I Can't Find You.

I'm not the first person to mention this on a blog and I certainly won't be the last. But it's an important reminder from time to time. I have a few followers I cannot follow back. I want to. I really want to know you, see what you're all about. Build a blogging relationship with you. Find creative inspiration in your daily musings. Miss you when you're gone. But you're invisible.  I cannot have a relationship with an invisible person. Just ask my ex husband.

So here's the deal. When I click on the little thumbnail picture of your smiling face, your blog is not listed in your profile. So, I cannot stop by for a visit. I've tried to Google a few of you, but have found nothing. I want to be there for you. Watch as you go down this tumultuous road to publication or public drunkenness whichever comes first. No judging, we've all been there. I can't help you celebrate the day you get an agent, or talk you off the ledge when I don't know what building you're in.

So, lets do this. Sign into blogger. Go into your dashboard, click edit profile, and find where it shows your blogs to list. Click on that and make sure you have your blog listed there. Make sure your email address is there also. What if I'm an agent who just happened upon you and I want to make you my pretty? Only to discover that you are hiding from me. Ugh!

So make sure you can be found and I will be right over. Also, I'm still trying to catch up on my blog visiting. I took a few days off last week. Catching up is soooo hard. And with the kids, the hubby, the dog, the stray cats, and well, you get the picture. Time is not on my side.

Happy Weekend People.

Perfecting Description.

As writers, we read all the time. It's entertainment. It's also research. Sometimes, we get stopped short. You know the moment I'm referring to. You're reading a good book, totally engrossed then you come to that sentence, a paragraph that's so amazing it takes your breath away. Everything comes to a screeching halt and you just have to reread it. Well, I read this next paragraph just yesterday, and that's exactly what happened to me. Prepare to be in awe.

And, in the midst of the feathered darkness, an unknown faery arrived and stood staring at them with cavernous eyes. Her body was partially wrapped in a torn gray winding sheet that trailed behind her like the train of a gown. Vivid spots of red stood out on the cloth, like scarlet poppies in a field of ashes.
     Darkest Mercy by Melissa Marr (HARPER an imprint of Harper Collins)

This is from the fifth and final book of the Wicked lovely series and it left me in awe of her talent. I can only hope that someday one of my own descriptions causes the same reaction. I was amazed that someone could make such a violent scene seem so beautiful. Guess Wicked Lovely is more than fitting. How are your descriptions? Are they this beautiful? How could you make them better? Give us an example of your own favorite description or from your own work if you like. I'd love to read it.

You Think You Know A Person.

Its been busy in the Mckee household as usual. Finding time to write has been nonexistent, although, I'm happy to report that the bathroom redo is almost done. Thank god. I actually put in a bathroom sink myself. Faucet and everything. I'm glowing with pride at the moment, but I must confess that I keep running downstairs every half hour to see if we've sprouted a leak. 

So, with the chores complete for the day, I decided to steal away with my trusty laptop and form a few sentences, change a few things here and there, check on all my blogging buddies, and take a well deserved break (come on, I put in a sink). And what would make a break all the more enjoyable but a few Thin Mint Girl Scout Cookies. Um hum. I open the pantry. They're not there. Shelf two, just beside the oatmeal. They're gone. Someones moved them. Husband begins to bite fingernails by the refrigerator. Shelf one is housing a lovely box of Peanut Butter Patties but I don't want them. I want Thin Mints. Hubby silently walks over and peeks over my shoulder to help. But nothing helps. There are no Thin Mints.

A brief investigation which included a floor to ceiling search, mild interrogations of every family member, and a mint breathalyzer test that I should patent was executed to everything that moved, except for one Great Dane who hid like a coward under the kitchen table. Guard dog my ...

The perpetrator turned out to be the very man that shares my life. My checkbook, my everything. I wash this mans underwear and how does he repay me? Does he share the last Thin Mint? No he does not. Is he showing an ounce of remorse? No he is not. He thinks this is funny. Foolish man. Does he not know that one does not mess with another persons Thin Mints? Who does that? I can't write now. I'm uninspired and frankly heartbroken. I was planning to tweak a love scene but I'm afraid an act of war would be the only thing that my mind could conjure up. And there's no reason to put my characters through that sort of suffering. No, tonight I will attempt to satiate my craving with Peanut Butter Patties, and tomorrow I will hunt me some Girl Scouts.

I'm not sure I will ever view the man I have loved the same. You think you know a person. But do we ever know what one is truly capable of?

Hugging Strangers.

We've all heard about declining book sales. The closing of so many Borders Stores. The bankruptcy claims.   But I'm here to report something a little more uplifting.  I was in Barnes and Noble at the mall, and surprisingly, the place was packed. Like stand in line kind of packed. There was no sale, no giveaway, no author meet and greet. Nothing.

This is different I thought. It's not Christmas. Nobody buys books for Easter, and Valentines Day is so over. So what's going on? I meander through the aisles, watching what everybody's picking up, taking in facial expressions, reactions to certain books. It's what I do for fun. Sue me, but I enjoy pretending to be a stalker. Makes me feel reckless.

Inevitably, I make my way into the young adult section. And that's when I spot her. A young girl with a handful of books is running her fingers over a copy of Unearthly. Did I mention she had her arms filled with books? She was struggling with selections, I could tell. There were just too many great choices and I knew in my heart I'd seen that look before. The look that says you have a mental wish list of books and you're just picking them off as you go along, but you're not sure if you want to break the order of the list. I held back, but there was a huge part of me that wanted to make suggestions and thank her for coming in. But I remembered that I don't work at Barnes and Noble. On the other hand, I'm an aspiring author who supports other authors so I must support the bookstore too. And there's nothing wrong with dropping Across the Universe by Beth Revis into a young girls hands is there? I'm a volunteer. It's my duty.  I'm okay with that.

