November 29, 2011

November 29, 2011

ANNIHILATION Word Count: 52,152

I want to take a moment here to write about spouses.  Now I love my husband. He is my best friend and usually my biggest supporter.  The following story is told with his permission.

Monday I came flying out of our bedroom with excitement. I had done it! 50,000 words!

There were times that I had serious doubts I would be able to complete it, which only made me more excited.

Do you want to hear what his response was?

“That and $1.50 will buy you a cup of coffee.”

It felt like a pin had been put in my bubble. Really?

Has anyone else had this issue, a husband (or wife) who was less than supportive?

 Until tomorrow,

Melanie

November 23, 2011

November 23, 2011

ANNIHILATION Word Count: 42,162

This is the part I love best about writing, bringing the story to life. When I write my rough draft I only write the basic dialogue and main plot points. When I go back, I get to fill in all the details that make me love the characters, that make them who they are. The strange thing is, that with all of my books, when I go back and fill in all the details I always end up adding what turns out to be the most important things, characters, events. I don’t know why that is, but when I look back that’s what has happened.

Until tomorrow,

Melanie

November 21, 2011

November 22, 2011

ANNIHILATION Word Count:  39,792

I have just completed the rough draft of the book. I am bombarded with the feelings I always have at this point. Will I be able to make it long enough? Will I be able to develop the characters and the plots? Basically, will I be able to turn this into a book worth reading? The first time, with my first novel, I stopped writing when I thought these questions. I glumly resolved that I was just wasting my time. But now, three books later, I’ve learned to ignore my doubts and just keep working.

The story will tell itself.

Until tomorrow,

 Melanie

ANNHILATION

November 21, 2011

ANNIHILATION Word Count: 37,196

Believe it or not I was true to my word and didn’t work on my book at all while I was on vacation. But that has gotten me in overdrive now, trying to get to 50,000 by the end of the month. It is hard because the practical side of me wants to linger and fix spelling and grammar errors as I do them, instead of waiting for my editing/revisions of the document.

I am so glad I did this; it has helped me stay focused on this one project. My trip was very inspirational, giving me an idea for my next novel, so it’s hard for me not to jump right into that while the feelings are so intense about it. But I have been good; I’ve been focusing on Annihilation. But I confess that I have begun to write various narrations in my journal for the next one. I hope all of you who are participating in NaNoWriMo are fulfilling your goals as well.

Take care until next time,

Melanie

Day 7

November 7, 2011

ANNIHALATION Word Count: 25,522

As you can see I was very busy this weekend. I’d hoped to get halfway there by my vacation on Tuesday and I did! (yeh!) Now I can go to Florida and relax. But knowing me, I’ll be spending a lot of time with my notebook. I am taking two young children as well as a teenager (and my husband, of course). Other members of my family are going as well, so I probably should be good. We’ll see how I do, if the word count goes up while I’m away. With that in mind, I won’t be writing on this blog until I get back on November 17^th. So my best to you all and I’ll talk to you when I get back.

Melanie

Day 4

 November 4, 2011

ANNIHALATION Word Count: 12,017

It has been a good writing day. I lead a literary discussion group for teens at my local co-op and today I gave them a copy of my first 500 words that I plan to bring with me to the SCBWI conference this winter. I got some wonderful feedback and advice. It’s funny, I’ve read those 500 hundred words countless times, but I missed what someone else noticed the first time reading it. What a lesson about the power of a good critique!

Take care until Monday. I hope all of you have a good weekend.

Melanie

Day 3

November 3, 2011

ANNHILIATION Word Count: 7664

Today was a bit of a challenge for me. I started later than my usual time (I usually write between one and three) but today I had guests over and could not begin until 2:30. It seems I am a terrible creature of habit and the time change threw me a bit. I am also going out with my daughter tonight to a local Panera to write a little more. She is participating in the NaNoWriMo for teens. It is a great program, if you have anyone of that age group in your life. Actually, I like hers better. Hers comes with projects and a percentage ticker to keep you motivated. I was really impressed. I hope all of you are doing well.     Until tomorrow,

Melanie

Day 2

November 2, 2011

ANNHILIATION Word Count: 5337

My goal is 2500 words per day; that is the only way I can hope to make it to 50,000 in 21 days. I have promised my husband and myself that I won’t take my laptop with us on our vacation. I may sneak and bring my notebook, though. I often find that my first draft of a novel is done in a notebook. I don’t know why, especially in the day of the portable computer. I just find myself returning back to a spiral binder whenever an idea comes to me. But I am hopelessly old fashioned. Have I mentioned that I’ve never texted? Not once. It’s something I’s actually proud of. But it does look tempting.

I hope all of you are doing well. Until tomorrow,

 Melanie

Day 1

November 1

ANNHILIATION Word Count: 2676

Today is the first day of NaNoWriMo. I'm taking advantage of the program to give me an excuse to start my fourth novel. I have found myself going over the first three again and again, tweaking this and that and I needed a good excuse to put them aside for a while to begin one that has been in the back of my mind.

No matter how many times I re-read my novels, I always find something to fix. I have been stuck in the gloom of editing for far too long. It’s fun to just write again. I forgot how much I enjoyed it.

Take care

Melanie

SCBWI NY WINTER CONFERENCE

I’m getting ready to go to New York to the SCBWI winter conference. This is the second year I’ve gone. But this year I’ll be going with my husband instead of my sister. It’ll be better in some ways and worse in others. My sister and I, not having lived in a big city, didn’t feel comfortable going out after dark. So at least with him we’ll do that. That part will be better. It’ll be worse because my husband isn’t a writer, so I’ll be going to the conference itself by myself.

