, here is the trailer for "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince" which better come to a theatre near me before I die, or else.

Once a Great Notion, Indeed

2009-01-16T23:36:00.003-05:00

Today was one of those days where I don't feel like my time was wasted, even though many would probably say, "I could never do that. I don't even watch TV." I love a good TV series, and they are rare in this day and age. I spend very little time watching TV, and there are very few things I'll give myself to completely, especially something as trivial as a television series, but Battlestar Galactica, the re-imagined series, is different. Since I first became a fan of the show, I have studied the patterns, the signs, the cylons and I have waited a long time for tonight.

Tonight premiered the first episode of the last half of season four, the countdown to the series finale. Building up to the premiere episode, Sci-Fi played all of season four so far, and as soon as I finished working for the day, I blanketed up on the couch and had myself a marathon.

It was worth it, and the episode premiere was worth the wait. So much was already revealed in just that one episode, it seemed, as though everything we wanted to know as critical fans was revealed. They explained what happened to Earth, shed a little more light onto Starbuck's nature and revealed the fifth cylon of the Final Five. All I have to say is that while I loved learning it all tonight and I can't wait for the rest of the episodes to see what else we can learn, I was very happy with all we were given tonight. It was well worth the wait.

No need to spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen it yet. If you do want a brief synopsis, check out the guide note on my Battlestar Galactica Season 4 Episode Guide on Mahalo. I added a pretty thorough synopsis of the entire episode just thirty minutes ago. Check it out if you want.

Fourteen

2009-01-15T15:10:00.003-05:00

Today is my daughter's fourteenth birthday. I'd love to withhold the sappiness of saying, "It seems like yesterday that I held her in my arms, her static tufts of golden hair..." but it really does seem like that. The passage of time moves so quickly, and yet I feel blessed to have lived through every moment of it with her. I can still see the roundness of her bright face, the overwhelming smile that had the capacity to melt the heart. She had the most wonderful little voice when she learned how to speak, and if I close my eyes, I can still hear it.

She always loved to sing. I have videos of her from when she was three and four years old singing as though she was having a concert. I don't know how many times the bear went over the mountain before she finally felt like letting him see what he could see, but she would allow no one to tell her when it was time to go forward. "No, Mommy, I will do it!"

Those words, "No, Mommy, I will do it," soon followed questions like, "Do you want me to tie your shoes?" and "Let me pour you a drink." Before long it applied to "Do you want me to dial Grammy's phone number for you?" and "Can I make you some lunch?" Soon it'll be in response to things like, "Do you need a ride to the mall?" and "Do you want me to help you with your homework."

Her independence is liberating and exciting, while it simultaneously pokes me in the ribs with nostalgic despair. One day I hope she'll be a mother herself so she can understand and enjoy the kind of wonder children inspire. Pre-parenthood, we arrogantly think, "Ha! All those years I had to take lesson from them, now it's my turn to teach the lessons." In truth, I have learned more from her in the last fourteen years than I did during the twenty years that preceded her birth. I could be wrong, but I don't think you really understand how to love others unconditionally until you've had children. That compelling madness that forgives every wrong, the strength and ability to look beyond the mistakes and wrongdoings. There have been mothers who loved their children so much as to forgive them for crimes as dark and unforgivable as murder. Only a mother could love so deeply that she sees beyond the fatalist of flaws.

It's like we're blinded by them. By the notion that they once existed inside of us, as a part of us. That there was a time in their life that they were helpless and relied on us to care for them in every way. They don't remember that time in their life, of course, so when you yell at them for trying to roller skate across an icy parking lot, or for divebombing off of the bed and into nothing more than a highly stacked pile of laundry, they think you're insane.

Sometimes I can't believe it's already been fourteen years, but on the inside, I only hope that I am blessed enough to see the next fourteen years of her life, and the next fourteen after that (and the next fourteen after that...)

