tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30266376185801139172024-03-14T05:11:32.705-04:00Running Amok, And Other Very Serious AdventuresGirl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-81455538395308423392015-05-05T12:05:00.001-04:002015-05-05T12:05:07.505-04:00Failure...Bad For The Heart, Good For Your ArtMy challenge to myself this semester was to try several new projects using materials and methods I've not had prior experience with. I strongly feel the best way to keep myself not only inspired and fresh but also to grow as an artist is to push myself out of my comfort zone.<br />
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One of the things I've never done was work with clay. I had an idea to make some sort of light shade or lamp cover out of ceramic with an abstract cutout design. It looked really neat in my head so I decided to give it a shot.<br />
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One of the many things about creating art is that often, you find you don't have the skills to bring to life whatever was birthed in your imagination. And this definitely happened with my light shade!! I quickly realized the clay I bought wasn't the right consistency to create a solid, ceramic-type object but as I don't have access to a kiln, I was limited by what material I could cook in a standard home oven. The project I had in my head was a very large-scale installation style piece but I decided to try and make a tiny version for the sake of practicality.<br />
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So now we commence with ALL THE THINGS GOING WRONG AND NOT COOPERATING...yay!<br />
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The clay is a flesh-toned waxy material that feels kind of gross, a combination of Silly Putty and Play-Doh~<br />
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I've got my wire mesh to fortify the panels~<br />
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Using a rolling pin, I start flattening the skin. I mean clay. Honestly, I kept hearing the phrase "It puts the lotion in its skin" a lot while working on this...<br />
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Rolling it out over the wire mesh and trimming the excess clay off, I start using a knife to cut shapes into and through the clay layer and aluminum mesh.<br />
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It's a tedious and time consuming task, and I'm getting frustrated because I don't have a curved blade that would allow for finer detail and swirling shapes, which is how I initially pictured the cutout design. At least I had the foresight to put foam core under the knife so as not to carve my kitchen table!<br />
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The first two sides carved and baked and the adhesive drying...canned goods make good weights and braces for projects! I left the first panel in the oven much longer than suggested because it turns out this particular kind of clay doesn't bake to a perfectly solid material. It stays somewhat malleable, which was not at all what needed to happen, nor what I was expecting.<br />
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All four sides are done and glued together, but it is just looking worse and worse! I think that if the panels were significantly thicker, this might have gone better, but perhaps not even then. The panels are bendy and not very sturdy, and certainly won't form a reasonably square shape, preferring to sag and bend at their own imaginary whims.<br />
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The description on the box of clay made it sound like it would bake to a semi-translucent material, which I had chosen to enhance the glow of light it would allow through, but that's not how it turned out, so I decided to paint the box in an attempt to make it look less frightening and more purposeful.<br />
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Then, because it was still super ugly, I threw some beads on it. When in doubt, Bedazzle!<br />
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The beads do little, unfortunately...it's still saggy and crooked and lumpy and quite sad looking!<br />
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And so finally, I set it up in the dark with a candle in the middle, and it does the something cool I was hoping for....<br />
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The shadows thrown from the cutout shapes look pretty neat, in my opinion.<br />
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If using a sturdier clay and being able to properly kiln-bake it, I think this project would have come out awesome. And if I was able to make it on a large scale and install bulbs or many candles in it or behind it, I think it would look amazing.<br />
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So while my test-dummy of a light shade came out pretty lame-o for the most part, I guess the fact that it's 90% Fail means that I now know 10% more than I did about working with clay and how to proceed the next time around!<br />
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This is obviously a fitting lesson for not only creating Art but all life situations in general. Mistakes are usually our greatest learning experiences. If we were successful the first time around in all our pursuits, we'd be very boring people without much depth.<br />
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This of course, means I am a very deep and fascinating individual....*wry laugh*<br />
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<br />Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-62496644795789617442015-05-01T10:35:00.000-04:002015-05-01T10:35:35.332-04:00That Time People Enjoyed Getting Offended...<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, lucida grande, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">A couple days I ago, I brought up a topic on Facebook and shared my opinion on an issue, knowing it would be unpopular but deciding it was important to share anyways. In an effort to show how tolerant they were, several people attacked my opinion by saying I was ignorant, selfish, mean, and numerous other statements to that effect. A few people even dragged their vitriol against God into the feed for no apparent relevant reason other than to continue abusing my belief system and/or the belief system of the author of the blog I posted.</span></span></span><div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;" /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">At no point did I state that anyone was a bad person, stupid, ignorant, worthless, shameful, or any other negative assessment. I said that I thought someone had a mental illness. This specific opinion, by the way, is shared by thousands of licensed psychiatrists recognized by the APA and has garnered much discussion and back-and-forth consideration over the last several decades, a fact (among many other facts) that I am aware of after spending 12 years working with well over a thousand people diagnosed with every mental illness you can think of (and several you didn't know even existed) as well as doing my own research on the subject. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;" /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">I didn't say my opinion was an established fact, but my opinion IS backed up by facts, research and other mental health professionals. MANY issues in the mental health field are contradictory and this is why so much on-going discussion and research is necessary for crucial issues in flux.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;" /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">I find it very sad that several people took my statement of believing someone had a mental illness as some sort of defamation or cruel assessment of that person's value and worth as a human being. It seems more appropriate to ask why there are people who still have such a negative connotation of mental illness and complete misunderstanding of what having one entails.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;" /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">It was mentioned by a few people that I can't know someone else's feelings and that they are entitled to their feelings, and that feelings are the only thing that should matter, but the truth is, mental illness is often defined by the fact that someone's feelings lie to them. Depression tells you that you are worthless and the world is better off without you. Anxiety tells you that nothing is ok and all the bad things your brain conjures up will come true. Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder tells you that if you do not complete certain rituals, someone you love will die or the world will end and it will be your fault. Schizophrenia tells you, clear as day, that you should probably cut and burn yourself and that men with uzis are going to get you. Most mental illnesses carry the component of the brain creating and believing false thoughts that create feelings based on inaccuracies.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;" /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">You cannot reasonably say that a person whose brain is telling them these lies is the best one to make an accurate assessment of what they need and how they should proceed with treating these conditions. Their opinion MATTERS and everyone has the right to decide how much or what kind of help they want, but to claim that a sick brain in the throes of instability can make the best decision for itself is absurd.</span><br style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">I don't care that people disagree with my statements or opinions. I DO care that people seem to go out of their way to find offense where offense is not intended and attack me personally. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;" /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Saying someone has a mental illness is not attacking them or condemning them. Saying someone is stupid, arrogant, mean, and all the other nonsense that was said to me was an attack. I may not always says things “RIGHT” or “PROPERLY” but I was given a brain and a personality that works the way it does for a reason, and I will not be quiet about my opinions to keep anyone feeling more comfortable in the little box of their choosing, nor does anyone have the right to expect such a thing. I share my opinions out loud or in writing for the simple fact that I know other people feel the way that I do about many things and cannot find a way to speak about them, and my ability and comfort in doing so helps them in some way. Any additional benefit of getting people to think outside their comfort zone is just a bonus. </span><br style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">I do what I do, I say what I say, and I think what I think. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">I'm not asking for, nor do I require, an apology, a blessing, or permission from anyone. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Peace.</span></div>
Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-25291184949692760402015-04-28T15:28:00.000-04:002015-04-28T15:28:26.504-04:00The Planting Tree
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My project “The
Planting Tree” is an amalgam of many artistic techniques as well as
a representation of my desire to contribute to a better Earth both
holistically and in a preservationist sense. The trunk of the tree is
made from fallen limbs I've picked up while hiking local trails.
Spending time alone in nature is important for me mentally and
spiritually. To be able to experience quiet and a sense of calm
without the affliction of other human noise or presence provides a
rejuvenation in mind, body, and spirit. The twine rope is from the
hay bales sourced locally and used to feed my family's horses.
Hundreds of these twines are accumulated each year and while they
will break down eventually if left exposed to the elements, giving
them a new purpose feels better. The cans were collected over many
weeks of feeding my cats and dogs, cleaned, painted, and drilled for
drainage. The wood used for the base was re-claimed wood intended
for disposal by a local pallet making company. Painting it to look
antiqued gave it a pop of color and playfulness, as does the
contrasting red of the cans. Organic soil was used to pot herblings
and seeds. As these plants grow, they will resemble the greenery on a
tree budding to life along its branches. Additionally, the layout and
design of the Planting Tree allows for sunlight to reach each
individual planter and many herbs to be grown along a vertical space
instead of a horizontal space, an important factor when lacking
acreage to create a traditional garden. This design could be used
indoors during cool months and outdoors during warm months and it's lightweight enough to be transported back and forth fairly easily. I
chose to use herbs because these are plants that not only provide an
attractive green assortment, but are edible and therefore helpful to
a human, more so than just something to look at. Additionally, herbs
do not require extensive root system or large growing containers.
Anyone copying the design or improvising it for their own use could
certainly plant whatever they wished that would best suit their own
aesthetics, and I'd love to see variations of my idea if anyone were
to design their own Planting Tree!</div>
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From Start to Finish:</div>
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Spray painting the aluminum cans in the dark on my porch!</div>
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Beginning to bind the "trunk" of the Planting Tree together with bailing twine<br />
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Putting the base together<br />
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Had to make several attempts at screwing the base together...<br />
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Because this happened! Whee! The drill bit had to be cut out and thankfully the chuck wasn't damaged and the drill is still usable<br />
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All the bits and pieces<br />
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Starting to attach the planting cans to the trunk<br />
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It's coming alive!<br />
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Fully assembled! I'm leaving the clothespins on as extra holding power for now, even though each can is glued with a super adhesive waterproof polymer<br />
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A closer look at the cans...each herb name has been painted on for identification...I would absolutely forget what was what 3 months from now :)<br />
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One little sprout! We've had such a late start to spring, it's hard to say how long it's going to take for all the plants to catch up and grow with enthusiasm<br />
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An overhead view! Sadly, the Planting Tree has to live in my bathroom until it's consistently warm outside and then I can move it to the porch.<br />
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The construction was a struggle at times, with tools breaking and malfunctioning, the glue not setting properly, weather conditions inhibiting the use and drying of paint, the physics of weighting the base sufficiently to compensate for the height and angle of the branches, etc. It's still not as sturdy as I'd like it to be and when it goes outside, I'll have to tie it down to the railings to ensure it doesn't get knocked over by a wind gust. </div>
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While the complete effect isn't achieved without the greenery in full growth, I'm pretty happy with how this venture turned out and I'm excited to see what happens with it over the next few months. I have some worries whether I should have drilled more drainage holes in the sides of the cans as well, as the soil seems to be retaining moisture overly well, and being in the bathroom doesn't help the humidity which sometimes contributes to rot, but I'm hoping it does ok until I can put it outside where it will have more air and sun. </div>
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At some point, I will build another one of these, and the learning curve will be less steep the second time around!</div>
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Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-3823323962266217732015-03-27T15:07:00.000-04:002015-03-27T15:09:43.030-04:00First Venture Into the World of Building StuffRecently, I decided to undertake the project of building a wine rack. I have a nice one I found years ago that is very sturdy, but the problem is it only holds standard 750 mL bottles and I've been collecting the magnum 1.5 L sized bottles more often than not. I say "collecting" as if they aren't cheap pinots and merlots that get drunk quicker than an actual collection can be formed, but hey, I still don't want them sitting willy nilly on a counter top for a week or two; I want them settled in a nice orderly fashion in a rack that accommodates their fat waistlines.<br />
<br />
After several weeks of planning it out and consulting Pinterest for some starting points, I came up with a list of Must-Haves.<br />
<br />
1. Be sculptural and visually interesting<br />
2. Be super inexpensive to make (I'm poor. Did you not see the bit about cheap wine?)<br />
3. Can hold a half, a standard, and a magnum bottle, preferably more than one of each<br />
4. Be a mix of wood and metal (I like the design style of mixing warm and cold elements. It's very au courant. It also suits my temperament. First person to get Katy Perry's Hot 'N Cold stuck in their head gets a cookie. I mean a smack. Crap. Now it's stuck in my head.)<br />
5. Include some element of "other" that would make it neat-o, unique, and special.<br />
<br />
I found some Pins that utilized <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/499829258620054742/" target="_blank">Coffee Cans</a> and <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/499829258620051533/" target="_blank">Pallet Board</a> and thought combining the two with my own variations might look pretty awesome so I started hunting down materials.<br />
<br />
Turns out, finding solid metal coffee cans was really hard! Almost all the brands sold in supermarkets utilize a cardboard body with only the bottom and top being aluminum, and that was not up to par for a durable construction design. After poking, prodding, and manhandling several dozen coffee canisters at WalMart, and receiving more than a few concerned stares by leery shoppers, I found that Master Chef brand coffee is not only the least expensive but also the only brand whose cans are solid aluminum construction. Score! I can't speak to the TASTE or quality of their beans because it's all in freezer bags for future consumption, but their cans are spectacular.<br />
<br />
Next, I had to find wood. Facebook networking came to the rescue on that matter~a relative informed me there was a pallet company less than three miles from my apartment (Thanks Sue!). Getting there during their hours of operation took a little effort but once I barged in their back door and had a roomful of grizzled, sawdusty, bearded lumberjack-styled workers stop mid-action and turn to gape at my audacity, the supervisor was generous enough to offer me my choice of several armfuls of wood from their scrap containers. Double score.<br />
<br />
Then, spray paint, binder clips, glue, sandpaper, can opener, screw gun....oh yeah. No idea how to use one of those...<br />
<br />
I was prepared to buy one and spend a few hours with some tutorials on youtube but I texted my dad for some advice and he offered me one of his spares. Then we had this conversation that probably left him concerned for my safety...<br />
<br />
Me: "Great! How about those thingies that go in it?"<br />
Dad: "Drill bits?"<br />
Me: "Um...whatever you put the screws into."<br />
Dad: "The chuck?"<br />
Me: "Who is Chuck?"<br />
Dad: "What?"<br />
<br />
One of us obviously didn't have a clue what was going on and it wasn't my Dad...<br />
<br />
I ended up with a cordless Hitachi drill and a box of assorted "thingies," some of which I still don't know what they're called, but I DO know what the "chuck" is, and like most times in life when you learn something new, suddenly everywhere I go, someone is talking about chucks and I have to stop myself from going, "Hey, you! I know what that is now!" because that would be cray-cray in a big way-way.<br />
<br />
I still ended up watching some youtube tutorials about using a cordless drill, one featured <a href="https://youtu.be/ku29KYl4Wdg" target="_blank">A Nice British Guy</a> and one featured <a href="https://youtu.be/M9S1pToPaQA" target="_blank">A Nice American Girl</a>, figuring advice from both sides of the pond as well as both genders would give me a well-rounded education. They were quite helpful and gave good basic advice, if anyone reading this needs some lessons in using one. I still had to play around with lots of scrap wood and metal bits to get comfortable with all the functions and quirks, and trying to keep a herd of cats from playing with metal shavings is no picnic either, but I prevailed.<br />
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^Collection of assorted sized cans, spray painted with a hammered-texture copper and burnished brass color<br />
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^I quickly realized the binder clips the girl used in the Pinterest tutorial were not going to work with my design, so I switched to wooden clothes pins to clamp the cans together while the glue set. They worked like a charm.<br />
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^After sanding and assembling the base, I used what I had on hand to weigh down the pieces while the glue was setting...lots of and lots of heavy books!! By the way, if you've never built a wood thing before, you should know that for strength and durability, it's best to glue and screw the pieces together.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu1DOh9h92WNWpwrtGs4LDEM2fJWKAAIxD_S6cMJc_R2FxQ2cataNI3IAQz7s98_GSNBhz47dQZxX6dy1o8nxW_uV_sEekDaxEqAYw1A3IugzBnvf6RmuqU-vNUJC12z9T7PhNvKTKnjLA/s1600/WR4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu1DOh9h92WNWpwrtGs4LDEM2fJWKAAIxD_S6cMJc_R2FxQ2cataNI3IAQz7s98_GSNBhz47dQZxX6dy1o8nxW_uV_sEekDaxEqAYw1A3IugzBnvf6RmuqU-vNUJC12z9T7PhNvKTKnjLA/s1600/WR4.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
Love the texture provided by the various cans...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMq9cSPThFtZXjol-h8dNhJnYXRQlWQX_h3S737HHUF8DlVMo0sm7eV7msDT85NWD5MI2t0tFrBs0RoMP1v0mjTHUcjDWIy1aXMuIEAoGbiQI8hF9fAeihqcwuSUR6ta8RXCbd4QjiysWL/s1600/WR5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMq9cSPThFtZXjol-h8dNhJnYXRQlWQX_h3S737HHUF8DlVMo0sm7eV7msDT85NWD5MI2t0tFrBs0RoMP1v0mjTHUcjDWIy1aXMuIEAoGbiQI8hF9fAeihqcwuSUR6ta8RXCbd4QjiysWL/s1600/WR5.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiASWg8W2J_H2bMy0fgc8zx5A-03Q_EhWWp2gXvbFynz36AAxDgqL630D3Z0lbGCIvOqWJO93Zlom2GpWrSturfVWV-l0TB9pf4ULtpA3TlF-JsI5MSnFkdgFnHD5har-5MMLlBnlFjK4vw/s1600/WR6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiASWg8W2J_H2bMy0fgc8zx5A-03Q_EhWWp2gXvbFynz36AAxDgqL630D3Z0lbGCIvOqWJO93Zlom2GpWrSturfVWV-l0TB9pf4ULtpA3TlF-JsI5MSnFkdgFnHD5har-5MMLlBnlFjK4vw/s1600/WR6.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
^The bottom side of the wooden base using reclaimed pallet board and brace edging-the slats are a soft wood, likely pine as it was setting off my allergies, lol, but the braces are made from a hard wood, probably oak, so working with the two different woods was an additional challenge because of how they behave, screws needed, sandpapering, etc. I used two different sized drill bits to make a design in the bottom of two smaller cans, which would be used for decoration.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUws5nP1brK3g24pXHyLjAn0ESGutOmJVRrYpsrApLbl51yvi8Nrh3AnhWgoQ73APlDJJ8m9s-aIpvNHTrUYl7z1_DnuzzzpiBIJZfgmFnpeWtN47TU1mx3VowRvA85j89Os0KbR1OPUyD/s1600/WR7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUws5nP1brK3g24pXHyLjAn0ESGutOmJVRrYpsrApLbl51yvi8Nrh3AnhWgoQ73APlDJJ8m9s-aIpvNHTrUYl7z1_DnuzzzpiBIJZfgmFnpeWtN47TU1mx3VowRvA85j89Os0KbR1OPUyD/s1600/WR7.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
^The top side of the wood base-I applied clear Polyurethane to the wood, wanting its natural color and texture variations to show<br />
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^Almost done...<br />
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^Et Voila! C'est Fini! I designed the base so that four wine glasses can be hung upside down from the slats. This way your glasses and wine are conveniently paired close to each other. Because I wanted the holder to have a sculptural appearance, I positioned the drilled cans to add some drama and shape to it. A tea light can also be placed inside the can so the flame will shine through the drilled holes, or someone could customize the display with small battery operated lights for the same effect (but safer).<br />
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^My design encompasses all the goals I set out to fulfill, and can not only hold all three (most commonly) sized wine bottles, but other wine accessories can be stored in the smaller tins as well, like a corkscrew and glass charms.<br />
<br />
I enjoyed working on this project quite a bit. There are things that would go a lot smoother if I make more along this design, which I may do, but it's extremely satisfying to create something not only useful but attractive, and from materials that were going to be thrown away no less. Continuing to pursue more projects with an environmental conscientiousness is my focus this year, so be on the lookout for upcoming ventures!<br />
<br />
<br />Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-60763039659435727392014-12-14T08:55:00.001-05:002014-12-14T10:01:37.455-05:00You're Right, Black Lives Do Matter...<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few days ago, I was in an online chat
room arguing about “White Privilege” with a nincompoop. What he
was saying was absurd-he changed his argument with each post, it was clear to me that he was basically a lemming who had given
no real thought to what he actually believed, and that he was just parroting
what media outlets had told him. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Nincompoops generally irritate me for
about five minutes, then I leave them in the dust and move on to the
next relevant thing in my life.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But what has stuck with me for days
from that discussion was the Black woman who posted (I am going to
paraphrase because I can't find her original post to copy and paste,
and I'm not sure if that's rude or unethical to do anyways without
her permission) that “Being Black sucks and I am happy my daughter
can pass for White. I hope her features and coloring don't change as
she grows up [to look more “Black].”