I wanted to hug her. She bought about six books. That's awesome! Hello, we're making a comeback. I can feel it. But that would have been awkward. I could hear her now, explaining to the mall cop how some older lady just outright hugged her. I did not want to end up on somebody's creep wall. Who needs that on their resume. So I refrained from hugging and simply smiled at her. But inside I was beaming. She was keeping the dream alive and had no idea.

So how do you feel when you see someone buying books at your local bookstore? Should we hug, not hug?

Happy Late Monday!

I'm back, sort of. With the exception of some trim work, the bathroom painting is now complete. Now we just have to put everything back together. As I spent the weekend painting, I couldn't help but draw the occasional comparison between remodeling and  writing. You remove this, replace it with that. It moves even when you feel like you're getting nowhere. Its moving just a little at a time, thriving to become something remarkable that ultimately takes your breath away in that moment of completion.  But that feeling of completion is short lived, just as it is when remodeling. The project is done, so you think. You stand back, take a look over the whole masterpiece and smile, but then your significant other reminds you that the whole thing would look better with new doors. You continue to smile, nod in agreement while envisioning the whole room with new doors (chapter eight could be deleted). But then you walk on and your handsome other begins to point out the chandelier from 1985 that needs to be replaced in the foyer (The first sentence of chapter two makes you sound like you're a hundred and twelve-not good). What color should we paint the kitchen? (Are there too many blue eyed faeries in the world already? Note: research this and change faerie number fours eyes to black. Wait! Scratch that, too close to Edward. Go for pink or maybe aqua marine.) Should we go ahead and get the granite counter tops when we paint next year or should we hold off? (What if my protagonist is too weak or strong? Ackola! What if nobody likes her? I can't relive high school through my own characters. I didn't like living through it in person. I just can't go back there.) What do you think of this light fixture? If the knobs on the vanity are nickel plated, shouldn't we get a nickel painted light fixture? Do you think anyone will notice if we don't? (I wonder if an editor will accept friggsville as a word. Oh god, what if said editor thinks that I might think its a real word and deems me too stupid to even have a book.) Suddenly you see everything that needs to be changed or replaced. The room begins to spin, stretch, tossing vertigo at you with every turn. Amazingly, your husband morphs into a laughing clown who seems to have snorted pixie sticks, and suddenly, just when you think it can't get any worse, the one and only Janet Reid shows up riding a saddled shark. You spend the rest of the afternoon powerless as the two of them make fun of your  bathroom design and take turns flushing your manuscript down the new toilet. So in the end, writing is a lot like remodeling, and in knowing that, sometimes all you can do is rinse out the paintbrushes, close the computer, crawl into a ball, and wonder if sucking your thumb is truly optional.

After careful review of this post, I think I'll put off resuming revisions until tomorrow. Must be the paint fumes. (shrugs)

Happy Late Monday People!

It must be done.

I'm gonna have to fall out of the loop for a few days. Funny, I was already feeling out of the loop. With all the planning for the new bathroom, regional tournaments all week for my daughters basketball team, and attempting to do my taxes, I haven't been able to keep up with much at all. At least I've had some privacy. For some reason, the family seems to evade me the minute I mention taxes. Turns out that I've been unknowingly calling the government all those names out loud. My daughter's even asked how to spell a few of them. But I'm at a loss. They're not real words, only the combination of half rants. And who knew that I could be capable of not finishing so many sentences. On a good note, I think I've mastered exhaling. By the time I get to open my WIP, I may even be able to be my own beta reader. The thing will look like someone else wrote it and the characters will be brand new to even me. That might not be a bad thing.

Happy weekend people. Think of me. I'll be painting the bathroom. WooHoo.

And the Winner Is...

The Riddle Was:

It can be forever welcoming, yet cold and selfish. It takes and refuses to give, but for that, I am eternally grateful. It offers contrast and rest, moves but remains. It is sleek, quiet, and often in the wee hours of night, it never fails to surprise. It is peace and discord, and it is my VD present. I am happy about it. What am I?
It is something almost everyone has. Some have more than one and those who don't wish they did. It is something of need. Something made of porcelain, and most definitely, NOT something anyone usually gets for Valentine's Day. I suppose, however, such an object could hold a lot of roses and keep them vibrant for several days. What am I.
You use this all the time.

The answer is: A new toilet. Yep. A new toilet for Valentines Day. And the winner of the contest is none other than the lovely PK Hrezo. WooHoo! Congratulations! Pk, you get to pick out a book you've been wanting and it shall be yours. I'll be emailing you for your information.

Now, before any of you begin plotting on how to put my husbands head in one of these. Lemme esplain.
The picture above is not of the actual toilet. Or even my bathroom. We've been wanting to redo our laundry room/half bath since the day we bought our house, six years ago. But something more pressing always came up. We'd check out tiles, look over paint swatches, get a plan together, and then lo and behold the heat pump went out, or the roof needed to be replaced. Yada Yada. You get the picture. But not this time baby. The floor guy will be here on Monday to lay the new floor. That old toilet that I've repaired personally more times than I can count, will no longer need my paper clip technique to keep the little stopper thingy from staying up. And those paint swatches, a thing of the past after tomorrow. I'm so excited. So we made a little deal. We promised that we wouldn't really do V-day this year. Cards were permitted, but a new sink and vanity, flooring, hardware, and the shiny new toilet would be our gift to each other. Totally cool with that. I mean, just think-it, the shelf life of roses, like three days tops. But a toilet could provide a leisurely place for reading for years to come. It's a no brainer people.

But....we blew it. Turns out that he got me roses anyway and I just happened to show up at his work holding his favorite salad and baked potato from a local restaurant. Great minds think alike.