Things That Make Me Laugh

It doesn't take a lot to make me laugh. I flatter myself that I have a good sense of humor, although it sometimes borders on the bizarre. I find that when one of my cats misjudges the distance from the dresser to the bed and flies through the air with paws flailing that I really can laugh until I cry.

But lately, there's not been a lot to laugh about. I've almost had to actively go out and find things to give me a chuckle. Here's just a few things that have worked over recent weeks.

The Ohio State-Michigan game. *snicker* Sorry, Steve.

A show on the Cartoon Network called Metalocalypse. Not too long ago, they had an episode where the band members were chiding the character Murderface because he wasn't writing any songs. Just to prove he could, he ad libbed some song lyrics that went as follows:

"Ch-ch-changes.
Mmmm tits.
A fish.
A fish with tits.
Tittyfish."

*blinks*

I don't know why I thought that was so funny. I TIVOed it so I could watch it over and over again and laugh. Now all my husband and I have to do is say 'tittyfish' at each other and we crack up.

I can't help it that I have a warped sense of humor. At least I have one.

I'm waiting for the first substantial snowfall of the year so that I can build anatomically correct snowmen in the front yard. This never fails to piss off the religious right who live next door. I may invest in some squeeze bottles so I can fill them with food coloring and tint my creations so that they show up better too.

Something else that cracks me up? Holiday music that would never be played in a mall or a church: South Park Christmas music, like "The Most Offensive Christmas Song Ever" or "Swiss Colony Beef Log;" Adam Sandler's Hanukah Songs 1,2 & 3 and--oh yes--"Police Stop My Car" which is the only version of "Feliz Navidad" I can tolerate. (For those of you who haven't heard my annual rant, I'm of the opinion that "Feliz Navidad" is Satan's answer to Christmas carols.)

You know, we need more things to laugh at--even if they're kind of stupid like my reaction to Brian the dog doing 'Peanut Butter Jelly Time' on Family Guy. Things are pretty grim right now and a good sense of humor is the best free entertainment to be had out there. So take some time out from your day today and see if you can make another person laugh.

They'll thank you for it.

Using Basic Tools Well

I've been involved in an interesting conversation over the past few days about--of all things--the state of education in the United States specifically as it deals with the use of the English language. I've been both horrified and encouraged by it.

For example, there was an admittedly very young writer who felt the need to criticize the 'Brits' for being 'wrong' in the way they speak/spell the English language. This same young writer is a senior in high school and, according to him, only just now learning syntax. The posts in which he broadcast his opinion were full of spelling, grammatical, punctuation and syntax errors--which obviously were not conducive to his post being taken seriously.

This bothers me on several levels. First, I find the concept that someone could actually think that UK English is wrong. Are you kidding me? Seriously?

Second, what kind of incredible complacency would lead someone to overlook their own inadequacies to dismiss an entire culture's unique and individual use of the language we share?

And third, and the most important, whatever happened to the concept of educating yourself? Hear me out before you get jumpy. I was blessed with some fantastic teachers throughout my life, who taught me the rudiments and sometimes more than I wanted to know about English grammar. Throughout the entire process, however, I was educating myself.

I read every book I could get my hands on. I learned the majority of my grammar and knowledge of the English language from the masters themselves. My greatest teachers were Austen, Alcott, Twain, Faulkner and Hemingway. Every book I read, even if it was something as simple as C.S. Lewis' Narnia novels, taught me something more about the ways to use language to create an imaginary world. It occurs to me that while people are heaping all of the blame for the sad state of American students on our educational system, they are forgetting that education is what you make of it.

You have to educate yourself in cooperation with the education you receive. In the end, every good writer must absorb what they read. Pick up your favorite book and take a look at it. How does the author manipulate language to create a scene? What do they show you? Are they using split infinitives or dangling participles in their prose? No? Why is that, do you think?

*pssssssst--the answer is because there are simpler and correct ways to get the same point across*

Just like an artist selects a medium and learns to use it to create art, so does a writer use language. You have to be familiar with the medium before you become proficient at it. Educate yourself in your chosen craft.

Stop playing the victim and blaming your education for the gaps in your knowledge. Everyone has the ability to learn things on their own. You don't have to be spoonfed by a teacher. Get off your duffs and start learning for yourself.