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oh. My. God.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I just sat there and stared at the
screen, absorbing her typed words. I can't get them out of my head,
and I have gone back and forth over how I wanted to approach this
issue, IF I even wanted to approach this issue, because it's such a
loaded one, and I am continually told that I have no RIGHT to speak
to these types of things, because I am White.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But since it's been cycling through my
brain for three days now, and woke me up at 6:30 am on a Sunday, one
of the only days of the week I can sleep as late as I want to, I'm
going to go ahead and insist I do have the right to speak on this
issue, and I hope that what I have to say about it can be taken with
thoughtful consideration by persons of all colors who might stumble
upon this entry.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Firstly, I have some questions.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Who taught this mother that the color
of her skin was wrong? Was it a White person? Was it the media? Was
it her own Black parents? Grandparents? Why is anyone teaching their
kid that one color is “better” than another color? Why is anyone
giving the message to their child that they should be ashamed of how
they look? That their life will be hard, and disappointing, and
dangerous, no matter how smart they are, or how hard they try? That
they will never be good enough, or accepted, or appreciated, or
respected, or valued, because they have a Black parent? Because that
is the message this little girl is getting from her mother. And when
one woman admits to such a thing, it makes me certain that there are
more than just her who are perpetuating this horrible legacy.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It makes me certain that this type of
thinking has been passed down through generations of families, and in
fact, I have heard it from other Black parents...parents who teach
their children that they must behave a certain way so as not to be
arrested or abused by authorities for “walking while Black” or
“driving while Black.” That little Black girls should straighten
their hair so as to avoid their natural texture and curl. Pop stars
who wear blonde wigs and blonde weaves, and get blue contacts. Black people
who can “pass for White” and how this is a event that inspires
jealousy amongst their darker skinned acquaintances.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Black parents, teachers, media
darlings, and other role models who are teaching children, through
their actions, their attitudes, their words, and their attentions
that being Black is not ok...YOU are causing the problems with your
kids! YOU are responsible for the little boys and girls who grow up
and are lost, without an identity, unsure where they are supposed to
fit in, how they are “supposed” to behave, who feel ashamed and
angry that they are Black, victimized in a “White World" (as a
point of fact, statisticians have shown approx. 70% of the world's
population is not "White" and 30% is "White"...see here for the figures <a href="http://www.snopes.com/science/stats/populate.asp" target="_blank">http://www.snopes.com/science/stats/populate.asp</a> ~~we
do not live in a “White World” no matter how it may feel to
people sometimes) and thus willing to turn to drugs, gangs, a life of
crime, a lack of respect for authority, the disinterest in pursuing
an education or any of the other social issues that statistics claim
plague the Black community.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I say this because I know what happens
when people are told they aren't good enough and won't amount to
anything. They believe it. They believe it, and then they tell their
kids the same horrible things, and their kids believe it, too. This
defeatist cycle becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy and lives are
wasted.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ALL lives matter. ALL children have the
potential to do great things. NO parent should be teaching their
child to de-value themselves or others because of their skin color,
or that their place in the world is lesser than any other.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is not something that can be
achieved by rallies, and protests. This is something that can only be
achieved one family at a time. One parent at a time modeling
self-worth, modeling what it means to belong to a community, modeling
and teaching that you must first respect and value yourself before
others will do so, because we teach people how to treat us.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">These lessons are not skin-hue
specific. This is the responsibility of every parent, every teacher,
and while it should be the responsibility of every boob who pops up
on our television screens, that will never happen, so yes, it makes
the parent's job that much harder, but that's just the way it is.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">White parents can spend all the energy
in the world teaching their kids that they shouldn't judge a person's
value or worth based on the color of their skin, but if Black kids
are getting the message from their own parents that “Being White is
better,” it's all for naught.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Your kids look to you to see how they
should behave. Before they can talk, before you think they can even
hear you or interpret your words, they are learning. They are
learning how you feel about yourself, they are learning their own
place in the world, they are learning their own value and self worth,
and my God, you had better be teaching them that they are worth more
than all the riches in the world and that they deserve a good life,
and that their skin color is completely irrelevant to these facts. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Added></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Instead of me just talking TO anyone reading this, I'd like to invite you to post a comment below if you've ever experienced someone from your own community making you feel ashamed of your own skin...is this issue something that occurs very rarely? Regularly? I am getting the impression that it's way more common than people realize or care to admit, but maybe that's not true. Please help by contributing to the discussion...when people can share their own experiences, we all understand an issue a little better. Thank you!</span></div>
Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-69478408129935420162014-05-29T00:50:00.001-04:002014-05-29T00:50:36.685-04:00Sticky, Icky Internal Mess<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The other day at work, my manager and I
discovered how to pull the back panel off one of the trash
receptacles so we could empty it while standing behind the counter
instead of going to the front side of the counter. This will
(literally) save our bacon ~ (I overcooked bacon once because I
forgot it was in the microwave because it takes soooooo looooong to empty all
the stupid garbages and get them to the dumpster, which means we
don't get a chance to empty them until they are overflowing and then
it becomes an emergency because customers can't fit more of their
trash into the receptacles and changing it from the back saves LOADS
of time, hassle, etc.) </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Anyways, complaining about my lousy job is not
the point of this post, although I might do that post another time,
featuring the Best of the Best of the
stupid/heinous/grotesque/hilarious things that occur at that Place I Earn Money (For Now).
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I didn't have time to do much with our
newfound discovery until today. I pulled the back panel off, emptied
the bin liner, and when I reached down to pick up the stray coffee
stirrers and sugar packet wrappers that had worked their way
underneath, I stopped just in time before touching IT with my bare
hand. Putting on a glove, I reached into the sludgy mess and grabbed
a handful of gooey detritus. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> At least a year's worth of coffee,
creamer, and other assorted yuck had dribbled down under the shelf
and began growing its own colony, with stirrer skyscrapers and
highways of semi-molten Splenda packets. Hidden away, content in its
secret revolting-ness, the mass grew, plotting for the night it would
take over the store when the last light was shut off at closing time.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Last night I had a bad dream. It
brought up a lot of emotional sh*t for me, stuff that I've been
trying to deal with for the past 5-6 months and haven't been doing so
well at managing. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> See, about 6 months ago, someone I trusted, someone
I cared for very deeply, someone I thought would be in my life
forever kissed me, then stabbed me in the gut. While smiling. I
didn't feel the knife going in at first, just that flicker of
recognition that something was wrong, so very, very, horribly wrong, when he stabbed me again. And then I knew what he was doing, but
when something so out of the blue is happening to you, you can't
think, you can't stop it, you can't even do anything to protect
yourself. You just stare at him, mouth agape, and wonder what on
earth is happening, what did you do wrong, why is this person you
trusted doing this to you?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I speak in metaphor, because
thankfully I was not literally stabbed, but the betrayal feels the
same as if I had been.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Shock and horror and confusion, pain
and bewilderment and desperate grasps at making sense of it all...but
there is no sense to be had. Perhaps in some alternate universe, all
has been revealed and the plot explained, but not in this one. I
still don't understand the situation. Hardly a day goes by where I
don't mourn the loss in some way. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Some days I recognize that the only way
for someone to spew that much hatred upon another person is because
they hate themselves and I can feel sorry for him. I pray for the
opportunity that he would know exactly how much pain his actions
caused me and to know that I forgive him anyways, so that he can
reach a place of forgiveness for the people that have hurt him and
created the type of person who would behave the way he did...and his
wounds would heal, ending the vicious cycle.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Other days...well, other days, I feel
like that disgusting mass of convenient store coffee station offal. I
mean, only someone who is trash, someone who is gross and horrid,
someone you wouldn't even dream of touching without gloves on,
someone who has a dark soul, putrid heart, only someone like that is
treated so heinously, right? Because people who seem wonderful just
don't treat decent people that badly, so that obviously that means I'm not decent.
We get what we deserve in life. Karma. What goes around comes around.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It's weird. When you talk with female
victims of domestic violence, they almost always say the same things.
They say that they were sure the first time was just a
misunderstanding, that they pissed him off and any man would respond
like that. They say it was their own fault, if they had just did what
they knew they were supposed to, it never would have happened. They
inherently claim responsibility for their abuser's despicable
actions, because the idea that a man who says he loves you actually
hates you as much as he hates himself is just too foreign of a
concept. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> We take people we trust at their word. When someone we love
tells us we are bad people, we believe them. We want their approval,
we want them to love us, and we do all sorts of things to try and
achieve that goal. But here's the dirty little secret the panel is
hiding...we'll never achieve that goal. We won't achieve it because
perfection is impossible. They can't love us because they don't even
know what love is. They despise us for loving them because they don't
love themselves. They see us as weak for caring about them, pathetic
for not standing up to them, standing up for ourselves. All abusers
were once victims. They let crap build up behind the back panel until
it got to the point where a vat of lye and a pressure washer couldn't
even clean it properly.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When I woke up this morning, I laid in
bed for a long time, thinking about the dream I had. It was kind of
simple...just me and my abuser hanging out, watching TV, having fun
together. Then he turned and looked at me and smiled with that quirky
side grin he had...and started saying all the things at once he'd
ever said to hurt me, to manipulate me, to make me feel like dirt. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Maybe this doesn't sound so bad to you, but to anyone reading this
who's ever been emotionally abused, degraded by someone they cared
about, made to feel small and useless and pathetic...you know that
can be so much worse than getting punched. Those words echo in your
brain forever. They never go away. You'll be in a perfectly happy
moment and something innocuous triggers a memory, and you are right
back there again, stab marks appearing on your skin, your blood
seeping out, wounds that refuse to heal and re-open again and again.
Each time it happens, you hope it's the last time, because each time
it happens, you never know if you'll be able to convince yourself the
voice you hear is lying to you.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Today I wasn't able to convince myself.
All I could think was how to best drive the new person in my life
away. You see, I might have the chance to be really happy with him. I
might have the chance to spend the rest of my life really happy, with
him, making every dream I've ever had come true, so obviously I need
to ruin it, throw it away, get rid of him, because inevitably, he'll
find out that I am garbage, and it'll just be so much better for
everyone if we stop this right now.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I got pissy with him for no apparent
reason and he was obviously upset and a part of me didn't care. No,
worse than not caring, I was happy to hurt him. Happy to shut him
out, to act like I was cold and uncaring, I got a little rush and
thought, “See how you like it!” Then it hit me...Who on earth was
I talking to? Who was I trying to hurt and get “back” at? This
guy who has never done a single thing with ill intent towards me?
This guy who has been amazing, and for some bizarre reason seems to
really want me, and care about me? Or...Him?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I didn't want to open the can of worms
with my guy about the other guy. I wasn't ready to bare my underbelly
and make myself vulnerable. I've been shutting my guy out of my past
thinking it was protecting our future, but it turns out to only be
ruining our present.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> One of the things He used to do was try
and make me feel crazy for having legitimate feelings and emotions.
He'd act like my inner thoughts were insane and I was an idiot for
having them, much less telling Him about them.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> So telling my guy anything about
anything emotionally intimate is a challenge for me...I don't want to
seem weak. Or crazy. So being all logical and therapist-y is my
default mode...but then we never get past the surface with anything,
and that's no way to have a serious relationship, so I let a little
bit spill out. He was still listening so I spilled out a little bit
more. I gave him this analogy about cars and accidents and how even
though he was a different car, I was still afraid it'd crash like the
old car did.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He said that was a good analogy. (I
like it when people like my analogies; I use a lot of them.)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> And then I had to go to work, thus
halting the conversation, which was super crappy timing.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I guess there is no one, single point
to this post. Normally I have a specific destination in mind when I
sit down and write these things, but this one is different. The story
isn't over yet, the lesson isn't fully realized.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I don't yet really know yet if my guy
is going to end up thinking I'm a sludgy, repulsive mess. I'd like to
be able to say I'm perfectly healed because I've had a few epiphanies and a break through or two and about to trot off into the
sunset, but I missed tonight's while I was writing this post and who knows what tomorrow's holds? </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I
do know that I've wanted to write about this stuff for months and
tonight is the first time I've felt up to it, felt that it felt right
to do so (lotsa feelings being felt up in here, yo). I do know my guy
didn't make me feel poorly or embarassed, shameful or weird, crazy or
blaming it on me PMS'ing for sharing what I did with him.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I also know that by keeping quiet, by
blaming myself, or running away from the opportunity to be
happy...that would mean I really was a victim. A person can be
victimized without staying a victim, I think. I don't want to hold
onto that role any longer than absolutely necessary. Maybe letting
some of it out is the only way I'm going to get over it. Drain the
poison. Skim the dross. Purge the bilge. Analogies. Told you.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Maya Angelou died today, the day I
write this post. I've never read a thing by her until today...and
this poem is what I stumbled upon first. While she was writing it for Black Americans, the words speak to me nonetheless. They are words of victory,
of hope, of allowing ourselves to revel in the glory of our
human-ness, our insinkable spirit, and our freedom from those or that
which try to enslave us or bring us down to their level of hate and
hurt...It seemed appropriate to share. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>And Still I Rise</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>You
may write me down in history </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>With
your bitter, twisted lies, </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>You
may tread me in the very dirt </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>But
still, like dust, I'll rise. </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Does
my sassiness upset you? </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Why
are you beset with gloom? </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>'Cause
I walk like I've got oil wells</i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Pumping
in my living room. </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Just
like moons and like suns, </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>With
the certainty of tides, </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Just
like hopes springing high, </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Still
I'll rise. </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Did
you want to see me broken? </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Bowed
head and lowered eyes? </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Shoulders
falling down like teardrops. </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Weakened
by my soulful cries. </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Does
my haughtiness offend you? </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Don't
you take it awful hard</i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i> <span style="font-size: medium;">'Cause
I laugh like I've got gold mines </span></i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Diggin'
in my own back yard. </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>You
may shoot me with your words, </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>You
may cut me with your eyes, </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>You
may kill me with your hatefulness,</i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>But
still, like air, I'll rise. </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Does
my sexiness upset you? </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Does
it come as a surprise </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>That
I dance like I've got diamonds </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>At
the meeting of my thighs? </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Out
of the huts of history's shame I rise </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Up
from a past that's rooted in pain I rise </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>I'm
a black ocean, leaping and wide, </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Welling
and swelling I bear in the tide. </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Leaving
behind nights of terror and fear I rise </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Into
a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Bringing
the gifts that my ancestors gave, </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>I
am the dream and the hope of the slave. </i></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.29in;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><i>I
rise I rise I rise. </i></span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Maya
Angelou</b></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-13781964299208873922014-05-14T21:02:00.000-04:002014-05-15T10:34:38.941-04:00Life Update, Because There Have Been No Blog Posts In A Million Years :D<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I was little, I
wanted to be Indiana Jones. Learning that the vast majority of
archaeologists don't travel around the globe with a bullwhip,
rescuing damsels in distress and saving mankind was a huge
disappointment, so I decided to be an actress. In quick succession, I
believe I added acrobat, princess, world-famous artist, author,
rockstar - not a musician, mind you; years of being forced to play the
flute and piano taught me that I hated playing instruments almost as
much as mucking the horse stalls and putting in hay on a 95 degree
August day - and several other unlikely pursuits to my list of dream
careers.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm now 33 and I
can't be any more certain of what I want to be when I grow up than
when I was 7, but I do know that being able to create art and
educating other people fulfills something in me in a way that nothing
else seems to be able to do. I spent almost twelve years in the field
of Addiction Treatment, and while I realized early on it was not a
lifelong position for me, it allowed me to develop the personal
skills and tools needed to enhance my emotional health and well-being. It
instilled in me the importance of being a guide for others who are
struggling with their own issues. The mind fascinates me, and the
power we have to nurture and heal ourselves and others with
alternative therapies was proven over and over during my time in that
field.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
As an adult learner
returning to college, I watched many young students flail and flop
their way through their first year, many not finding their way back
for a second. That was me the first time around, when I was 18 and
attending a four year college away from home. My experiences there
were what led me to understand and empathize with the hundreds of
clients I worked with in Addiction's Treatment, and I don't regret
those lessons and gifts, but it certainly drove home the fact that I
was not ready to be a serious student as a teenager. I had to
experience some hard knocks before being capable of taking the
opportunity to earn a college degree seriously.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Art Therapy is an
area I've considered on and off for awhile. I'd always talked myself
out of it, as the idea of returning to school and committing to years
of study to become certified seemed out of reach, financially as well
as the time required to achieve that goal. So, like many people, I
stayed in a job I didn't particularly care for, because it paid the
bills and because forging a new path just seemed too exhausting.</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
In 2012, my
position was
made redundant, and I was laid off for the second time in 2 years.
