***
“
He froze, damp hands curling into fists at his sides. His dad was leaning back in the recliner, arms folded behind his head, laptop balanced on his legs. “Hey, kid.”
“Hey, Joe,” he said. “What’s new?”
“Not a lot.” His dad flexed his fingers and drummed them against the keyboard. “Got a deadline to meet tomorrow. I’ll be working on this all night, so can you ask Lucia to bring me an energy drink and just forget about my dinner tonight?”
“Yes. Sure.”
“Mmm.” Joe let his breath out through his teeth. “She’ll be home pretty soon. Guess she stayed at the hospital a little longer to take care of a new patient. A girl in a coma. Kaycee something-or-other.”
For about five seconds
No. It’s not her. It’s not possible…
But nothing was impossible today.
“Kaycee Sturgeon?” he croaked out.
Joe snapped his fingers. “That’s the one. Kaycee Sturgeon.”
The name echoed in his ears, burned inside his brain. Kaycee Sturgeon. In his memory she was always bright and sunny, painted in shades of orange and green and blue. In reality, she wore black – black skirts, black nail polish, black fishnets. He teased her. Toyed with strands of dyed hair. Told her that all her darkness was probably masking a cheerleader’s soul.
She told him to go screw himself.
“Kaycee’s in the hospital?” The question came from someone else’s lips, someone else’s brain, because
He had felt high that night. High on her smell and her skin and her taste. Kaycee Sturgeon was the first girl he ever kissed and meant it; the first girl he really enjoyed dancing with; the first girl who laughed and called him a liar when he said he loved her. It was a chaotic, dysfunctional relationship, like a roller coaster.
“Yeah, the hospital admitted her this morning,” Joe said. “Drug overdose. Stupid deadbeat kids…”
“I dated her last year. For three months.”
“Oh.” Joe blinked a few times, coughing, chewing his bottom lip. “Oh man. Kid, I’m sorry. Wow. Look, I got you a new game – it’s for your birthday, but you know, if you want to open it early, I think –”
“Don’t you have a deadline to meet, Joe?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He hunched over the laptop.
“Thanks,”
Joe didn’t even hear him; he was already gone, somewhere inside the computer. Because the computer was cold and dead and empty and therefore a whole lot easier to deal with than his angsty seventeen-year-old son.
Recently I got the opportunity to talk with Cassandra Clare, the bestselling author of The Mortal Instruments trilogy (City of Bones, City of Ashes, and City of Glass.) Since I’m a big fan (*ZOMGthesebooksaresofreakingawesomeSQUE
KB: What are your five favorite novels?
CC: I don’t have favorites! That’s a big rule with me. Five novels I love: Checkmate by Dorothy Dunnett, Brat Farrar by Josephine Tey, Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers, Swordspoint by Ellen Kushner, The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett.
KB: What are you working on right now?
CC: Right now I’m working on The Clockwork Angel, the first in the Infernal Devices series, which is a series of prequels to the Mortal Instruments. It’s set in Victorian-Era London. There’s more here: www.theinfernaldevices.com (and I want to show off the pretty website.)
KB: How has the popularity of the Mortal Instruments series changed your life as a writer and/or regular person?
CC: It’s allowed me to be a full-time writer for the moment, which was always my dream.
KB: Have you ever had a moment of doubt in your writing career – a moment when you were afraid you would never be published or felt like giving up? If so, how did you overcome it?
CC: I have doubts all the time. I might be having one right now. I think everyone does. I think you have to think about your work in some ways separate from your goals for publication. You just have to focus on the book, or short story, or project, as an independent entity without thinking about where it might end up, so to speak.
KB: Can you tell us about the first story you ever wrote (that wasn’t for a school assignment)?
CC: When I was about 13, I wrote a 1,000 page romantic epic called The Beautiful Cassandra based on the story Jane Austen wrote about her sister when she was twelve. (You can read it here. The Jane Austen story I mean, not my novel. ) It was terrible, but boy did I have fun writing it (and my friends had fun reading it.)
KB: If you could choose one fictional character (other than your own) to have a five minute conversation with, who would it be and what would you say to them?
