Monday, January 31, 2011

Monday Morning Blahg: Sundance

As many of you know, I went to the Sundance Film Festival last week, and if you're friends with me on Facebook or Youtube, you know I had a great time.  I saw some great films, my favorites being, Septien, Gun Hill Road, Son of No One, and Another Earth, all I'm sure were picked up.  Some had big stars, (Al Pacino, Tracy Morgan, Katie Holmes, etc), some had no one you've ever heard of.

I was a little (okay a lot) disappointed with a film called Here.  While the acting was really good (Ben Foster was in it and I <3 him) the movie was, well, boring.  And then I saw some shorts one of which was weird, three were good, and one had potential but drug on and on and on and on.

I saw no huge celebrities, they apparently come for the first few days and then hightail it out of there.  But I guess people like Kevin Spacey, and Mark Wahlberg were there.

My brother came Friday to Sunday.  He dressed in a banana suit and danced up and down Main Street to advertise his comedy troupe.  He got loads of attention from  tourists, film makers, the local news, and Sundance itself.  He was funny.  If you go to my Youtube or Facebook, you can see a video of him.

Park City is a beautiful place, and the people were really really nice.  We received some random acts of kindness a few times (including getting to Sundance in the first place of course).  Everyone from the hotel staff (Park City Peaks), to the Sundance volunteers, to the cab drivers were a pleasure to deal with.

So, all in all, a good time.  My goal: do it again with a broader pass.

That's it.  It's good to be home.


Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Writing Wednesday: Untitled

     This is from the untitled dystopic novel I'm writing, which is currently on the back burner, but soon to be picked up again.  Let me know your thoughts.
     The door across the hall is closed and it’s a room I’ve not entered.  For a split second I feared another body would be found, but remembered the man had already investigated the entire house before letting us enter.  I opened the door slowly still, not wanting any surprises.  I’m not sure what I expected, a sewing room, storage maybe, but not what I found.  Bookshelves, a desk, a window seat, this room seemed out of place in this big country house.  On the desk sat a laptop computer and scattered farming paperwork. 
     Seeing that computer made me think of my own and how I would spend time connecting on Facebook, downloading music on iTunes, or learning something new from Wikipedia.  Back in the day, I would have said I could probably not survive without the internet, my cell phone, but now, I hardly miss that technology.  We had to adapt, and it was easier than I would have ever thought it would be.
     The window seat behind the desk was covered in a lush burgundy fabric, which went well with the mahogany furniture.  A mug with a picture of a kitten sat abandoned next to the window, half full of moldy coffee.  Next to it, open and face down lay a copy of Jane Eyre, a surprising choice for a farmer’s wife.  Curious, I moved toward the bookshelf to see what else she might have read.  More classics than I would have guessed, some contemporary fiction, and tons of romances, which was more what I would have expected.  This room must have been an escape for her, a place where she could unwind and forget about the bills, her aching back, and the dirt beneath her fingernails, a place for dreaming up other places, other times, other lives. 
     Exiting, I strolled down the hall to another door and opened it, a linen closet.  The next door led to a bathroom.  It was filthy, caked thick with grime and mold.  Mystery fluids, more than likely blood and vomit were splashed across the walls, and the floor.  I opened the cabinet below the sink and found Lysol, disinfectant wipes, glass cleaner, tile cleaner, a sponge, and paper towels.  I wiped everything down, spotless, threw the garbage on the floor, and walked across to the last room.  The girl’s room.
     I approached the soiled bed and removed the rest of the bedding.  I went downstairs, through the mudroom, and the back door, I dropped the sheets to the ground.  Entering the barn, I looked around for something to put water in.  Most of the tools were old and peeling.  After scouring shelves, and bins, I found a bucket.  One of the old metal kind, with a rusted and squeaky handle.  It was quite a walk down to the pond, and having to navigate through the overgrown grass and brush made it no easier.  Once at the pond, I stopped and admired the scenery.  It was quite beautiful country.  Tall cedars surrounded the property, standing guard like wooden sentries, blue sky hanging over like a canopy.      
     I squatted beside the pond and I filled the bucket.  Staring into the murky brown mass, I wondered if we’d ever have running water again.  I missed running water, doing dishes in them, showering.  I was tired of pool water, and pond water, and rainwater.  Tired of boiling it until it was okay to wash in, to drink.  I rose and carried the bucket to the house, it sloshed and splashed all the way, splattering my legs, my shoes.
     I put the bucket down outside the back door, went in and retrieved the propane stove, a stockpot, and boiled the water.  I had some cleaning to do.  Once the water boiled and cooled, I poured half of it back in the bucket followed by some laundry detergent.  Then I grabbed the sponge from the bathroom, and went into the little girl’s room.  I poured a generous amount of water onto the mattress and began scrubbing.  I don’t know how long I scrubbed, it could have been five minutes, an hour, but the stains persisted, lingering like a scar in the flesh.  A reminder of what once used to be, a family, a life, and now death.
     I ended up using bleach, while most the stains receded, the outer edge remained, dark red, the only bloodline left of this family.  I took the mattress from the bed, stood it up against a wall, and sprayed it with Lysol.  I opened the windows in hopes that the breeze might dry it before night fell, else I’d be sleeping on the couch.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Tooting the Horn Tuesday