Terrified, and yet somehow free and unfettered, I made a plan: Write
the novel I'd always said I was going to, lose the weight I needed to
lose, have an adventure, meet a great guy, and get my <span lang="fr-FR">derrière</span>
back to college.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm gonna brag for a sec, and there's nothing humble about it! I worked REALLY HARD to get where I am, h<span style="line-height: 150%;">ere in 2014,
and somehow, miraculously, astonishingly, gratefully, I've
accomplished all of the things I set out to do, and then some. I'm the same size I was in high school, which is awesome. I took a trip that really needed to be taken and while it was incredibly difficult and emotionally disastrous, I came out the better for it, and boy, was it ever an adventure! I did write a novel...I honestly don't know if I'll ever bother to get it published, but I'm not sure that's even the point anyways. I've met an incredible guy and he is almost certainly magical (and very, very human, which makes him all the more special). I've made so much art the past two years, I can't even count it all. SHAMELESS PLUG: I got invited to do a Plein Air painting event in June and then my work will be auctioned off and I am SO FRIGGIN' EXCITED/TERRIFIED about this upcoming event! </span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Finally, I've completed my Associate's Degree! I don't want to stop now. To paraphrase
Newton, an object in motion tends to stay in motion, and I'm an
object in motion. The school I'll be attending next will allow me to
tailor a degree, presumably with a focus in the Arts and Psychology,
that would allow me to continue working towards my ultimate goal of
becoming an Art Therapist.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Will that truly be
where I end up a few years from now? I don't know. Perhaps it sounds
a little hokey, but I've discovered a formula that works for me: If I
simply keep putting one foot in front of the other, God gets me where
I need to be. I don't need to know where I am going to be headed in
the right direction. It used to frighten me, and I always thought I
should listen to people who insisted I needed to make a plan and
stick with it, but the reality is, life throws curve balls. Setting a
goal and then being flexible about what comes along in the meantime
is a lot like a high-wire act. I'm happier living this way. Perhaps
I've become an acrobat after all?</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The bottom line is
a degree will never be a waste if I am learning things I
feel passionate about. The human mind, how it works, the value of art
and creative expression...these are things I feel passionate about
and pursuing next. </div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
To some of you who may or may not be reading this...Thank you for the past 2 years. You were part of my life in a variety of ways, all of which were extremely important. Things don't always make sense, and I wish some things were different, but things are how they are and I'm not going to let a single one of those things tear me apart. If I had a theme song, I'd insert it here. Love, Peace, and Success to us all <3</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-53040791197408759072013-10-24T18:06:00.000-04:002013-10-24T18:47:49.244-04:00Sneaky B*tches<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #45818e;">Today, I overheard a girl in a class
today talking about running her first 5k. I congratulated her and got
chatting about running, and mentioned that I hope to do a 5k one of
these days. And then she was like....oh, yeah, I have asthma and I
couldn't breathe but you know, it was easy, I just kept moving, blah
blah blah, running just comes easily to me I guess, aren't I awesome,
etc. etc. etc.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #45818e;">That's when I realized she was a Sneaky
Bitch. You know the type...the ones who make all your hard work and
agony seem so STUPID and pointless because they just decide one day
to do something, and it works for THEM, and they don't understand
that not everyone can do that thing easily. They don't give a crap
their words are like a knife in your back.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #45818e;">And today, it's just the final straw
for me, because I've spent the better part of the past two years
trying to be a runner. I went to a running clinic to learn proper
form (ball impact, heel glance...any coach that ever told you to “dig
in those heels” while running was a dumbass and likely causing you
injury). I'd get so close to completing a full mile and fall short,
because my lungs were going to explode. I've fallen off treadmills,
nay, FLEW off a treadmill, because I am a horrible spaz. I've
sprained the same ankle twice, very badly, again on the spaz bit. I
had plantar fasciitis in both feet when I started jogging and only
started jogging consistently because I realized running with proper
form moved the impact zone off my injured tendons AND that the area
was strengthening every time I jogged and felt immensely better, both
localized, and as I lost weight, overall. I finally (just recently)
reached the place where I can jog a whole mile without stopping to
walk or take breathers.
</span></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #45818e;">But EVERY time I start getting a good
routine going, I get hurt again, like today. Something in my hip
flexor has been bothering me for a few weeks and while I've been
trying to do stuff to fix it, and strengthen the area, today it
“snapped” about 2 minutes into a good brisk run and I had to stop
because my leg basically gave out from under me. It hurts like crazy
to even walk right now and I am PISSED, because once again, my body
is betraying me when all I've done is try to make it better, faster,
stronger, healthier, and meanwhile there are SNEAKY BITCHES out there
running 5k's without even TRYING.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #45818e;">It's not like I'm a nutter fanatic
trying to run marathons (you know who YOU are...nutters!) and doing
crazy routines. I'm just trying to jog a couple times a week as part
of an overall cardio and resistance training fitness plan AND I CAN'T
EFFING DO IT without getting hurt, and suffering, and experiencing
delays of every imaginable sort.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #45818e;">Why are there always people who seem to
be able to just fall into the thing we are bleeding and sweating our
butts off to be able to do? Like that writer who decided one day to
pen a totally ridiculous, cheesy, lame-ass knock-off book and it
became an overnight sensation, selling a hundred bazillion jillion
copies and inciting fan fiction of the fan fiction (complete with
merchandising) to pop up faster than maggots on a cow carcass (Yeah,
EL James, talking about you here, and a few other individuals who
shall not be named, we all know who you are even if you don't
acknowlege it) while there are thousands of writers all over the
world who have been slaving away over brilliant, original, FABULOUS
ideas for decades, hundreds of decades even (little bit exaggatory)
and can barely sell a thing, much less get a contract.
</span></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #45818e;">As if that weren't bad enough,
inevitably these “blessed” people like to oh-so-innocently rub
our faces in their success...“Oh, I didn't need painkillers for the
dentist or childbirth!” (True story...I call Alien Species on that
particular sneaky bitch, but whatever). “I ran a 5k while having an
asthma attack, and won first place!” (Ok, exaggeration, but
whatever, my hip effing hurts, I'm allowed.) “I'm now going to
share the secrets of my success with you all and show how you, too,
can be an overnight writing sensation like me via pompous windbaggy
douchery webcasts and books I've written on the subject which you
should buy so I can make more money, wheee!” (Not really an
exaggeration on that last bit, sadly)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #45818e;">Here's the thing. There are always
going to be people who seem to be really good at something or fall
into a bit of luck. And if YOU are one of those people, don't be an
effing jerk about it. Don't pretend you somehow magically have all
the secrets of the universe at your disposal. Don't pretend you're an
expert just because you were in the right place at the right time.
Don't knock other people's efforts, or belittle their hard work and
talent, and don't offer to “help” them or give advice with a
supercilious smirk or self-righteous attitude. Be genuine, and
humble, and grateful, and don't be a sneaky little bitch, ok? The
world does NOT need more of those people.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #45818e;">For the rest of us, I guess all we can
do is dust ourselves off, take an ibuprofen, and get the eff back to
work. Here's a quote to help us with that~</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFT2_hmqZvVEIhv5kJUChrCKU6-2fJIJwbTcDiOXMkP06DHXB7ECdF7R-sCF6SAPnFtjEu7XdeCEAEv347r220JOKLh6tNHEIo36qJkwg01uVn9Hf29ANNa05jRdXwoeZQ78nhCOQ2_ij/s1600/944648_647627425278119_597741298_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFT2_hmqZvVEIhv5kJUChrCKU6-2fJIJwbTcDiOXMkP06DHXB7ECdF7R-sCF6SAPnFtjEu7XdeCEAEv347r220JOKLh6tNHEIo36qJkwg01uVn9Hf29ANNa05jRdXwoeZQ78nhCOQ2_ij/s320/944648_647627425278119_597741298_n.jpg" width="310" /></a></div>
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Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-91326498182594316482013-10-21T21:34:00.000-04:002013-10-21T21:34:12.602-04:00 Release the Zombies!Release the Zombies!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><b>Today I finished the third and final book of Angela Scott's brilliant Zombie West series, Dead Plains. </b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk6pv-APaVBvBR9bJu5D5PpCu_OWtbHtoMsTpHW2r3aiUAs_GWdL3NEWs6XXJDkDpxJjwYnBOr1rw9ibF6pp5oF_aUjDYt1Cz8vq122aBDIPQDV7O0CbbhK1KnbOyKVurAIS4QDTsf8qjN/s1600/deadplains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk6pv-APaVBvBR9bJu5D5PpCu_OWtbHtoMsTpHW2r3aiUAs_GWdL3NEWs6XXJDkDpxJjwYnBOr1rw9ibF6pp5oF_aUjDYt1Cz8vq122aBDIPQDV7O0CbbhK1KnbOyKVurAIS4QDTsf8qjN/s320/deadplains.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<b>It was gloriously gruesome, ridiculously romantic, and totally threw me for a couple loops. Never tiresome or tedious, Scott does superb details and descriptions with the best of 'em. I loved the conclusion to the story I've been following for almost two years now (holy cow, I can't believe how fast it's gone!) and I so appreciate Angela letting me read and review all three books. It's been quite an adventure alongside Red, Trace, and the rest of the gang. I loved Willa, a new character introduced, and I felt so bad for those farm animals at the end (don't worry, I won't ruin the details, but it absolutely has a happy ending)...</b><br />
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<b>It's likely that if you are reading this blog, you already know a little about Angela Scott and the Zombie West series, but if not, here are the links about why you should read the first two:</b><br />
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<a href="http://wishywash27.blogspot.com/2012/03/review-of-wanted-dead-or-undead-by.html">My Blog Entry about Book One</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Wanted-Dead-Undead-Zombie-ebook/dp/B007MCHXEU/ref=sr_1_1_title_1_kin?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1382403351&sr=1-1&keywords=wanted+dead+or+undead">To Buy Book One or read other reviews- Wanted: Dead or Undead</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Survivor-Roundup-Angela-Scott/dp/1622538579/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1382403669&sr=1-1&keywords=survivor+roundup">To Buy Book Two or read other reviews</a><br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Haven't read either of them? Don't worry, we've got you covered!! All commenters will be entered to <span style="background-color: white;">win an e-copy of Book 1, "Wanted: Dead or Undead" or Book 2, "Survivor Roundup," Winner's choice of which book. Details Below :)</span></span><br />
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<b>A little about the lovely author herself:</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih00zQYdmhGIqgRh544PpVQf46IdiNPxfwfXKUs8mTOXKAB7npP0mcmdKksvEGpFRwpLB3uXpuhkGKDm9y-uvdF2X0W_PAtYTAkam2yTyVKJBDp3Zx_Xnjzb93zj4Z7nTVnljb9N3yEyzT/s1600/me+pic+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih00zQYdmhGIqgRh544PpVQf46IdiNPxfwfXKUs8mTOXKAB7npP0mcmdKksvEGpFRwpLB3uXpuhkGKDm9y-uvdF2X0W_PAtYTAkam2yTyVKJBDp3Zx_Xnjzb93zj4Z7nTVnljb9N3yEyzT/s320/me+pic+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">BIO: </b><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i>I hear voices. Tiny fictional people sit on my shoulders and whisper their stories in my ear. Instead of medicating myself, I decided to pick up a pen, write down everything those voices tell me, and turn it into a book. I’m not crazy. I’m an author. For the most part, I write contemporary Young Adult novels. However, through a writing exercise that spiraled out of control, I found myself writing about zombies terrorizing the Wild Wild West—and loving it. My zombies don’t sparkle, and they definitely don’t cuddle. At least, I wouldn’t suggest it.<br /><br />I live on the benches of the beautiful Wasatch Mountains with two lovely children, one teenager, and a very patient husband. I graduated from Utah State University with a B.A. degree in English, not because of my love for the written word, but because it was the only major that didn’t require math. I can’t spell, and grammar is my arch nemesis. But they gave me the degree, and there are no take backs.<br /><br />As a child, I never sucked on a pacifier; I chewed on a pencil. I’ve been writing that long. It has only been the past few years that I’ve pursued it professionally, forged relationships with other like-minded individuals, and determined to make a career out of it.<br /><br />You can subscribe and follow me on my <a href="http://www.whimsywritingandreading.weebly.com/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank" title=""><strong>website</strong></a>, where I blog obsessively about my writing process and post updates on my current works. I’m also on <a href="http://twitter.com/#%21/whimsywriting" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank" title=""><strong>Twitter</strong></a> and <a href="http://www.facebook.com/AngelaScottWriter" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank" title=""><strong>Facebook</strong></a>, but be forewarned, I tweet and post more than a normal person.</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #990000; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You can pick up a copy of Dead Plains for yourself (or as a gift, but honestly, you'll want to read it) at the following places~</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dead-Plains-Zombie-West-ebook/dp/B00FNH2MLA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1380986266&sr=8-1&keywords=dead+plains+angela+scott">Kindle~Amazon</a></span><br />
<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/364405">Smashwords</a><br />
<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dead-plains-angela-scott/1117110456?ean=9781622538553">Barnes & Noble</a><br />
<a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/dead-plains">Kobo</a><br />
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<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><b>Now for the commenting and your chance to win a free e-book...Tell us what fictional character you'd most want by your side in the event of a zombie apocalypse and WHY? (All commenter names will be put in a hat/jar/other opaque container at my disposal and ONE winner's name will be drawn on Tuesday, October 29th, 2013 at 8 pm EST. You must leave your email address with your comment because that's how we'll contact the winner and send you your book....I promise never to mail you anything else!)</b></span><br />
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<b>If you so desire, you may "like" and follow my nonsensery on my Author/Artist/Photographer Facebook Page here <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Rebecca-L-Fisk-WriterPhotographerArtist/314602145255452?ref=hl" target="_blank">Rebecca L. Fisk</a> and my twitter account here <a href="https://twitter.com/wishywash27" target="_blank">wishywash27</a> </b><br />
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<b>Good luck and happy reading!</b><br />
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<br />Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-28315819326904826312013-08-16T12:30:00.002-04:002013-08-16T12:31:57.274-04:00Who Told You It Was Okay To Be A Lecher?<br />
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In this day and age, I find myself
surprised that any man over the age of 18 still thinks it's perfectly
acceptable to engage in lechery, but yet I witness it nearly every
day. What's worse is I'm not sure many of the guys who do it think
what they are doing actually is lechery, or that most women don't
“secretly” like it.
</div>
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Let me back up a minute and explain
what I mean by “lechery,” just so we are all on the same page.
The dictionary defines it as “inordinate indulgence in sexual
activity.” Well, THAT was no help at all. I mean, who defines how
much is normal versus inordinate? Furthermore, does anyone besides
Priests or Nuns think indulging oneself in sexual activity is bad?
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A new and improved definition might be
this: Any behavior towards another person using phrases, suggestions,
innuendoes, nuances, jokes, banter, gestures, motions, or other that
is intended to sexualize the person in a way that makes them
uncomfortable. Wait, doesn't that kind of sound like sexual
harassment? Why, yes, it really, really does, and that's because
“sexual harassment” is the ominous sounding legal term that
includes lecherous behavior!!! Ding Ding Ding!</div>
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Maybe a few examples would help
clarify even further. I had some specific issues in mind when I
realized I wanted to do a blog post about it, but I wanted to get
some other people's opinions on it too, so when I threw the topic out
to the Twitterverse, some interesting stuff came up.</div>
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One of the issues at hand is that
women have grown so used to this behavior from men, we simply pretend
it's not happening. Guy at work makes a weird joke about your
pantylines? Ignore. Facebook friend makes creepy comments about
wanting your body, or wanting to see your body in leopard print
jeans? Ignore. Why do we do this? A few reasons. One of which yes,
I'll be frank, on SOME occasions SOME women might find it flattering.
But for the 99.999999% of the time we do not want attention this way,
women ignore lechery for a lot of reasons. </div>
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We hope the person will
never ever again say something so embarrassing and behave themselves.
We hope their wife/girlfriend catches them at it and whomps them
upside the head so we don't have to. We don't want to draw further
attention to the comment by acknowledging it in any way. We don't
want to banter back because we don't want to encourage the person. We
DO banter back because we want to make light of it, or not seem
prudish or uptight. We don't know WHAT to say, or do, so maybe we say
or do nothing. AND DOING NOTHING ISN'T WORKING.</div>
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A women who got involved in the
discussion said for years she always got groped in bars and she
always ignored it. Finally she got sick of it, and when a guy grabbed
her, she grabbed him back, right in the face, forced him to look at
her, and told him in no uncertain terms, to STOP IT. He backed off,
bleary eyed and drunk as a skunk. That guy, by the way, was not just
trying to touch her back, or even her breasts...</div>
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Another women said when she used to
waitress, she would experience things like her male co-workers
blocking the doorway while she was trying to get inside to clock in,
and they'd make crude comments to her. She had an owner of one place
tell her to wear less clothing if she wanted to make some decent
money. The outfit in question was already a tank top and shorts and
the restaurant was supposedly a family dining establishment, not a
dive bar or a Hooters. She said lots of times she'd be jogging and a
car would slow down and drive right alongside her, and the guy(s)
inside would whistle, catcall, say things like “work it” or the
like.
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That has also happened to me, and it's
scary, because you don't know how to react, and what the guy(s) might
do. I've responded to these behaviors by ignoring them. Other times
I've tried a more aggressive approach like giving them the finger, or
saying something like “Yeah, keep dreaming, buddy.” The thing
is...their response has almost always been the same regardless of
whether I've ignored them or responded verbally. I've gotten the
nasty laugh and then they gun the engine or squeal the tires as they
drive off. I've been called a “Bitch” or a “C-nt” and then
they gun the engine or squeal the tires as they drive off. So if I
ignore their advances, I'm obviously an ungrateful Bitch and deserve
to inhale their exhaust as they drive off, but if I try to defend
myself from their neanderthalic advances in any way, I'm an
ungrateful C-nt and deserve to be mistreated for that too.
Interesting.
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Let's look at some less physical
examples. I have this attractive friend, and at least once a week, I
hear someone making a comment to her that soundly qualifies as
lechery. One example I overheard was “You give guys wood.”
Um...really? Wow. Who SAYS that?! And the leopard print jeans comment
I mentioned earlier? Yeah, someone I went to high school with a
million years ago and barely know posted that on my facebook wall.
“I'd like to see you post a picture wearing those leopard print
jeans.” Leer leer, wink wink. Huh?</div>
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And therein lies the crux...some guys
seem to think it's okay to make sexual comments to women BECAUSE
they've never met, and aren't likely to, or because they live
thousands of miles away. For some people, the greater the physical
distance in miles, the more acceptable they seem to think it is to
make offhand or pervy comments. I've seen lots of married guys or
ones who are in a relationship, make sexual comments to other women
and they think that lets them off the hook in some way, because “I
am spoken for and they know I'm just joking.” Guess what, it's NOT
OKAY even if they DO “know you are joking.” Adding a grinning
winky face or a “JK” after a lecherous comment doesn't make it
any more okay than if you say it to someone's face. If you wouldn't
say it to their face while your grandma and their grandma is sitting
right there, as well as your wife or S.O., then it's not okay to say
it at all via social media when you think no one is looking. Telling
someone on twitter that you'd like to blankety blank their blank is
not okay. Telling someone on Facebook you'd like to “ride their
merry go round” is NOT OKAY (unless they actually have a Carousel,
in which case, hook me up 'cause I love those things).
