Weekend Roundup

I spent too long trying to
figure out if the two pics were
the same girl.

I was pleasantly surprised by Rachel Hawkins's Hex Hall.  I'm not an enormous paranormal fan, so I was expecting to find it acceptable, but not much more.  Instead, the voice made me drool with envy.  And the plot, while somewhat predictable, threw me a few twists that made me appreciate Hawkins's skill.  All in all, a big thumbs up and I'm looking forward to Demonglass.

My pathetic blogging efforts continue to be sporadic.  I have a great plan for a blog, but I can't find the video I need on-line, so it's not coming quickly.  Grr.

Bender.  HA!

Yesterday's "Futurama" marathon made me so freakin' happy it was a little pathetic.  Personally, I think it's the funniest cartoon on television--and yes, that includes "The Simpsons," "Family Guy," and "South Park."


My work on Chronic (still hate that title) is starting to pick up a bit.  Working on Chapter 8 right now, of an anticipated 24, so a third of the way done, I guess!  How crazy is that?  It does, however, mean I am just about to enter the dreaded Middle of the Book (cue suspenseful chord progression--duh-duh, DUHN!) so prepare for me to hate everything about it and think I'm a big fat hack.


On the query front, things are quiet.  Unfortunately, no news is not usually good news in the agenting world.  Especially when some of the agents in question are "No response means 'No'" people.  Right now, I've only got one lonely partial out in the world, but you just never know which one is going to be The One, right?  Right?  Hello?  Is this thing on?

J.A. Souders - who will probably want to
kill me for putting her picture here

My friend J.A. Souders is having a big ol' contest over at her blog.  She's giving away all kinds of goodies, from books to manuscript critiques and all you have to do is follow her blog.  Easy, peasy!  So go do it.  


So, how was your weekend?


- Liz

Why I Write What I Write

I've said in this forum and others that I wish I could write something "more meaningful" than light romance. This is a position I've slowly eased away from over the last two years as I realize that every writer has their niche and forcing anything else will land you with nothing more than forced prose. Yuck.

So, then I had to wonder--WHY do I write light romance? Considering that I've never dated, it's kind of an odd genre choice for me. Maybe I'm trying to fill some psychological desires, who knows? Then, the other night, my husband and I had an interchange in the kitchen that made me realize where my inspirations come from.

The scene: I'm in the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher, when my husband wanders in for a glass of water.

He presses his glass against the dispenser in the refrigerator door and gets the usual cacophony of the ice machine. Nothing falls in the glass.

"Huh, that's weird," he says.

Comprehension dawns, and I stifle a laugh. "I may have put another Popsicle in the ice chute."

(The important fact here is that I put a Popsicle in the ice chute the day before, which resulted in his receiving the plastic tube of partially eaten red juice along with a handful of ice cubes in his glass--an incident which confused him a great deal until I explained.)

His expression goes from confusion to annoyance in the span of a second. "Why did you--?"

I cut him off, "I won't do it anymore!"

He makes a huffing sound that would make a thirteen year old girl proud.

"Would it help if I flashed you?" I offer.

"It wouldn't hurt," he says, but he's not looking at me, because he thinks I'm lying.

So I flash him.

He catches the movement out of the corner of his eye and snaps his head around, grinning.

Then he opens the freezer door. The Popsicle has formed a dam (pretty damn impressive consider it's about a half inch thick) and all the undispensed ice is backed up behind it. Ice explodes out from the tray, rattling across the floor, and cracking him on the knuckle of one bare toe.

This time, I get the full stank eye.

"I said I won't do it again!" I protest.

Another Junior High huff. "I just hope it isn't broken."

"I highly doubt one Popsicle could break the whole ice machine."

But when he's got all the ice scooped out of the chute and the door closed again, the dispenser only churns, but doesn't drop a single cube in his glass. He glares at me.

So, I have to throw a Hail Mary. "Wanna see my boobs again?"

* * *

Romantic? Not really, but I can certainly imagine myself writing a similar scene in one of my books. So, I guess I'm writing what I know. With a heavy coating of imagining to fill out the rest.

