Coming Soon. A Celebration Among Friends.

In a few weeks, when Whirl's strong draft is ready and he is, thus, ready to celebrate, let's do another voice thing, a celebration among friends. What do you say?

And if you're up for it, what should we talk about this time?

Happy Rabbit Hole Day

Listen, my babies, for this is as opposite as Mama can go...

I didn't want you to know, I wasn't prepared to acknowledge my hunger for its existence, but now, chastened from the long journey, I must tell you, that I have returned to the ways of my religious forbears, and I have embraced the purifying wonders of ascetism. A chaste lifestyle. An abstinent lifestyle. A lifestyle free of the hedonistic double pleasures of the sexually and alcoholic stupefying underworlds of physical being. Now, I know I made fun of the self-flagellators in an evil past life...

The Ghost of Christmas Past had quite a time with Evil Editor, as Ed wasn’t eager to revisit the monastery where it had all started. But in the end, the story unfolded…as if in a dream. Yeah, that’s it. A dream.

As a member of the Monks of the Order of Maximus, Edward had grown used to self-flagellation as a means to cleanse himself, body and soul. He and the other young monks-in-training, why, they’d have weekly sessions with Brother Tony, and in these sessions, they’d traipse up and down in absolute silence along the gravelled paths inside the monastery walls, feeling all holy and tingly inside.

But this beating up on himself, this flailing himself over the shoulder onto his back with his… uh…flail…well, it got old after a few years.

And as Edward grew older, this flailing stuff got all mixed up in his mind with those wet and messy pubescent dreams he was having, (and you know, you can flail until hell freezes over, but puberty is gonna have its wet ole’ way with you,) until the pleasure of flailing around in his bunk bed most nights, and the pleasurable pain of flailing around on the gravelly path with Brother Tony and the other young apostolates, well, the combo plan, it drove him half crazy.

Then one day…(isn’t there always a ‘then one day’ in these stories?) Edward heard a voice on the other side of the garden wall. A female voice. Reading poetry. And the voice was so beatifically beautiful, it was like listening to a songbird singing.

Suddenly, all those crazy night dreams slid straight into focus. And Ed knew what he had to do. Leaving Big Tony and the boys behind, he climbed over the wall, arms outstretched, ready to, as they say, seize the day, or at least have his way with, the bird.

He saw her standing there, smiling at him. She looked him up and down, and then she said…

“Do monks store sausages down their robes or are you just happy to see me?” And she started laughing. Well, that did it.

Edward became Evil Editor in that moment, that day. He left the monastery, and, with his insidious intelligence (and other good stuff) in tow, he set up shop, and would-be authors from all over flocked to him for a flailing. (Especially those birds. He had a flock of those birds now, just hanging on his every word.)

And now he really feels all tingly inside, although that holy part, well, that’s all gone now. Yeah.

But as for now, for me, worldly pleasures are now shackles. For me, the wonders of the spirit, of the reflective life, abound, and I will partake only in that which will enlighten.

For me, self-flagellation is a glory train.

Yay, verily my children, I say unto you, go forth, and do thou likewise.

Almost there...and counting...

A few weeks ago, my younger daughter started going through our photo boxes. She hadn't really looked through them before. I'd always pulled out things to show her, and, to tell you the truth, these boxes haven't been in beautiful working condition since, oh, about five years or so ago -they've been jumbled up and out of order. Are you all more organized than this? Hope so, for your sanity's sake!

Anyway, she pulled some black and white photos out that I'd thought were gone. Ths one really struck me, because it shows the house we moved into when I was five almost years old. This picture was taken a few months after we moved in, on my fifth birthday. Weirdly, I remember posing in the front yard for my father just like it happened last weekend.

You can tell from the lack of tidiness of the front lawn, coupled with the lovely shrubs, that it was rundown when we bought it.

This house plays a large role in my novel, almost the role of a character. The novel is, by definition, fiction, but this is the neighborhood that I drew from when I created my novel's neighborhood.



Do you do this? Use old landscapes or halfway memories as takeoffs for your imaginations when you write?

I'm off for the next nine days, and by the end of that time, the plan is to have a strong and complete draft of my novel. I'll be around visiting, but I won't post anything new until after that's done.

Have a good weekend!

P.S. I'm participating in McK's word-count-a-thon as I edit and work on my last chapters. I'll post my daily count in the comments. If you need a jumpstart to your writing, visit McK's blog and get going.

Fellow Blogger Travis Erwin needs our help

Two years ago I had no idea, nor did I care I had no idea, what a blog was. I found out by accident, to be honest, Googling around for literary agent information. (This was in the late fall of 2006, back when I was innocent a/k/a stupid enough to think I was almost finished with my novel. Yeah.) Anyway, I'd see blah blah blah 'blogspot' and I asked one of my 20-something coworkers what the hell that was.

Fast forward to now. And here I am with you all, a wonderful community of fellow human beings, the best kind really, lovers of the art and soul of the written word.

My route was not circuitous - it came directly through Sparky's blog. Yet another reason why I love that guy, no matter who the hell he really is, because without him, I would know none of you. Or him.

You may or may not have met him yet, but I first 'met' fellow writer/blogger Travis Erwin on Chris's blog last year. He's a nice person, funny and sweet, and one helluva turner of a good phrase.

A few days ago, Travis's home burned to the ground. Erica Orloff and Stephen Parrish, two other bloggers/writers I've seen/met on Chris's blog, and on BookRoast, established a way for those who would like to, to help Travis and his family, and it's a beautiful thing to see, and to share.

Here is the link for the helping blog.

And here is an
article written about it.

Thought you'd want to know.


P.S. I finally learned how to do a link! I think I needed heavy motivation, and this, indeed, was it. (Thanks, FH and Sylvia.)

P.P.S. Hell. I thought I had the link thing, but I don't. Sorry.

P.P.P.S. Thanks, freddie and Sarah! Sarah, what I finally did was copy and paste the link things from the email you sent. Woo hoo!