The First Time I Saw Him...

Meeting him was the end of life as I know it.  I found something in him.  Almost like my other half.  Something that brought me from the brink of the abyss back to life.

Not that either of us knew it at the time.

I met him as he leaned out a window and hollered at me in the middle of the night.  It was nearly midnight in Ashland that cool night in October.  The dorms were still awake with laughter and music.  Bright yellow lights dotted the windows of the cement building all around me as an autumn breeze whispered through the night.

I didn't mind it.  The way I was feeling, I embraced the cold.  I was drowning in despair every second of every day.  At least when the crisp night air seeping into my skin I was able to feel something other than an unstoppable pain. 

That night, I sat on the stone ledge staring at the vast beauty of the stars, pouring my heart out on paper, when my agonized thoughts were interrupted by a jovial voice on the wind. 

Looking around, I spotted him hanging out a second story window of the building to my left.  He was drunk, that much was obvious.  But he was cute, too, and endearing.  It's not a feeling I could explain, but I found my initial irritation at being interrupted dissipating into idle curiosity and an unexplainable desire to get to know this strange, somewhat goofy, boy calling to me in the middle of the night. 

He introduce himself, explained yelling at me like he had was part of a bet and asked if he could come down. 

While I was waiting, I couldn't help wondering what was on his mind.  Why me?  What made him want to talk to me in the first place?  As time went on, I began to wonder why me on many levels. 

To this day, I do not know the answer.

Surprising Book Facts

I think this is incredibly unfortunate.  Why is there such a stigma around reading?  I have talked to people who are actually proud of the fact that they don't read and I will never understand it.  I learn so much from books.  Things I would have never even thought about being interested in have captured my mind and inspired me to read more about them.  Because of this, I know things about subjects that aren't necessarily assumed that I would know.  My horizon is broader and I look at the world differently with each new thing that I learn.  The fact that some people don't read, don't aspire to learn new things about the world around them and prefer to stay locked in their own narrow little bubble makes me sad. 

Pick up a book.  Learn something new.  Enter a world entirely not your own.  See things through another's eyes.  Walk a mile in their shoes.  Experience a perspective you never would have had the chance to experience without a book.  Enjoy the words another has so painstakingly put to paper.  Respect their hard work and respect yourself by bettering your mind each and every day. 

There are people I love dearly who don't read.  I'm not judging them.  To each their own.  I don't think it makes someone a good or bad person.  I don't think their lack of reading material makes them stupid.  Not by a long shot.  What I do think is that they're selling themselves short, passing up opportunities everyday and missing out by not opening a book---any book---and feeding and exercising their minds the same way they do their bodies.  It's not a judgment at all, just an opinion.

 Learning should never stop at 18.  There is so much out there, so much TO KNOW.  I hope to learn as much as I can about the world before I die, be it tomorrow or in 70 years.  If I read an hour a day about something that interests me, I'll be an expert on so many things.  Isn't that a good goal to strive for?

Bad Boy Appeal

One of my favorite authors just posted something about bad boys and how she's never wanted one and doesn't understand the appeal. 

The thing is, I think most girls want a bad boy. There's something about the dangerous aspect, the fact that your parents won't approve, and yes, the possibility that they will decide you are the one girl who can make them a better person, that is incredibly appealing.

Then they grow up and realize that the bad boy is just that: a boy. And they want a man who knows how to treat a woman, who will take an interest in what drives them and treat them with respect. Who will think of them and be kind to them just to make them smile. They say nice guys never win, but a good man doesn't need to win. He is the prize.

Spark in the Ashes (Book) - Writing.Com

Spark in the Ashes (Book) - Writing.Com

My book!  I'm not done editing, it's on like its 6th round of full draft editing and it has not actually been published.  HOWEVER, if you would like to give it a read and post a review, I would love to hear about it!  Please, tell me what you think.  I never pass up an opportunity to improve.

Dead or Alive

I think this is true.  Without the reader, a book is just words on a page.  It's sheets of paper bound together with glue and thread surrounded by a cover.  Nothing remarkable in itself.  But then something magical happens.  Someone picks it up, opens the pages and begins to read the words and suddenly, the book is no longer just a pile of paper filled with ink.  The words come alive, swirling through the mind of the reader, the characters acting out the stories so intricately designed, born from the imagination of the author and taking on a life of their own.  When you read a book, you are no longer just reading words, but living a life far beyond your own.  You are experiencing what the character experiences and the trials they endure stay with you.  Through the heart of the reader, that book becomes alive and will live on in infamy.  May we all give life to some poor, starved book.  It is the holidays ;)

The Best Friend I Never Knew

It's amazing how intricately you get to know someone by reading what they write.  I, at least, tend to feel like I know the author as well as I know the characters.  Ridiculous, yes.  I don't know them personally.  They have no idea who I am.  Yet, because I've entered another world through their words, met unforgettable people, seen amazing things and been privileged with a glimpse into their soul, I feel a kinship with the author that makes no rational sense, and yet the affection I feel for them is as real as any person I've actually met in the flesh. 