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I won't even get into the number of
times where a woman has to deal with some guy stalking her with his
eyes and doing the lascivious
look-down/undressing-while-licking-his-lips thing - like you are
walking around the grocery store just for his personal viewing
pleasure and sexual satisfaction - Meat selection, ground beef or
female flesh, yum. You just haven't LIVED until you've thrown up in
your mouth a little because you know exactly what he's thinking about
doing to you, right?</div>
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For the record, to be completely
clear, I'm not talking about males and females who have the kind of
relationship where they BOTH find it acceptable to make crude jokes
and comments to each other. That's their business, and more power to
'em. I'm also not talking about flirting. If you find someone
attractive, then ask them out on a proper date, don't make crude
comments about their body parts or other such nonsense before you are
absolutely certain they are fine with you doing so.
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What I'm talking about is behavior that
one person thinks is funny and entertaining, and their right to dole
out, while the person on the receiving end is disgusted, humiliated,
scared, confused, and hurt by the one doing it.</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For everyone who is the recipient of
lechery, I think we need to do things a little differently from now
on. Let's not ignore it if someone says something to us that makes us
uncomfortable. Let's call the person out on it. Let's tell them
straight up, “Hey, I don't find that comment appropriate.” “That
comment made me uncomfortable.” “Please don't make any more jokes
like that, thanks.” To the drive-by cat-callers? “Your conduct is
disrespectful,” and keep walking away. Etc. Etc. Be direct. If you
know the person, say it's a friend or acquaintance, let's say what we
need to in a private message, or pull the person aside...most people
respond better and more respectfully when not admonished in public.
If they continue making comments after you've asked them in private,
by all means, shine the spotlight down and call that sh*t OUT, such
as on social media or the breakroom. Block them, unfriend them, file
a complaint, whatever you have to do. You don't need to put up with
it. There is a HUGE difference between flirting and being lecherous,
and it's up to us to draw our comfort line between the two.
</div>
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Rape Culture teaches women to be
afraid to stick up for themselves. We don't like to offend, we don't
like to create waves or cause tension, we don't want to be called a
Bitch or a C-nt, nor do we want to be thought of that way. But you
know what? Enough is enough. Either we tell someone it's not okay for
them to be a Lecher or we are basically saying it is. If it makes you
uncomfortable, it's not okay for the other person to be doing it and
you have the right to say so. Will this stop everyone? No. Bottom
line, there are still neanderthals among us, no question. But no one
should have to stay silent and just take it, and there is still power
in saying, “No. This is not okay. Stop it.” And you know what?
The more people who say it, the more powerful it gets. Pass it on.
</div>
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Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-44008607087786572252013-06-27T23:19:00.001-04:002013-06-27T23:19:27.882-04:00Perfection and Lies, a.k.a. Using Photoshop<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>So the first is a picture of myself unedited from the original except for cropping, and small amount of smoothing of skin. </b></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3XOr6hlj1eVEmyDrkA45wMCtbrqaxk4I7KsxDY3o9EU_xbWfTeD-t-TKZ7SKtJLTFl5bAcBztIRwH-X7amDwj-5zqCR8_sd7tRQQ1KoCJa6XIq_sWV5X__hFRcpoFLwHRRzInZ1w5njW/s1504/PurpleEyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3XOr6hlj1eVEmyDrkA45wMCtbrqaxk4I7KsxDY3o9EU_xbWfTeD-t-TKZ7SKtJLTFl5bAcBztIRwH-X7amDwj-5zqCR8_sd7tRQQ1KoCJa6XIq_sWV5X__hFRcpoFLwHRRzInZ1w5njW/s320/PurpleEyes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Second picture is me with a digital nose job and even more smoothing.</b></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZQqPAaGG3vkQ3NH7mzMe0mnMp0FAyLOP5w3_dEoC-MMGX9g1yBYAxuccW5aBTuF8DK6NOuZyMsHR8Kk3lMPtcMXrcOj4dYnZyAr5A3cU3OCX30M9N1kDn5obEexNPDdqvGOMCS_6Vdb8/s752/PurpleEyeswithnosejob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZQqPAaGG3vkQ3NH7mzMe0mnMp0FAyLOP5w3_dEoC-MMGX9g1yBYAxuccW5aBTuF8DK6NOuZyMsHR8Kk3lMPtcMXrcOj4dYnZyAr5A3cU3OCX30M9N1kDn5obEexNPDdqvGOMCS_6Vdb8/s320/PurpleEyeswithnosejob.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Which is funny, because I think my nose looks more like the second image in real life, but in pictures, weird angles and "flaws" are captured, and I seem to have my Italian grandmother's large beak (Thanks, Grandma! :D )</b></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Anyways, I thought it was interesting how I've come to recognize basically every professional picture any of us see now days in any media image has been altered. Think your favorite celebrity is "perfect?" Not even close, baby!</b></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><b>As a graphic designer and artist, it's my job to do this stuff. But I hope I never lose sight that beauty comes in many shapes and forms, and to stay proud of my real and darling shnozzy nose. Not only does it suit me just fine, but it works very well...I can detect odors with practically superhuman ability! :D</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-70405703188104280552013-06-22T10:08:00.000-04:002013-06-22T10:09:46.571-04:00What Kind Of Writer Are You, Anyways?<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are many ways to describe a
garden...or, we could call it finding your Voice...some people may disagree, but
there are absolutely right ways to write and wrong ways to write. Perhaps "right" and "wrong" are misnomers. Words you'd be terribly bored by and would never
want to read, or find extremely tedious- those are the “wrong”
ways to write. Words that pull you in, and make you want to know what's going to happen next, that is the "right" way.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Styles also vary by genre. There seems
to be a formula between genres, of how to write about something,
because HOW you convey the mood is vital to your reader, not just the
subject matter. Understanding these subtleties is important.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I read across all genres. Some people
only prefer one or two genres (boring little trolls!) and that's
fine.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But here is the truth...if you make
something really interesting, and I mean REALLY interesting, you can
break as many rules as you want to, and readers will still love you.
(I'm not claiming to be able to do this, I'm just stating an opinion
I like to call a fact)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Just for fun, I've written several
different paragraphs about a garden and a tomato. Each is a different
mood, or “genre.” Can you spot the terribly boring, bad, DO NOT
DO THIS paragraphs? And it hardly matters what genre they might be lumped into, because they are BAD and WRONG and BORING!!! </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'd like to think it'd be super easy for anyone
to pick out the crap paragraphs, but to my dismay, I've seen stuff written quite similarly in recent works. Amazing writing transcends genre, as
does horrible writing. I may not be in the category otherwise known
as “Amazing” but I sure as heck know boring when I see it.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">(Have fun reading these, for they are
meant to be taken with a side helping of salt. Wait. I wasn't
intentionally trying to make a pun about putting salt on a fresh
sliced tomato....oh never mind!)</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">~The garden was in front of me. There
was a tomato growing in it. The tomato was red. I walked over to it
and picked it. It was heavy for a tomato. There was a small spot near
the stem. The stem was dark green but the spot was brown. The garden
was nice. The tomato will go in a salad later.</span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>~I wasn't sure why the sprawling garden
beckoned to me so, until I spotted the ripe, luscious glint of red
peeping out from behind the vine. Before I could stop myself the
plump fullness of the tomato was pressing itself into in my hand. I
shuddered, overwhelmed with my longing to taste its succulent flesh
and feel the juices dripping down my chin. I bit down, and moaned
with pleasure as the explosion of tangy sweetness erupted on my
tastebuds.
</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>~The greenery of the garden was dark
and forbidding. The metal spikes of the vine trellis leaned toward me
in a vaguely threatening manner, as if to say, do not come closer,
there is nothing good here for you. I jumped as the sudden screech
of the rusty windmill indicated a fierce wind was rising. The sky
loomed over me, full of grays and jagged clouds. A storm was coming
in fast, and the dilapidated barn ahead was the only shelter for
miles. I ran for it as the first raindrops pelted my face, hearing my
mother's warning voice echo in my head as I tugged on the door handle. "Never mistake opportunity for destiny..."</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>~The tableau was strange to her new
eyes, a haphazard tumble of greens, yellows, and reds. There. The
brightest orangey-red caught her eye and she made her way towards it.
A small spherical shape was growing from a vine as thick as her index
finger. “Classification: Food. Edible fruit called a 'toe-may-toe,
and sometimes a 'toe-mah-toe,'” chimed the electronic identifier in
her ear. “Toe-may-toe. Toe-mah-toe.” She repeated out loud. She
touched its skin, smooth and poreless, and utterly foreign.</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>~Once upon a time, there once grew an
enchanted tomato. The legend of her beauty and plumpness had spread
far and wide across the land, and many had tried to rescue the
beautiful fruit, but alas, it was not to be. The surrounding garden
protected the fruit with savage ferocity, thick vines that strangled
any man that came too close, and vicious thorns that punctured him
unto death. The tomato longed for freedom and had begun to despair of
her rescue. “I shall wither on my vine and perish,” she thought.
“I shall turn brown and my skin will crack.” As the tomato
continued to muse, she began to understand. “If no one can rescue
me, I MUST find a way to escape. I must rescue myself!”
</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>~The small boy skipped across the lawn
and into the garden where he wandered around for several moments
before spotting a tomato that his mother had asked him to bring
inside because she was preparing lunch for his father who was coming
home early from work to to eat lunch and then he had to drive to the
airport to pick up his sister who was flying home from college on her
summer break. The airport was almost an hour away from their house
and he wanted to go with his father to watch the planes because he
thought maybe he wanted to be a pilot when he grew up but also maybe
a fireman and he didn't really want to spend more time than necessary
with his sister because she always picked on him and it was bad
enough she was going to be home for almost 4 months straight so
adding the extra hour it would take to get home was not such a great
idea after all.
</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">Please write your own version of a
garden tomato descriptor in the Comments section...you know you want
to! And definitely poke fun at the paragraphs I wrote ;)</span></div>
Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-21696385519426143402013-03-02T15:59:00.000-05:002013-03-02T15:59:50.419-05:00Body Lies
This morning, I was reading a popular
fashion magazine. Each month, they feature a brief highlight on
fashion ideas for “big women in a skinny world.” One word jumped
off the page and struck me right across my face. The article used the
word “curvy” to describe the author and other women like her. The
problem is this women is not “curvy,” she is obese. I don't use
“obese” as a pejorative; she is a beautiful women, obviously
intelligent, creative, and her use of accessories is inspiring.
<br />
<br />
I joined the growing ranks of obese
women when I was about 23 years old. I had never been an active
child, or teenager, preferring to read instead of forcing my
uncoordinated and clumsy body to play a sport of some kind. My
parents were never into sports, and as they led active lives in their
professions, the last thing they wanted to do during “down time”
was more physical activity. I never struggled with my weight as a
young person, and assumed I never would.
<br />
<br />
As many people do, I found myself with
a desk job. As my adult metabolism started to slow, the pounds
started first creeping, then piling on. Never having the foundation
of an active lifestyle left me unaware of where to begin. I had the
vague notion one needed to “eat healthier” and “get moving”
to lose weight, but knowing the formula and putting it into practice
are two very different things. To complicate matters, I didn't eat
all that unhealthily. I ate out maybe once a month, ate vegetables
and fruit daily, and while I certainly enjoyed a good Doritos nosh, I
wasn't pigging out on junk food regularly, so what exactly was I
supposed to change?<br />
<br />
I knew that a “diet” was not going
to work for me. I also knew enough about weight loss to know that
most people gain back not only the weight they lost, but an
additional 10% MORE weight within one year of going off a diet. I
listened to friends complain about their weight more and more and
list every excuse in the book about why they couldn't exercise.<br />
<br />
“I don't have time.” “I'm too
busy.” “My kids/spouse/pets/job makes it impossible.” “I'm
overweight, but I'm still pretty healthy, so it's fine.”<br />
<br />
That last one was my excuse, until I
began realizing I wasn't very healthy at all. I couldn't climb my
stairs without feeling out of breath. I certainly couldn't jog around
my block. Having to carry my groceries and laundry baskets up to my
second floor apartment was a chore I dreaded. I didn't even like
taking my dog out to play because it felt like too much effort to run
around for 5 minutes. I developed plantar fasciitis in both my feet.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered the leading cause contributing
to the development of plantar fasciitis is carrying extra weight on
your frame, and the best way to get rid of it is to lose the excess
weight. I had severe acid reflux disease and had to take nearly
double the amount of medication than what is standard to
treat the condition. Guess what the best treatment for GERD is? Yeah.
Losing weight.
<br />
<br />
Nobody actually told me I had to lose
weight, not even my physicians. In fact, everywhere I went made it
easy to stay heavy. Clothes for bigger women are available in all
department stores and most chain boutique stores (unlike the old days
where you had to go to “specialty stores” for plus sizes.) In
fact, I technically wasn't wearing plus-sized clothes anyways, so
that meant I was fine, right? Everyone (except airlines) makes
public seating bigger nowadays, so one barely even notices their bum
getting wider. “Curvy” has replaced “Heavy” or “Full-Figured”
as the descriptive term for bigger women, and who doesn't want to be
curvy? Curvy is sexy!
<br />
<br />
Except...let's be clear about something
vitally important. There is a world of difference between “curvy”
and “obese.”
<br />
<br />
Obesity is defined by the American
Medical Association as having a BMI (Body Mass Index) of 30 or more.
I am aware that BMI doesn't take into consideration a person's muscle
mass, and so, there is SOME leeway in this number. (You can figure
out your own BMI using the following formula:<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>(your weight in pounds)</u></div>
(height in
inches) x (height in inches) and multiply by 703 = BMI<br />
<br />
Underweight-
Less than 18.5<br />
Normal Weight-
18.5 to 24.9<br />
Overweight- 25
to 29.9<br />
Obesity- 30 or
greater<br />
<br />
It would be easy to take comfort in the
fact that the average woman in American is now a size 14. As long as
we are amongst the average, there is nothing really wrong with us, is
there?<br />
<br />
Except, there is
a LOT wrong with us.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><em> </em><span style="color: #20124d; font-size: large;">Curvy
is an undefined term adopted by the masses to make women feel better
about being overweight. In a culture that is striving to shame no
one, we've instead managed to invent a term that keeps us sick and
unhealthy and feeling okay about it.</span><em> </em></b></span></div>
<br />
I'm not writing this because I'm
perfect. I'm writing this because calling someone who is obese “Curvy” is a
lie, and being lied to infuriates me. I'm writing this because over 60% of Americans are medically
overweight or obese. Over 500,000 women succumb to heart disease
every year. Type II Diabetes is the fastest growing ailment among
Americans. Billions and billions of our dollars are spent each year
by our Insurance Companies to treat our obesity-related ailments.
Foot injuries, back injuries, high blood pressure, GERD, and chronic
pain are some of the “less important” medical issues facing obese
people.
<br />
<br />
I didn't want to be one of those people
anymore. I didn't want to stay unhealthy. I started doing the only
thing I thought just MIGHT start me down the right path - walking for
20 minutes every day.
<br />
<br />
A year later, I don't feel unhealthy
anymore. It's not about vanity. Sure, I want to look good and feel
sexy, but I refuse to give that more importance than the fact that
I've been able to cut my acid reflux medication need in half. The
plantar fasciitis is gone. I can run around, and carry laundry, and
play with the dog. I feel capable. I ENJOY exercising (most days,
ha). Sometimes I eat dessert and pizza and I still nosh on Doritos
and I refuse to feel guilty about it.
<br />
<br />
I'm not skinny. It's never been about
that. I don't want the women of the world to be skinny, I want us to
be healthy. If you can't climb a set of stairs without getting
winded, you are not healthy. If you can't jog around your block
without feeling like you are going to keel over and die, you are not
healthy. If you can't actively play with your kids for 20 minutes, or
your pets, you are not doing them or yourself any favors, and you
aren't healthy.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b> <span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: #20124d;"> I</span><span style="color: #20124d;">
don't want a world full of women hiding behind a false sense of security
because they are “average,” and meanwhile, their lives are being
cut short by ten or twenty years. That magazine, as well as any other
that hides America's worst health epidemic behind a misleading term,
ought to be ashamed. We shouldn't accept being lied to and told we're
okay when we are actually dying. We're worth way more than that.</span></span> </b></span></div>
Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-69558666804006175042012-12-31T22:12:00.000-05:002012-12-31T22:12:44.073-05:00Collaborations and Collusions<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remember the Three Word Challenge from way back when? (If not, you can read about it over </span><a href="http://wishywash27.blogspot.com/2012/03/my-very-own-stupid-human-trick.html"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">here</span></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> and </span><a href="http://wishywash27.blogspot.com/2012/03/special-edition-three-word-challenge.html"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">here too</span></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> ) Well, I'd been wanting to have author duo CL Raven do a guest blog for me and tell you all about their cool stories and webisode series, but I wanted to make it super fun and super special. I asked them if they would be willing to accept a Three Word Challenge of their own, and since they are brilliant, funny, and excellent eggs/team players, they graciously accepted! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">CL Raven's work is full of dark humor and the kinds of flavor you might find in works of Alfred Hitchcock and Edgar Allan Poe. Here they are (aren't they gorgeous?! Uh, the girls, not the dead old man writers ;P)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAUUem-jIgOXHk7nGUao_6Z8wBKc-tbA6X8U7QLaRTy7OHE6b0MdyAyYmXt08DLiloTQSYZtnluFWlEyPwVO26KL_N3zjR0Tkyh6Zb9ynT852JaaQfl4gHA11rGpw1tNCkd5kAe_DWx_8/s1600/CL+Raven+author+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAUUem-jIgOXHk7nGUao_6Z8wBKc-tbA6X8U7QLaRTy7OHE6b0MdyAyYmXt08DLiloTQSYZtnluFWlEyPwVO26KL_N3zjR0Tkyh6Zb9ynT852JaaQfl4gHA11rGpw1tNCkd5kAe_DWx_8/s320/CL+Raven+author+photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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You can join them on twitter and facebook (I try to stalk them daily at both locations, I won't lie!)</div>
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/CL-Raven-Fanclub">Facebook</a></div>
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<a href="https://twitter.com/clraven">Twitter</a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I gave them the words "blackjack", "cistern", and "braid" for their Three Word Challenge...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Without further ado, here is what they came up with for your entertainment...</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Blackjack</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
He's coming for me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I know him only as Blackjack. The
press adopted this nickname because he kills women on their twenty
first birthday. Mine's tomorrow. A week ago I received a birthday
card.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span> </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> <i>To Seren. Thinking of you. Blackjack x</i></span> </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Inside was an ace
of spades playing card. As cards go, it wasn't the creepiest I've
ever had - that accolade belongs to one my ex gave me. 'To my
girlfriend. You is well hot'. I'd tolerated his smelly feet, love of
football and his insistence of dyeing himself to the colour of an
Oopma-Loompa for the summer, but that card was the last straw. He's
lucky he didn't join it shredded in a bin bag.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I should've phoned the police, but
they'd have just put a squad car outside my house. They did that for his
last victim - I was in that car, watching the street while he gave
her the key to death's door.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> If Blackjack wants my life, he'll have
to fight me for it.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">***</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I wake, surprised I haven't been
butchered; my organs dangling from some "21st!" balloons, my fingers used as
substitute birthday candles. That would really spoil my cake. It's
sunny outside - not the weather you'd associate with a serial
killer's imminent arrival like the worst birthday entertainer ever.