And for what it's worth, the fact that she still likes to play dress-up at fourteen is one of the most refreshing things in the world:

Scheduling More Hours Into the Day

2009-01-14T19:07:00.003-05:00

Whenever it comes down to buckling in and doing what needs to be done, I always resort to feeling as if there aren't enough hours in the day to do everything that needs to be done. The thing is, there are plenty of hours. I could easily get everything I need and want to do done. It's a lack of discipline that holds me back. It has always been an issue with me and I want to change it. I'm not just talking about my writing and my career, though that is a major area in which I feel the pressure from this. It has also happened my entire life when I've tried to set aside time to exercise, read and create. I've recently set aside an hour every day to exercise and it's been a refreshing change. The thing is, now that I know I can do it, I've seen the evidence and the results in one area of my life, it's time to make the leap for positive change in another area.

One excuse that I've got to nip in the bud now is that because I work on the computer, I don't feel as compelled to spend time outside of work on the computer writing. Break the block. Grab a notebook and a pen and head to the library. I can always type it in later. Another thing would be to write more poetry. I don't like to write poetry on the computer anyway. It always feels more natural with a pen and paper. I have stacks of notebooks filled with poetry, though since I finished college I haven't written near as much poetry as I once did.

Cutting away excess time on the net where I'm just surfing for things that don't really matter or pertain to my life is another place that I think will really make a difference. It's a poor excuse to continue falling back on the old, "writer's will do anything it takes to keep from picking up the pen." Time to break the mold. I have so many short stories finished. They just need a little bit of a facelift so I can start submitting again. I have some very realistic goals set for myself when it comes to submissions. Goals I know I can achieve without problem.

I read a quote a few weeks ago that I had never read before, but it really stood out for me and hit home. I haven't been able to find the exact quote since I read it, but it basically said that rather than waiting to be inspired or motivated to do something, take action. As a writer I've lived far too long under the misconception of inspiration. My mind is chock full of ideas. I've had more inspirations for stories in one lifetime than you could possible imagine. Entire stories already mapped out beginning, middle and end... yet I often hold back on writing them because I feel I need more inspiration. It's insane. What more inspiration is needed if the idea is already there? Take action. Write.

I also try not to take myself too seriously, to have a little fun now and then. My husband and I were just talking about playing cover tunes (he's a musician,) in comparison to writing fanfiction. I recently had an inspiration for a Battlestar Galactica fanfiction. I picked up and started writing immediately. I took action and just wrote. It felt really good.

More action. I have a strong feeling that taking more action will create a feeling of more hours in the day to get the things I want to get done done.

Too Late: Frozen

2009-01-13T22:20:00.004-05:00

And no, that's not just the title of a clever Type O Negative song... it's the current title of my existence. Temperatures are dropping here and they are saying we may even have some in the negatives by week's end. I am not a fan of Lady Winter's wicked breath. She burns my lungs and makes me sleepy. Like a bear, I would rather hibernate beneath a stack of warm, fuzzy blankets than join the world and be productive. It's a shame they don't make some kind of hibernation fund people like me can subscribe to so my family doesn't suffer financially from all of the work I'd rather not do. The hibernation fund could also send people around to do the things I'd rather not do, like shop, cook, clean and of course, transcribe all of my ideas into perfectly formatted novels and short stories.

Ah, the good life.

It's times like this that make me wish I had a laptop. Then again, a laptop would definitely contribute to a lot more laziness. I can already see myself propped up beneath a pile of cozy blankets, mug of tea on the side and the remote poised on my right. Laziness. It is so appealing, but I rarely let it win.

The highlight of my day (beyond a three episode Battlestar Galactica marathon during treadmill and downtime...) was when my mother called to tell me that her house was haunted. We've been trying to tell her that since I was in the seventh grade. I had my first paranormal experience in the neighborhood, just two houses away from her house. Shortly thereafter (around the time I was six or seven,) I woke up one night and heard a strange ring-tingling sound. I was scared, but I also had to go to the bathroom. I jumped out of bed and went out into the hallway only to be drawn into the living room by a brilliant golden-rosy hued light. As I drew closer to the living room, I saw a this strange swirling pattern of light that shined as it turned right in the center of the room. I have no idea what it was.