CC: I’d rather have a five minute conversation with an author. I’d ask Raymond Chandler what really happens in The Big Sleep. Although I suppose it’s possible he never actually knew.
KB: What tips do you have for dealing with the wait for queries?
CC: I am the last person to ask because I only ever queried one agent and I got a reply the next day. I know, that really makes me sound like a tool, but I was very lucky.
KB: What was your querying process like?
CC: I met my agent through one of his existing clients, who had read City of Bones and recommended it to him. He suggested I query him, so I did. I knew I was interested in having him represent me anyway because his client list was impressive and I liked that he only repped kids/YA.
KB: How do you deal with writer's block?
CC: I think sheer terror. I’m afraid of what my publisher might do to me if I miss my deadline.
KB: What is your ideal writing atmosphere?
CC: Writing in a big room, lots of comfortable chairs, with other writers around, also working on their projects and filling the room with a feeling of creativity at work.
KB: And my token ridiculous question – What is your favorite flavor of jelly bean?
CC: Cinnamon.
*Cross-posted from Teens Writing for Teens.
Oh yeah. That's right. I have a soon-to-be-famous friend.
Anyway, a few weeks ago Kody let me read The Duff and I nervously let her read City of Shadows. Words cannot quite describe how freakishly cool her book is, and I'm honored that she loved City of Shadows as well. Since we have quite recently become each other's biggest fangirls, we decided to do a litle blog touring. I recently wrote an entry for her blog, and today she has been generous enough to post on mine.
Now, Kody's a veritable expert on the subject of the bitchy MC, because The Duff's narrator Bianca is by far the most maddening, lovable, screwed up, sweet little brat in the history of YA literature. So thanks for enlightening us, Kody, about these girls everyone loves to hate.
THE BITCH IS BACK
But, truthfully, you'd probably read a book about her, wouldn't you?
You know you would. And you'd love every minute of it. You might even find yourself liking that prissy little snob from high school. But why? If she is so horrid in reality, why do we love those bitchy girls in our books?
I'll tell you.
The first reason is fairly simple. You see, we are all really bitches inside. We just don't show it. Some of us are smart enough--decent enough--to keep our mouths shut, even when we are thinking the most horrible, cruel things. Reading a book from the point of view of a real bitch gives us a chance to relate.
I know, I know. You don't want to relate to that brat from school. But she probably has a lot of the same evil thoughts we all do. And there is something of a release when we read about someone who feels the same way we always have. The bitchy characters are always more open about their feelings, and most of the time those feelings are universal. Which makes the story especially compelling when it is from that little snob's point of view.
But there is another reason, and this one might settle a little better in your stomach.
You want to see her suffer.
No book is good without causing a little bit of damage -- ultimately leading to growth, of course -- to your main character. Being that we all knew the preppy chick in high school, we have this undeniable hunger to see her in pain. Reading a book about her struggles ultimately makes us feel a little more fulfilled. Plus, it's nice to see her mature by the end.
So there you have it. Bitchy characters -- Blair Waldorf, anyone? -- seem to be the way to go. They are flawed, honest, fascinating, and fun to torture.
Besides, nice girls can be so boring in books.
So the bitch is totally back, people! Though, I don't think she has ever really been gone.
~Kody Keplinger
“The feeds are frozen today. Seven a.m. to ten p.m. It’ll be on all day long in every house and business in America.”
“I forgot. Happy Culling Day.”
“They’ll be broadcasting proms all over the country. Exciting entertainment, for most people.”
“I’d call it obnoxious. Don’t these people sleep in?”
“Look who’s talking. You’re usually dead to the world until nine. Are you feeling okay?”
“I had some…disturbing dreams.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No. It’s probably just nerves. I’ll have a cup of tea and I’ll be fine.”
“Alright. You’ll have to get it yourself – Camilla isn’t in yet.”
“Why not?”
“I gave her a few hours off. It’s Culling Day.”
“Have you eaten breakfast yet?”
“No. I just got in a few minutes ago."
“Matt.”