Eight More Days and a Temptation Teaser

The countdown clock, it is a runnin'. We're getting close to the release of Temptation of Asphodel. So, since we're getting close to Christmas and I haven't gotten you guys anything yet, have a looksee at the prologue and tell me what you think!

Temptation of Asphodel

Prologue

Death has been my constant companion.

My parents died when I was twelve; when I was eighteen I saw thousands die upon the blood-churned fields of my home. Two of my beloved Ka’antira uncles burned upon the great funeral pyres lit under the stars at Asphodel. The child that I should have borne in joy never came to life and I still grieve for this first, lost gift from my marriage. I watched as the traitor Jeshan de Callat vomited away his life to Dis while his blood dripped from my sword.

Yes, death has followed upon my heels. I recognize its finality even as I defy its proximity.

But nothing could prepare me for the sight of Brial, broken and bleeding, on the sands of Ectatte. His death was the one that broke my will and destroyed my defiance. His life was the price required to redeem the race of Elves; how bitter it was to know I had no choice.

I discovered something about death in the moment that changed my determination to succeed at my task. In order to gain victory, you must be prepared to give up the things most important to you. My willingness to accept Brial’s death in the end gave him life. The Huntress returned my beloved to me.

“I do not require everything,” she had said, “only that you are willing to give it.”

Brial lived; as a result so did I.

My other losses fell into perspective and I no longer dwelled on the horrors of death. This was my first triumph over my enemies, the first milestone I passed on the long, bitter road of divine machination.

I had learned acceptance of the inevitable.

I do not like to remember that night in the labyrinth of the gods. Brial has spoken of it only once. We put it from our minds and continued to act on behalf of the goddess in her contest with the Lord of Death.

I cannot help but wonder: if you lose your fear of death, what is left to fear? Is there something worse lurking in the shadows of life than the pain of separation and grief? I dread this knowledge and yet I crave the answer. While we moved through the mountains, following obscure hints laid down within the perimeters of the gods’ game, my mind lingered on this question.

And when I slept, a single image returned to haunt my dreams: a single golden apple, resting on a rough, mildewed table in a dark room, and behind me in the inky shadows a long, echoing, hissing laugh.

It is but a dream, but one of evil portents.

I fear this image more than any other. For some reason, I sense a darker doom creeping up behind me. I don’t dare share this dread. In anticipation, as well as in the reality, I am alone.

Perhaps that isolation is the very fate I fear.

Learning to Differentiate

Sometimes I am amazed at the manipulative abilities of people.

You find a lot of this online. People who in real life would be laughed out of the room for expressing their opinions somehow gain a strange credibility in the cyber world. It's hard for me to take someone seriously who pontificates hatred, whether in the real world or online. But, what truly amazes me, is how some of these people can manipulate public opinion with their ability to write.

For example: there's really not any way to justify racist behavior in the real world. In the real world, if you expound upon you racist points of view you usually either get your ass kicked or you're dismissed by the people who hear you as stupid and beyond redemption. But, you take that same person and slap them online and suddenly all sorts of whacked-out critters crawl from the woodwork and support them publicly. Why is that?

Is it because of the alleged anonymity online? That doesn't really work any more--I can find out a heck of a lot about a person from their IP address...and their blog...and their website.

What makes people comfortable enough online to try and manipulate other people?

Look at the recent election. Because of online bullshit, there are a whole lot of people who believe the new President is a Muslim and that the Governor of Alaska doesn't comprehend basic geography. Are you serious? What kills me is that there are people who call one of those rumors a lie but still beleive the other one. It makes no sense to me.

As a writer, I'm very sensitive to the power of words. It occurs to me that since the advent and explosion of the internet, that sensitivity has spread into sectors unseen before this time. It was easy to dismiss the KKK newspapers I found on the front lawn twenty years ago.

It's not as easy to dismiss some of the racial prejudice spread over the internet, especially when it's clothed beneath some other sort of rhetoric. It's imperative now that we, as internet users, learn to differentiate between thinly veiled agendas and the outer shell of acceptability that some people are using. We need a new subset of skills if we are to comprehend the ugliness that lies just beneath the surface of much that we find online these days.

Temptation of Asphodel Cover Art

Okay--I love cover art as a rule. It always makes the book seem more tangible to me when I finally get the cover art. I'm always excited to see it.