At least he's not a clown.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I dress and head downstairs,
strangling my braid with a band topped by a black bow and a skull.
A card sits on the hall floor, looking as innocent as a politician
caught in a brothel raid.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I open the envelope. The card has an
adorable puppy on it wearing a party hat. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span> </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">To my favourite girl.
Have a great day. It will be your last. Blackjack x</span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Paper falls out and I pick it up. It's a
page from a diary - today's date. <i>Seren's 21st birthday </i>is
scrawled on it with a balloon. I suppose I should be grateful he
remembered. My ex rarely did. I turn the page over. A week after my
birthday he's written <i>Seren's funeral</i>. My gratitude vanishes
faster than a snowman in a heat wave. I'll boycott my funeral. I
don't have anything to wear.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Every time the door knocks, my heart
dies. It's hard enjoying presents when you're convinced each gift
will contain methods of execution. It's almost anti-climactic to
receive gift vouchers.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Night falls as swiftly and silently as
a guillotine blade. The phone rings. I answer it to hear a musical
card playing 'Happy Birthday'. I slam the phone down. Those cards are
always out of tune.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> The door knocks three times. I pull
the knife from my waistband and creep forwards. Death knocks three
times. I look through the spy hole, my heart racing.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">An eye stares back.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I leap backwards, swearing. I know he
can't see me, but it feels like he stared straight at me. I risk
another look.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> He's gone.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I hurry to the kitchen window and
switch on the lights outside. Shadows emerge to dance in the
spotlight of the garden stage. He's not there. I lean over the sink
to check the blind spot. He appears at the window, hands pressed
against it as he peers in. I drop to the floor, squeezing myself as
close to the cupboard as possible without climbing in and hiding
amongst the fabric conditioner. By switching on the lights, I've told
him I'm home.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I crawl out of the kitchen, my heart
pounding out my own funeral track as I huddle against the wall. His
footsteps clump as he searches for an entrance. My shaking hands grip
the knife and my pepper spray. I've seen what he did to those other
girls. I won't let him do that to me. I will not be one of his
victims, my name known only for the brutal way I was murdered. That
will <i>not</i> be my legacy.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The front door clicks. I scream in
silence, my mind voicing what my mouth can't. I curse leaving the
spare key behind the drainpipe. I try calming the tempest in my
brain. His shadow slinks along the wall then he appears. And smiles.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> "Happy birthday Seren. You're
going to get the best present - to stay twenty one forever."</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I squirt my pepper spray into his
eyes. He yells and rubs them.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> "You'll suffer for that." He
lifts the hand holding a parcel. "I got you a present."</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> "I hope you kept the receipt."</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> It's the same present he bought the
other girls - a traditional 21 key that was stamped so hard onto
their backs it had to be prised off, the wound unhealed as they died.
That was before the twenty one different wounds he inflicted on them.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> "The only key I want is the one
to your funeral home."</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I thrust the knife into his chest and
twist it. He gasps and glances down, stunned by the sight of his own
blood. He grabs me, flinging me against the wall. I bang my head,
blue lights dancing in my vision. He unwraps the present as I crawl
towards the kitchen. He grabs my leg. I kick, struggling and
screaming. He drags me towards him so I press my toes against his
stab wound until he lets go. I scramble up and run for the downstairs
toilet. I wrench the cistern lid off and rescue the sharpened 21 key
hidden inside. The only thing this will open is his jugular.
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> He stands in the kitchen holding his
key and a bag.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> "It's very ungrateful to refuse a
present."</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> "I'm giving myself a present."
I raise the key. "My life."</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I swing the key at him, anticipating
his duck. I stab it into his neck. I wrench it free as blood spurts
over my kitchen. He clutches the wound, gurgling as he drops to his
knees. Once he's on the floor, I hack his shirt off, grab my knife
and carve my parting gift into his back.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> 21 or BUST.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Were you nibbling your nails or chewing your lip while reading that?!! Cause that's what I find myself doing all the TIME when I read works by these lovely ladies! If you want more CL Raven (and I kind of can't help myself, honestly...I'm not usually a fan of horror, but there is something more than a little addicting about their work...) check out "Gunning Down Romance" (a collection of short stories about love gone terribly, horribly wrong) "Disenchanted", (a collection of fairy tales retold in the cleverest ways possible) and their full length novel, "Soul Asylum." (Mystery and Death live side by side in an ancient mental asylum! Who will survive? Who won't?)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span> </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gunning-Down-Romance-Dead-ebook">Gunning Down Romance for Amazon</a> <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/132849">Gunning Down Romance for Smashwords</a></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Disenchanted-ebook">Disenchanted for Amazon</a> <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/204425">Disenchanted for Smashwords</a></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Soul-Asylum-ebook">Soul Asylum for Amazon</a> <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/241093">Soul Asylum for Smashwords</a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In addition to their written works, the duo is two thirds of the hilarious web series Calamityville Horror. The girls and their handsome and goofy sidekick Ryan wend their way through historical and haunted properties located in Wales. Check them out over here!</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/CatsTalesOfTerror">Calamityville Horror on Facebook</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/CalamityHorror">Calamityville Horror on Twitter</a></div>
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</div>
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For all updates on works in progress, Gimpic Game Adventures, Animal Army foibles, and other awesomeness, please check out CL Raven's <a href="http://clraven.wordpress.com/2012/05/22/no-photos-please/">Blog</a></div>
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</div>
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Big thanks, cwtches, and high-fives to Cat and Lynx Raven for being on my blog today!</div>
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Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-8178269583513557172012-11-25T12:29:00.000-05:002012-11-25T12:29:31.904-05:00The Liebster Award (otherwise known as...Do it because you love me!)
<br />
I'm very honored that CL Raven has nominated me for the Liebster
Award! (I don't know what it is, but I want it!)<br />
<br />
<a href="http://clraven.files.wordpress.com/2012/11/liebsterimageaward1.png"><span style="color: navy;"><img align="BOTTOM" alt="Liebster blog award" border="1" height="210" name="graphics1" src="http://clraven.files.wordpress.com/2012/11/liebsterimageaward1.png?w=141&h=210" width="141" /></span></a>
The fine print:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When you receive the award, you
post 11 random facts about yourself and answer the 11 questions
asked by the person who nominated you.</div>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Pass the award onto 11 other blogs
and let them know they’ve been nominated</div>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You write up 11 NEW questions
directed towards YOUR nominees.</div>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You are not allowed to nominate
the blog who nominated your blog!</div>
<li>Paste the award picture into your blog. I stole mine from
wherever CL Raven got theirs ;)<br />
</li>
</li>
</li>
</li>
</li>
</ul>
<br />
And here are my questions from CL Raven :<br />
<br />
<b>1. What is your superhero name, power and costume?</b> Mind
Control, of course! If I had unlimited control over people's
minds...I wouldn't have to be super strong, fast, wealthy, breathe
underwater, etc. I could make other people do it FOR me, or THINK I
was doing it, which amounts to the same thing. Also, I guess I'd
leave my name the same. This is one of those superpowers that might
be best not to go around advertising, lest some chump figure out a
way around it that I haven't thought of first. Costumes...I'd have
unlimited access to whatever clothes I wanted to wear, or wanted
people to think I was wearing. The possibilities are endless. Now,
please give me those pretty, pretty shoes in that window...<br />
<br />
<b>2. Who would you go gay with to save the world?</b> Waaaaait a
minute.....how does this save the world, exactly? I guess it WOULD be
a good excuse to make out with Kate Beckinsale, Kate Winslet, or
Milla Jovovich.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Who would play you in a film of your life?</b> Hmm. I'm not
sure. I'd like to see how Zooey Deschanel would do, but I'm not sure
she could pull off my brooding, dark side. She'd have to try out.
Open casting opportunities will be announced when it's time. Ginnifer
Goodwin might be good too.<br />
<br />
<b>4. Name 5 albums on your death row disc list</b>. Number #1 is
Eric Clapton's 24 Nights album...technically it's a double disc
album, but it still counts as one. The other four would be....U2's
Achtung Baby, the special foreign edition recorded in Berlin and
Dublin. The Killers, either Hot Fuss or Sam's Town-I like them
equally and they are such great albums, but very different. The same
goes for The Black Keys and both the Brother and El Camino albums. If
I was able to bribe the Death Row guards, I'd get some Led Zeppelin,
Metallica Load and Black, Adele (21), David Garrett's rock
symphonies, and maybe some Jewel and old school rap like 2-Pac and
Mase, just for good measure.<br />
<br />
<b>5. What’s your karaoke song?</b> I've never done karaoke. I
desperately want to, but they don't really have any place that does it
near me, and I also need some friends who will set aside their pride and do it with me.
Although, I should admit, I have performed live with a friend and we
did Bad Reputation by Freedy Johnston. That was AWESOMELY fun and I
would love to be able to do more performing.<br />
<br />
<b>6. If you had to have a hilarious, cartoon-style death, what
would it be? </b><span style="font-weight: normal;">Piano falling from
a high window and crushing me flat on the sidewalk. No contest. Then
I'd get up and walk around all flattened and stretched like the
cartoon characters do!</span><br />
<br />
<b>7. What book/film/song do you wish you’d written? </b><span style="font-weight: normal;">I'm
not really sure. I do wish I could have stolen the title “A
Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius” by Dave Eggers. I mean,
come on...who really doesn't want to call their book THAT?!! The fact
that he actually got to is very, very admirable. It was, by the way,
a very good book. </span>
<br />
<br />
<b>8. If you could be made into a wax work couple, who would your
other half be? </b><span style="font-weight: normal;">Jensen Ackles.
But I also have a thing for Ioan Gruffudd and Cillian Murphy, so
really, either of them would be acceptable if Jensen were unavailable
for some ridiculous reason.</span><br />
<br />
<b>9. What would be your Kryptonite? </b><span style="font-weight: normal;">Pretty,
witty men with dark hair, freckles, and light eyes. Wait. That's
already my kryptonite. Also, sweets. And chips. And pizza, chinese
food, and dyeing my hair way too much.</span><br />
<br />
<b>10. If you ruled the world, what is the first law you’d make?
</b><span style="font-weight: normal;">I might outlaw politicians. And
make animal abuse punishable by death. I don't believe in the death
penalty, but if I did, animal abusers would be the first to get the
chair. I'd also make some law that allows less money to public
figures, like sports players and entertainers, and channels that
money to schools for arts programs and allowing teachers more
resources. Also, I'd make all employers treat their employees like
humans, not pack mules. Happy people make good employees. I'd make lots and lots and lots of laws. I'd probably get overthrown quite quickly and violently.</span><br />
<br />
<b>11. And who would be the first person you’d execute? </b><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
first person to cut into traffic in front of me and then go 10 mph
below the speed limit. Those people deserve execution, for sure. </span></span>
<br />
<br />
<br /><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>11 random facts about myself-</b><br />
<br />
<b>1.</b> I'm right handed but I play most sports like a lefty
would.<br />
<br />
<b>2.</b> I'm a trained auricular acupuncturist, and during my
training, I discovered my left ear would push out most of the needles
placed, while the right ear accepted the needles in a composed and
well behaved fashion. My trainer stated this meant my chi was “F-ed
up.” HA! He was a great guy.<br />
<br />
<b>3.</b> I like figuring out how to recreate really yummy dishes
at home I've discovered while eating at restaurants<br />
<br />
<b>4.</b> German Shepherds scare me and I wish they would stop
being bred and the whole breed allowed to die off.<br />
<br />
<b>5.</b> I started drinking coffee at the age of 7. I had to
detox from all caffeine at the age of 27, and I allow myself one
large mug of half-caf per day now. (I get heart palpitations, major
sleep disturbances, and anxiety if I overdo it. Lame, I know.)<br />
<br />
<b>6.</b> I've worn high heels since I was like 7 or 8. No, I was
not a child beauty pageant queen. I grew up in a church that all the
girls wore big poofy hair, fancy dresses, stockings, and heels.
So....kind of a pageant, actually, now that I think about it, yes...I
rarely wear dresses now, or hairspray.<br />
<br />
<b>7. </b><span style="font-weight: normal;">My mother made me take
piano lessons every Friday for like five years. I told her I didn't
want to, but she insisted I have opportunities she never did. So I
simply refused to learn a damn thing. She finally realized $10 a pop
to prove her will was stronger than mine was really quite wasteful. I
do feel sorry for the teachers I had, though. They must have thought
I was truly feeble minded for the extreme lack of progress. </span>
<br />
<br />
<b>8. </b><span style="font-weight: normal;">I am petrified of
being sung “Happy Birthday” to in public. Or, anywhere, really, but especially in public.</span><br />
<br />
<b>9.</b> I had imaginary friends named Chester and Garbo as a
child. At a certain point, it became apparent my father liked them
more than I did, and when he kept asking about them, I finally told him
they weren't around anymore. When he pressed the issue about where
they'd gone, I told him I killed them off so he would be quiet about
them already. I'm continually reminded by how accommodating my
parents really were of my lunacies.<br />
<br />
<strong>10.</strong> I won't eat tuna fish or egg salad prepared by someone else.<br />
<br />
<strong>11</strong>. I once had a (short, but it still counts!) conversation with
President Bill Clinton. I wish I had asked him what cologne he was
wearing.<br />
<br />
<br /><br />
<br />
<strong>Here are my nominees for this award -Jamie Demente, London Cole,
Allison Brew, Judith Sweet, Xander Buchan, Miranda Stork, Nisha
Moodley, and Elise Stephens (if you've already been tagged, please
feel free to ignore. ) I know I'm not supposed to tag the blog that tagged me, BUT I really want CL Raven to answer my made up questions!! Pretty please?</strong><br />
<br />
<br /><br />
<strong>New questions for the nominees are -</strong><br />
<br />
1. If you were a Superhero, what would your Nemesis' power be?<br />
<br />
2. Take three sentences from three of your favorite songs and make
a paragraph that may or may not make sense.<br />
<br />
3. What do you wished you had been named?<br />
<br />
4. What is a book/song/movie you wish you've never
read/heard/watched and why?<br />
<br />
5. Let's pretend the Zombie Apocalypse is actually going to
happen. How are you going to survive it?