Some might say I was dreaming, or that my memories are askew, but over the years enough has happened in the house to make me question the truth. Friends and I always had bizarre experiences while playing with Ouija boards, and my brothers and sisters have also had paranormal experiences there as well. My brother believed in an entire phenomenon that centered his things being taken when he wasn't looking. Entire glasses disappearing from right beside him. Once an ashtray disappeared only to fall out of thin air about three days later.

Apparently, tonight the lights in her hallway kept turning on and off even though no one was touching them. Interesting. I told her to call TAPS.

I am pleased with how much I've been writing lately. Four chapters in less than a week is far more than I had written the week before, and I'm really enjoying the story I'm working on as well. So much so that I'm going to say farewell to thee and see if I can't pay homage to the muse for about an hour before hitting the hay.

I leave you with this very funny video that made me laugh today. I hope it gives you a chuckle too.

"Wake Up," George Gordon said

2009-01-11T09:42:00.005-05:00

For the last couple weeks I wake up every morning thinking about the Romantic Era and Lord Byron. It's as though the restless spirit of George Gordon hovers over me while I sleep whispering, "Away! we know that tears are vain, That death nor heeds nor hears distress: Will this unteach us to complain? Or make one mourner weep the less?" Why those words, I don't know. It just sounds like the treacherous beauty he might use on you if you're the first person to fall asleep at his birthday party or something. And of course, every time I wake up thinking about Lord Byron, I think of Gabriel Byrne, who once portrayed Byron in that crazy film Gothic. Yes, these are the insanities my mind plays upon. You probably had no idea... or maybe you knew all along.

Being winter, the wretched season of discontent, I have been trying to balance my thoughts between the beauty of the snowfall and the comfort of knowing I need not rush out if the weather is bad, but as Lady Death treads softly upon the earth in these, her final days, I cannot help the feelings of hopelessness that grab at me from time to time. The quick passage of time being one of the most pressing (and depressing...) thoughts, I try to fight it, but then waking up with my first thoughts on Byron's poetry is most certainly not a sign that I am winning any battle with bleak thoughts.

Poetry then. It's Byron's message. I know that beyond the macabre moanings of fear, doom and of course, death, there is another message. Write poetry. It's what I always do in the face of depression and adversity. I have done so since I was very young, and though I seem to write far less poetry than I did even five years ago, it is definitely something I miss and look forward to exploring again. I've even got the first few lines of something dark and brooding scribbled in my notebook.

The funny thing is, I have lost my touch when it comes to writing fiction or essays longhand. It used to be I could be found just about anywhere with a stack of paper or a notebook and pen scrawling out page after page of fiction, but after I got my first typewriter and then upgraded to a word processor, I never wanted to go back to writing on paper again unless it was poetry. There's something about writing poetry down though that compels me. The long thought process that pours into every word seems to flow more smoothly when it's done with a pen.

I did a lot of experimenting with Sestinas about three years ago. There's just something about the challenge of putting together a poem carefully constructed piece by piece. I am alway afraid that the words will sound forced, but then there is a strange, ethereal quality to the Sestina that really sticks with me. This is the first one I ever wrote, and I actually had it published in Strange Horizons back in 2006.

"Blood Moon Sestina"

You open up your arms, embrace the dark
night absorbed by the freshly fallen snow.
Face upturned as if waiting for a kiss,
you think he's your lover—it's just the moon.
The neon sign stains the streets like his blood.
You can't wash the memory from your hands

It's cold, but you refuse to hide your hands
in your pockets. "It isn't really dark,"
you say, but the snow white is stained with blood.
What crushes underfoot like old bones? Snow?
Shadows and clouds eat the face of the moon
and you're still out there waiting for that kiss.

Is it really that important, this kiss?
Every time you reach out to take my hands
I pull away, try to hide like the moon,
but there is no real safety in the dark.
The evidence is buried under snow.
Just like human skin, even snow can bleed.