But this cover art is super-scrumptious fantabulously amazing cover art and I am in LOVE with it. Check it out:

Isn't that the BOMB? HUGE thanks to Renee' George, who did a bang up job with the artwork and to Celia Kyle, the art director at Aspen Mountain Press. Oh, and just in case you missed this at some point, here's the blurb:

Tamsen has learned to sacrifice everything as she plays the game of the gods, but as she nears the end of her quest everything changes again. The hunter becomes the hunted, the ally becomes the foe and behind it all lies the hand of a third, unknown god who tries to lure her from her destiny. Can she hold firm against the temptations that are thrown in her path, or will she fall into failure as generations of Elves have done before her? As the rumbling memory of an ancient war settles over the realm of Ansienne, Tamsen’s faith falters. When she is drawn into conflict with immortal enemies, she discovers that the line between obedience and temptation is much narrower than she thought. Tempation is dangerous; obedience can kill.

Yep, I'm just a little excited. Stay tuned for more details here and on my website Shoot The Muse!

I'm getting ready to post the prologue for Temptation of Asphodel on my website.

It's Travesty Time in Tennessee!

For as long as I can remember, Phil Fulmer has been at the University of Tennessee.

He was an offensive lineman when I went to my first football game at Neyland stadium at the age of five.

He was a graduate assistant when I went to a competition at UT when I was in elementary school.

When I was in high school, he was an assistant coach for the Vols.

When I was in college, he was the offensive coordinator.

The first time I used my alumni tickets, he was the newly crowned head coach of the mighty Volunteers and we loved him for it.

College football has been one of my greatest loves since I was a child. Nothing was a bigger treat than driving to Neyland Stadium on Saturday morning, one of thousands of orange-painted cars on their way to eat, drink and be merry before the game. Nothing was more fun than sitting on the deck of one of the boats in the Volunteer Navy as you rounded the bend and saw Neyland sitting like a jewel against the backdrop of Knoxville and the Smoky mountains. Nothing was more exciting than sitting in that stadium while 110,000 people screamed out Rocky Top at the top of their lungs in support of their team.

And for every game I've ever attended at the University of Tennessee, Phil Fulmer has been on the sidelines. He was there for four hundred plus games--can you imagine that? He's been involved with the university for FORTY years--the Joe Pa of the Southeastern Conference with a .752 all time winning percentage, five SEC title game appearances, two SEC titles and one BCS national title in a year that the Vols were supposed to be rebuilding in. It was just thirteen months ago that he led his team into the SEC title game, losing to eventual national champion LSU.

But now, the greed of the UT athletic department, its AD and the President of the university has driven out the icon that gave his life to the Tennessee Volunteers. After forty years, he's been run out of town on a rail.

How sad.

I watched his press conference yesterday and wept for the pain of a good man, a man who lives and breathes and sleeps for the young men he guides. I felt a moment of fierce joy because of the team's support of their coach, and I cheered when, as one, they rose to their feet, turned their back on the AD and marched out of the room. One young man shouted, "He ain't got nothing to say to us!" as they left.

And you know what? He doesn't. How do you explain to an athlete that you got rid of an iconic coach because greed is more important than integrity, that victory will sacrifice loyalty and titles are more important than philosophy. Athletic director Mike Hamilton has sorely miscalculated during this fiasco, sacrificing the pride of one of the winningest coaches in college football history on the altar of competition. There is nothing he can say to those young men, for whom loyalty is a virtue preached every day at practice.

For that matter, there is very little he can say to me.

Coach Fulmer, you were kind to me when I was young. You remembered my face and name when you saw me by the side of the road for the Vols Walk three years ago. You've given me the greatest football memories in my life.

Godspeed to you, Coach. I just wanted you to know that at least in this subsection of the Volunteer Nation, there's a bright spot of Tennessee Orange in Ohio that will never forgive the university for what they've done to you.

And as for you, Tennessee football players, it's time for you to suck it up and win out for the Coach. Here's your chance to say something to Mike Hamilton about what loyalty can bring to the University of Tennessee.

Temptation of Asphodel Book Trailer

Twenty eight days and counting. I guess it's time for you guys to get a load of this:

The Challenges of Co-Writing

You guys know I'm a loner. What else could I be cranking out the word counts I do every day?

Don't answer that. I know I don't have a life.