<br />
<br />
6. Would you rather be raised by wolves or penguins?<br />
<br />
7. If your life was a song, what would the title be?
<br />
<br />
8. Do you wake up, or open your eyes first?<br />
<br />
9. Magic wand or Lightsaber?<br />
<br />
10. What is the speed of dark? What is the square root of purple?<br />
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11. <span style="font-weight: normal;">If YOU had to have a
hilarious, cartoon-style death, what would it be? </span>
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Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-49576015960748128632012-10-23T18:36:00.000-04:002012-10-23T18:36:16.319-04:00The Mountain Trail Adventures<br />
<span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I discovered a trailhead near my house a few years ago. Once, I started climbing it, only to turn back after 10 minutes. It went up, and up, and up...and that was before I had any interest in getting some good cardio time in. Anyways, about a month ago, I remembered the trail and decided to go exploring. I've still never reached the end of the trail, because once you reach the top of the mountain, the trail continues through a grassy meadow...and is clearly marked with about a dozen "Posted" signs. Jerks! I may never know what lies beyond! If you see a public arrest record for me with a trespassing charge, you'll all know why. Here are some photos of the coolness the trail has to offer.</strong></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4eFI3M4D6UIO1tFDW42Yl28QCjAbFnfjMJg2c5ygbT0Kf3CCCkaYeb0ugZbc1_Qmh-3JTSVxn97iSf6DAssv7kU9tlAKJG4_LoGpPuxK0tnKrMW3lTrv1w66AWp-mkc_x7ciBZiMWHXI/s1600/IMG-20121013-01065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy4eFI3M4D6UIO1tFDW42Yl28QCjAbFnfjMJg2c5ygbT0Kf3CCCkaYeb0ugZbc1_Qmh-3JTSVxn97iSf6DAssv7kU9tlAKJG4_LoGpPuxK0tnKrMW3lTrv1w66AWp-mkc_x7ciBZiMWHXI/s320/IMG-20121013-01065.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<em><strong>Fairy Forest...life size overhead view</strong></em></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIHN8G1Ly6x1W0MvzGzjIFufKkJY4oFtClExfaN29HwQmgncaO1pyqtcitcAxR5ph9ONLWAvVf5VkN8yfP5DaDdH6c-AYHa1CIEY8yp4oYqkfLDB6Nda-iDH8y8N1tBBtw6Y0cSElKNif2/s1600/IMG-20121013-01066.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIHN8G1Ly6x1W0MvzGzjIFufKkJY4oFtClExfaN29HwQmgncaO1pyqtcitcAxR5ph9ONLWAvVf5VkN8yfP5DaDdH6c-AYHa1CIEY8yp4oYqkfLDB6Nda-iDH8y8N1tBBtw6Y0cSElKNif2/s320/IMG-20121013-01066.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<em><strong>Stone Walls randomly line the trail, but not in a discernable pattern...I followed one, and found...</strong></em></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzF1bgApcSdAKh3TvHRWUS8tz3LZF8LIpFqUYQQCaBpHZdjenpqlZQYOJbAMy2P6P4WCEfKXtXxBGgquPZI3h5EtKHa8XDEeo9SzoLjPLzBcOyQeIpHkpq2VNjEnAS4Qx7hQh6QYwVbPBe/s1600/IMG-20121013-01078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzF1bgApcSdAKh3TvHRWUS8tz3LZF8LIpFqUYQQCaBpHZdjenpqlZQYOJbAMy2P6P4WCEfKXtXxBGgquPZI3h5EtKHa8XDEeo9SzoLjPLzBcOyQeIpHkpq2VNjEnAS4Qx7hQh6QYwVbPBe/s320/IMG-20121013-01078.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<em><strong>What era is this from? It was lying in the middle of a clearing, right across from this...</strong></em></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Ah8JLAAYD7sQb2I2tM_ieqOTsUHKmro9l-I6kykYxALpXJN0LG30jSf2cAtSgaxx1ENQMIX1LGuA6T4hDxp7aSQLYg1-iQqmYTHM7W092ctt963BML0caVPLLF5kGTIASkn0ZN6ezAXh/s1600/IMG-20121013-01077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Ah8JLAAYD7sQb2I2tM_ieqOTsUHKmro9l-I6kykYxALpXJN0LG30jSf2cAtSgaxx1ENQMIX1LGuA6T4hDxp7aSQLYg1-iQqmYTHM7W092ctt963BML0caVPLLF5kGTIASkn0ZN6ezAXh/s320/IMG-20121013-01077.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<strong><em>And I have no idea what ^^^^^"this" ^^^^^ actually is...at first I thought a foundation, but there are only three sides, and the size of the trees growing up through the middle of it while no other trees grow in the clearing around it seem to indicate it's NOT a foundation. I then thought maybe a hunting blind, but a friend familiar with these things said, no, it's not likely a hunting blind. So I have no idea what it is. I do know...the area had a creepy feel to it. The longer I stayed, the more I felt like someone, or something was watching me. Herschel kept tracking a ground scent and acting skittish...so we got out of there quickly. I want to go back with company and see if they feel anything peculiar about the area or if I was working myself into a tizzy for nothing.</em></strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNjtb_cP87k8PjfkS8MvFBQReko1dxCG44hOnAzg4vPtrMq3RzflLwZ6U0LA8cJp3upDXMlz5WodAr65RazvieQI5O6smExy2hww8IXpl0LA3oCnXabD-PpWW-FPGto_vcgRoLzZHsiX7m/s1600/IMG-20121013-01082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNjtb_cP87k8PjfkS8MvFBQReko1dxCG44hOnAzg4vPtrMq3RzflLwZ6U0LA8cJp3upDXMlz5WodAr65RazvieQI5O6smExy2hww8IXpl0LA3oCnXabD-PpWW-FPGto_vcgRoLzZHsiX7m/s320/IMG-20121013-01082.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<strong><em>This is a drainage culvert, or as I like to call it, the remains of a Roman aqueduct, transported through space and time to a random trail in upstate New York. My explanation makes more sense, obviously.</em></strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdsWd2GuqXHssvjCUrQvwnjafjB6LYuNqUvZdrt_YjlynwrAhOpG4t0fCnu-b-skov-egpBKqANYlOVzzpVVSqLCMSaSVFS7xS3TCMV7S_o2GTEIMCZAsQom1weRn1iB3n45sRQH5xiiDk/s1600/IMG-20121013-01083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdsWd2GuqXHssvjCUrQvwnjafjB6LYuNqUvZdrt_YjlynwrAhOpG4t0fCnu-b-skov-egpBKqANYlOVzzpVVSqLCMSaSVFS7xS3TCMV7S_o2GTEIMCZAsQom1weRn1iB3n45sRQH5xiiDk/s320/IMG-20121013-01083.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<em><strong>A squadron of fungi, attacking a fallen foe.</strong></em></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBzQ2-VVS_L3kkuny_YU8rpHxnNvXX282gpAPPE-TOG4d43SzjqbZ7YF7ErIcd2jHcnfW0KqLBAsSI1VrwMgMkdbi-YqcSfRjRLvRQBorCIWdDlPUPY4KkfghjEu9UERgqlUvihvgJ4vLP/s1600/IMG-20121013-01087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBzQ2-VVS_L3kkuny_YU8rpHxnNvXX282gpAPPE-TOG4d43SzjqbZ7YF7ErIcd2jHcnfW0KqLBAsSI1VrwMgMkdbi-YqcSfRjRLvRQBorCIWdDlPUPY4KkfghjEu9UERgqlUvihvgJ4vLP/s320/IMG-20121013-01087.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<em><strong>Tree Barnacles...The Musical</strong></em></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiSOqZ79TYLtjnml1YA27Jo_Y_MRi7_EkOWqn0bkySyVbKqMK-kqo7eAmNEAc9MLh69Biqxn-7K4EwEPOoRtBi_u3gGT0yAmflEr8CPIKhn89xge13QPc15imCIcnrMNUn4tM0obK0sxBU/s1600/IMG-20121013-01091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiSOqZ79TYLtjnml1YA27Jo_Y_MRi7_EkOWqn0bkySyVbKqMK-kqo7eAmNEAc9MLh69Biqxn-7K4EwEPOoRtBi_u3gGT0yAmflEr8CPIKhn89xge13QPc15imCIcnrMNUn4tM0obK0sxBU/s320/IMG-20121013-01091.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<strong><em>This is a larger than life sized photo of a teeeeeeeny little mushroom atop a bed of moss growing off a tree trunk.</em></strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSDOmPRBoV_oYXJLf4L-9SJigvCZ5kLsIwWVER_hhGKpjhT33DvY99NITgJlTJZT1kPnl4E6iY8Y8uWntHANNhulNORHbXFi0EiPmXqr18972G3VGrw5Y5Phx1QcTPCCdqs_obT0n5FaD9/s1600/IMG-20121020-01110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSDOmPRBoV_oYXJLf4L-9SJigvCZ5kLsIwWVER_hhGKpjhT33DvY99NITgJlTJZT1kPnl4E6iY8Y8uWntHANNhulNORHbXFi0EiPmXqr18972G3VGrw5Y5Phx1QcTPCCdqs_obT0n5FaD9/s320/IMG-20121020-01110.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<em><strong>We had a few days of heavy rain. Not only did the handful of streams that cross the trail become raging rivers, a winding swath down the entire face of the trail, still muddy, was evidence the entire trail was flooded, likely the day before.</strong></em></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIaV7KgZcCRBdQRSt-6MkwPWVm-MXYZjLy2_N3jhzdHumyZVkGSewT0ooPGu5zALPL8yn9xXUEy9f7NkM-Frq-K79oqkhQuc_dN3TclYmJNgg2AHpFzayqFGmYHI7qzX_HA8a8BmMpcL4e/s1600/IMG-20121020-01120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIaV7KgZcCRBdQRSt-6MkwPWVm-MXYZjLy2_N3jhzdHumyZVkGSewT0ooPGu5zALPL8yn9xXUEy9f7NkM-Frq-K79oqkhQuc_dN3TclYmJNgg2AHpFzayqFGmYHI7qzX_HA8a8BmMpcL4e/s320/IMG-20121020-01120.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<strong><em>Herschel playing in a waterfall</em></strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhQHfOxlj7X3QOimTRyFZr-fafCDLq2g3hyphenhyphenqefaEJo0q-m6OF8rNImKnqJxnJWOrH-C31K-I2bzady48SRV1ULO-0BD1znJHQsuM9CMYKGKzlOrK0VXdMAWmN3AhGJjoPnLPIY4Y9fLUd/s1600/IMG-20120920-00948.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhQHfOxlj7X3QOimTRyFZr-fafCDLq2g3hyphenhyphenqefaEJo0q-m6OF8rNImKnqJxnJWOrH-C31K-I2bzady48SRV1ULO-0BD1znJHQsuM9CMYKGKzlOrK0VXdMAWmN3AhGJjoPnLPIY4Y9fLUd/s320/IMG-20120920-00948.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<em><strong>Last Red Eft of the season...it's so much fun to hold a miniature orange dinosaur. Seriously. Unless they pee on you. Thankfully, this one minded his manners.</strong></em></div>
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<strong><em><span style="color: #274e13;">Last time I went up, the mountain was behaving rather rudely. I had to leap across one of the swollen streams, and when I landed on what appeared to be a solid and stable rock, it began wobbling to and fro, trying to send me flying. I just barely managed to keep a toe hold and leap off before it killed me. Or sprained my ankle, which, on a mountain alone, is tantamount to the same thing. THEN, a tree literally threw a branch at Herschel. It clattered a few inches from his poor fuzzy noggin, and he jumped about a foot off the ground. Being the opportunistic type, he grabbed the branch and began merrily whacking me across the back of my knees several times before I decided that was enough of that and made him drop it. He pouted for a minute or two, then trotted off to find deer poop. Yum.</span></em></strong></div>
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<strong><em>That's pretty much what I've been doing besides school, homework, and sleeping. Ciao!</em></strong></div>
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Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-82200619579269707242012-09-16T11:40:00.000-04:002012-09-16T12:03:07.156-04:00You Know, Since Sliced Bread...I am actually very honored to have been tagged to do this blog post by Cat and Lynx Raven, two of my favorite people I've met via the twittersphere. You can meet them too, on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/clraven">@CLRaven</a> and follow their blog <a href="http://clraven.wordpress.com/2012/09/15/the-next-big-thing/">Raven's Retreat</a> (where they make me very jealous with all their foibles and exploits across Wales, through castles, dungeons, battlefields, sand dunes and other exciting British things. They have a webisode series, and they ALSO invented the Gimpic Olympics, which in and of itself, should make you hoot. ALSO I want their clothes.) They are writers, AWESOME writers, too. I love them!<br />
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So anyways, enough studded boot kissing from me. <br />
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Now I get to talk about MY book! I have to answer questions about my work in progress, then tag five other writers to answer the same questions. Let's get started...<br />
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><u><strong>What is the working title of your book?</strong></u></em></span><br />
<strong><em><u><span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia;"></span></u></em></strong><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Technically, my WIP is a trilogy called The Neverearth Prophecies. I completed the third draft of the first book a couple weeks ago, and it's called Running on Faith. Book 2 is entitled Edge of Darkness, and the conclusion is Change the World. The individual book titles may sound familiar to some of you...if so, we can probably be friends, because yes, they are all the titles to Eric Clapton songs, who is my favorite musician of all time. The titles were not just picked out of a hat though, don't worry. They are actually very significant to each plot line within the novels...however, I must admit, I'm not in LOVE with the title for Book 3, so that one may change.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><u><strong>Where did the idea come from for the book? </strong></u></em></span><br />
<strong><em><u><span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia;"></span></u></em></strong><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nowhere. Everywhere. A dream, a voice, a movie, an argument, a yummy lunch, a boring dinner....I don't know if there was ever ONE idea. I'm sure there was an initial spark that started it all rolling, but I can't remember what it was.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><u><strong>What genre does your book fall under?</strong></u></em></span><br />
<strong><em><u><span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia;"></span></u></em></strong><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, it's definitely Young Adult Fiction. However, I don't want to categorize it beyond that, yet...there is adventure. There is a definite supernatural element. There is maybe some romance. There is absolutely lots of fantasy, some of which might be considered pretty "old-school" but it's set in modern day. There is a quest, and twists and turns and back alleys. There are lots of fight scenes, and some really funny parts, and some really emotional parts. What would you call it?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><u><strong>Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?</strong></u></em></span><br />
<em><u><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></u></em><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've actually thought a lot about this. Right from the beginning, I've thought of this story as something I very much want to see made into a movie some day. Every scene has been written with the thought on the forefront of my mind...How will this translate onto the big screen? Movies and books are tied as my true loves, so it would be weird for me NOT to dream about this. The main character is named Alexa, and I could totally see Chloe Grace Moretz playing her. She is pretty, and has that youthful innocence about her, but she also has a very dark, edgy, dangerous glint in her eye. I think she could bring Alexa to life wonderfully. I've also strongly considered Robert Ri'chard as Carson, one of the other very important characters, but I'm not sure if he has the acting depth to pull it off. (Robert, if you ever read this, please don't take offense...I know your career is just starting...) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are other VERY key characters, but I don't want to give too much away...I will say that filling the roles of Albin and Adrian would probably be the most challenging...there is a LOT going on with those two!</span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><u><strong>What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?</strong></u></em></span><br />
<strong><em><u><span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia;"></span></u></em></strong><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is the hardest question of all. I don't want to answer it. Mainly because I don't know how to answer it. Every author, at some point, is asked to give their book a "tagline."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">How do you condense 75,000 words into one sentence? (That is a rhetorical question....I know there are like 87 gajillion blogs, 14 books, and endless seminars about how to do just that.) Every time I've tried, the taglines sounds so frigging cheesy, even I wouldn't want to read my own book. I probably shouldn't admit to that, but it's true. I might have to make my friends who have read it help me come up with a line one of these days.</span><br />
<br />
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><u><strong>Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?</strong></u></em></span> <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My plan is </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">to seek representation from an agent and try the traditional route first. Not because I think it's better, but because I won't really have the time needed to commit to making Indie pubbing a reality for this story for at least 2 years while I'm in school. My tentative plan at this moment is if I don't get an agent within a specific time frame, I will begin pursuing less traditional options. But I will throw out there that one of the reasons I chose the area of study I did (Graphic Design and Media Arts) is so that I will have the technical know how to get VERY involved with Indie publishing in the future- cover design, blog/web site creation, etc. So who knows how it will all turn out? </span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><u><strong>How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?</strong></u></em></span><br />
<strong><em><u><span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia;"></span></u></em></strong><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You know, I didn't really keep track. I THINK I wrote the first sentence about 2 years ago. It has had major plot overhauls along the way, lots of time-outs, etc. But it's probably fair to say, yes, it took me 2 years to write this story. I don't plan on the next one taking that long!</span><br />
<em><u><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></u></em><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><u><strong>What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?</strong></u></em></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since I refuse to give it a specific genre, this question is hard ;) I will say my style and thought process is influenced by writers I've been reading since I was a child...some of these include traditional fantasy writers like Terry Brooks, or Robin McKinley, but there is a lot of influence by other sources like video games and movies, such as the Resident Evil empire, Sucker Punch, Underworld, etc. (There are no zombies, vampires, werewolves, or science lab creations in my story. But the overall "feel" of those creations was definitely a factor.) </span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><u><strong>Who or What inspired you to write this book?</strong></u></em></span><br />
<strong><em><u><span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia;"></span></u></em></strong><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Um....Ok, I'm going to answer this honestly, but pretty much everyone is going to scratch their heads and go...Huh? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Bible.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">No, I'm not joking. And nope, I'm not going to elaborate further...you'll have to read it and seeeeeeeeee........ :D</span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><u><strong>What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?</strong></u></em></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'll go ahead and copy and paste a sample or two for you from Book 1, Running On Faith, shall I? (Proviso...These are samples prior to editing. Have mercy!) There are some other earlier samples <a href="http://wishywash27.blogspot.com/2012/03/excerpt-from-wearers-of-aegis-wip-by-me.html">Here</a> and <a href="http://wishywash27.blogspot.com/2011/12/excerpt-from-sentinels-work-in-progress.html">Here.</a> You can see the title was different initially, and the excerpts needed a lot of clean up! </span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;">“Protector! Come down.” Kavi calls
up to me. I know he doesn't mean to, but his use of my title feels
mocking. I don't know what exactly he was trying to prove with this
test, but I've obviously failed miserably. I slowly get to my feet.
Albin is standing with arms folded, scowling, looking up at me.
Great. He's disappointed in me too. His scowl changes to a look of
surprise.</span></div>
<span style="color: #20124d;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 200%;">
<i><span style="color: #20124d;">No, not disappointed. Worried. You
can take these guys. Get Adrian out of your head and under your feet,
where he belongs.</span></i></div>
<span style="color: #20124d;">
</span><br />
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #20124d;">My lips turn up at
the corners at his words echoing through my mind, then I slam my
shield up. In my panic at being restrained, I'd let it slip. But I'm
less perturbed by Albin's intrusion than normal. It didn't even feel
like much of an intrusion, actually. It felt comfortable. Now I'm the one
scowling. There is nothing enjoyable about Albin being in my head.
What a stupid thought.</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">Hopping the fence is easy. The driveway is circular, with the
remains of an old hitching post on the far end, now fitted with a brass
commemorative plate. The house is only fifty years younger than I am.
I can imagine what it must have looked like in its heyday. It's
enormous, and glorious. There is a white pillared, circular patio
overlooking the sloping lawn that leads directly into a large pond,
located in what is now a public park. </span><br />
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #20124d;"></span> </div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #20124d;">A huge window of leaded glass
overlooks the patio. I can picture ladies in flowing dresses and
fancy hats stepping down from gilded carriages, accompanied by
handsome, mustachioed men of wealth and circumstance.
</span></div>
<span style="color: #20124d;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I
climb the patio steps and peep in through the window. It's old glass,
the kind</span><b> </b><span style="font-weight: normal;">that ripples
ever so slightly, distorting the view. Fine wallpaper hangs in shreds
from the high walls. A crystal chandelier a full five feet in length
hangs from the sculpted, decorated ceiling. When I close my eyes I can
see the ladies and their dresses twirling to and fro to the tune of a
waltz, played by the orchestra that would have been placed on the
raised dais at the far end of the room.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">
<span style="color: #20124d;">I'd never been to a
ball. I'd never worn one of those full skirted, swirling dresses with
the stiff petticoats and corseted tops. I'd never worn my hair up in
jeweled combs. There were lots of things I might do differently if
given the chance to do them over, but the fact is, I was always meant
to be a warrior, not a debutante.