I often wonder what it would be like to meet them.  Would it be disappointing? Surreal? Amusing?  Who are they really?  Are they anything like the characters I love so much?  What is their lifestyle like?  Who do they turn to for advice?  Who makes their blood boil, their heart race?  What makes them smile? What makes them cry?  And while I don't know the answers to these questions, I still know a bit about how they think, what makes them tick, what makes them laugh.  I've seen it through the eyes of the people they create, the worlds they walk through.  I've felt it in a kiss I've read.  I've laughed with Puck, mourned with Bella. Sighed with Edward and ridden with Jacob.  I've fought with Jace and for him with Clary. I've joked with Simon and pined with Will. I've been torn with Tessa and smiled with Jem.  I have loved with Ash, been stubborn with Meghan.  I've learned with Daemon and flown with Lucivar.  I've shared evenings with Saetan and gotten into trouble with Jaenelle.  I've sang with Katniss, baked with Peeta.  I've hunted with Gale and drank with Haymitch.  Fought fires with Reena and been slightly crazy but loveable with Bo.  I've flown with Harry, gotten into trouble with Ron, and who can forgot that I've learned spells from Hermione.  I've walked the corridors of Hogwarts, traipsed through the Wylds of the Nevernever, gone to an Orioles game in Philly, lived through three arenas, navigated the politics of Terrelle and witnessed the blessings of Kaelar.  I've flown through the streets of New York, fought on the plains of Idris.  I've gone to school in Forks and lived in the Institute in London.

I may not know these writers personally, but in a way, I do know them.  Because I know their characters, I know their worlds. Every time they put pen to paper, they poured out part of themselves and as readers, we are gifted with a chance to read it.  If I have one goal as a writer, it is to have my readers feel about my characters, and through them, me, the way I felt about my favorite authors since I first opened their books.  One day.

The Trouble Is...

The problem with writing is that sometimes I have so much to write about that I don't even know where to start.  it is overwhelming, and daunting and then I start to think about other things. The laundry I have to do, the book I could be reading (the book I could be writing), the studying I need to do, the fact that food sounds awesome right now, how hard it is to decide when something's ready, the fact that the whole process of getting published is long and involved and somewhat depressing, the fact that I desperately need to sleep and yet, though I don't really know what to say, I'm having trouble stepping away from the keyboard.  Then I start to think that maybe it's not a problem with writing.  Maybe it's just the trouble with life.  Any path worth taking is going to be hard.  Isn't that what people say? (Or some version of it.)  So suck it up, make a freaking list, and do what has to be done next. (1am pep-talk done.  Crisis averted.  For now.)

Run So Far

Running from the past is a task that is incidentally obsolete.  There is no escaping it.  No matter how far you go, how fast you run, it will always be there.  It's a part of you.  It doesn't stay behind you, it stays with you, interwoven into the fabric of your soul.  The only thing you can do is turn and face it.  Then you have two choices.  Succumb to it, or move on.  

At some point, your past is no longer an excuse for the actions of your present.  There comes a time when everyone, for whatever reason, must take responsibility for their own life instead of living for the past, be it the memories of their childhood, a lost loved one or a broken heart.  No matter what it is, the part it can play in the screenplay of your life is only so big.  

The only real question then, is when do you make the decision to live for your life now instead of living in the past?  When does who you are now become more important than who you were?

Slipped Away

It's interesting to me how two people who once knew each other so intimately can become virtual strangers. Once upon a time, the two of us were friends as well as lovers. We could tell each other some of our most hidden truths and lean on one another whenever needed. Yet now, six years later, we're both with somebody else and barely say hello.

Some of it is his girlfriend, I'll admit. She's of the jealous, controlling, bats*** crazy variety. Apparently he's not allowed to acknowledge my existence unless she's not around. He wouldn't even make eye contact, though I knew he saw me. Then, the one time we did speak, I was so busy making sure my kid didn't fall---or get pushed---off a slide that we barely exchanged more than basic pleasantries.

We were never serious. More like good friends that enjoyed each others company in and out of the sheets. No titles, no commitments, no real expectations except for a mutual respect for one another. How we crossed the lie from friends to more I don't remember, nor do I recall how we crossed back, but it is clear to me now that sometimes two people can just as easily slip out of a relationship as easily as they slipped into one. The fact that we let our friendship dissolve as well is a truth I will always be saddened by, but a truth it still remains.

A Hero's Sacrifice

I just watched The Last Unicorn with my daughter, which used to be one of my favorite movies as a kid. What I didn't remember was the she falls for this great guy, then end up without him in the end after saving the rest of her kind forced to live for all eternity with the regret of a love lost. So it made me wonder: Why is it that every hero is forced to give up the on they love?