It stains your shoes. "It's just a little blood,"
you say. Cold, blue lips parted for the kiss
you know won't come. Falling from the sky, snow
spirals toward the earth. "Catch it!" You hold hands
out. It could gnaw away at your darkness
and maybe absorb some light from the moon.

Like the face you thought was your love, the moon
peeks out, but hides again when it sees blood.
It's easier to lie inside the dark
about the lips you really meant to kiss.
They were not mine, but I still take your hand
and like angels we fall into the snow.

Beneath the blanket, we're buried in snow.
So deep, so far, not even a sharp moon
eye will find us. We are still holding hands
and I know you still want to try and kiss
me. All I can taste is the bitter blood
of a dying moon. Everything is dark.

And now the snow is melting into blood.
Old dying moon no one will ever kiss . .
it's on your hands now. Everything's gone dark.
Copyright © 2006 Jennifer Hudock

Time to start thinking about the six words I'd like to incorporate into my next Sestina. The words themselves will contribute heavily to the mood of the poem, so it can be a careful process, or an exciting free for all by just grabbing any six words and running with them. Maybe I'll write about Lord Byron, or Shelley maybe... the Romantic Era in general. Anything to capture the mood I'm in.

I leave you now with the words of Lord Byron:
"When We Two Parted"

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this!

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow;
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o’er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met:
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears.

George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788–1824)

On the Cusp of Silence

2009-01-09T08:34:00.005-05:00

After the hullabaloo of the holidays, every morning started to feel like a madhouse around here, especially after I'd become so used to waking up to an empty house around 7:30, setting in to work alone. With Jason laid off or working sketchy hours, and our girl home from school so frequently either on account of the holidays or cruddy weather, finding a moment's peace felt impossible. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't enjoy spending time with my family, but I also enjoy a good plank of solitude from time to time. It's good for the mind, it clears away that need for dependence. The voices in my head can talk to each other without getting interrupted.

I woke up this morning and the house was calm. The school bus had already come and Jason was still asleep. I crept out into the living room and felt for a moment like things were almost normal. Living in the country, mornings tend to be silent in the winter. We live next door to a small farmer's market, so things can get a little hairy in the summer, but this time of year the mornings are often still.

I suited up (like I was going extended deep sea diving, of course,) and put the dog on his leash. I expected it to be frigid and cruel, but the temperature was actually somewhat refreshing. We started on his daily trek around the yard and that was when I noticed it. Soft, tiny flakes of snow were falling, despite the bright sky. Without the wind, it felt so magical, peaceful. I stood there with my face against the sky until I felt renewed.

I needed that.

Now, as the morning world comes alive, I feel that sense of peace I was missing during the crazy season. May it stay with me all day and make my voice lighter, my reactions calmer and my mind clearer.

"Say I am You" by Rumi:

I am dust particles in sunlight.
I am the round sun.

To the bits of dust I say, Stay.
To the sun, Keep moving.

I am morning mist,
and the breathing of evening.
I am wind in the top of a grove,
and surf on the cliff.

Mast, rudder, helmsman, and keel,
I am also the coral reef they founder on.

I am a tree with a trained parrot in its branches.
Silence, thought, and voice.

The musical air coming through a flute,
a spark of stone, a flickering in metal.
Both candle and the moth crazy around it.
Rose, and the nightingale lost in the fragrance.

I am all orders of being, the circling galaxy,
the evolutionary intelligence, the lift, and the falling away.

What is, and what isn't.

You who know, Jelaluddin,
You the one in all, say who I am.
Say I am you.--Rumi

The Communication Age... all that lost data

2009-01-06T13:54:00.004-05:00

My friend Pru, after recently reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows, brought up some really thought-provoking things about the communication age as we know it.