</span></div>
<span style="color: #20124d;">
</span><br />
<div style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #20124d;">I step
away from the glass and leave the past trapped inside it.</span> </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span> </div>
<div style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So there you have it...some peeks into what I am currently working on! Now to tag some other unsuspecting victims I'd like to hear from...(no one will hide in your closet if you decide not to participate. Not anytime soon, anyways...mwah ha ha!)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></span> </div>
<div style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>London Cole <a href="http://www.londoncole.com/">London's Blog</a></strong></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Miranda Stork <a href="http://writermirandastork.wordpress.com/">Miranda's Blog</a></strong></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Rebecca Hamilton <a href="http://www.paranormalfantasybooks.com/">The Forever Girl</a></strong></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Xander Buchan <a href="http://facebook.com/DraculaRekindled">Dracula Returns</a></strong></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Elise Stephens <a href="http://www.facebook.com/AuthorEliseStephens">Moonlight and Oranges</a></strong></span></span></div>
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<br />Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-2113304345480938762012-08-27T11:05:00.000-04:002012-08-27T11:05:00.595-04:00Cover Reveal of Whisper's Edge, the Sequel to Whisper Walker!Several months ago, I was lucky enough to be able to read and review Whisper Walker, a dystopian paranormal fiction adventure by author London Cole. You can check out my thoughts and an interview with the author in a previous blog entry here :<br />
<br />
<a href="http://wishywash27.blogspot.com/2012/04/review-of-whisper-walker-book-one-of.html">Review of Whisper Walker</a><br />
<br />
<br />
I now am able to share with you not only the AMAZING newly designed cover for Whisper Walker, Second Edition, but the INSANELY HOT cover and story description for Whisper's Edge, the awesome sequel that will be available Fall 2012!<br />
<br />
<em><span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">So, firstly, the newly designed cover for Whisper Walker....</span></em><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQnvD3Bd2O97ue3ppOQGTZoUx93aoFoZsH7WOPJ8GhgEfpOCN9bDgr-l9GYFnlhn-dk17HyQBwdheUyUOftswN8LR8ljSRYsFjGVi1mrTmBkj09tBKeO7_CPM1TZl8Q1OTuWBKAuptnGMH/s1600/WhisperWalker2ndEdition.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQnvD3Bd2O97ue3ppOQGTZoUx93aoFoZsH7WOPJ8GhgEfpOCN9bDgr-l9GYFnlhn-dk17HyQBwdheUyUOftswN8LR8ljSRYsFjGVi1mrTmBkj09tBKeO7_CPM1TZl8Q1OTuWBKAuptnGMH/s320/WhisperWalker2ndEdition.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
<br />
Isn't it mysterious?! It makes me want to read it again!!<br />
<br />
<em><span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">And the UPCOMING Whisper's Edge....</span></em><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisGopCfdkWTKmR3YLgAM_r4-eXfXjwy-wZEvo1KGfNU3QR3DARAyaOZetmxiDSPcHF3trRU-GzFL_l8reW2damIX7-qXXiax4R1lwFVKYhyphenhyphend3wL01jIb50x6D-r3bo_CVZIZr04X2HRxxY/s1600/WE+Smaller+Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisGopCfdkWTKmR3YLgAM_r4-eXfXjwy-wZEvo1KGfNU3QR3DARAyaOZetmxiDSPcHF3trRU-GzFL_l8reW2damIX7-qXXiax4R1lwFVKYhyphenhyphend3wL01jIb50x6D-r3bo_CVZIZr04X2HRxxY/s320/WE+Smaller+Cover.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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It gives me chills! (No pun intended, seriously.) It's stunning! Look at those eyes...<br />
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<em><span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Want to know more about the book?</span></em><br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Drake and Kelsie quickly discover life
won't be quite the same after getting their new abilities, but they
hope everything will settle into a sort of normalcy. It doesn't take
long for them to realize it's not the kind of normal they were hoping
for.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
When Kelsie joins Drake for a routine
Hunt, they end up stumbling upon an underground bunker that hasn't
been opened in nearly a century. When they meet a far-too-friendly
ghost, it should be their first indicator to leave things alone and
get out of there. Never ones to resist the opportunity for excitement
or mystery, they end up in a situation that could cost them
dearly–threatening not only everything they've worked for, but
their very lives!</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
Drake's world is turned upside down. A
mysterious new girl seems intent on capturing his heart, but that's
not all she's after.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
Kelsie faces betrayal by the one she
holds most dear, only to meet someone new who could change her entire
existence; past, present, and future. If only she can stay alive long
enough to find out the truth..."</div>
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</div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Meet the author...</span></div>
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</div>
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Bio:
</div>
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</div>
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<br />
London Cole is a YA Paranormal author
living in East Texas, US. When he's not writing or outlining he can
be found doing laps in his pool, playing a rock concert, or any of a
variety of outdoor extreme sports.</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
London's debut WHISPER WALKER is a
Dystopian Paranormal based on the island he was raised on, Whidbey
Island. Only, it's the island eighty years after the Third World War,
and everything is a lot different...and a lot meaner.</div>
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</div>
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You can find London's blog and all release and ordering information here:</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://www.londoncole.com/">Author London Cole</a></div>
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<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">The followup to WHISPER WALKER is
WHISPER'S EDGE and will be available in early fall 2012.</span></div>
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Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-8017851553301514262012-08-15T09:48:00.000-04:002012-08-15T09:48:14.865-04:00The Dirty "C" Word
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I once read that physically,
chemically, emotionally, and mentally, more change occurs in humans
from age 8 to age 18 than any other aggregate time in their whole
life. Think about the significance of that for a moment. Over the
span of one decade, you will change more than the whole rest of your
75-90 years of life.
</div>
<br />
No wonder teenagers appear so unstable;
they literally are just that!<br />
<br />
The truth of the matter is, I FEEL
like more change has happened in the last 5 years of my life than any
of the other 27 years (I'm 32. Just so you know. Some of you will
think this makes me a baby, others will think this makes me an old
lady. It's cool either way).<br />
<br />
When I was 20 years old, I got my first
real job. I say “real” because it was a very grown-uppy job and
was something I thought I might do for a very long time, if not
forever. I was dating a man I thought I would spend my life with. I
had a PLAN, by golly! Years went by. I began to realize I was very
unhappy. Unhappy with the grown-uppy job. Unhappy with the guy. Don't
get me wrong, it was a fine job, and the guy was very nice,
but....they weren't what I wanted.<br />
<br />
Here is the problem. I didn't like
where I was, but the idea of changing where I was scared the (insert
bad word here) out of me more than being miserable did. So I stayed
in the job, and I stayed with the guy, and I got more and more
unhappy. Then my unhappy became something much scarier. It got
clinical. It had to be medicated, just so I could get up and go to
the job and deal with the guy.
<br />
<br />
Please don't misunderstand...the job
and the guy did NOT cause me to be unhappy, depressed, anxious, and
all the other scary stuff. The fact that I was living a life I was
not supposed to be living and settling for things that I didn't
really want DID. It dawned on me one day, as I took my medication- or
maybe it was as I laid down to sleep, or on my way to
work...irrelevant when it occurred, relevant that it did- the fact
that I needed to be medicated in order to survive the situation I was
in was probably a huge clue I needed to do something differently.<br />
<br />
And then I took a pill really darn
quickly, because the thought of making a CHANGE was scary as (insert
another bad word here) and gave me another panic attack.<br />
<br />
But one day, it just felt okay to make
a change. I felt strong enough. I ended my relationship, and though
there were tears, the bigger feeling was of relief. I didn't know how
I was going to pay the bills without our shared income, but I just
felt it would be okay, somehow. I didn't need the medication anymore
(which was ironic, now that my life was ACTUALLY getting stressful!).
My finances got worse, my job became rockier, and I was scared to
death, but there was a little voice in my head telling me to just
keep putting one foot in front of the other, because it would be
okay.
<br />
<br />
I filed bankruptcy. My position was cut
at my job, and therefore I was laid off. Filing for unemployment was
embarrassing. I decided to go back to school, because what else do
unemployed 30 year olds do? At the literal last second, school fell
through. I was back to looking for work, and took a job I really did
not want, and which I despised every second for the four months I was
there. I left that job with no other prospects lined up and no money
in the bank, because the job was going to kill me (quite possibly
literally- I fell asleep at the wheel on my way home for the first
time in my life, and there were patient brawls, of epic proportions
that included weapons, at least once a month for the four months I
was there).<br />
<br />
And yet, still...I had a feeling that
everything was going to be okay. I was wandering around blindfolded
and banging my shins on everything, but I just had to keep putting
one foot in front of the other...<br />
<br />
When I left that position, a side gig
very quickly bloomed into a full blown money maker. It was
miraculous. I was working 30 hours a week making more than I had been
making full time. It was fun, too. I met some amazing people, and
gained a ton of experience. I learned that I was really good at some
things I had always been scared by at my first job. I learned that
bankruptcy really doesn't ruin your life like they say it does (on
the contrary....) I bought a new car (nothing fancy, but it sure is
nice to have something reliable!). I started writing for the first
time in over 2 years.
<br />
<br />
This lasted for exactly one year.
Around the 9 month mark, I started realizing that I am not the type
of person who can write a book and work a day job, at least not then. I know many, many
of you reading this do, and I salute you with both hands, and both my
feet, AND give you hugs and cookies and a million pounds of coffee
beans- you are my heroes!
<br />
<br />
At the one year mark, the work dried
up, and it did so in a way that left me eligible for unemployment
once again. Now, I'm sure a lot of you are going to think less of me
when I tell you this, but I don't care...I jumped on the UI wagon
with glee in my heart and a song on my lips, because NOW was the
right time to write a book, and go back to school, and I was not
going to let the opportunity pass me by again.
<br />
<br />
As I write this post, I have
approximately 10K left to write on my first novel. School is starting
in a few weeks. I've been making a lot of physical and emotional
changes, some on purpose, some not so much. I don't know what else is
coming around the corner. Every night a million and seven things race
through my head as I place it upon my pillow. Every morning I wake up
and am reminded of how scared of all this stuff I really am. What is
going to happen next in my life? Where am I going to be in one week?
A month? A year?<br />
<br />
Earlier this evening, something
reminded me to think back to how scared I was 5 years ago to let go
of a job and relationship I thought brought me security. I think
about ALL the things that scared me then, and how much change has
happened in such a relatively short time. I think about how glad I am
I lost ALL those things I thought I needed. It makes me smile, and
hug myself a little.
<br />
<br />
We are always changing. It's necessary,
and healthy not to stagnate. Sometimes change happens slow, and
sometimes change happens fast, but even when change is good, it can
be super scary. Sometimes we choose to change, and sometimes we are
dragged through it, kicking and screaming and crying, with great gobs
of snot hanging from our quivering upper lip.
<br />
<br />
I had to write this post to remind
myself...5 years from NOW, I'll still be changing, and Future Me will
maybe read this post, and smile, and give Now Me a hug, because
she'll know that everything really does turn out okay, if I just keep
putting one foot in front of the other...<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
"Man cannot
discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the
shore." -- André Gide</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-41469105959070504602012-08-03T12:42:00.001-04:002012-08-03T12:42:34.371-04:00Please...Have A Seat While I Take A StandI've decided to make my opinion known
on yet another touchy subject. Mostly, this is because for the past
week, a lot of people I care about have been getting up in arms about
their beliefs, to the point where other people I care about are
dangerously close to being treated very wrongly. Aren't you excited?
Here we go...
<br />
<br />
I don't know if homosexuality is right
or wrong (because at the root of the Same Sex Marriage debate, is
your belief on this issue, make no mistake.) I also don't care much
whether it is or it isn't. Why? Because here are a few things I DO
know. I'm not God. Neither are you. I believe He is the one who will
judge every individual, which means neither me nor you get to do so
in the meantime. I sin. So do you. I've been charged to love my
neighbor, and have compassion for my fellow man. So have you. This
directive was not quantified as “Only love those whose behavior you
like, or those who believe or do things you do, or people who look
like you, dress like you, love like you, listen to the same music you
do, worship at the same church or eat at the same restaurants you
do.”<br />
<br />
<br />
I feel there are an awful lot of people
who call themselves Christians who have become Bullies and use God to
tear down everyone or anything that doesn't mesh with their personal
beliefs. I grew up in a religion that told me I would go to Hell if I
cut my hair or wore pants. This was a lie. How do I know what other
lies have been taught? I feel there are a lot of non-Christians who
take every opportunity to attack everyone and anything associated
with God because they are determined to prove something, or have been
abused by individuals claiming to be doing the work of God. Both
sides are guilty of hate-mongering and prejudice and I am CERTAIN
both sides behave this way out of Fear.<br />
<br />
<br />
None of this makes me “Holier Than
Thou.” It just means I refuse to participate in the emotional,
verbal, or physical abuse of another human being. I don't care who
you are...if I see someone abusing you, I will stand at your side and
defend you. If I see you hurting, I will try to comfort and support
you. If you invite me to your wedding and you are marrying your same
sex partner, I will attend and feel joy for you (also, probably get
teary-eyed and overly emotional). If you are the one perpetrating an
abuse, I will stop you in so far as it is within my means to do so.
<br />
<br />
<br />
It's really not an issue of sexuality,
or religion, it's an matter of decency. This is what being Human
means to me. Perhaps it means something different to you. That's
fine, because you don't answer to me, and it works both ways.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-5429498792855678432012-06-29T20:51:00.000-04:002012-06-29T20:51:20.795-04:00The Art of WaitingDifferent people wait on things in different ways. Some do it by pacing and panting and nibbling their cuticles. They are the ones you sometimes would like to tell to sit down and be still, because they are making you anxious. Some rant, and rave, and demand an answer immediately, because don't you know who they are? These are the people you sometimes wish you could slap. Then there are those who do it patiently and with grace. They sit quietly, and smile, perhaps with their hands folded neatly on their lap. They seem willing to wait forever, if necessary, with good humor and even better posture. They don't fidget, or tap, or even seem to notice they have been waiting for twice as long as you have. <br />
<br />
These are the people you may also want to slap, if you fall into categories One or Two. I have been known to do all three, although usually Option Three is when I'm surrounded by Ones and Twos and wish to annoy them. I don't know what that says about me. <br />
<br />
There is an art to waiting, you see. Waiting gracefully requires a certain amount of faith. Faith that regardless of the outcome, an end will arrive, and you will receive what you need.<br />
<br />
Right now, there are two things in my life I am waiting on. The first is possibly the biggest and most important thing of my life, but that's not the one I'm going to tell you about. I know, I'm sorry. I wouldn't be a very good writer if I didn't leave you hanging every once in a while, right? But what you do need to know is that at the moment, behaving with the decorum of Option Three is very, very, VERY challenging for me. I am the person who Makes Things Happen. I Get Things Done. I Problem Solve. I attack a challenge from all sides and make a conclusion occur. But these two current things...my hands are tied. Both of them are completely out of my control.<br />
<br />
The thing I am going to tell you about is the short story I submitted to an anthology contest. Actually, I'm not going to tell you about the story itself so much as I'm going to use it as an analogy. The deadline for the short story is June 30th. (Tomorrow, as I write this post.) I turned my entry in a few days ago. I felt relief as I pressed the "submit" button, but also, a fair amount of anxiety. I worked hard on the story. In fact, it was not the story I originally intended to submit at all. I had a large chunk of a different story already prepared, and was planning on expanding it and entering that one. A month into it, I realized it just wasn't good enough. It was really good at 2K, but making it into an 8K short was not what it was meant to do. I flailed and flopped around for a while, trying to figure out how to make it work, but couldn't seem to make it happen. One day, I was talking to a friend and describing a weird idea I've always had, how if I could do any science-fictiony or fantasy super skill, it would be to do..."X". (Never mind what X is, it's beside the point!) <br />
<br />
And voila...the idea for a new short story unfolded like...well, a little like magic.<br />
<br />
Fast forward a month, and I am hitting the submit button. <br />
<br />
Then begins the WAITING. The judges will read it. They do not know me. They have never met me. They won't overlook weird writing quirks or a sloppy style because they think I'm cute or funny. There will be no chance to meet with the judges face to face to explain, or justify, or smile winningly. My story will be judged on the inherent quality of the writing and the idea. Also, perhaps, whether it will be a stand out piece that can play nicely with the existing selections in the anthology.<br />
<br />
There will be no second chances. If my story is crap, the judges will not contact me and say, "Well, Rebecca, we like YOU, so maybe give this another go? We really want to use something you've written..."<br />
<br />
Submitting a story is often like life. Sometimes we are judged solely on unknown qualities and merit. Sometimes we don't have the option of meeting someone face to face and convincing them of our value. Sometimes we don't get to do the one thing we are sure would provide a solution to a question. We may, in fact, not even know what question needs to be asked! We simply hope we are the answer. Sometimes it doesn't matter how many times we write, and re-write, and make our work as perfect as possible, because our story is just not the one they are looking for. <br />
<br />
Sometimes, we have to wait, and have faith that everything will turn out exactly as it's supposed to. Sometimes, and more often than not, we don't even know the time frame in which we will be waiting. Several people have asked when will I know if my story has been selected or not? I don't. No announcement or deadline has been made, as of yet, when winners will be notified. It's been suggested to me that if my short doesn't get chosen for the anthology, I should expand it and submit it to a few different places as a novella. I actually like that idea, too. But...<br />
<br />
I want to win. I like winning. Who doesn't? However, there are always those times when....well, when one door closes, another opens. Or a window, or a dumbwaiter appears. The point is, sometimes waiting means that something really, really amazing is percolating. When the amazing thing is ready, or maybe when YOU are ready, the waiting will be over. <br />
<br />
And no...I don't know when that will be. Have a seat and practice your smile. I'll be over here trying to do the same!<br />
<br />
<br />Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-45527511815109826242012-05-15T22:27:00.000-04:002012-05-15T22:27:28.840-04:00The Big Stuck<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The day I moved into my apartment
happened to be during a particularly rainy spring season. Unless you
live somewhere that rain does something different than it does where
I live, we all know what happens to the ground when it rains for
several weeks.
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I was staying at my mother's house
until my apartment was ready, and sure enough, moving day greeted us
with a steady drizzle. My mother has a long driveway, curvy and
hilly, and mostly gravel. Or what is normally gravel, anyways. Moving
Day arrived and the rain had turned the gravel into a mushy layer
easily lost in about 4 feet of mud. My friends arrived with their
van, and managed to get the van up the driveway to the door, no
problem. We were golden. Ignoring the drizzle the best we could, we
hauled all of my stuff into the van, loaded it to the brim in under 4
hours, and got ready to get underway.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My friend started the van, put it into
drive, pressed down the accelorator, and....we lurched forward, then
stopped.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yes. As much as we all should have seen
the inevitable happening at some point, given the situation, we
somehow thought we could escape the Big Stuck. We didn't. I don't
know how much a 14 passenger van filled with the belongings of a
single gal, actual single gal, and 3 strapping lads weighs...but it
was too much for the driveway to handle.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I won't bore you with the gory details,
but we did manage to eventually get the van unstuck. It was filthy.
It was maddening. There was an awful lot of swearing, tire kicking,
and yelling...and I was barely even helping the poor lads! But, yes,
the van got unstuck and my life was moved into my new apartment. We
all lived happily ever after.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Except, now I'm writing a book, and
I've encountered another...Big Stuck. A Really, Really, Big Stuck.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm 54k into the first book of what has
always been, in my mind, a trilogy. Only...I'm stuck. I know what is
supposed to happen for much of Book 2 and Book 3. But I'm not sure I
can write 3 books with approximately 80k+ each. I'm not sure I have
that much Story. I refuse to be one of those writers who just goes on
and on and on with filler scenes to get a specific word count.
I've read those books. We've all read those books. Those are the
books that make you go, “Oh my God, just....DIE already, or
something! Sheesh!”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
SO what do I do? Do I keep waiting for
new inspiration? I've gone a week without writing a single thing in
my WIP. I've been working on other things, but it's not helping. I
have deadlines. Granted, they are self-imposed, but very important
for a number of reasons. I've also always wanted to go the route of
traditional publishing, I mean, up until a short time ago, there
really wasn't other options anyways, but now there is. There are lots
of other options...and I keep getting these options presented to me
in a way that is starting to sound very tempting. For those of you
who may not know what I'm talking about, I'm talking about
self-publishing, hybrid publishers, epublishers, etc. The interesting
thing about all of these is the death of the stringent guidelines
concerning the all-mighty Word Count.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I get an idea in my head, I tend
to grip it with pit bull tenacity and MAKE it happen. Can't be done,
you say? Watch me...This is both one of my finest and one of my worst
traits. Worst, in the sense that sometimes I really should let go.
Some ideas are meant to morph into new ones, not be clung to in a
maddeningly obtuse fashion. Am I harming my story because I so badly
want to see it take place in three books, laid out in shiny
hardcovers at my local Barnes and Noble? Maybe it's not supposed to
happen that way. How do I tell the difference between “Giving Up A
Dream” and “Achieving Something Equally As Good (If Not Better)”?