I'm going to get the stank eye for writing this in my blog, I'm pretty sure. Luckily, boobs never seem to lose their charm.

Does your art imitate your life?

- Liz

You Should See My...

I think most writers have a tendency to self-efface. Maybe I'm a masochist, but I find it easier to receive constructive criticism than praise. Even to the extent that I don't believe people who only offer praise. ("Oh, she'll read anything," "They're just saying that so I'll read they're stuff.")

In my family, the tendency is practically a personality trait. Talent seems to flow like a river through my gene pool, and although none of us believe we ourselves are talented, we are more than willing to tell you about other people in the family.

So, today, that's what I'm going to do. (This sort of counts as More About Me Monday, right?) Okay, then.

I have at least three aunts or uncles, and one cousin who have supported themselves as freelance artists. The rest of them (and there are eight, including my mom) can only draw well enough to get scholarships to art programs, reproduce famous art flawlessly, or give you a Bart Simpson tattoo if the need arises. As any of them, and they'll say, "Yeah, but you should see my _________." Fill in the blank with your choice: brother, sister, nephew....

My mom is a seamstress extraordinaire. I could go on about the Halloween costumes and beautiful dresses she made me as a child, but the real proof is in the fact that she has made wedding dresses for about a dozen of the young women I know, mine included. You don't hand over your wedding dress to just anyone with a sewing machine.

My grandfather, my aunt, and another cousin are all poets so talented you'd wonder why they haven't been named editors of poetry journals--oh, except they'd never submit their work for that sort of thing, because they'll all tell you they aren't as good as __________. (Sidenote: one of them--I won't say who for his/her sanity's sake--has originated the Twitter trend #almostpoetry, in which s/he tweaks famous poetry for hilarious results. My attempts are not so hot, but if you want a good snort now and again, follow @borogroves)

All of which brings me to my point today: My cousin has started a blog and etsy store for her amazing paper crafts. Knowing full well that I could not and would not ever create a scrapbook for my son when he was born, she made me a blank scrap book that only required me to drop in the 4x6 photos. It was the hit of my baby shower, and I think these pictures will show you why:

** try not to be distracted by the cuteness of my son. I know, it's hard, but you're looking at the pages people!

She, however, is convinced that anyone's interest in her work could only be a sign of the coming apocalypse because she is so clearly not deserving of anyone's admiration. The way she sees it, her talent is about a -1 on the scale of 0-10, 0 being "can walk and chew gum at the same time" and 10 being "sings, dances, paints, writes poetry and does competent small engine repair."

This is my public objection to her self-depricating nonsense. Wanna help me? Heart her store, if you're an etsy shopkeeper, follow her blog if you're a frenzied parent, or follow her on Twitter if you're neither of those things.

And, in return, I promise not to pimp out my family to you anymore.

Do you, as a writer, or whatever you might be, suffer from "Yeah, But You Should See My _______" Disease, too?

- Liz

In Which I Confess To My Own Grossness

In the last few days I've had reason to acknowledge a couple of my weirder quirks. Unfortunately, they've all been ones that are kind of gross.

Since it's More About Me Monday, and I know how a good dose of Schadenfreude* can get the week started off right, I'm going to let you all in on a few of my secret disgusting habits.

1. I prefer to drink room temperature water. So much so, that when I pour a glass from the in-door dispenser on the refrigerator, I let it sit out for a while so it warms up a bit.

2. I bite my nails. Yes, I am capable of stopping. Yes, I'm aware that it looks gross. Yes, I know that it makes me look like an eight-year-old. I don't care. I don't know why I do other than the fact that they're there.

3. I love Taco Bell mild sauce so much that if I have packets left over after appropriately saucing my food, I will tear the ends off and suck the sauce out directly.

4. When I have a specific craving for a kind of food, I will often settle for eating just that food. Even if that means I'm licking mustard off a spoon.

5. I don't sweat much. Or really at all. This is a documented medical fact. Therefore, I wear my jeans so many times they are nearly sentient when they go to the washing machine. They could probably walk there if I gave them a map.

Bless me Blogger, for I have sinned...nah, forget that, I don't intend to enter rehab for any of these proclivities.

So now you just have to live with knowing these things about me.