At any rate, for the past couple of weeks I've been working on a project with a Canadian writer--Rob Graham, another Aspen Mountain Press author who writes really really outstanding erotica.

Really really outstanding erotica.

But I digress. We came up with the idea to co-author a book. I'll admit that at first I was skeptical. I mean--come on! Who in their right mind wants to spend part of their day in my imagination, right? Well, the gods love him, apparently Rob didn't have much of a problem with that. It took us about half an hour to decide that we would co-write a Georgian vampire story. he would write from the hero's POV and I would write from the heroine's.

And the story took off. Ever have one of those stories that just WOULD NOT SHUT UP? We've got one. The characters are complex and interesting, the historical atmosphere of the setting is addictive, and for some reason this thing has taken on a life of its own. I'd venture to guess we're already about halfway through the first draft--and it WILL be a novel--in fourteen days. I'll keep you guys posted on how it's going.

If you guys want to drop a line to Rob and comisserate with him on the horrible punishment he's currently enduring because he's working with me, you can find him on his blog at http://romanticheretic.blogspot.com/ .

The poor dear. Rob has several books available through AMP and Phaze--I just got done reading his Gillian's Place and its wonderful. You should go check it out.

By the way, the countdown clock for Temptation will be going up this weekend. *grin* We're getting close to time for a new Asphodel book release.

American Writers too Insular and Isolated Says Head of Nobel Prize Committee

Well. Doesn't take much to get me riled, does it?

http://www.breitbart.com/article.php?id=D93H89QO0&show_article=1

STOCKHOLM, Sweden (AP) - Bad news for American writers hoping for a Nobel
Prize next week: the top member of the award jury believes the United States
is too insular and ignorant to compete with Europe when it comes to great
writing.

Counters the head of the U.S. National Book Foundation: "Put him in
touch with me, and I'll send him a reading list."

As the Swedish Academy enters final deliberations for this year's award, permanent secretary Horace Engdahl said it's no coincidence that most winners are European.
"Of course there is powerful literature in all big cultures, but you can't get away from
the fact that Europe still is the center of the literary world ... not the
United States," he told The Associated Press in an exclusive interview Tuesday.
He said the 16-member award jury has not selected this year's winner, and
dropped no hints about who was on the short list. Americans Philip Roth and Joyce
Carol Oates usually figure in speculation, but Engdahl wouldn't comment on
any names.

Speaking generally about American literature, however, he said
U.S. writers are "too sensitive to trends in their own mass culture," dragging
down the quality of their work.

"The U.S. is too isolated, too insular. They don't translate enough and don't really participate in the big dialogue of literature," Engdahl said. "That ignorance is restraining."

Color me mad.

Ignorance? Insular? Isolated? Just how in the Dickens (my bad--European writer) could anyone actually apply these words to American literature? For that matter, since when would an international committee created to honor acheivements in literature willingly employ an official who carries this view into the week of the Nobel voting system?

I have friends in Europe who have never been exposed to the joys of Hemingway or Steinbeck, never were pulled in by a Poe or Twain short story and didn't have the oportunity to study Hawthorne or Thoreau. Why is that? Is there some preconceived notion that American literature is, by the the very nature of its origin, somehow inferior to European? What of Asian literature or African literature? Are they insular too?

What are the odds of taking politics out of the arts? And, while we're at it--isn't the appreciation of art in all its forms primarily a subjective matter? Here's my take on it: all literature is, by its nature, international. There is no such thing as a continent that spawns *better* writers.

And there shouldn't be a leading executive of the Nobel Prize for Literature Committee who thinks there is either. Mr. Engdahl should be removed from his position now.

And I'll continue in my ignorance to write insular and isolated stories without the edifying bolster of a European nationality, thanks.

Oh No! Could it be...?

The carnies are pulling into the Fairgrounds.

For those of you who may have missed my previous carnie encounters, you might want to check them out. We get great carnies up here. I keep threatening to write the "Great American Carnie Novel," but no one believes me.

Yet.

Our local fair is the last in the State of Ohio, taking place every first week of October since the first Neanderthal taught the first mammoth to do tricks. For the past few years, I worked at the bar across the street from the Fairgrounds and we were inundated with carnies. As some of you know, I love me some carnies: they're great character studies, they always have good stories, they spend their money as fast as they get it and they tip well. (the last bit was the bartender in me) But this year, I get to look at carnies in a whole different light. I no longer have to deal with them; it's purely voluntary.