I am actually quite outgoing, but I remember that last year I felt like a fish out of water. I write because I love it. I’ve never claimed to be an English major, or have the slightest inkling what the publishing world does. Hence why I go to the conferences.

Last year I took way too much stuff. I brought five copies of my first fifty pages, several queries, and countless first chapters. I even ordered five hundred business cards. I think I gave out 2.

I can’t even make myself feel better about using them this year. I’ve changed my email and started a website since then.

This year I’ll bring less stuff, just a journal and maybe a few (new) business cards.

But one thing will be the same. Hope. I hope someone loves my characters as much as I do. I hope I meet the person who will publish my book.

I hope.

NANOWRIMO

November is NANOWRIMO month. It involves writing a 50,000 word novel in the course of one month, November. At first I wasn’t sure I was going to participate, my family and I are going on vacation for nine days smack dab in the middle of the month.

But I decided why not.

So instead of thirty, I'll only have twenty-one days. Twenty-one days to write a novel. Sounds like a challenge to me. I doubt it will be readable when I’m done. I usually go over my work again and again, tweaking it, making it just what I want. I doubt I can do that in twenty-one days. A rough draft? Maybe.

This is the first year I’ll be participating. I'm just finishing up my third novel in The Newstead Trilogy, and have been doing research for a fourth, a prequel. I wonder if that’s against the rules, researching before November first? I don’t know.

 Have any of you done it before?

Any advice?

I will be posting on this blog every day, Monday thru Friday keeping you updated on my progress, word count, etc. The only exception to this will be when I’m on vacation.

Take care and good luck to anyone else who is participating. If you would like more information on how it works, the web site is: nanowrimo.org

Jezebel

My third novel, ACQUISITION gets more into this topic than the other two. But it was inevitable. One of my main characters was a Nazarite, and where there is a Nazarite there is always a Jezebel.

It is difficult to know which comes first. It the Nazarite created to counter a Jezebel? Or is the Jezebel sent to destroy the Nazarite?

The Jezebel’s always use the same tools: seduction. Even after Delilah betrayed Samson over and over again he kept taking her back. Why? He wanted her, he lusted for her. She had her hooks in so deep he couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else.

Until she destroyed him.

That’s what my third novel is loosely based on. The seduction. The fall.

Being a Psychiatric Nurse in today’s society, I didn’t need the story of Samson and Delilah to inspire me. The world around is enough of an inspiration.

Nazarites

Nazarites.

This is different than just someone from Nazarith. I’m also not talking about someone taking a Nazarene Vow. That was started with them. I’m talking about something started with God, before the child was even born; usually before he was even conceived.

This topic has been of interest to me for some time, because for many years I suffered from infertility. So I’d study the Bible and find solace in woman like myself whose wombs remained empty. During that time I came across an interesting concept, one that was repeated twice. The long infertile woman was told that they were going to have a baby. Yeh! But more importantly that child would be set aside for God. They could not drink any fermented beverages the entire duration of their pregnancy.

I’m sure they thought: No problem, as long as I get to hold a baby of my own.

The two babies I’m referring to grew up to be Samson, and John the Baptist. While the Bible doesn’t mention the abstaining from alcohol part in regards to Elijah, there are enough similarities between him and the other two that he is often considered a Nazarite, as well. The long hair that was never cut, the wandering in the wilderness, wearing camel’s hair. And the fact that there was a Jezebel. Where ever there is a Nazarite, there is a Jezebel. Samson had his Delilah, John the Baptist his Herodias, And Elijah his Jezebel. Next week I will focus on that topic.

Nephilim = Rephaites/Rephaim

This has more to do with my second novel, Rephaim. During my research for the first novel , I came across the verse in Deut. 2:11 that suggested that the Nephilim had a pecking order. That they had leaders, the Rephaim. Joshua 12:4 only confirmed this as it speaks of Og, king of Bashan, one of the last of the Rephaites. It was here that Mount Hermon was mentioned, which also is very important in my second novel. According to The Book of Enoch, chapter 6, Mount Hermon is where the original Watchers came down to create the Nephilim, before the Flood. They Rephaites, or Rephaim were descended from Rapha, the leader of the Nephilim at that time.

Usually, due to the brute force that the Nephilim had, they were automatically elevated to leadership roles, anyhow. So to be a leader of the leaders speaks of particular savagery. The people of the time treated them like gods to begin with, imagine how their leaders were treated.

I go back to the story of David and Goliath, though. Goliath was huge and David was just a teenager. But he was enough. He was enough to kill him and all the remaining Nephilim alive on the earth at that time.

Nephilim had been created just once, before the flood as an act of defiance. Their seed survived through Ham’s wife’s DNA, allowing a resurgence of them briefly after. Until David. The man after God’s own heart that slaughtered them all.

I close here on the topic of Nephilim with one remaining thought. Genesis 6:4 said another thing about the Nephilim. That they were on the earth at that time-and also after-. I hope you have good dreams tonight with this thought going through your head:

They’re coming back.

Nephilim = Cannibals

Probably the most terrifying thing about the Nephilim is the fact that they were cannibals. Many legends have their origins in truth, and this one is no exception. The giants of old used to eat people. Picture it, seeing one of them. They are huge. They are strong. There is no way you can win. And the last thought that goes through your mind as their mouth closes around your leg is that you will be alive to watch most of the feast.

 Psalm 22:12, 13 and Numbers 13; 32b-33, as well as The Book of Enoch Chapter 7 indicate that their hungers are insatiable. They devour whatever they can get their hands on, mankind included. Next writing will focus once again on the Rephaim, then we will move onto another topic: Nazarenes.