I grew up during the 1970's and 1980's, a time when it was popular to have penpals from overseas that you could share your cultural differences with in order to broaden your perspective. My husband, who also grew up during this time fondly recalls one of his penpals and the gifts they exchanged with each other bridging the differences between them. While my husband and I were dating we spent a couple of years living far apart and talking for hours on end on the telephone long-distance at that time was a financial no-no. We had limited chats here and there and visits, but some of our most memorable conversations were done through letters. Remember those? No, silly, not emails. These were letters. They arrived in your post box, stamped and addressed. If you were friends with an artist, envelopes often arrived decorated in knotwork or strange creatures playing guitars.

During the time that he lived in Pittsburgh and I was finishing high school, I remember rushing home nearly every day to check the mailbox for some kind of letter or token from him. Though he'd probably blush profusely and deny it today, he occasionally wrote me poetry and romantic short stories. Unfortunately, we moved around quite a bit after we were together and there is very little left from this time. I think in all my vast collection there are only three or four of his letters left in a box on the top shelf of my closet. It made me sad when I realized this because our relationship was very intense and beautiful in those early years, the kind of legendary love you want your grandchildren to discover inside a box of old letters found in a dusty corner of the attic.

One of the things Pru mentioned was how even though we write to each other on forums, in blogs and via email these days, the data is all too often quickly swiped from memory. Sure, some print out emails and tuck them away, but the novelty of doing that wore off for me right around the time I upgraded to my very own dial-up service and stopped dialing in from a shared account with my parents. Here we are in the world communicating with people all day long, all across the world, but how will all of it be archived or remembered? Say some strange catastrophe were to come along and wipe out the internet and all of its memories. Cherished conversations on favorite forums would wither away like dust in our own memories. Loving emails exchanged between those held apart by circumstances, all gone just like that.

It pains me somewhat to think that letter writing has become something of a lost art. Why sit down with ink and paper when you can drop down at the keyboard and tap away to your heart's content? Pru talked about the legacy left behind in the great letters of the world. Think of all we know about history and how much of it was confirmed or disproved by evidence found in written exchanged between people from that time. Letters from great presidents and kings left behind a piece of memory we can refer to. As we move away from written books and newspapers to rely on eFiles and eBooks, what happens to those tomes when the last batteries die?

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for change and evolution. I think it's a wonderful thing that some of my closest and most intimate friends are people I've never met face to face, but have opened up to thanks to the great Communication Age. There is just a sense of sadness that pervades when I think of how all of this communication seems to push us further apart as a whole today, rather than bringing us closer together.

Color me nostalgic for simpler times today.

Now, enjoy the letters Thomas Jefferson and John Adams once shared:

Musical Inspiration for Writers

2009-01-04T22:59:00.005-05:00

I know I have talked about my writerly playlist in the past, but I will not deny the constant inspiration I have found in music. As I was reading through some of the work I wrote a few years ago, I was reminded how much the music of Sting had inspired several of my plotlines. While there was very little actual evidence for the average reader left in the story itself, I could clearly recall the mood and setting of certain scenes and the songs that I was listening to as I wrote them. It was as if the songs themselves had become associated with mine and my characters' memories of that time.

It reminded me of some of the earliest writing I actually produced, when I was about ten. That writing was heavily influenced by music I listened to at that time, and it seemed to become a trend I followed all through my youth. Many of the stories I wrote were responses to favorite songs which gave me a wide variety of interesting topics to write about, and it still does. Because a mood and atmosphere is already created by the song, I find myself wanting to reproduce the moment, or live through it myself in a way.

Music has been a huge element in my life since I was a little girl, and it seems that all along music and writing have gone hand in hand. I think that's something I need to bear in mind when I find myself frustrated with writer's block. To get the plot juices flowing, I need to find music that makes me feel connected to the story itself. For example, two of the novels I am working on the second drafts of now have soundtracks, if you will. One story is set in a small, farm town very similar to where I grew up and live currently. Finding myself in that place requires little more than queuing up Dierks Bentley and Toby Keith. The other novel is set in the Faerie underworld. Gary Stadler and David Arkenstone are just two of the atmospheric elements of my fantasy soundtrack. While I was writing about zombies, I found myself listening to a lot heavy music, dark, violent, but still atmospheric. I actually had a soundtrack I found on iTunes that was inspired by zombie films. It put me in the perfect mood to pull out the cricket bat and start whacking zombies.