The ABNA contest has started.  If you've completed a 50,000 + novel you should check it out.

My friend R.A. Nelson's vampire novel, Throat comes out today!!

My friend Tami is vlogging at Lyrical Lip Service.  She read my poem, Sand, in yesterday's video.

Caron Guillo, who I tooted about a couple weeks ago, celebrated with a book release party last weekend.

Amy Holder, Class of 2k11-er and author of The Lipstick Laws gets a 5 star review.

Bill Loehfelm, the winner of the first ABNA has his 3rd novel ready for pre-order.  He's a great writer with a knack for character development (among other things)

And Thing 2, my beautiful Rachel becomes a teenager today.  Happy birthday love. 

Oh yeah, and I mentioned I'm going to The Sundance film festival.  :P

Congrats to all. Lots of cool stuff happening.

Peace out.


Monday Morning Blahg

Yes, it's Monday again.  And morning.  Strikes one and two on the day.  I've been sick for what seems like forever.  Just started feeling good Saturday, though I'm still a bit scratchy and a bit stuffy.

Saving grace, it's a short work week, as I leave for Sundance on Wednesday *squeeeee* (and don't try and break into my house, it's armed and dangerous)

I finished my edit job, and now I can focus on writing.  I have three projects my agent wants to see.  So I'm going to be working on all three of them until I have at least a couple chapters of each.

Little Adventures Pink Superhero Costume Cape for GirlsAnd I'm going to go back to my Superhero series and rewrite it.  I'm thinking about doing it in diary form and changing the name.  What do you think?

That's all I've got for this fine Monday morning. 

Peace out,

Friday, January 21, 2011

F³A: blah

I've been fighting this cold for about two weeks now, and it's finally gotten the better of me this week.  I've missed 2 1/2 days of work because of it and it's screwing up my need to exercise and clean.

I have been editing though, which is good.

And that's pretty much it aside from laying in bed, sleeping, and watching movies.

I've really nothing more to say today.  Brain fry.

Book of the week: The Lipstick Laws by Amy Holder (Amy is a member of the Class of 2k11 and her ARC is on its way to me as we speak.  It's available for pre-order)

Random song from my iPod: Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

Movie of the week: Prince of Persia (Jake Gyllenhall = Swoon)

Quote of the week: "Hatred paralyzes life; love releases it. Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it. Hatred darkens life; love illuminates it." ~ Martin Luther King Jr.

Happy Friday,

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Writing Wednesday: Cheesy

 Yes, I'm aware it's not Wednesday, but I've been busy and I'm too sick to think, so Thought Provoking Thursday is out this week.

So, this is the beginning of my novel, Cheesy.  Let me know what you think.