“What? Today is my baby sister’s prom. I am entitled to one night of drunken stupor before I become an emotional wreck.”
“Are you too hung over to drive me tonight?”
“No. But Shale Soren is driving you – not me.”
“What?”
“He called just a few minutes ago.”
“But – it’s tradition for the parent or guardian to do that. To help us get ready and drive us and –”
“Calm down, Ren. I’ll still be your escort. Shale just asked if you could ride with him and his family.”
“But you’ll be there?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Alright.”
“Don’t worry. It’s natural to be nervous before your prom.”
“That’s what they keep telling me.”
</style>
He almost tripped over the girl.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” he said, hauling her back to her feet. The girl was tiny, her freckled arm swallowed up in his hand. She shook her hair out of her face.
“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly, shoving thick glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Just some cuts and bruises – not a problem.”
She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear, peering up at him with hazel eyes. “No, I don’t have any siblings. My parents didn’t feel it would be prudent to have more than one child with our income. ‘We don’t need any more starving babies in the world,’ they said. And I understand, I suppose, but it would have been nice to have at least one other family member. You know? I hear stories about young people my age playing with their little sisters, having tea parties – and although my interests are obviously not in the realm of make-believe games, I still think it would be –”
“Okay,”
“But I –”
“Listen, sweetie – you’re cute and all, but I really can’t babysit right now. I’ve got an appointment, and if Henson even thinks that I ditched another class I won’t graduate. Understand?”
“Yes, I know how you must feel about matriculating in a timely manner, but I –”
“Great.”
He handed her the scribbled note from his mom. “Optometrist’s appointment. And a small pest control problem,” he said, nodding toward the girl. “I’m thinking her family’s here on a tour of the school, and she got lost. Can you take care of her, please?”
The corner of her mouth curled up in a half-smile. “Of course,
“Quite well, thank you,” she said calmly. “I must admit I’m ready for summer, though.”
“I agree.”
“Annalise is a student here,
“She’s a whaaat?”
Annalise pushed at her glasses with a forefinger. “Don’t feel bad,” she said. “My mother says I haven’t yet hit my pubescent growth spurt.”
“Thirteen and a half,” she said, lifting her chin. “Fourteen as of October the twentieth.”
“Annalise is a bit of a prodigy,” Mrs. Kember said. She patted the girl’s hand like a proud mother. “Top of her tenth grade class. First place in the science fair. AP English and Art History –”
“Right, thanks, I get it,”
1.) Get a tattoo
2.) Go on a trip to Athens with the English program at CSU
3.) Volunteer at Mission: Wolf for at least one week
4.) Read all the Debutantes' books
5.) Get a book deal
(P.S. All of these goals and/or fantasies are subject to sudden and drastic change. I may very well want to join the Peace Corps next week - you never know.)
“Did you know Soren was a reaper once?”
“No. I didn’t know that.”
“He told me. Just a few days ago. He was drafted, I guess. Said he didn’t want to do it at first, but once he started he actually liked the job.”
“That’s interesting."
“Yeah. What about you? Would you be a good reaper?”
“Cover your face."
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s an honor to be chosen. I would serve my country with pride if they asked me to.”
“But that’s not what I asked. I didn’t ask if you’d do it. I asked if you’d be good at it. I mean, doctors aren’t killers, right? You’re going to save lives – not take them.”
“Not necessarily. Students who are slated for a medical profession are usually known for their attention to detail, their even tempers, and their precision. Reapers are chosen based on similar qualities – unless of course they are drafted during a time of need, and then the only criteria are good bloodlines and a clean record.”
“Would you kill me?”
“Of course not. We need you alive – like I said.”
“I mean if you were a reaper. Would you kill me?”
"You’re too old.”
“What if that didn’t matter? What if I had to be culled, no matter what age I was?”
“That wouldn’t happen. The reapers are society’s farmers – they examine the harvest each season, separating the good crops from the bad crops. Because life is like a garden, full of flowers – flowers so beautiful they take your breath away. But now and then a weed gets mixed in with the garden, and the gardeners have to pull it up so the flowers can grow to their full potential. Even the best gardeners miss the weeds sometimes, and then they have no choice – they have to let the weed grow up with flowers, or else they risk tearing up the blossoms too.”