You see it everywhere. Look at any comic book hero. Superman, Batman, Spiderman. All lie in a world hiding who they are, sacrificing their heart's desire for the bigger picture. Hell, even Peter Pan, my other childhood favorite, ends up being lonely for the rest of his life. And, seeing as he's Peter Pan and will never grow up, that is a pretty long time.

Is part of the reason I'm so cynical about love because of the movies I chose to love as a child? Or did I choose these movies because I'm cynical about love? There's no doubt about it, I have a fairly bitter outlook on matters of the heart---even now---which is ironic as it's the only thing I ever wanted.

I believe the old saying "'Tis far better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all," but why do we have to lose? Why is it that one person is called upon to save the rest, and therefore forced to give up the only thing that really matters? It's unfair, that's what it is. And I'm sorry for being selfish, but if that's what it means to be a hero, you can count me out. If, on the off chance I am ever called upon to save the world, you're all out of luck. For although I may be down on love sometimes, I know with all of my heart that it's the only thing that really matters. Money, fame, fortune. They're all nice, but they're all material and have no true meaning. But love is what it's all about. Finding that one person to whom my heart already belongs was the beginning of my hero's journey, and I would much rather love him with every fiber of my being for one day than live the rest of my life without ever having met him. That's not living. Call me selfish if you will, but all the gifts in the world couldn't outweigh the joy just that one day would give me.

So if I'm ever called up to be a hero, I can tell you right now, that's one sacrifice I won't be making.

 

Alive

So I'm watching Nashville tonight on ABC, and a few episodes ago there was an accident that made it to where Rayna James (Connie Britton) couldn't sing. At least, she didn't think she could. Then, on tonight's episode she is speaking at a benefit and invited to sing. She tries to get out of it, can't, and proceeds to test the theory of her voice before a live audience.

Talk about pressure.

Rayna starts to sing, has a little trouble, and the audience picks up on the lyrics to help her out. It was obvious that she wasn't sure she could sing and yet she pushes through, belts out the notes, and has her fans applauding on their feet.

I was unbelievably struck by the courage that took.

I know she's a fictional character. That she's not real. But that's not completely true, is it? As writers, we create fiction all the time. We make up a character, make up a world. We put pen to paper (or fingers to keys) and bring our visions and ideas to life.

But does that make them any less real? Does the fact that they were not born of flesh and blood, made from biological cells, mean that they don't possess life?
I don't believe that's true.

Every time I pick up a book and fall into the pages, I enter another world, meet people that were dreamed up by a writer's imagination. If it's a good book, I feel connected to these characters, almost like they're a part of me. And when the book ends, I feel like I've lost a friend. (That's how I know I really like a book.)

So doesn't that mean those characters, that world, are alive? I believe it does. I believe the author has created something so vivid, so appealing, that it draws you in and binds with you. And each time it does, a little bit of the reader's life essence is drawn into that character. Sounds pretty alive to me.

Something to think about.

Baby Karma

My daughter, Jordyn, is three years old. 

She's bright, funny, incredibly smart.  She's clever, cunning, mischievous.  She's beautiful.  She is the best and most challenging person I have ever had the pleasure of calling mine.  (That includes her father, who has the annoying ability of driving me absolutely insane.  I know.  I'm blessed.)

Tonight, my little angel has decided that she is going to do everything possible in her tiny toddler power to drive me up the wall.  Pull out my computer cord.  Get an almost empty milk carton out of the fridge and pour milk on the floor.  Clog the toilet with the rest of the toilet paper on the roll.  (Did I mention that was roll one of two that I have in the entire house?  Yeah.)  Take off her big-girl panties and dunk them in the full toilet.  Throw all of her toys around her room.  And laugh about all of it. 

This is my evening. 

I love my daughter.  With every ounce of my heart.  But tonight, I would love nothing more than to string her up by her toes. (That's just my saying.  I would never do it.  Please do not report me.) 

How do you handle a child who refuses to listen, is impervious to time outs, barely responds to spankings, and will do the thing you told her not to just to see what you'll do?

It's not fair.  It's not even my baby karma.  It's my brother's.  But, I guess since he claims he'll never have kids, it got passed down to me.  Yay. 

Wish me luck.

The Immortal Rules

The Immortal Rules by Julie Kagawa

is like a vampire novel meets Hunger Games

meets Revolution.

Throw in a little bit of almost-zombie action and you've got yourself one hell of a wild ride. 

At first, I was nearly positive it would be just as cliche as every other vampire book I've read since Twilight

---save the House of Night novels,

which take on an entirely different view---but I was oh, so wrong. 