There was a time I used to wear dresses. I wore pink, and patent leather shoes, and ribbons in my hair. I used to play with dolls. That was before my mom died of the cancer. I sat there and watched her disintegrate there in her own bed. I saw her hair fall out, watched her body get weaker and more frail by the day, watched her silently slip out of consciousness. Her already labored breath would catch, and her chest would heave when it became too painful even to breathe. I was glad I was asleep when she finally died. I wouldn’t want to have watched her take her last breath.
     Upon waking that morning, I went downstairs to find an odd pair of undertakers in my living room. The first undertaker was just like the ones you see in the movies. His name was George and he was very tall and pale with dark hair and a deep voice. The other’s name was George too. I know, too weird. He was the comic relief. It was almost like watching a vaudeville act instead of the men who were going to take your dead mom’s body out of your house forever.
     Then there was my dad, looking dazed as the undertakers delivered their monologues and then went about their duties. He didn’t speak, he didn’t cry. The tears had run their course weeks before. He just sat, and I let him just sit, staying quiet, watching him.  I wasn’t sure how he was going to take it all. Truth was, I didn’t know him very well at all. At the time, I was thirteen, and my mother had been my sole caretaker while Dad coached college football and travelled. And when he was home he worked on game plays, and watched footage, and strategized.  I knew lots of his players. He’d invite them to dinner every so often and my mom would serve them meatloaf, or pasta, or pork chops while my dad told them they were playing well, or how to improve their game, or that they were being cut. That’s how it went it our house.
     The undertakers rolled my mom out on a stretcher in a big black plastic bag with a zipper down the front. They handed my dad some pamphlets; he still didn’t speak, just nodded really. He didn’t even get up. I closed the door behind them and went to my mom’s room. She had her own in the last few weeks. The air was stifling and held a stale smell to it. A death smell.
      Pictures still hung by thumbtacks to a corkboard, photos of us in happier times. There was one of her and me baking cookies, some from our many trips to the zoo, my parents wedding picture. I hardly remember her looking like she did that day with a head full of hair and rosy cheeks and a full body.
    Her bed faced the window so she could look out over her garden, which my grandma would come and tend for her in the final days. Light was shining through the window and a stained glass ornament I made for her in third grade, the colors spreading across the gray carpet like it had spilled right out of a rainbow. Looking across the room, I could see every piece of dust filtering through the air. Swatting my hand through it to make a clear trail, I stepped toward the shelf full of books that stood right underneath the window. My mom, she loved to read. I remember her reading to me when I was little, Where the Wild Things Are, fairy tales, or poems from Shel Silverstein. I know some of those by heart. One of my favorites was called Whatif.   I often thought about the Whatifs in life, so I guess this made perfect sense.
     When my mother read for herself, she read stories with strong female characters: To Kill a Mockingbird, The Color Purple, and the like.  She taught me to be strong myself, and to always go for what I want in life, big or small.
     On the wall next to the window was an entertainment center with a television, a stereo, music, and movies. My mom’s favorite movie was Fried Green Tomatoes. We watched it together a bunch of times. I admit I liked it too. It definitely wasn’t my favorite, but I like how the women stand up for what’s right, and stand by each other in the hardest of times.
      My eyes took in the room one last time.  Everything was just the same as it was the day before, except for her bed of course. Hospice had brought in a hospital bed for her, one of those that you can lift up the head and feet, the kind with the bars on the sides so you don’t fall out. It was stripped. No more purple sheets, no more quilt made by my grandmother’s own hands, no pillowcase. No more mom. Stripped away just like the soiled bed sheets.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Tooting the Horn Tuesday: Random bits of awesomesauce

First off, we have this review of my friend Gae's novel, The Pull of Gravity by the Goddess of YA Literature.

Then there's 2k11-er Julia Karr.  Her dystopian novel XVI is getting amazing reviews.

Another 2k11 review.  This one of Angie Smibert's dystopian, Memento Nora.

So many good books coming out this year.  Make sure you pick them up.

Memento NoraXVI

Monday, January 17, 2011

Monday Morning Blahg

After much debate in my head over going back to sleep or getting up, I've finally made coffee.  Sleep loses out again as it normally goes with me although I was up entirely too early for a holiday/day off work.  So here I am blogging on this fine Monday morning.

Remember why you're home today.  A great man fought for and was killed for his belief that we should all be equal.  We have come a long way since then, but we still have a long road to go before the country is free from the confines of bigotry.  It's sad that as advanced a society as we are in so many ways, we still lack where our freedoms and rights are concerned and that the word prejudice has not yet disappeared from our vocabulary.

Hatred begets hatred.  Racism (or any other ism for that matter) is taught.  It's not innate.

Breed love, people.

I think that's all for today.

Peace out.


Friday, January 14, 2011

F³A: A few thank yous.

Yes, I'm back with the Friday Free For All in which I get to do whatever the hell I want.

I have a few friends that have encouraged me to pick up an old (not real old, but still) piece of writing and work on it.  I just want to thank them for always supporting me in my writing and in life.  You know who you are.

That's all.