“Would you kill me?”
“I just told you –”
“Would you kill me, Serenity Faire? He’s got a knife on him. It’s for me, in case I ever get out of line. Would you do it? Would you take it and cut my throat, if you had to?”
“I’m not a reaper. It’s not my job.”
“But what if it were? What if you were a reaper? What if it was your job?”
“You’re still too old. Three years – three years is the limit, and then you’re –”
“Forget the law, Forget the age limit. You’re a reaper, and I’m a defect, and it’s your job to kill me. Ernesto Soren has a white reaping knife. All you have to do is go get that blade and cut my throat. Just like that. Your job is done. Are you going to kill me, Serenity?”
“This is stupid! I told you, it doesn’t work like that! ‘Life is like a garden’ – there are weeds and flowers, and you can’t –”
“Hurry up, Serenity. Your family depends on that paycheck. My blood puts food on your table. So you hurry up and get that white knife, and you push it against my throat and watch me bleed and bleed and bleed – but you gotta be careful, ‘cause you’re wearing that white suit. They don’t like it if you stain their suit, because you’ll be wearing it for the next four or five years – or maybe forever, however long your contract –”
“I wouldn’t kill you! Okay? I wouldn’t kill you!”
Oh yeah. I can definitely feel the inner fangirl rearing her head.
And I'm really liking the KS/RP acceptance speech (aka "I need to remove my gum...").
That beautiful, beautiful Corvette... *cries*
1.) ETOnline for giving us a 15 second peek at the New Moon trailer. FIFTEEN SECONDS. This weekend is pretty much dedicated to New Moon anyway, due to the MTV Awards and the Entertainment Tonight special - so why in the name of all that I love can't they just WAIT and give us the whole thing on Sunday?
I will tell you why. Because they are trying to torture us. Their sole purpose in life is to force me to rant with angry blog posts so all my readers say, "WAZZAT???" and rush over to the New Moon movie website to watch said fifteen seconds of the trailer. Then we will all commiserate about this while refreshing the ET page over and over and over again, waiting for more. Thus, we are tortured, and they make money.
We are morons.
2.) Working on beautiful, sunny days. Staring longingly out the window for hours. Counting the seconds until you can go home. And then, finally, when you rush out the door screaming, "FREEDOM!!!" like Mel Gibson...it starts to rain.
2.) 100 calorie fudge bars. Yum.
3.) Critique buddies who are reading City of Shadows and apparently haven't slept well because of it. *warm fuzzies* :)
4.) Did I mention that it's Friday???
- Mood:
chipper
So, behold my serious case of Shiny New Idea Syndrome.
Three eighth graders discover that they all share a similar secret - they're superheroes. Well, sort of. Makayla (Mikey) is a telepath who, unfortunately, has some serious hearing problems - hearing problems that turn even the most simple thoughts into plots to assassinate the principal or bomb the neighborhood Dairy Queen. Duke is a vampire who is allergic to everything, including blood - but he can turn into an adorable (albeit sneezy) fruit bat come midnight. Jason is super strong, which landed him the role of star quarterback - but thanks to his mom's banana pancakes (Jase's personal Kryptonite), he's not very super out on the field. When the principal goes missing, Jase, Duke and Mikey must use their special brand of superpowers to save Mrs. Barrows.
Lana and her friend Alexei set out to find the reason for the disappearing fey-magic. Along the way, they run into an English student from Oxford (who's had some nasty run-ins with the British fairies recently), a motorcycle junkie, and an indrik (unicorn) who is sick of selling his horn for strengthening elixirs. Without her enchanted feather-pens, Lana discovers her talents - talents given to her by birth, not magic - and she begins to question the state of her city. Which is worse - the greedy corporations and the Mafia that are buying up enchantments in bulk? Or a society so dependent on fey-magic that its citizens have lost their identities?