Nephilim = Giants

As a result of the enhanced DNA that the angel father’s brought to the genetic picture, their sons had certain traits described again and again. Mainly that they were huge, and very strong. Full grown it wasn’t unusual to have one be over nine feet tall, and occasionally they had extra fingers and toes. We all remember the story of David and Goliath, right? He was nine foot nine. His armor weighed over five thousand shekels (125 pounds) Not to mention his spear weighed an additional six hundred sheckels (17 pounds).  Og king of Bashan was another Nephilim, a ruler of the Nephilim, a Rephaim. His bed was over thirteen feet long , and six feet wide.  I will discuss the ruling class of the Nephilim at the next post. It actually has a lot to do with my second novel, Rephaim, where Joel comes in contact some of the ruling class of his kind. Until next time -Mel

Nephilim = Anakites

Nephilim=Anakites

This was my first clue that the Bible had more to say on Nephilim than Genesis 6:1-4.

I typed in Nephilim in my handy-dandy computerized reference Bible and a second verse concerning the Nephilim appeared. Numbers 13:33: We saw the Nephilim there (the descendants of Anak come from the Nephilim). We seemed like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and we looked the same to them.

So there I had it. My first clue.

Anakites were considered Nephilim. So I went back to my reference and typed in a new word. Anakites. 16 matches. That was better than only the two I had gotten for Nephilim.

Number 13:22 said they used to live in Hebron

Deuteronomy 1:28 stated that Anakites are strong and tall and had tall fortified cities

Deuteronomy 2:10, verified again that they were strong and tall.

Deuteronomy 2:11 Was the first mention of the Rephaim, which we will get to later. They were also known as Emites, or the ruling class of the Nephilim.

Deuteronomy 9:2 Who can stand against the Anakites?

Joshua 11:21, verifies that they lived in Hebron, in fortified cities, in the hill country

Joshua 15:13 told me that Arba was the forefather to Anak. Verse 14 told me that Sheshai, Ahiman and Talmai were his descendants.

Joshua 21:11 told me that Kiriath Arba  was another name for Hebron, and it was in the hill country surrounding Judah. They had been given to Caleb as a possession. Later in my studies I was to find that Caleb had been given the land of Bashan. But that, too, will come later.

Judges 1:20 confirmed that Hebron had been given to Caleb, and that indeed had been the former home of the three sons of Anak.

So now I had new words to research, new leads to follow: Arba, Rephaim, Emites, Sheshai, Ahiman, Talmai,  and Hebron. Not a bad start after only initially thinking there were only two verses in the entire Bible about Nephilim.

Until next time- Mel

Nephilim's Creators

By nature, what makes a Nephilim is the fact that they have angels for fathers. The Bible and the Book of Enoch only ever mention sons, so it is unclear if any females were born.

According to The book of Enoch chapter 6, a group of angels called The Watchers made a pact on Mt Hermon concerning their schemes. They had seen that human women were beautiful , and they decided to have intercourse with them. This is also verified in Genesis 6:1, and 6:4. The result was the Heroes of Old, Men of Renown. While these titles indicate that the Nephilim were somehow valiant, the translation shows otherwise. In a later post I will describe in detail what their sons became.

The angels involved received just punishment for their actions; they became part of the Fallen, and were cast down to earth. To us.

Genesis 6:4 is clear that not only did this occur before the Flood, but again after. The question is when. At first glance, it appears that the Bible does not mention them again, until you dig deeper. This too will be discussed in the coming weeks.

Nephilim

Nephilim

Much of my novels are centered on these creatures, and I have decided to take some time to disclose what my research has shown concerning them. Mainly because I have read other books that claim to be about Nephilim, but resemble them no more than you or I do.

Several years ago a patient of mine brought me a Bible and shoved it in my face. He was pointing to Genesis 6:4(The Nephilim were on the earth in those days-and also afterwards-when the sons of God went to the daughters of men and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown), demanding to know what it meant.

Have I mentioned I work in Psychiatry?

That was my first encounter with the title Nephilim, but certainly not my last. I, like he, became intrigued. Who were these creatures that the Bible mentioned, and did it mention it again?

So that’s what I am going to discuss over the next several weeks; the results of my research both in the Bible and other books, to give a better understanding about just who and what these men actually were. And will be again.

A Good Dystopian?

I have been on the hunt lately for dystopians. I am currently preparing for writing my fourth book, concerning a time where the Nephilim, who are a main part of my other three novels, are hugely (pardon the pun) successful.

I just finished Animal Farm. It was the first time I have ever read it. Honestly. But I am so glad I did, it was very stirring. Which, of course, led me to read 1984; another thought provoking book by George Orwell. I have been a fan of Brave New World for many years, and have just purchased Brave New World Revisited. I took a break from all of those briefly to read Utopia, but it didn’t appeal to me the same way as the classic dystopians did.

And I haven’t just stopped at the classics. I just finished The Hunger Games series. Loved it. Dystopian and romance? Could it get any better?

On a side note, I love my kindle. I don’t think I have ever read more than I am right now. And it is largely due to that lovely rectangular tablet that sits by my bed.

But now I am stumped. What to read next? Any time I search on Amazon I am overwhelmed at the choices. So I turn to you, dear readers, for your wisdom and advice. Are there any good dystopians that you recommend?

Cutter, The Conclusion

Joe finally showed up. I was in the day room listening to some dumb f**k going on and on about feelings when I saw him. His face was puffy, like he had been crying. My nurse stopped him in the hall, hugged him. He leaned against her like she was the only thing that was keeping him standing.