Random iPod song: Undone (The Sweater Song) by Weezer
Movie of the week: The Social Network going to watch it this weekend
Book of the week:  Julia Karr's XVI, a dystopian YA, it's getting rave reviews.  Check it out.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Thought Provoking Thursday: I'm not going to talk about the AZ shooting

I was going to talk about the shooting in AZ, but honestly, I'm weary.  I don't normally get political here, because, well, I loathe politics, but guns bug me.  And the gun battle will never be resolved.  People will say ( and I agree) we shouldn't own them, others will say it's our 2nd amendment right.  Of course, the amendment was written during the homefront war days and there was the need for a militia.  Um, we don't really need a militia any more, just sayin'.  We have armies and National Guard and stuff for that now. 

Never mind that most guns in the home shoot more friends and family, whether by accident or not, than are used in self defense.

Every day 75 kids are shot.  15 of those die.  Every DAY, people!  And just kids!!  I don't even know how many adults are shot every day.

Did you know teens are two times more likely to kill themselves if there is a gun in the house?

I mean, it's kind of scary that just about anyone can go to a store or a gun show and buy a gun, isn't it?  Think about how many crazies there are in this country.  And. They. Can. Go. Right. In. And. Buy. A.  Gun. 

The guns used in violent crime are usually stolen.  And who are they stolen from?  Um, gun owners.

The amendment is archaic and is taken completely out of context for this day and age.  And  yes, I'm sure most gun owners are sane and responsible.  

But some are crazy.

And guns get stolen and then they kill people. 

I mean, if no one were allowed to own a gun, how would people die from a gunshot wound?

Is it really worth the amount of lives they take for you to own a gun?

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Writing Wednesday: What Gets You In

I haven't touched this in ages, but I thought I'd post a bit.  Needs A LOT of work.  lol.  Maybe I'll edit it some day.  It's adult fiction about the afterlife. (and don't talk about my cliche characters, this is one of the first things I wrote :)

     “You know you’re going to hell, don’t you?” Jean asked of Julia just after Jesus had departed.
     “Leave me alone,” Julia said, sliding down the wall to the white, glossy floor.
     “Is that true?” Ashley, the young girl clad in black drew in closer to Jean.
     “Well of course my child.  Suicide is murder.”  Jean felt it would be apropos to quote the bible yet again, “Your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God and you are not your own.  For you were bought at a price; therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God’s. 1 Corinthians 6:19 and 20.” Jean smiled, pleased with herself.  “Don’t you think that since your body is a temple and that temple belongs to God, that only he should decide when that temple should be destroyed?”
     “I don’t know,” Ashley answered.
     “There’s nothing to know.  Suicide is a sin and is punishable by banishment into the fires of hell.”
     Ashley began to sob, “What if you had good reasons?  Wouldn’t God understand?”
     “I don’t know.  Let’s hash it out, shall we.  If you had created something beautiful that you loved dearly and someone came and smashed it to bits, would you understand?”
     Ashley cried even harder, tears now streaking down her ashen face.  The small Asian man, Aiden, ran to her side and yelled at Jean, “Stop it!  Can’t you see you’re upsetting her?”
     “Two peas in a pod, the suicide and the homosexual.”
     “I’m not gay!”
     “You’re not, huh?  How did you get here?” Jean interrogated.
     “What are you talking about?” Aiden asked irritated.
     “How did you die?” she answered slowly making sure to pronounce every word clearly and with purpose.
     Aiden let out a great sigh and said, “AIDS.”
     “Hmph!  I knew it,” Jean declared proudly.
     “You don’t know anything, lady.  Are you really that ignorant?” Aiden replied.
     “I speak the truth.  Isn’t that right father?” She now addressed a priest who until now sat quiet and contemplative.”
     “It’s not for me to say,” Father Phil answered softly.
     “Not for you to say?” Jean said sardonically.  “You’re a man of the cloth!  If anyone has the right to say, it’s you.”
     “Jesus Christ, do you ever shut up?” The gangbanger howled from across the room.
      Jean looked over to him, startled, just as Jesus reentered the room.  “Did someone call for me? And was I told to shut up?”

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

testing testing

added a couple elements, so just doing a test blog.

Tooting the Horn Tuesday: Awards and whatnots

The ALA (American Library Association) awards were announced this week.  Here are the winners.

Here are the Printz award honors:

Stolen by Lucy Christopher
Please Ignore Vera Dietz by AS King
Revolver by Marcus Sedgwick
Nothing by Janne Teller

and the winner is . . . Ship Breaker by Paolo Bacigalupi

The Newberry Honorees are:

Dark Emperor and Other Poems of the Night by Joyce Sidman
Heart of a Samurai by Margi Preus
One Crazy Summer by Rita Williams Garcia
Turtle in Paradise by Jennifer L Holm

And the Newberry winner is:

Moon Over Manifest by Clare Vannderpool

Amazing right?  Congrats to all these amazing authors.  Let's give them a shout out and rush to the book stores and give them a read (if we haven't already).