Carter Delaney is a rogue Writer who ran away from her foster home when her story inadvertently caused death. Now at eighteen she's struggling to start a new life in Tucson - emphasis on the word "struggling." That's when Mrs. Brody calls her up out of the blue with an offer that seems like a lifesaver: ten thousand dollars to Write her son Liam back home. But when Carter accidentally runs into Liam, she finds that his story is a lot more complicated than she expected, involving murder, drug rings, and a web of secrets. Now, instead of just getting Liam home, Carter has to Write them both out of a series of potentially deadly cat-and-mouse games with some seriously pissed off killers.
DALET / OPEN THE DOOR / THE KEYS / MALAKHIM / UNTITLED (It's the "pick your favorite title" game)
Status: 6k so far. This is probably the one I'll be working on the most, but I have to take frequent breaks, because it is scary and dark and edgy and I don't have a very strong stomach. :P
So there you have it...a fascinating insight into my overactive imagination. And now a question for you readers - what do you do when you have multiple ideas? How do you juggle more than one WIP at once?
- Mood:
aggravated
In other news, I have Freaky Questions to answer. (And yes, Freaky Questions are capitalized. Don't argue.)
Christy Raedeke asked: When I say "Most embarrassing moment" what comes to mind?
When I was about eight, I was amusing myself at a water park by trying to swim against the current in the lazy river. (You know, those long skinny pools full of water jets that nudge you along on your raft?) Well, I found out pretty quickly that pounding your body with liquid will quickly make you go numb. And since I was numb, I couldn't tell that my swimsuit had...*ahem*...rearranged itself. Not until several MINUTES later. A nice lady stopped lazing in the lazy river long enough to inform me that I needed to fix my bathing suit.
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
youheardright asked: From one admitted stalker to another, if you could kidnap any person in the world without facing any consequences, who and why?At the risk of sounding like a crazed fangirl, it might be J.K. Rowling. Just because...I am a crazed fangirl. And she just seems so very down to earth and nice despite all her success.
My other favorite authors are dead, so I'm assuming they don't count.
laloroterra asked: Boxers or briefs?Boxers.
In the category of things (straight) men are allowed to wear: Boxers. Jeans. Basketball shorts. Long jean-type shorts. Dress pants.
In the category of things (straight) men should never touch: Anything resembling a speedo, short shorts, or women's underwear. Most of the time, briefs fall under this category.
It's not that I have a problem with seeing guys' legs. It's more that I have a problem with the general idea of guys wanting to show lots of leg.
And I don't mean those long rambly books chock-full of description. I can usually stomach those. I mean the novels that just STOP on the last page, without any resolution whatsoever. For example - I just finished a book. A pretty good book. Funny but dark; romantic but terrifying. All the ingredients, in my mind, for a great story. And then when I got to that last chapter, when the climax was just heating up and the epic battle between good and evil was being unleashed...
It. Just. Ended.
We don't know what happened to the villain. We don't know what happened to the love interest. And we only got a teensy-weensy paragraph about what happened to the heroine.
THIS IS NOT OKAY, PEOPLE!
I understand the need to cut words, scenes, and even chapters during the editing process. I understand that not all books are going to finish with neatly tied-up endings. But SERIOUSLY. Would it have been that difficult to give us one more chapter just to see if everyone LIVED???
Does anybody have any insight into this? Is this evidence of a massive editing spree, or did the author just get bored and decide they didn't want to write the falling action?
- Mood:
annoyed
Since I read Madeleine L’Engle’s A Ring of Endless Light when I was ten, I have been religiously quoting John Donne. “No man is an island!” I say, and I automatically get brownie points with teachers. “No man is an island,” and my sister gives me that blank goldfish stare. “No man is an island, Mom!” and she rolls her eyes and tells me that I read too much.
But you know what I realized today?
It’s true.
Tonight my friend invited me to a poetry reading given by her and her writing group. We live in a small town, and as my friend laughingly admitted, “This wasn’t very well publicized.” And it wasn’t. There were only a handful of family members in that room, munching on chips and salsa while their nieces and sons and cousins recited poetry. But my friend was genuinely happy to see me, happy that I took time out of my day to watch some incredibly talented kids read their essays and poems. And while I was sitting there, something occurred to me.