Kagawa take you through a vast range of emotions from a self-centered need for survival and a fanatical drive to ease a long-lived guilt to a false sense of trust and an avid sense of betrayal.  She takes the main character---Allison---from being a starved, foraging street rat on the outskirts of an end-times, walled-in vampire city whose only true driving force was a weak sense of loyalty to her house mates and an inherent need for survival to a blood thirty vampire desperately fighting to save her humanity---and the lives of her new found human friends searching for the all-human promised land.

You see Allie go from selfish to selfless and the transformation comes from turning into the one thing she fears and hates the most.  

It's a testament to the human heart, I think, that characters like her love interest, Zeke, can see Allie for who she has become as a person instead of the monster she unfortunately happens to be.  Zeke was raised to loathe vampires and kill them on sight, by a fanatical, abusive leader after seeing his family and friends slaughtered.  He then has to lead others into hardship down harrowing roads, with a dozen people relying on him to keep them safe.  So for him to see Allie, truly see her, is a definite feat. 

Granted, it does take him banishing her at gunpoint and Allie saving his life from murderous bikers for him to pause long enough to give her that chance, but hey.  Once he does, the two repeatedly risk their lives for one another despite the risks and dangers to themselves.  I find that inspiring.  

I won't call this a love story.  It's not.  And I have yet to see how her vampire sire achieves his redemption---if he ever does.  But it sure does make an interesting read and to a like mind, it gives one a lot to think about where their own actions in those situations are concerned.  

She's not afraid to kill people and I think that's part of what keeps it real even though it's so obviously  a work of science fiction.  Anyone is fair game, including the main character.  That is brave and also somewhat unique in the teen fantasy genre and I commend Julie Kagawa for following her instincts and trusting her characters to move the story forward.  

In my stingy rating system, I give this book an 8 out of 10.   Well done.

World of Fiction

I read constantly.  As in literally all the time.  And I like to talk about the books I read.  I'm even in a book club.  Go me. 

I need to be honest.  I can be picky.  And there are times when I am predisposed to dislike a book because I have some problem with the author and the displeasure does end up coloring the writing.  

I could talk my best friend's ear off if I really wanted to.  She's awesome.  She would listen.

But I'd rather write it down.  Something about my words living on in infamy and all that.  (If I'm truly going to be honest.)  It's appealing.  

But it will be an honest tell all.  Whether I like it or not, why, how the movie did---or didn't do---what could have been done differently, a critique of the writing itself (if I feel like it) along with a quick summary of the book to help with my own writing and synopses. (I will post a SPOILER ALERT if I do that, just so you know not to read if you haven't read the book.)

It won't always be pretty.  It won't always be nice, and I'm sure I will not always---or even usually---agree with acclaimed critics.  
 
That's okay.  I've always been more of a freedom thinker anyway.

I won't say I'm average.  I'm not.  I think just differently enough to set me apart.  But I do love to read and I retain stories, characters, plots, even buildings they describe like they are a living, breathing entity that has become an integral part of me.  So I do have a little bit of experience where deciphering a novel is concerned (although, maybe not critic worthy), and putting my own spin on it.  

I swear I will tell the truth as I see it why still being respectful.  

This is my World of Fiction.  Welcome to the musings of my mind.  

God help you. 

Number One Fan

It's amazing to me how life can pass you by.  One minute, you're posting a blog every couple weeks, the next more than a year has gone by.  WELL.  Somehow, I don't think that's going to cut it.  Time to get back on the wagon.

So what to talk about?  

As you may know from previous blogs, I am trying to get published.  The problem is, agents, editors and publishers don't want to take a chance on unknown authors.  One of the things recommended for said authors to build a following is to blog.  To build a platform.  It is a place to talk about yourself, your interests, showcase your writing and gain readers who are interested in your writing and actually give a damn about what you have to say.  

But no pressure.

What am I saying.  Of course there's pressure!  The way these books and articles talk about these types of things, your entire career, MY entire career, depends on this.  

What a way to get writer's block.  

You would think that as much as I talk about myself in real life I would be able to rattle off whatever I wanted no problem on here.  Right?  Wrong!  I have absolutely no idea what to say.  Which is seriously strange.  

I think maybe it's the "build a following" part. It's the false promise that people actually care about what I write.  But they don't.  I know that.  I'm not delusional.  Most writers know that their words aren't so profound as to change the world upon one reading.  But what about just one person's world?  Isn't that the signature of a good writer?  To touch one person in a very real way?  

I think true fans are like true friends. 

The normal variety can be many or few, and they tend to come and go.  But true friends know all about you and stick with you through the good and the bad.  You're lucky to find just a few true ones that last forever. 

I believe the same is true with fans. 

So that's my aspiration.  To gain a few true friends by just being myself.  Talking about any and everything.  So I'm back.  And hopefully, I'm here to stay.  Because how can I expect someone else to be a real fan if I'm not one first?