She never treated me like that. Whenever I needed anything she just told me how many other patients she had; that she was too busy to talk. But she didn’t seem to be too busy for Joe. I got up in the middle of the group to put a stop to that nonsense. Joe was there to see me.

He wiped the tears from his eyes as he saw me. The nurse patted him sympathetically on the shoulder before turning to leave. I walked past the two of them and went into my room. I didn’t even look at her or him.

He wasn’t long. I was lying face down on bed, waiting for him. I heard his footsteps, heard the door softly closing behind him.

I didn’t feel it until it was too late, the needle in my ass. I flipped over just in time to see Joe recap the needle. His eyes gleamed. The room began to spin as I felt a distant tugging at my wrist. I looked down to see the cut, the blood as Joe ran to the door.

“Nurse! Nurse!...Come quick, I think Sarah has done it again.” he said between sobs as the nurse ran past him to me.

A loud thump got her attention and the last of mine as my father slid to the floor. Everything was slow; her lunging towards him, his dazed face as he looked into her eyes, the blood from my cut as it dripped on the floor.

Still Here

I am sorry, I know it has been a long time since I have posted. I know that I am no busier than the rest of you. So I won’t make excuses, I will just update you about what’s going on.

I have just finished my second book Rephaim, and have been working like a maniac on the third. It has been a challenge, though. In one week I’ve had three computers die. Seriously. I reverted to writing in an old journal, which is something I did in the beginning. The bad part about that is that I can never read my own writing; which makes it very interesting when I go to transcribe it into my computer.

Are any of you in the querying stage? I really should be, my first book is finished and I should be working on getting that published. But I have this sense of urgency about finishing the series. The ideas are flowing and I want to take advantage of that while it’s there. I have had periods when it’s not, so I know to take advantage when it is.

I will be posting my query in progress in a future post to get your advice. Also if anyone has any advice on who to submit it to, I would appreciate it. I have been following Literary Rambles, a blog by Casey McCormick that focuses on different agents. It seems to be a good source, but I still feel like a fish out of water. I’m not exactly what you would call technologically savvy. My lack of posts should be evidence of that (and my broken computers).

So please forgive me, my followers. I plan on posting more regularly from now on.

Take care- Melanie

Cutter, part 5

Joe didn’t come to see me the next day. So I had to get my fix from somewhere else. It wasn’t hard to find an alternative. So many ways to get people to act like they care, at least temporarily.

I carefully removed one of the hooks from my bra and started the scratching, the bleeding. It felt so good, like a release from all that was pent up inside of me. And it had secondary gains.

It didn’t take long for word to get around about what I had done, especially since I told a few people.

They didn’t look as impressed as I expected them to. So next time I would cut deeper.

Welcome to Weed fest 2011

Hello everyone! Welcome to Weed fest Registration week! Please comment on this post (or any other this week)with your name and blog address in order to register. Please also advertise for this Fest on your blog by pasting the picture on the right on your site and giving a description of this fest, along with this blog address. You also must be a follower of my blog to qualify. Just one more thing: Write a great story!
Each day this week I will be posting information about the type of stories that I am drawn to.
Please see my post last week to view all of the details including prize information.
Thanks, I can't wait to read all of your stories!

Cutter, part 4

Her name was Sue. And she wanted to ask questions. They always did. I looked at Joe out of the corner of my eye to get my fix. His distraught face was the only drug I needed. Right on cue, a tear rolled down his cheek.

I was used to the drill, knew all the right things to say to get myself admitted. Just enough, but not too much, like the blue pills. If you said too much they might lock you away somewhere more permanent. Somewhere where they kept you longer than the 3-5 days I was counting on.

The unit was like so many others before; grey and puke green. I guess they considered the colors soothing. At least this time I got my own room. The last place I was at made me share with this suicidal girl who snored. That really sucked. I got out of there as quick as I could.

WEED FEST 2011

Hello, welcome to my Wonderful, Exciting, Entertaining, and Different BLOGFEST!!!

We’ll just call it Weed Fest for short.  Hopefully this will be the first of many.

The following is a list to familiarize you with the upcoming Weed Fest. I hope to see a lot of people involved and look forward to reading some great stories. In order to qualify you must do each of the following:

1.)    Register on this site beginning May 17, 2011 and ending by May 24, 2011. Register by commenting on any of my posts that week with your name and blog address.

2.)    Tell as many people as you can, the more people entered, the higher the Amazon gift card to be awarded to the winner. For example: if 30 people enter, it will be a $30 gift card for first place. If 500, then a $500 Amazon gift card. Second place will win an Amazon card valued at 50% of the first place winner. Third place will win an Amazon card valued at 30% of the winner. For example if the winner gets a $100.00 gift card, then Third place will get a $30.00 one.

3.)    Advertise concerning this Blogfest on your blog during the week of May 17-24 using a picture link that I will post on this site on  May 17,

4.)    To qualify, you must be a follower of melanieschulz.blogspot.com

5.)    Finally, and most importantly, write an wonderful, exciting, entertaining, and different short story and post it on your blog on May 31, 201 I will read each short story and determine the top three. All three will be re-posted on my site in the subsequent weeks, crediting the authors with have written the stories.

Any Questions? Please don’t hesitate to email me at mikaela9hannah2@yahoo.com

The Cutter, part 1,2,and 3

The following is a recap of a story I had been posting prior to April A-Z. I will be posting part 4 next Friday, but on Tuesday I will be giving details concerning my upcoming BLOGFEST. Thank you to everyone who gave their advice. Have a great weekend!