So yesterday, I did some snooping around. I was pleased to see that my favorite carnies were back, including the carnie czar and a couple of the middle-aged oddballs that always made me laugh. They recognized me immediately, calling me by the wrong name and asking if I remembered their preferred drink.

"Of course I do! You drink root beer and made me cook chicken wings daily. How could I forget you??? *subtext--butthead!* "

"You're the best bartender I've ever seen."

*note to self--missing another tooth but still wears the same 'cologne.' Wonder if Old Spice will ever go out of date?*

It's nice to be missed.

So, in order to keep you guys up-to-date on carnie activity in southern Ohio, I'm going to continue my carnie blog this year--as a customer of my former bar instead of an overworked and underhumored 'girl.' (I think some of them think that 'girl' really is my name) Maybe I'll get more carnie insight to share with you; perhaps I will start researching that "Great American Carnie Novel;" or, maybe, I'll just get drunk and type incoherently for a while. Either way, you'll be kept in the know about the great carnie tragedies and life events, as usual.

It's almost as fun as killing Elves...

Oh. Speaking of killing Elves, have I mentioned that The Asphodel Cycle 3:Temptation of Asphodel will be released in November? *grin* Not too much longer to wait, and I'll keep you amused with carnies at least for a couple of weeks.

See? That's not so bad, is it?

Writing Versus Editing

I love writing.

I loathe editing.

Let me clarify. I hate editing MY stuff. I write my first drafts very quickly--I can get to 100k in 20 days without a problem if I'm on a roll. When I'm writing my first draft, I don't worry about word choice or bad habits--I just plow on through. For example, I use LOTS of dialogue tags and adverbs--they set the characters' mood throughout a conversation--when I write a first draft. So, the main purpose of the second draft is to write most of them out. I replace them with actions or with internal dialogue. Probably, in the long run, I strike about 90 % of them during the course of the second draft. Then on the third draft, I discover that I cut some needlessly or that I left the wrong ones in.

From that point on, it's a juggling act.

I was editing an manuscript for another writer the past couple of weeks and I found myself commenting, "You need to find some other action for theses characters other than "he looked and smiled." or "she glanced away and sighed" or "he nodded his head and frowned."" Then when I went back to my manuscript every single instance where I had done that glared at me from the page. So I went back through and cut most of those.

Even notice in your writing that you have a pet phrase or word? Mine is 'suddenly.' After a thorough analysis of the 'suddenlys' in my manuscript, I determined that I'd used the word 1800 times in a 120k manuscript and of those 1698 of them were placed where the action wasn't really sudden. Out came the red pen, out went the suddenlys.

No matter what anyone says, editing is the most important part of writing. Sure, the imagination needed to create fiction is vital as are the personalities you give your characters. But in the long run, the editing is what will take your work where it needs to go. Without it, your novel has virtually no chance of success with either agents or publishers. So no matter how much you hate it, you an't avoid it. I sent back a round of first edits to an author a few months ago where the entire right-hand margin of the manuscript were covered top to bottom with little red balloons. Great story; no editing.

So the moral of this story is: you know how all the submission guidelines tell you to make sure that your manuscript is clean? Believe them. Eliminate all those pet phrases and grammatical errors and misspelled words and send them as perfect a product as you can. No one will recognize your genius if you send them sloppy work.

Learn to love the red pen--it is your friend. Trust me.

Politics! and then...

...REAL politics.

I'm excited about politics out there in the world beyond my office. There's a bit of zest these days,with either our first person of color or our first woman breaching the good ol' boy network in the Executive branch of our federal government. This is a great thing--infinitely preferable than the status quo--no matter HOW it shakes out! After all, at last the so-called minorities of the US are going to have a voice in the highest office of the land. We will have an advocate, a representative and all that entails. Just please, puh-LEEZE--

--let's not fuck all that up with trying to see which party is being more racist or more sexist, shall we?

This is politics, people, not a tea party. Neither party is discriminatory. Get over it.

So why not enjoy the run? Chuck the hysterical vitriol to the wayside and let BOTH voices be heard. What the hell? It could be fun in the long run.

Which brings me to REAL politics.