Have you ever heard a song that compelled you to write? Has a character ever cried out from the chorus of a song and begged you to dive in and unearth their story?

Sting: When We Dance

I Am Coming for All of You!

2009-01-04T12:55:00.003-05:00

Or at least that's what Laura Roslin says in one of the previews for Season 4.5, the final episodes, of Battlestar Galactica, but what does it mean? I've been keeping up with the webisodes every Monday and Wednesday, (all of which can be viewed after 12PM EST on SciFi.com,) but in all honesty I don't really feel like they've given us any kind of hint at all about what has happened to the fleet since they landed on the destroyed Earth with the Cylons. I really hope that we don't get a "screwy" interlude into the events like we did with Season 3's New Caprica angle. At the end of Season 2, they're living on New Caprica and the Cylons show up, and Season 3 starts after months of Cylon torment and dictatorship. Even the webisodes for that period granted little access to what life was like on New Caprica. The only real look we get at the time spent there was in the boxing episode.

With these being the final episodes of the series (not including the promised made for tv films to come after the airing of the series...) there is a lot of stuff that needs to be wrapped up. I've read Edward James Olmos quotes that it won't be all daisies and happiness, but a satisfying ending nonetheless, and I can only hope he's telling the truth.

I'm so excited as I count down the days to the final episodes of BSG, the first premiering on January 16. In honor, I've been having a bit of a marathon at home, watching the third season in its entirety again, and planning to purchase the first half of season 4 when it's released on the sixth of January.

Anyone else out there a fan of this show? Do you have any thoughts or predictions you'd like to share? What are you looking most forward to about the series wrap-up? I think I'm really looking forward to finding out the final cylon identity the most, coming in second to that is Starbuck's true nature in the grand scheme of things. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Please share them.

On This Final Day of 2008

2008-12-31T13:10:00.003-05:00

From the stroke of midnight the day of Christmas, my mind has been rolling over all of the possibilities that await in the upcoming year. When I was younger, the dawn of a New Year meant little more than having to remember to change the date when filling out homework and tests. It wasn't until the year my daughter was born, just two weeks after New Year's Day, that I started to think differently about each and every new year.

For the last week I have thought long and hard about the things I would like to achieve in the upcoming year. Many of my goals are simple, and those are the ones that often fall by the wayside. For example, I want to spend less time thinking of myself and more time thinking about others, and while this sounds like a very easy task, it can be incredibly difficult to shift one's thoughts away from "my wants, my needs and me, me, me!" Nonetheless, I resolve not to use that as an excuse to be selfish.

Another thing I want to focus on this year is being kinder to myself. For far too long I have allowed the shadows of things past to darken my outlook. Too many times have I said, "So much of my life has been hard, why should I expect it to be easy." This year, I will hold my head up high and brave whatever storms life has in store for me by remembering that the earth itself is always cleaner and more serene in the aftermath of a storm, even if there are pieces to be picked up. I will think of every failure as an opportunity to reinvent, and rise from the ashes like a phoenix.

I will devote more of my time to writing and publishing in the coming year, always bearing in mind not to wait for inspiration or motivation, but to motivate and inspire myself through action instead. I will spend more time reading this year and less time watching television. It's too easy to sit down and tune out, even though I enjoy the comfort of a good book far more.

I forgive all who have done me wrong, and hope that my enemies can find it in their hearts to forgive me as well.

And this year's superficial, but still incredibly important, resolution... I will go away for vacation in 2009.

Now, here is my wish for all of my friends this year:

May you always have walls for the winds,
a roof for the rain, tea beside the fire,
laughter to cheer you, those you love near you,
and all your heart might desire.