CUTTER, Part 1

12:57. Three minutes until Joe gets home. Maybe enough time to pull it off. Dammit, the lid won’t budge. Damn childproof caps.

Only two minutes left. Oh crap.

There it goes, finally. One, two, three, four. Just enough, but not too much. Definitely not too much. Down they go. One blue pill, two blue pills, three blue pills, four.

Just enough time left to scatter the remains of the bottle before I lay myself down, arms extended over my head. Just enough time to close my eyes before the sleepers actually kick in.

“Sarah,” he calls, voice normal.

 He hasn’t noticed the house yet; my clothes thrown around, the broken dishes.

“Sarah!” He noticed.

His feet are loud as he climbs the stairs two at a time. My door slams open as he frantically searches the room for me. I peek out of the slits my eyes have become to see his face, the anguish there. I stifle a smile.

Part 2

His phone is already in his hand, 911 on speed dial.

“Hello. Yes, hello. I think my daughter may have done something to hurt herself.” A pause. “Yes, that’s our address.” Another pause. “Yes she is breathing.” 

He walks past me and reaches for the empty pill bottle. “Looks like my sleeping pills, Ambien 5 mg… No it’s empty….I don’t think she took all of them, I can see some on the floor next to her…” Another pause. “Yes I can hear them now.”

In the distance a faint siren is growing louder. The meds are starting to kick in now so keeping my eyes closed is no longer difficult.

When I wake up I am attached to a series of monitors making varies beeping sounds. Joe is here; asleep, sprawled out on a utilitarian chair. He doesn’t look comfortable.

I clear my throat which quickly brings him out of his stupor. He runs to my side, his anxious eyes searching my face.

I had come to live with Joe a little over a month ago. After my mother’s face no longer showed the slightest concern during similar situations. She began to look bored or sometimes angry. But never the heartfelt anxiety that was now present on Joe’s face.

I had made the right decision in moving here.

Part 3

With my mother I kept having to get more and more drastic. Eventually I had to face the inevitable. She just didn’t love me enough to care if I got hurt.

Her life would be better off without me.

I was almost going to do it. For real this time; slicing open one of the various scars that lined my arms. Slicing so deep that no one would be able to stop the bleeding.

Sometimes fate or whatever does step in. My father called that day, the very day I was planning to do it.

Called and sounded concerned.

I hadn’t seen my father since I was five or something and my mom and that bastard Frank took me away from him.

Mom had a rule. She only screwed losers. And Frank was at the top of that list. He seemed to like little girls even more than he liked big ones.

Now maybe I could have a normal life; a life that I had been meant to have. So when Joe called and sounded worried I packed my bags and never looked back.

That

HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I need your advice about something.

My dream is that this becomes a blog where writers share their short stories and/or snipits of their novels. To date I have had not one request for a slot. Not one, zilch, zero.

To be honest, this is probably because prior to the A-Z blogfest I only had six followers. (and half of them were my family)

But now I have thirty of you.  You will never know how grateful I am for each one.

I would like to continue with the momentum that led to my following increasing by 500%. I know that sounds impressive, but keep in mind, I started with only six.

What I need from you is advice. I would like to have a contest that accomplishes both goals at once: To have people display their stories, and to increase my following. I am not above bribery, so prizes will be offered. Please also advise what you feel these should be.

Thank you in advance for this.

P.S. On Friday I will post the last short story series I had been displaying before the  A-Z blogfest started; Cutter part 1-3. On M

Z is for Zealous

Z is for Zealous

As a fellow writer, I can assume you share my zeal for the craft.  You feel less than alive if a day goes by and you didn’t get a chance to write. The idea that someone is reading your work fills you with both excitement and dread. Will they love it?

 In the end does it matter?

I started writing for others, for the trends. Now I write what is in my heart. What I am passionate about. My zeal demands nothing less.

It has been a real pleasure doing this A-Z in April Blogfest. I have enjoyed viewing some of your blogs and have loved hearing your comments to my posts. Starting on Monday I will go back to my regular format of posting continual short stories. For those of you who have recently joined following my blog are welcome to have some of their stories displayed here as well. I look forward to following up on the new blogs I have found through this fest and hope to continue to see your comments on mine.

Zank you, Zank you very much.

Y for Yeller

Y is for Yeller (as in Old)

I am a sucker for sob stories, but I in general love a happy ending.

It doesn’t feel complete unless there is a ride off into the proverbial sunset.

On the other hand happy endings would feel out of place with some stories, like the aforesaid Old Yeller.

Which do you prefer, happy or sad?

X is for Xanax

X is for Xanax

You have no idea how much of this stuff I give out during a typical twelve hour shift. I try to teach people coping skills and relaxation techniques, but in the end it is always the same.

“Give me my Xanax.”

I have often wanted to do a study to see just how many of us are on the stuff. It wouldn’t surprise me if half of the population were taking it. (Or its sisters: Ativan, Klonopin, and Valium.)

What is the draw?

I know that for some people anxiety is debilitating, and medication is needed to help them function in life. I am not talking about them.

It kind of reminds me of the use of Soma in A BRAVE NEW WORLD.

Instead of dealing with life, people want to ignore it, going on a “Soma Holiday”

Have you read A BRAVE NEW WORLD?

It is particularly chilling of late.

W is for Weeds, WIldflowers, and Wishes

May all of your weeds be wildflowers.

May all of your wildflowers be wishes.

What do you wish for today?

V is for Violin

V is for Violin (a very small one)

I have a gesture I make to my children whenever they are being particularly whiney. It involves my index finger and my thumb rubbing together. I tell them I am playing the world’s smallest violin. In other words get over it.

I have no idea where this gesture originated. My husband has done it as well, so it is not just my family.