Monday, January 10, 2011

The Monday Blahs

Is that what I renamed the Monday blog?  I can't even remember.

So, here we go.  I . . . wait for it . . . *insert drum roll sound effect here* . . . finished my copy edits!! *imagines crazed fans screaming in delight while swaying hands in the air and lighting lighters*

I know, I know, after all that complaining I got it done, and it wasn't all that bad.

I've embraced the fact that I'm no longer a 2011 release (I may have embraced it too hard, like strangled it to death), but I am joining the Class of 2k12, and have requested to join the Apocalypsies, like Elevensies, except debuting in 2012 (the year the world is supposed to end, thank god my book comes out in January).

After a chat with my agent, the amazing Irene Kraas (not sure I've ever told you guys that), I'm going to be working a bit on three projects, then deciding which one might work best as our option book.  As well as maybe working on another genre *gasp*  I've got some things up my sleeve (perhaps getting back to a MG series I was working on or dystopian adult work)

What else, what else . . .

Side note, nothing to do with writing, I've joined a Biggest Loser contest at work.  I'm DETERMINED to win.  So if I groan, complain about being tired, sore, or starving, you know why.

Come back tomorrow for whatever the hell Tuesday is now *reminds self to go look at last weeks blog to check*

Catch you on the flippity side.

Yours in peace love and literature,

Friday, January 7, 2011

Friend or Foe Friday Is Cancelled

Many inspire me, but this week has been a real bitch.  I found out I was doing copy edits all wrong, I got pushed out the back of 2011 for my release so I have to drop the Class of 2k11 group I've been working with for half a year and start over with the Class of 2K12. (but I do have a fellow bumpee, Caroline Starr Rose to keep me company).  And all that aside from other life drama made this week nearly unbearable.  

That said, there are some bright lights at the end of the tunnel.  Now that I know HOW to do my copy edits, it's going much quicker, I've been having a great time working on video book trailers, my website launched, and I just got my passes to the Sundance Film Festival in the mail.  (Plus it's Friday, so there's that). 

I also don't hate the idea of following in the footsteps of Class of 2k11er Julia Karr's footsteps by being first out the gate in 2012 (maybe definitely probably).  Her novel XVI is doing excellent and she's getting crazy good reviews.  I can't wait to read it. 

So, that's that.  Time to finish edits, watch my Seahawks in the playoffs, and chill for the weekend.  Until Monday.


Thursday, January 6, 2011

Thought Provoking Thursday: Happy Endings

I've had this running discussion on an Amazon forum, as well as on Facebook after a woman was upset, as well as her son, that the book he had to read for his language arts ended with the main character committing suicide.  They both think the teacher should have warned about the tragic ending of the story and perhaps shouldn't have taught that book at all.

I disagree.

I write about tragedy.    A lot.  Real life tragedy.  Death, eating disorders, kidnapping, school shootings.  Not every story has a happy ending.  This is just a fact, so how can every story we write have a happy ending?  They can't.  In my research about YA literature, I've found that teens want a character they can relate to.  One that shares there own fears, problems, and issues.  These issues include violence, abuse, drugs, even death.

I also take issue with this because of the book in question.  I've not read it, but I ordered it yesterday because it sounds amazing.  It's based on the life of a real person.  A boy who lies about his age so he can join the army during the Civil War.  He's fifteen and he thinks it's going to be a good time.  He's very wrong.  He witnesses death, kills, and probably more.  He gets wounded and goes home, then suffers from post traumatic stress disorder.  This is a historically significant book.  It teaches that the war doesn't end on the battlefield.  Soldiers take it home with them, and some suffer as a result.  It is also relevant to today as our troops continue to come home from Iraq and Afghanistan suffering from PTSD.  I've seen it first hand.

Not to mention the author, Gary Paulsen, has written three Newberry Honors titles, so, you know, he's an award winning author.

A teacher hands out a syllabus at the beginning of each semester.  As a parent, you need to look at it, and here at our schools, you have to sign it and send it back.  Perhaps instead of criticizing the book choices your teachers make, (which I know are very carefully chosen) you look into them yourself first.