Anyone brave enough to share one of their own? Hmm...? Anyone? Anyone...? Bueller?

- Liz

* I know, this isn't precisely a case of Schadenfreude, but it's close. See, you're enjoying the fact that you're better than me because you like ice, don't consider condiments a snack, have a French manicure and clean pants. That sound you hear is me sticking my tongue out at you.

It's a Bird, It's a Plane...No, it's SuperLiz!

I probably spend an unhealthy amount of time thinking about super powers.

I want to have them.

I have a big fat crush on Batman, although Superman is pretty darn swell, too. If a new superhero movie is coming out, I want to see it. From Hancock to Iron Man, X-Men to Watchmen, I love them all.

And after giving it some serious thought, I've decided what superpower I would like to have most of all. Are you ready for it?

TELEPORTATION!!! *swoons, faints*

*comes to*

Sure, flying and super strength would be great. Laser eyes, controlling the weather, making fire, ice, or even paperclips would be a great party trick. But teleportation is where it's at.

Now let me be specific--I want the kind of teleportation that we saw in the movie Jumper. I want to go anywhere in the world, arrive in my clothes without a hair out of place, and be able to take other people and things with me. And I don't want it to hurt like Harry Potter describes Apparation. Just dress appropriately, choose the destination and voila!

I would never have to drive to work again. I could sleep until 5 minutes before I had to be at the conference table for report. I could go on vacation and never get a hotel room--I'd just come home every night. My own bed, all my clothes, and my favorite shampoo and conditioner just waiting for me with no packing hassles.

Got a few extra hours? How about dinner in Paris? How about lunch with a friend in Texas, Florida, Colorado, North Carolina, or even Dublin, Ireland? (Note: Love you, Slingers. *kiss, kiss*) Moving truck? Forget that, I'll just sit on the couch and zap it to my new house. I'd never go through airport security again, I'd never be late for anything, I'd never forget an ingredient at the grocery store...

I'm getting all swoony again. I have to stop talking about this or I'll just be depressed.

So, what would you choose as YOUR superpower?

- Liz

More About Me Monday

I feel that I have been a lax blogger of late--and I've got the passive-agressive self-snipes to prove it--so I've decided to start planning my blog days a little better.

So, from now until further notice, Monday will be known as More About Me Monday. I'm hoping that writing about whatever is in my head on the first day of the week will jump start the blogging machine in my head for the week.

Today I'm giving you some random thoughts and facts.

I'm fairly certain that I ate at least three dozen cookies in the last five days. All I know is that I bought a box of 42 from Sam's Club on Wednesday, and there are now two left. Unless my husband has been at them a lot more than I thought--it's all me. Gross, but I'm strangely okay with it.

Today, sometime between 11:31 and 1:31 CDT, I'm getting a new bed delivered to my house. It's making me feel very adult. I haven't had a new bed in almost ten years, and my last one was part of my graduation from college gift. I slept on a futon in college, so it was a huge step toward adulthood at that time. But today, my very own bed that I picked out all by myself (okay, the husband was there) and some big burly delivery guys are going to bring it to my very own house and even cart away my old one. I'm going to sleep like a baby tonight. Scratch that--I'm going to sleep like the dead. Anyone who's had a baby will tell you they don't sleep that soundly.

Walgreen's made me feel old last week. Sitting at a stoplight by a store I don't frequent, I had enough time to read their scrolling LED sign. One of the items the store felt compelled to share with the public was: We process 35mm film. Which, I can only assume, means it was in question. My first camera used 110 film, and now there is a question about whether or not a national chain will process 35mm? I am not that old, am I?

I am.

Today's final thought: I'm having a series of weird tests done on Thursday (I should be a case on House M.D., but that's a story for another day), and in preparation for those tests, I have to stop taking all of my prescribed medications. I also have to stop taking any antihistamines, pain relievers and caffeine. I assume that means I shouldn't be hittin' the booze, either, though they didn't specifically say. So--of course--today, I wake up with a head ache. This is going to be a long four days. As Joanie Mitchell once said, "Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone?"

How was your weekend? What do you think of More About Me Monday?

- Liz