Do you have any quirky sayings or gestures that you have no idea where they came from?

U is for Utopia

U is for Utopia.

Many people write about or dream about a utopian society. Their versions are as unique as the people themselves.

What is yours?

T is for Taking Tea

T is for Taking Tea

This is one of my favorite things to do. My daughters have all been initiated into the tradition. When my son gets older he will be introduced to it as well (minus the frilly dresses).  Ok so my twelve year old won’t wear them anymore either.

We sit down at table and enjoy all the finery that our English ancestors have passed down to us. Complete with linen napkins and freshly picked flowers to decorate the table.

Sometimes we invite our friends to join us, sometimes it is just us. But whichever one we chose, it is a time of relaxation and refreshment.  

What is yours?

Please enjoy the following recipe, it is one of my favorites.

Chicken Salad

2 split bone in, skin on chicken breast        salt and pepper to taste

Good olive oil

1/3 cup mayo                                                   1/3 cup good honey

1 bunch of red seedless grapes                    ¼ cup chopped pecans

Salt and pepper to taste

Place chicken breast on a sheet pan skin side up. Rub with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Roast for 40 minutes in a 350 degree oven. Allow to cool. Discard the skin and bones, chop into cubes.

Mix mayo with honey. Cut grapes into small slices, mix mayo/honey mixture into grapes and pecans. Fold in chicken breast. Salt and pepper to taste. This is best made the day before, allowing the flavors to marry.

S is for Symbolic Secrets

S is for Symbolic Secrets

I love to use symbolism in my writing. It adds to the twists, gives it something unexpected.

It goes deeper than the ordinary and makes the reader pause. Is that what was intended or is it something else entirely? What fun would a book be if all of the secrets were disclosed in the beginning?

And every good book needs secrets. What else would keep you up until 2 am flipping the pages as fast as you can in desperation if not to discover them?

What have been your favorite literary secrets, symbolic or otherwise?

R is for Real

R is for Real

So many people like to look like they have it all together. I know I am one of them. But the universal truth is we don’t, none of us do. And the sooner we are honest with ourselves and others the sooner we can have real relationships.

How many times have you asked yourself, while talking with someone: If you really knew me, knew what I was thinking and everything I have done, you wouldn’t like me at all? If you only really knew me.

It is hard to be real. It makes us vulnerable.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t spew out my realness to just anyone. I’ve made that mistake before. Some people aren’t real worthy.

But when you find it, you’ll know. Someone you can be real with.

And then I hope you can say: See, they know me, and they’re still here.

Q is for Questions

Q is for Questions

Questions, Questions. Do you remember those surveys that magazines used to have: like how to tell your in love, etc. Maybe they still have them. I don’t know I haven’t purchased a magazine in a long time

My twelve year old daughter has a book called COKE OR PEPSI that uses the same format. Only this time it is between you and your best friend, as a way of discovering things about each other.

As part of my job as a psychiatric registered nurse I run group therapy. And I have learned that this truth applies there as well. People love to answer questions about themselves.

Why is that do you suppose?

O is for Oops, P is for Patience

O is for Oops

I apologize, I didn’t forget to post yesterday, I was just really tired after working an overnight. I am sorry I know this is no excuse, but I offer it anyway.

P is for Patience

When will it happen? When will someone read the book I have written and decide they have to represent it, or edit it, or publish it, or buy it or read it?

The days drag into weeks, the weeks months and the months hopefully not years.

Patience is a hard one.

I stopped praying for it when all that happened was my kids got louder and the traffic got slower.  And that is how I am getting patience yet again. As the rejection letters roll in, or not at all.

What has or is happening in your life to develop patience?

N is for Neverending story

N is for Neverending story

This was a popular movie in the eighties (the generation I grew up in). It was about a book that came to life through its readers. I have found that is true in my own writing as well. It doesn’t feel complete unless I know someone is breathing life into it, or in other words reading it.

I get the same excitement that I had when I was initially writing it whenever I know someone is reading my novel. Will Joel fall in love with Rachel this time? Will Rachel realize her prejudice before it is too late? Will the book come alive for them like it did for me?

I hope so. And I hope so for your stories as well.

M is for Memories

M is for Memories.

We all have them. These glimpses of our childhood that rush back into our souls when we smell a familiar scent or see something we haven’t seen in years. We are transported back to that happy place when times felt simpler and much, much sweeter.

It is one of the main reasons we as writers carry our notebooks with us where ever we go. We never know when we will get one of those precious glimpses. They lend their heart and soul to our writing, making it real. Because it is real to us.

What memories are you cherishing today?

L is for Like not Love

L is for Like, not Love.

Have you ever written something you liked, not loved?

The nagging suspicion fills your head, plagues you in fact.

It’s good…..just not right.

And you can’t go on until you have it.

That’s where I am today, at a standstill. I am writing my second book in The Newstead Project trilogy and I am stuck. I’ve written something I like, but don’t love. Any advice on how to get past this block?

K is for Kiss

K is for Kiss

There are many different types of kisses. Some of them soft, some fierce.

All stir in us a deep emotional response to our characters, as if it were us that were being held so tenderly.

Why is a kiss so powerful? Both in books and in life.

What has been your favorite kiss (literary)?

J- is for Just

Just

This seems to be one of my favorite words when I write my first draft, because in subsequent revisions I have to eliminate tons of them. The funny thing is, that after I remove all of those extra justs, the sentence reads the same, if not better.

Just is just a filler.

How many useless words could you eliminate by just editing them?

I for Insanity

Who decides what is insane?