The Merits of Writing Fanfiction

2008-12-28T20:58:00.004-05:00

For years fanfiction has been a dirty word, and anyone who took their writing seriously would never be caught dead writing it. They wouldn't be caught... but you'd be surprised how many writers actually partake in it. Seven years ago, while reading the Harry Potter books with my daughter, I found myself itching to tell a story that took place inside the Potterverse. It was during the Prisoner of Azkaban, when the characters of Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black were introduced to the storyline. Friends of Harry Potter's parents, I began to imagine what it must have been like for them... the adults of the story, who must have at one point been teenagers. I found it somewhat easier to relate to them all because I was an adult myself and their situations had already been presented. I sat down and began penning a story called In the Shadow of the Future.

In the Shadow of the Future featured a character of my own making named Perpetua McEllis, whose family had been killed by death eaters during her fifth year at Hogwarts. Of course, early on, Perpetua (or Pet as she eventually became known,) was quite a Mary Sue. Not only was she a clairvoyant, she was also best friends with Lily Potter and stuck in the middle of a love triangle between Remus Lupin and Severus Snape. I worked on that story with a vengeance, and about 9 chapters into the story, I began to post my chapters on HPFF.com, a fanfiction site run by adults, that mostly catered to and encouraged teenage writers. My penname there was Llewellyn McEllis, the name of my main characters older sister, a name that sort of stuck to me like glue.

That first story turned into a series that actually saw seven novel-length fanfiction works, six of which were completed over a two year period. Over the span of the story, my character grew into something I am still rather proud of to this day, though I wasn't sure of that until yesterday.

I haven't been writing a lot lately. In fact, I've written so little this last year that I actually started to feel incredibly depressed about it. I started thinking about one of the most productive times in my writerly life. Oddly enough, it was during those couple of years I was writing a lot of fanfiction. Seven novel length fanfiction stories, a couple of novellas, dozens of short stories, not to mention a host of original work as well... during the few years I was on the fanfiction wagon, I was incredibly productive. Of course I branched off into a few other fanfiction areas as well, like Star Wars, Battlestar Galactica, Heroes and Labyrinth. My Labyrinth fanfiction turned out to be so unique that I actually stripped the fanfiction elements out completely and have been working on completing the second draft of the story. There was a massive part of me that really missed how inspired and excited I was about writing during that time in my life. I dug out three of my favorite fanfictions in the Shadows series last night and started reading.

I'll admit that for a long time I wasn't all that thrilled anymore about how much time I had sunk into writing fanfiction, but when I started reading through the novels I had written something clicked inside of me. I remembered why I had written those stories in the first place, and a familiar sense of passion started to burn inside me again. While writing fanfiction is definitely easier than creating your own stories and universe, I definitely learned a lot about myself as a writer and a storyteller. Through those stories I recognized my voice again and felt an incredible sense of pride in how well I worked at exposing the sensitive side to things considered wholly dark and evil. The most exciting part about it was that it made me want to write again. Fanfiction, my own fiction, whatever. I just wanted to get behind the keyboard again and breathe life into a few souls.

Now back to one of the earlier points I made, people have often looked down on fanfiction writers, saying they aren't creative just because they pick up characters in a preexistent universe but I'll tell you this: I've read fanfiction stories that were far surpassed the work written by the original author. I've been privileged enough to know writers and work with writers who took preexisting characters and gave them voices and personalities that their original creators couldn't have begun to dream up for them.

Maybe you can't make a living writing fanfiction, but then again, maybe you can. I've known dozens of writers who have written their way into the Star Wars universe, Dragonlance, Warhammer, Forgotten Realms, Battlestar Galactica and even the popular comic series, Hellblazer. If you are a good enough writer with a creative idea, chances are you can get permissions to write almost anything. Another thing to consider is the originality of your fanfiction idea. If your idea is really phenomenal, there is a good chance that you can strip away the fanfiction elements and make the story your own. I've done, and I have had friends do it as well. In fact, a very talented friend of mine has a fanfiction story that she stripped all of the fanfiction elements out of getting ready to be published.

If you're a writer always remember that as long as you are writing, you are living as you were meant to live.