This is what life is about.
I think we, as writers, are more prone than others to become “islands.” We justify our loneliness as hard work and determination. “We are WRITERS,” we say. “We’re working on the next great American novel! We’re finishing up our short story anthology! We’re trying to become the next J. K. Rowling, dang it!”
Guess what? It’s not all about that.
Sometimes it’s about giving back. Going to a poetry reading to support local writers in your area. Taking time to critique a friend’s manuscript. Encouraging a kid’s dream even when no one else thinks he’s got it in him.
You’re not an island. You’re a human being. You’re part of a community of human beings that is full of dreams and passions and beautiful gifts to give. Don’t isolate yourself by saying, “I’m too busy for community. I’m trying to get published.” Publication will send a book out into the world. But generosity and love? That will produce life.
Especially now that another book is out in QLH (query letter hell). I spend a lot of time reading authors' and agents' blogs for tips on queries, revisions, and getting "The Call" from an agent (oh, wonder of wonders.) So today, during my blog stalking, I ran into Tenner Christy Raedeke's post in which she answers a series of questions - writing questions and utterly random questions that the interviewer probably pulled from the depths of a dark hole.
And for some reason this sounds like a really fun thing to do.
So, post some questions for me in the comments, and I will blog the answer sometime next week. Be creative - I'm notoriously shameless when it comes to talking about myself.
Disclaimer: I have the right to ignore your question if I decide that it is too creepy. I may be a stalker, but I personally don't like having them.
Do you know what this means?!?!
Today is the last day of my freshman year of college! I have three months of summer ahead of me as soon as I take my last final. And I have to be honest - I'm not feeling particularly nostalgic. I am not going to miss living in the dorms. Really. It's not as much fun as it sounds.
Anyway, in other news...I have started a new WIP. And it is not Carrie Sutton's story. (I figured I should probably get all the kinks worked out of FIREBRAND before I start writing prequels.) This idea started swimming around in my brain a couple months ago when I sat down next to one of my characters.
No, really.
I was eating lunch with some friends when a guy I hadn't met sat down at our table. And weirdly enough he reminded me of a character in one of the books I've written. His face and the way he carried himself - it was really similar to the picture I had in my head.
I introduced myself to this guy, shook his hand, and he told me his name.
He had the same name as my character.
It was quite creepy.
So anyway, this experience spawned my new work-in-progress - RED INK.
The Writers have rules. Rule number one: Never interact with your characters. Rule number two: Never become emotionally attached to your characters. Rule number three: Never Write anything but happily-ever-afters.
Carter Delaney broke all those rules when her story ended in death.
Now, two years later, Carter is struggling through her first semester of college, trying to start a new life. That’s when Mrs. Brody appears at her door with an offer – ten thousand dollars to Write her runaway son back home. Carter takes the job out of desperation, thinking she can Write Liam Brody’s story and move on. But when Liam shows up at Carter’s college, she is breaking all the rules again – because she can’t seem to stay away from him. Now Carter is torn between Writing the story his mother wants and creating her own happily-ever-after. But a happy ending won’t be easy, because Liam’s story has already seen its fair share of death.
Yeah. I'm kind of excited about it. :)
Aaaaannnnddddd an update on CITY OF SHADOWS, which is actually doing quite well in Query Letter Land:
Queries sent: 30
Query rejections: 13
Partial rejections: 1
Partial requests: 1
Full requests: 2
I'm ridiculously excited about the agents who have requested the manuscript - I've gotten to talk to some of their clients, and they seem AWESOME. I'd feel priviledged to be represented by any of them.
- Mood:
bouncy
But rewriting a book is a lot harder.
Things that need to be revised in FIREBRAND:
1.) It's an urban fantasy, but it's sadly lacking in the "urban" and a little too heavy on the "fantasy." Since both of these elements are equally important to the plot, I'd kind of like Colorado to have just as much screen time as Aellyn.
2.) There is a whole lot of random walking in the middle of the book. Walking through fields. Walking through forests. Walking to the Council Hall. This is boring as hell, and it needs to be fixed.