Oh, I know that there are a variety of mental status exams and DSM classifications in an attempt to name the indescribable. Because there is no lab test or x-ray that can diagnose insanity. It is all purely subjective, and I write this as someone who has worked in the field of psychiatry for many years.

I have learned one thing though, from the people I have observed, both professionally and socially. All of us are just a little bit crazy. We just don’t want to admit it.

Why else would disturbing books rock us to our core and keep us up at night? Because they are a little too real for us. Somewhere deep inside, we know those are our fears as well. We just never wanted to admit it to anyone.

Try telling someone your deepest fears today. What keeps you up at night. How many times you check to make sure your doors are locked before you go to sleep; all the wildest imaginings of your heart.

 They just might look at you like you’re crazy.

H is for Hunger Games

Please pardon me for posting this early. I have to leave for work at six am on Saturday and am working 12.5 hours. I thought now would be better than posing at eight pm.

H is for Hunger games.

I have to admit it took me a long time to pick up this book. I am a fan of Steven King, and the back cover of Hunger Games felt a little bit too similar to The Running Man.

But eventually I did, and I am glad. I loved it. Maybe Suzanne Collins did get her basic starting idea from Steven King’s book, maybe not. But on the same note I have felt that a lot of King’s work may have gotten it’s initial flavor from some Edgar Allan Poe’s stories.

This is not only inevitable, it also gives me hope. It is inevitable because we are what we read, and writers are usually readers. So it is only natural our ideas may flow from what we have already read.

It gives me hope because I can’t count the number of people thinking that they were being helpful who have told me that my book has already been written by someone else. These people have never read my book, they have only heard my pitch.  Just like I had incorrectly judged Hunger Games based only on the back cover.  

G is for Gratitude

I don’t know about you, but I live on a rollercoaster. I will really want something, and try, try, try to get it. And then when I do get that thing, (Be it a house, husband, kid, new car, wonderful writing career.) I get a momentary piece of happiness before I am onto the next thing, my next want.

I have found that I am not alone. As a Psychiatric Nurse I often meet with people who are despondent, tired of nothing measuring up to what they had hoped. They thought for sure once they got that house, etc… they would be happy. But they’re not. They’re depressed, some to the point of suicide.

I often give them an exercise when they first come in, one that works for me, to remind me to pause the rollercoaster.

It’s simple. A list. A list of things you’re grateful for. For some this list is hard to start. They haven’t been grateful for anything for years. For others the list is hard to stop. It’s contagious, once you start seeing them, you realize there are blessings everywhere.

It works because it gets your mind off of what you want and teaches you to want and appreciate what you already have.

F is for Faults and Failures

I am currently writing the second novel in the Newstead Project Trilogy. One of my MCs is doing something very unexpected. She slips up big time, and I mean big. No matter how many times I tried to talk her out of it, she just kept going in the same direction. And then I went back and read that particular part of the book and it is hands down my favorite.

It is real.

Because you and I have faults and failures, so should our characters. Who can relate to someone perfect? I know I can’t. And above all that is what our characters must be, relatable. (mm… do I hear an idea for R coming on?)

E is for Envy

I have a confession to make. For most of my life I have struggled with envy.

I am sure I was envious as a child, but for me this disease didn’t make its ugly presence known until just shortly after I was married, when I began to long for a baby.  I battled with this for the entire ten years of my infertility. Envy is a terrible thing. It will take a perfectly content person (me) and make her glare with hatred at a completely innocent pregnant woman.

I thought I had gotten past it. I thought envy no longer had such a strong hold on me.

I was wrong.

It reared its ugly head once again as I started writing my first novel. For me writing is one of the most enjoyable things I have ever done. And the thought of other people reading my work makes me burst with satisfaction. It doesn’t matter that the only people to read it are my friends and family. Sort of...

I will get a wave of it (envy) whenever I hear about a new author getting published. I feel like I did six years ago looking at that pregnant woman. They have what I want. Not the money. I can honestly say I am content with that part of my life. (I’m not rich, just thankful for what I have.) For me it’s the readers. People, lots of them are reading their work. People are falling in love with their characters.

But I’ve dealt with this disease in the past and I have learned the cure.  (You’ll have to wait for letter G when I discuss gratitude.)

D is for Damsel's in DIstress!!!

A couple of years ago my daughter was in this play where she was casted as Damsel of the first order, no other name, no other title.
During the production her only job was to run out on stage every few minutes or so with her fellow damsels, singing loudly:"In distress, in distress, we're damsels in distress. We wish that we were stronger but were damsel's in distress!" Then they would all run off the stage leaving the audience laughing hysterically. That was the whole point, comedy relief.
Are we doing that with our female characters? Are they only showing up briefly with the same old lines, waiting to be rescued? Now don't get me wrong. I love a strong male characer who cherishes and protects the woman her loves, but... But only if it's on occasion. And only if the female has more than one line. Not only: "In distress, in distress, we're damsels in distress. We wish that we were stronger, but we're damsels in distress."

C-is for Catalyst

What makes your story move forward?
Here your MC is having a perfectly normal day and them WHAM!
His/Her life has changed now, forever.  Maybe for the better, maybe not.
But either way they can never go back.
So... what is the catalyst in your story?

B- for Blonde Jokes

Have you heard the one about the blonde...?

No, I haven't. In fact most of the stories I have read lately have all had anything but blonde MCs. I know that there are some out there, but they are few and far between.

My theory? We are so afraid to create Barbies that we avoid it all together.

At least that is what it was for me.  How about for you?