Is all this talk directed at me about my publishing options a sign or
just coincidence? Because right now, I'm really not sure...Maybe this
story is meant to only be a book and its sequel. Or maybe, it's meant
to be three novella length stories with an epublisher.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6IOFzz8Osb8x0UChsw9P_I9kPotn-QRtw8Geb8OO1J_MMNAZc2zLgKUhdcwpYiwxO6E_RRrm6Ce2670W0IGBkYTo3ZotZuUzZW1RaBIofVq7wR_NiKM9ceMxEg7ggBozRDPh-Rn5UlNX1/s1600/confusionsignpost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6IOFzz8Osb8x0UChsw9P_I9kPotn-QRtw8Geb8OO1J_MMNAZc2zLgKUhdcwpYiwxO6E_RRrm6Ce2670W0IGBkYTo3ZotZuUzZW1RaBIofVq7wR_NiKM9ceMxEg7ggBozRDPh-Rn5UlNX1/s1600/confusionsignpost.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The fact of the matter is if I decide
to do this story in 2 parts, instead of 3, I could sit down at my
computer (which feels like it's overheating by the way....crap....)
and pound out about 5k right now, no problemo. And tomorrow, the
same thing. But instead....I'm Stuck...because I keep clinging to the
idea of writing a 80-100k'er...so do I stick to the original plan or come up with a new one? Am I wimping out by not sticking it out with a trilogy? What good is a "meh" trilogy if a sequel is "Woo Hoo!!" Quitter? Winner? Gahhhh...What would you do?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1qJWknLpyvP9UgfK6S4FRwVF-JYwwrZzhPXNnujyV4Cr5HHujBJZtALhNrPzNY5Y0fSd9VlGJLgvPpj5AKflfTMQDUS5SkQrKhGhyfMVfxOG_BtgQogX-dZdd3Y1M6iRz-yUt8Dyzpxct/s1600/FrustratedChild.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1qJWknLpyvP9UgfK6S4FRwVF-JYwwrZzhPXNnujyV4Cr5HHujBJZtALhNrPzNY5Y0fSd9VlGJLgvPpj5AKflfTMQDUS5SkQrKhGhyfMVfxOG_BtgQogX-dZdd3Y1M6iRz-yUt8Dyzpxct/s1600/FrustratedChild.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
(Kind of what I'm doing right now!)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<br /></div>Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-45159565857626421042012-04-29T22:25:00.000-04:002012-04-29T22:25:15.277-04:00"Memoirs Aren't Fairytales: A Story of Addiction", and Guest Author Marni Mann Interview<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>A couple weeks ago, I came upon a book on amazon that caught my eye. The cover is lovely, and the reviews were glowing, but that wasn't what peaked my interest. </strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>My career thus far has been as an Addictions Therapist. I've worked with children as young as 14, adults as old as 79, and every age or socio-economic status in between. One thing that remains a constant is the manner in which addiction can bring a person to the very depths of a living hell. Many don't make it through alive.</strong></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV2CazLAet-YgnpqDdR5djbhyphenhyphenLrTPWPMAmzxgwZumetRf6h998CaFx_4NoTcOFcMj6d3nGw2XvDGdO_TI3B9jlOuQpVFuBNwaM4A7CIOCnHGinm8-OlQtwX-A8tGl-IdB6qbXJs0eJ_sWx/s1600/Memoirs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV2CazLAet-YgnpqDdR5djbhyphenhyphenLrTPWPMAmzxgwZumetRf6h998CaFx_4NoTcOFcMj6d3nGw2XvDGdO_TI3B9jlOuQpVFuBNwaM4A7CIOCnHGinm8-OlQtwX-A8tGl-IdB6qbXJs0eJ_sWx/s1600/Memoirs.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<em>“I could feel my chin falling towards my chest, my back hunching forward. My body was acting on its own, and my mind was empty, like all my memories had been erased. There was scenery behind my lids. Aqua colored water and powdery sand that extended for miles. I was never going back to coke. I wanted more heroin. And I wanted it now.”</em><br />
<em>Leaving behind a nightmarish college experience, nineteen-year-old Nicole and her best friend Eric escape their home of Bangor, Maine to start a new life in Boston. Fragile and scared, Nicole desperately seeks a new beginning to help erase her past. But there is something besides freedom waiting for her in the shadows–a drug that will make every day a nightmare.</em><br />
<em>Heroin.</em><br />
<em>With one taste, the love that once flowed through Nicole’s veins turns into cravings. Tracks mark the passing of time, and heroin’s grip gets tighter. It holds her hand through deaths and prostitution, but her addiction keeps her in the darkness. When her family tries to strike a match to help light her way, Nicole must choose between a life she can hardly remember, or a love for heroin she’ll never forget.</em><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I decided that I had to read this book, not only because the subject matter was of personal interest to me, but because I wanted to see if the author knew what she was talking about...</span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I started reading. I kept reading. I got sucked in, and couldn't put it down. The whole time I was reading, one part of my brain was engaged in how gruesomely entertaining Nicole's story was, and the other was how gruesomely accurate the depiction of addiction was. My first thought after finishing the very last sentence was, "Wow."</span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My second thought was that every single Addictions Therapist or Counselor who has not experienced an addiction of their own should be mandated to read Nicole's story. Here's the catch. This is a work of fiction, technically. "Nicole" doesn't exist. But the reality is that there are thousands and thousands of men and women like Nicole. </span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I engaged the author, Marni Mann, in a discussion, because I was fascinated by how she managed to write such a "true story". I asked if she would be willing to do an interview for this blog, and she very graciously agreed to discuss the creation of "Memoirs Aren't Fairytales: A Story of Addiction."</span></strong><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Me</strong>: What made you want to write about heroin addiction?</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Marni Mann</strong>: I have several addicts in my life. I‘ve lost track of how many times I’ve been affected by their disease, and my pain turned into a novel. I chose heroin because it was a drug I didn’t know much about. I wanted this novel to be a challenge, meaning the descriptions of being high would require a lot of research. I chose a first person narrative for the same reason. It not only allowed the readers to get close to the main character, but it required me to become that character, feel her pain, exhale her breath, carry the weight of her past and future.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Me:</strong> Tell us about the research you conducted in order to write with such<br />accuracy and really explore the nitty, gritty details of where this lifestyle<br />brings people?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Marni Mann</strong>: I read books, watched documentaries, and spoke to professionals. Those really helped when writing the technical aspects of the novel. The personal touches came from listening to real voices of addiction. I met with addicts and recovering addicts, paying close attention to the lingo they used and the descriptions of being high after they shot up heroin. I wasn’t just surprised by their candor, but how they welcomed me into their world and trusted me with their stories.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Me:</strong> Was it emotionally challenging to write Nicole's story?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Marni Mann:</strong> Nicole kept me awake at night. Her story would swirl around my head like a talking bubble and her pain would tear through me. Like I said before, in order for me to write this story I had to become her; her addiction sat in my stomach, her experiences caused knots in my throat, her tears filled my eyes. Nicole’s baggage wasn’t the size of my purse. I carried an 18-wheeler on my shoulders for two and a half years because that’s how long it took me to write and edit this novel.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Me:</strong> Why do you think drug use is often glamorized in the media?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Marni Mann</strong>: Most of us live boring lives. We stay home on Saturday nights because we’re too tired to change out of our sweatpants. Our 9-5 jobs suck the life out of us, we care for our kids, animals, family, responsibilities, and it’s a lot to handle. We want excitement. We want what we can’t have. Celebrities provide that escape; they have fame and fortune and most of us will never experience that. In my opinion, the media is giving us exactly what we’re asking for. We want the thrill, a taste of something we’ll never have, and drinking and drug use is a part of that. With shows like Intervention, Celebrity Rehab, and Sober House, I hope people realize it’s not all private jets and trips to the Playboy mansion. It’s darkness, isolation, poverty, and death. We thought Amy Winehouse, Whitney Houston, and Michael Jackson had it all, didn’t we?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Me</strong>: Most stories about addiction mention self-help groups (such as AA/NA). Was there a reason why you chose not to include these resources as part of Nicole's journey?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Marni Mann</strong>: This is a hard question to answer because I don’t want to give away too much information. Memoirs Aren’t Fairytales is a story about addiction. Scars from a Memoir, the sequel, addresses <span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">t</span>he different aspects of recovery, including NA and rehab.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Me</strong>: What would be some advice you might give to someone who themself is struggling with an addiction, or who loves someone who is active in an addiction?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong>Marni Mann</strong>: To the friends and family of an addict: Remember, an addict has to want sobriety as much as you want it for them. I encourage you to attend Al-Anon or Nar-Anon meetings. You need support </span><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">because you can’t do this alone. Both groups are extremely beneficial; they teach you how to stop enabling the addict, the effective ways to stage an intervention, and they’re the ears you need during this difficult time.</span><br />
<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">To anyone struggling with an addiction: You can do this. There’s a will inside you that’s stronger than your addiction. That will is to get clean. To live. To wake up each morning and the first voice you hear isn’t your addiction. It’s from the people who love and support you, and who are proud of your success and accomplishments. Find that will. Utilize the resources that are available such as 12-Step meetings, counseling, or rehab.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some people will avoid this book because it will make them uncomfortable. That's ok. But if you want to know what addiction really is like, if you want to understand how someone smart, talented, and seeming to have it all ends up living on the streets, then you must read it. If you want to hear the story of thousands of young people in the U.S., read this book. If you want to know the faces of the hundreds of people I have worked with over the past 11+ years, read this book. If you know and love someone who has an addiction, read this book. Marni Mann has created a masterpiece, and I dedicate this blog to everyone whose life has ever been touched by addiction in some way.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I'm grateful to her for her participation and for the lives that will be touched by her work!</span></strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">Marni Mann</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>If you are interested in purchasing this book, you can find it at the following links:</strong></span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;">Kindle: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Memoirs-Arent-Fairytales-Addiction-ebook/dp/B006OO7L58/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1335752159&sr=8-1">http://www.amazon.com/Memoirs-Arent-Fairytales-Addiction-ebook/dp/B006OO7L58/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1335752159&sr=8-1</a></span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;">Paperback: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Memoirs-Arent-Fairytales-Story-Addiction/dp/1935961292/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1335752159&sr=8-1">http://www.amazon.com/Memoirs-Arent-Fairytales-Story-Addiction/dp/1935961292/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1335752159&sr=8-1</a></span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;">Nook/Paperback: <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/memoirs-arent-fairytales-marni-mann/1108043373?ean=9781935961291">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/memoirs-arent-fairytales-marni-mann/1108043373?ean=9781935961291</a></span></strong><br />
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<br />Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-59210156463379705612012-04-23T20:34:00.000-04:002012-04-23T20:34:29.879-04:00Beauty, and Where (Or How) We Behold It<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As some of you know, but most of you don't, I like to run in the cemetery near my house. Several times a week I take my dog, Herschel, and he races around like a lunatic while I huff and puff and dream of fitting into the pants I wore my senior year of high school. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I recently told a friend where I like to do my jogging, and the response was, "That's kind of creepy!" It was said in jest, and in context, it was a compliment, but it got me thinking about my choice to do cardio in such a location. Are cemeteries "creepy?"</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Dying is creepy. Dying can be terrifying, and often painful, and the majority of people experiencing it wish they had more time. More time to Live, that is. The death of a loved one can also be terrifying and painful for those left behind. Do cemeteries only represent Death? We are buried in them. A stone or tablet is erected to commemorate our passing. Flowers and memorabilia are placed as signs that the ones who are buried have not been forgotten. But can cemeteries also represent Life?</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Today, I was in a particular kind of mood. You know, the one where you move slowly, and take the time to really see the world around you. The kind of mood that makes you contemplate the deeper meanings of ordinary "things", not in a sad or heavy-hearted way, but in an acknowledging manner that indicates you have recognized things are not always what they seem at first glance.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The particular cemetery where I go is beautiful. It's quiet. It's very large, and I've never walked (much less <em>jogged!</em>) the entire grid in one session. There are hardly ever any visitors, but when there are, I go in the opposite direction so that we may each have the privacy and contemplation we have come for. Today, I brought my camera with me to the cemetery. I decided to share with you some of the reasons why I choose a place of death to be the place I celebrate my life.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em> There is something magical about a time-worn path, the broken stones bordered with moss, and not knowing where it may lead. This is a path of mysterious journeys and gallant quests undertaken by otherwordly creatures, heros, and fair maidens. Where would YOU end up if you were to place one foot in front of the other, slowly, so slowly moving forward...</em></span></div>
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<strong>A few months ago, two young teens were playing in the cemetery at the same time I was jogging through. A boy and a girl, whose flirtatious exchanges could be heard echoing through the stones. They were old enough to feel the thrill of attraction for someone who makes your spine tingle, while young enough to still play like innocent children. They managed to climb inside these two trees and mostly conceal themselves amongst the branches. As I started approaching the trees, they became very silent. I knew they thought they were invisible, and being me, I decided to foil whatever plot they were drumming up. I called out, "I know you're in there!" At first, silence, then giggles erupted. The girl called back, "How did you know?" I laughed, thinking of a toddler who plays peek-a-boo with her blankie, and thinks that because she can't see anyone, no one can see her, either. I called to the teens, "Because I can see your sweatshirt!" One of them was wearing a bright red hooded sweatshirt that stuck out like a cardinal on a snow covered deck. They giggled some more, and I giggled too, and we shared a childish moment that the planter of the trees probably never envisioned.</strong><br />
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<em><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When I was little, I liked to pretend that moss patches were actually tiny forests, inhabited by miniscule Fae. I imagined whole lives for these creatures, and would softly stroke the moss tops, wondering what the Faeries would think of my gigantic shadow passing so near their homes. Personally, I prefer very green moss, but perhaps this particular Fae Forest is experiencing fall foliage...</span></em><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><strong>It may not be true for many cemeteries, but this particular one has the most stunning wildflowers that grow all over the grounds. Last summer, I photographed over a dozen varieties, and there were at least half that many I didn't!</strong></span> </div>
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<em>On the southeast corner of the cemetery, the ground drops off steeply, and a small stream meanders its way through turns and curves. It forms a small swamp, and there is a flock of geese that have made it, and the rest of the lowlands, their home. They frequently scold me, and the dog, as we invade their kingdom on our way through to higher ground. The rains have been heavy for the past 48 hours, and the stream has swollen to triple its normal size, as has the swamp.</em> </div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><strong><em>Am I imagining the beauty of this place? Am I neglecting to see death all around me? Or have I discovered something different...</em></strong></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwgs3J-ocBNpUN0H0h85yfFEV3c4QSBO8ThB3JR3nV7pmT6suhPgDixL-ifUZ8VGfCEFJ4aLjOEnOuWK17CTQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><strong>~The above is a video of Herschel playing games :)~</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>It is not my intent that you should run to your nearest cemetery and frolic about madcap, although you might find yourself having much more fun that you expected should you decide to do so. What IS my intent is that you allow yourself to experience your surroundings in a way that is beautiful and meaningful to you. Don't allow stereotypes and preconceived notions of beauty prevent you from finding the places that bring you peace, and joy, and the feeling that you are celebrating your life. Keep your eyes open, and you will find your own "Cemetery."</em></span></div>
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<br />Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3026637618580113917.post-43175286422725340072012-04-16T20:01:00.000-04:002012-04-16T20:01:50.058-04:00Review of "Whisper Walker", Book One of the Whisper Walker Series<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">By now, you should all know that I love the YA genre. Long before I started my own work, I read YA books voraciously, and that hasn't changed a bit (Even though I can no longer even remotely be considered a YA myself!) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Recently, I was allowed to read a very exciting book before it even hit the "shelves," a term we must now apply metaphorically to all discussion of published works. Up and coming author London Cole has created the start of a series of dystopian adventure novels that I think you, your teenagers, and their friends should read. The synopsis of Book One has been provided here:</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><em>After turning seventeen, orphan Drake Adair discovers he can see ghosts when he falls into a pit of human remains while running for his life. What he doesn't realize is that he's stumbled onto his destiny.</em> </span> </span><span style="color: #351c75;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Kelsie Blake, Drake's roommate and closest friend since she fled her filicidal father, has secrets. Secrets she keeps even from Drake. Sneaking outside the Gates into the wild, she risks everything for a little excitement. Her lies now threaten everything she cares about most in her life.</span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Drake unearths a plot by an enemy Guild to tear apart life as he knows it. The very people closest to him may be pawns in the grisly scheme, leaving Kelsie and Drake with no one to turn to as they struggle to find answers before it's too late.</span></em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> <br />
<em>Set eighty years after World War III, Kelsie and Drake pair up to protect the only life they know in a harsh and unforgiving world. They must each come to grips with his abilities, her secrets, and their mixed feelings for each other. Will they make it? Or will the very foundations of their lives be ripped from beneath them.</em></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;"><o:p><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So now that you are thinking, "Hmm. Maybe I should check this out..." Allow me to further sway you. I have a mini-interview with the author himself!</span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;"><o:p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: #4c1130;">Me:</span> What is your favorite part of Whisper Walker?</strong></span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana;"><o:p><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: #4c1130;">London Cole:</span> Hmm. Favorite part, ehh? I would have to say the first fight scene Kelsie is in. Though {the scene} when the ghost Samantha showed up was fun to write.</strong></span></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><br />
<strong><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #4c1130;">Me:</span> If you could hang out with Drake and Kelsie for 24 hours, what would you most want to do with them?</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #4c1130;">London Cole:</span> Gah, this is a toughie. I personally would rather hang out with Kelsie. I kinda think Drake is a stuck up goody-two-shoes. But, if I had to hang out with both of them, I'd take them paint-balling. That would be pretty awesome as I got my ass handed to me by Kelsie and Drake. Of course, I might be able to convince Kelsie to join me and go double against Drake.</span></strong><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: #4c1130;">Me:</span> Is there a "teaser" you'd like to share with us for Book 2 of the series?</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="color: #4c1130;">London Cole:</span> I just decided that I might start the book from an earlier point than I have it already. I can also say that I introduce two new and important characters, as well as new paranormal creatures. It's going to be a hell of a ride and will probably end up being longer than WHISPER WALKER.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia;">My review of the book, overall, is as follows~</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>In a post-apocalyptic world, Kelsie and Drake are forced to unite at a very young age and depend on each other for survival. As the years pass, they are presented with an ever growing list of challenges. This story is so much more than a fantasy adventure, as it explores what it means to discover first love, and confront the terrifying history of your own family.<br />
</em></span> <span style="color: #4c1130;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The story gathers speed as it goes along, and I found my finger clicking the "next page" button of its own volition. There is something for everyone- good action scenes, a blossoming romance, secrets and lies, a mystery to be solved, and the very real possibility of death at the hands of an evil plotter!</span></em></span></span></div><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>I enjoyed the point of view delineation of each chapter as the author skillfully gives us insight into both Drake and Kelsie.</em></span></span></span><br />
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<em> This is a fantastic adventure suitable for teens and the young at heart. I am looking forward to seeing what debut author London Cole has in store for us next!</em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">Many thanks to London for sharing his book with me and the rest of the world, and taking the time to give us his thoughts on his creation! You can visit his website here:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><a href="http://www.londoncole.com/">http://www.londoncole.com/</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-size: small;">The links to purchase Whisper Walker at amazon.com or barnesandnoble.com can also be found on his website.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span>Girl From Nowherehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13958845293470755901noreply@blogger.com2