3.) Jake is fully developed in my head, but I don't think he's as fully developed on paper. This is a tragedy, because Jake is seriously AWESOME. And he's the other half of a love triangle, which makes him kind of important.
4.) Vanessa is boring. Vanessa is not supposed to be boring.
5.) Marc is a waitress, and has been a waitress since I got the idea for her years ago. Why, then, is there no restaurant scene? I want a restaurant scene! For the sake of character development and the accidental-on-purpose spilling of Coca-Cola on Luke's lap. And just for my own amusement.
Things that I will not touch in FIREBRAND:
1.) The ending. ZOMG I LOVE the ending - even now, one year after I wrote it. It is epic and suspenseful and terrifying and crazy-cool. This is probably because I wrote it in the middle of the night and thus I was just spilling my guts onto paper without editing myself as I went.
2.) The waterfall. The waterfall is a key scene and although I'll probably tweak it, the heart of it is staying exactly the same. Partly because I have an abiding fascination with the real waterfall that inspired that scene, and partly because I think it's cool.
3.) Luke. He's just adorable. And clueless. And he adds comic relief.
4.) The Writhes. They are so cool, and so scary.
She stares at me like I've just sprouted an extra set of ears. "Education."
Rachel is in my education class.
Somewhere inside my skull I hear a fuzzy explosion. This is the sound of my brain disintegrating. "That's this morning?"
"Uh - yeah."
"But I - I thought that it was tomorrow?"
"No, it's today. Monday morning, 8 o'clock - remember?"
And I did not remember. Because somewhere in my dyslexic brain I could have sworn my Spanish final was on Monday and the Education final was on Tuesday.
So, I just completely B.S.-ed my way through a 25-question essay test which I did not study for because I assumed that I could study TODAY and be ready for it TOMORROW.
*head/desk*
I talked to my teacher after the test, and he showed me my grade and explained that even if I bombed the final I've still passed the class - which is a relief, but I still feel like hitting myself in the head with a sledgehammer.
It is most definitely a Monday.
But honestly aside from that heartbreaking and hysterical mishap with my final, I'm feeling pretty good this morning. Because I woke up to a burst of inspiration. *cue Hallelujah chorus*
I dreamed about Firebrand last night.
Yeah, I know - weird, right? Especially since Marc's story has been sadly neglected on this blog since I started City of Shadows. (There is a good reason for this - I happen think CoS is a better book.)
But last night I dreamed about Firebrand, my first novel - the one I started when I was sixteen. The one that I wrote as therapy when I was an awkward high school junior. The one that became a written tribute to my friends and my family and the town where I grew up.
There wasn't a lot happening in my dream. I just sat down and started writing. Well - re-writing. Fleshing out minor characters, giving them their own personalities and motivations. Cutting out words that weren't necessary even though I didn't have the heart to revise them earlier.
And I woke up to Firebrand's playlist in my head. Along with ideas. Lots of ideas.
Here's the thing - I don't think Firebrand's a bad book. I think it's a decent book that still needs some work. But after two years of writing and revising and querying and writing and revising and querying, I was tired of it. I was sick of the characters, sick of the story, sick of editing and feeling like it still wasn't good enough. So I moved on to something that was good enough in my mind, and I assumed that I was done with Marc's story.
But I don't think I am. Because all of a sudden - BANG, like lightning - I know what to do. I know what needs to be edited and what needs to be added. I know that certain plot twists are completely unnecessary, that certain minor characters need to be major characters.
And I'm excited about it again.
- Mood:
hopeful
I was even more excited when I got good pictures.
Maggie was a gorgeous seven-year old wolf who was raised in captivity. She's one of the alpha females at Mission Wolf. And she hit me with her tail. :)
Abraham was three, and he was only part wolf. Apparently they found him roaming Salt Lake City as a puppy.
See Maggie jump. Jump, Maggie, jump.
Awww. What a good wolf puppy.
Abraham munches on Maggie's neck.
It was extremely cool, and I think it's awesome that they're trying to reintroduce wolves to Colorado. Thanks again to the environmental club for setting this up!
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