On another note... I revised my pitch. (again) Thank you all for your comments and suggestions. They were all seriously taken. So forgive me as I combine the two blog fests into one post (A-Z, and Epic Follower Blogfest/Contest)
My latest pitch:

He is deceived. She is blinded by prejudice.

A school? A cult.

Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they're not out to get you.

Are you allowed to seperate the lines like this? I didn't know, but I thought it added to the voice.

Revised Pitch

Novel: THE NEWSTEAD PROJECT
Genre: YA Paranormal
Word Count: 75,500

Thank you for all of your comments. After reading them and viewing other pitches I have revised mine. Please let me know what you think.

Joel has been deceived. Rachel’s arrogance makes her blind. Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean people aren’t out to get you.

My Pitch

In blogging today for the A-Z blog fest I came across the blog : Is it hot in here or is it this book? - they are having a contest in the next 2 days: Epic follower Blogfest/Contest. Please see the blog for infromation. To comply with the rules of the contest I am posting my pitch. Please let me know what you think.

Joel has been deceived. Rachel’s arrogance makes her blind. Neither fathoms the threat that Newstead, an exclusive prep school for boys in Weston, Vermont may pose. When are you just too much of a liability to be kept alive? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean people aren’t out to get you.

Yes it is the same thing that is posted on the left of my blog. (In case you thought you were seeing double.)

A Short Pause for A to Z blog fest- A is for Amiable

Hello, I will be taking a short pause from my regular format to participate in the A to Z blog fest. I will continue to post my short story snippits (a good preview for S day) weekly. But for the month of April I will be posting alphabetically. Starting with today, the letter A

A- is for Amiable. Ok, so I am reading PRIDE AND PREDJUDUCE for the hundreth time (seriously) and I decided to count exactly how many times the word amiable was used. So far I am up to 37 and Mr. Darcy has just been spurned. Do people even use that word anymore? Try using it in conversation today and see the looks you get. It just gets me thinking. How many other beautiful words have we lost over time?

Cutter, part 3

With my mother I kept having to get more and more drastic. Eventually I had to face the inevitable. She just didn’t love me enough to care if I got hurt.

Her life would be better off without me.

I was almost going to do it. For real this time; slicing open one of the various scars that lined my arms. Slicing so deep that no one would be able to stop the bleeding.

Sometimes fate or whatever does step in. My father called that day, the very day I was planning to do it.

Called and sounded concerned.

I hadn’t seen my father since I was five or something and my mom and that bastard Frank took me away from him.

Mom had a rule. She only screwed losers. And Frank was at the top of that list. He seemed to like little girls even more than he liked big ones.

Now maybe I could have a normal life; a life that I had been meant to have. So when Joe called and sounded worried I packed my bags and never looked back.

That was five weeks ago.

Cutter, part 2

His phone is already in his hand, 911 on speed dial.

“Hello. Yes, hello. I think my daughter may have done something to hurt herself.” A pause. “Yes, that’s our address.” Another pause. “Yes she is breathing.” 

He walks past me and reaches for the empty pill bottle. “Looks like my sleeping pills, Ambien 5 mg… No it’s empty….I don’t think she took all of them, I can see some on the floor next to her…” Another pause. “Yes I can hear them now.”

In the distance a faint siren is growing louder. The meds are starting to kick in now so keeping my eyes closed is no longer difficult.

When I wake up I am attached to a series of monitors making varies beeping sounds. Joe is here; asleep, sprawled out on a utilitarian chair. He doesn’t look comfortable.

I clear my throat which quickly brings him out of his stupor. He runs to my side, his anxious eyes searching my face.

I had come to live with Joe a little over a month ago. After my mother’s face no longer showed the slightest concern during similar situations. She began to look bored or sometimes angry. But never the heartfelt anxiety that was now present on Joe’s face.

I had made the right decision in moving here.

Cutter Part 1

12:57. Three minutes until Joe gets home. Maybe enough time to pull it off. Dammit, the lid won’t budge. Damn childproof caps.

Only two minutes left. Oh crap.

There it goes, finally.

One, two, three, four. Just enough, but not too much. Definitely not too much. Down they go. One blue pill, two blue pills, three blue pills, four.

Just enough time left to scatter the remains of the bottle before I lay myself down, arms extended over my head. Just enough time to close my eyes before the sleepers actually kick in.

“Sarah,” he calls, voice normal.

 He hasn’t noticed the house yet; my clothes thrown around, the broken dishes.

“Sarah!” He noticed.

His feet are loud as he climbs the stairs two at a time. My door slams open as he frantically searches the room for me. I peek out of the slits my eyes have become to see his face, the anguish there. I stifle a smile.

Riders on the Storm, the last chapter

Riders on the Storm, the last chapter

In the end my father did the most unexpected thing; he just pulled over.

As he reached past me for his pistol he paused and looked directly at me for the first time in three years.  His hand reached over and softly rested on my own.  It was such an unexpected gesture that I didn’t even flinch.  I just allowed him to hold my hand as his gentle eyes looked into mine.

“Come out with your hands up,” the voice outside echoed, with it came the return of my father’s determination as his hand gripped mine, hard as steel.  His face contorted into a half grin; as if this was the ending he had been planning on the whole time. Grabbing his pistol he lunged at the door, dragging me right behind him.

Bodies lunged at me from all directions, throwing me to the ground, knocking the gun out of my hands. My face was bashed into the gravel as one of them straddled me, his knees on either side of my rib cage, so tight I could hardly breathe.  The taste of asphalt filled my mouth.  My arms were forcefully yanked behind my back as I heard the familiar clink of the handcuffs as they encircled my wrists.

All the bright lights, so many of them now, as my father  smiled wickedly at me as he reached his finger down to taste my tears.