Real politics happen every day--interpersonally, if you will. We are, all of us, doing political work for ourselves every single day of our lives. Ever suck up to a boss? Politics. Ever finagle your way into a position that you weren't quite ready for? Politics.

Exactly.

Now then, I've let it be known fairly regularly that I am not a political person. (Main reason why that Pol Sci knowledge sits on the shelf a lot of the time too.) I'm too outspoken; I call things as I see them. Unfortunately, nine times out of ten, that doesn't go over too well. It's much better for me to sit at my desk in my home day after day than to venture out to inflict my ideology upon others.

Occasionally, my online rambles interfere with that most noble intention. As a matter of fact, I realized today that I have never...not once...discussed politics on this blog. And, save for the plea above I never will. But I will discuss interpersonal politics for a moment if I may and then we can move on to something more important in the next blog post.

Interpersonal relationships are difficult to build on the web. As many cruisers have discovered to their chagrin, it's only too easy to 'fall in love' with someone's words online only to find that other person has the most heinous halitosis or the most hideous body odor they've ever encountered. The same goes for message boards or public forums. You may think that you're completely free to exress your opinion and find you're not, or vice versa for that matter. You can couch your words in such a way that people see right past your message, or they can just choose to overlook it. And in either case, it's hard to call--because you DON'T know why someone would be offended or because you went out of your way to avoid being offensive or whatever justifications you make to yourself.

But here's the ultimate test: go back the day after and read what YOU wrote. Ignore the vitrolic responses of other people--don't even read them. Just read YOUR words. Then ask yourself if they say precisely what you mean for them to say.

If, at the end of the day, you can stand behind your words then you expressed exactly what you meant to. If you find that your words, thoughts, sentiments, or feelings were not adequately conveyed you might owe some other folks out there in cyberland a few apologies. Now, I've been know to eat humble pie with salt and apologize for my words many times in the past. For one thing, as a writer I consider it my responsibility to take charge of my words and own the consequences that arise from them. *shrug* Only fair--my bad, right? So if I go out on a tangent and hurt people's feelings, I will always apologize if I am in the wrong--and even, sometimes when I wasn't the original cause but was partially responsible for a conflagration.

But I'm not always wrong. If I'm concerned enough to stick up for something, I'll damn well stick up for it. One thing I will NOT do is back down on it. I may give up the dissenters as a lost cause and move on, but I will not back down from my original conviction.

So, no. I won't back down this time either. I may consider the situation there a lost cause. But, sorry--not backing down. Nice try though.

The last time I checked, everyone's opinion counted for something--whether it's the hotbed of partisan politics in the States or how, on a non-partisan forum people should have equal and fair treatment regardless of what their voice is. But then again, I could be wrong. I've been known to be wrong before.

Stubborn, too.

Back to Blogging Again

So I have been chastised into blogging again.

It's not that I don't like blogging--I do. It's just that in my seven day array of 18 hour days, I have to give up something to ease my schedule. I like thinking about my blog entries before I write them and...well...unfortunately, I haven't been able to think as of late. I've been doing a lot of editing, and my head is full of other people's characters WHILE finishing the final draft of Asphodel 3.

Oh. Haven't I told you? The Asphodel Cycle 3: Temptation of Asphodel will be released THIS FALL. This October 27th, to be precise. *grin*

Surprise!

Should be fun, I'm thinking.

The great thing about editing is how much my writing has improved. I'm a lot harder on my manuscripts that I was before, which means that I'm eliminationg all of my bad writer habits --like adverbs and commas--that I used to death before. This is a good thing. Hopefully, this will make MY edits a lot easier. I hope so. I even know how to format the darn thing correctly now. My editor should love it.

*I did it ALL for you Sandy!*

Here's another thought--have you ever noticed when a series gets more exciting as you go through it? Isn't it maddening when you get to the end of a book and you just want MORE. That's the way lots of fantasy series were for me--David Eddings' Belgariad, Anne McCaffrey's Dragonriders of Pern, Jacqueline Carey's Kushiel's Dart, JK Rowling's Harry Potter--all of them page turners to the very end that left you wanting...

...MORE.

That is my new goal. Hopefully I'll figure out how to do this before that final rejection makes me jump off the cliff across the street. We are starting to run short of agents.

But one day, I will find one. I promise.