But to have the teacher warn you about an unhappy ending, you may as well just be one of those people who read the end of the book before they start.  Also, there has been discussion about hope.  Many novels with sad endings still leave us with a feeling of hope at the end.  I have no idea if the book in question (A Soldier's Heart) does or not, but I'm going to find out.

Okay, I think I ranted enough.  Weigh in.  Let me know what you think.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Writing Wednesday: Sad

Hey you're in for a treat today.  I'm posting something I forgot I even started trying to find a follow up book for Never Eighteen.  So far, it's simply titled Sad.  I warn you, this excerpt is rated "R" by my own standards.  Tell me what you think. (not edited at all btw)

  I’ve often wondered what it would be like to sink down into the tub, lay there for a moment or two, resurface, then take a razor blade to my wrists and bleed out.  How much would it hurt?  Would the blood trickle or spurt?  How quickly would I die?  And who would find me?  I’d hope it would be my sister, the heinous bitch, always prancing around like she’s god’s gift or something, when she’s really just a cheerleading hobag that’s had more wiener in her than the Oscar Meyer factory.
     It’s not that I want to die; the idea just fascinates me.  I’m not brave enough to kill myself even though I’ve grown accustomed to pain.  Sometimes I wish I just wasn’t.  You know, didn’t exist.  But the cold hard fact of life is this, I do exist, and that, I just have to deal with no matter how fucked up and crazy it may seem.

      I don’t remember having a particularly miserable childhood. I had it pretty good really. Doctor dad, stay at home mom, brother, sister, and a dog named Chewy for good reason. Sometimes that doesn’t matter I guess, having it good, I mean. Sometimes our heads are
...just messed up or they get there along the way somehow.

    The first time I remember feeling desolate and alone was in eighth grade.  I went into the cafeteria bathroom and cried for no reason.  People came in; I told them I wanted to kill myself.  I have no idea if I really wanted to or not.  I think sometimes it’s just something we say when we feel lost, at least when we’re young because we don’t understand our emotions.  Those who entered the restroom consoled me, cheered me, and it was done with.  I’m sure I had my ups and downs after that, but don’t remember any until high school when my best friend slept with my boyfriend.  Some friend, huh?

     David and I met in English class.  Well, technically, that’s where I became totally obsessed with him.  He sat right in front of me, tall, dark hair and eyes, a smile like something you’d see in a Da Vinci painting.  And he was quiet.  So quiet that it intrigued me.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Tooting the Horn Tuesday: Caron Guillo

Yeah, changed the name of Tuesdays blog as well.  It was too hard to find other people to blog with, so I thought I would start tooting the horn.  Not my horn, mind you.  The horn of others, other writers (doesn't have to be writers, but they seem like the majority of people I know) to promote their work.

Today I'm going to promulgate (isn't that a great word) my friend Caron Guillo.  Her novel, An Uncommon Crusade, hits stores today!!!

Here is the description from Amazon: 

Elisabeth, Simon, and Hugo join an ill-fated commoner's crusade to Jerusalem in search of wealth, glory, and redemption. But their dreams are destroyed when Elisabeth and Simon are sold into slavery and Hugo finds himself adrift at sea. From the dark forests of thirteenth century Germany, through treacherous alpine passes, to a sprawling estate in Egypt, three lives become linked in a desperate journey. 

If you are interested in the crusades, historical fiction, and the like, please check out her book.  She's not only a fantastic writer, she's a very funny, kind, wonderful person.
She's also getting into her own editing business.  She editing my novel, Lockdown, for me, and let me say, the woman is thorough.  She gave me line edits and her overall feel of the novel in great detail.

So, give An Uncommon Crusade a shot.  NOW!! (okay, not now, but you really should.  I'm going to)

Thanks for reading,


Monday, January 3, 2011

Monday Blahs

Yep changing the name from Manic Monday to Monday Blahs.  It felt more appropriate.  I am very tired this morning and I'm out of coffee creamer, so I'll have to spend $5 at Starbucks this morning to get my morning jolt.

I only got about halfway through my copy edits over the weekend with the holiday and such.  Seven days to finish.  Guess what I'll be doing every day after work this week?

Brighter side, I got my bills paid, my beautiful website is up and running, I finished two book trailer videos, and my Seahawks, although pathetically, won their division.  So there's that.

That's all I can muster without coffee.

Have a happy Monday,


My Dad. He's awesome.

John Messina, Personal Injury Attorney

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