Monkey Madness Monday

Sometimes it is so hard to pick a monkey pic.  There are so many cute ones out there.

So, I decided on an impromptu trip to the ocean to gets some much needed R & R and some writing done.

I left on Saturday, the weather was perfect for the drive, blue clear skies, sun shining down on my hamster mobile.

I sang at the top of my lungs to the radio the whole way down, sunroof open, driving a little faster than I should have.

I arrived around 2:00 pm, and after debating fun vs. work, decided to get right in on the writing.  I accomplished a few things in the hours I wrote.  I cut about 3oo words from the novel, went through pages and pages of research, and got some words in.  The word count doesn't really reflect the work that was done, but I did put a lot of time into it. 

The novel took a turn I didn't expect, and now I find myself doing a lot of research on teen psych facilities.  It's interesting for sure, but also very sad that teens find no recourse than to turn to violence, self harm, addictions, and eating disorders to get them through the day, landing them in these kinds of places.  I expected someone like my main character to perhaps spend a few days in a place like this, but come to find out the average time for someone like her is about four months.  Sad indeed.

Anyway, the day I got here was perfect, I worked, got a little sun, won money at the casino, took myself to dinner, and watched True Grit (I loves me some Coen brothers films).

Day two was mostly writing and research with a shopping trip in the middle.  Birthday presents, gummy butterflies and salt water taffy, and monkey candle holders.  I closed up shop around 4:00 pm, bbq'd myself a Gorgonzola burger and made homemade fries, then watched an SVU marathon into the night.

Here I am today.  Cleaning the place up, catching up on email and facebook, then back to writing for a couple hours before heading home.

A perfect quiet weekend.  I wanted to catch up on some other stuff too, video, blog posts, reading, but was immersed in my novel to do anything other than write (and the fun stuff).

Happy Monkey Madness Monday to you all, I hope you have a productive and fulfilling week.

Peace out,

Megan

T Tuesday. T is for Theme

Themes.  Do you have some that run through just about every one of your novels?  Here are a few things that I see me constantly writing about, whether they play a major part or a supporting role.

Soccer: I love soccer.  I love watching my kids play soccer.  I used soccer in the MG series I wrote (my very venture into novel writing), it also had it's supporting roll in Never Eighteen (NE).  It makes sense because every weekend for about nine months out of the year I am either watching one or two games a week.

Coffee, particularly Starbucks:  I'm addicted, so this just makes sense.  In the MG series, they have a favorite coffee shop, in NE Kaylee works at Starbucks.  In Lockdown there is a scene with the shooters mom and the police where they talk over coffee.

Death:  Yep.  I'm starting to think I may be obsessed with or at least fascinated by it.  People die.  I've killed or made someone gravely ill in every book I've written be it nemesis, best friend, or the entire cast.  I think in my WIP (work in progress) I won't kill anyone, though my protagonist is fascinated by death.

Teen social issues: Eating disorders, domestic abuse, drug abuse, alcoholism, depression, sexual assault, homosexuality, violence, I've written about all of them.  The sad thing is, teens face these problems every day whether it's their own issue, or someone close to them.

So, what reoccurring themes do you find running through your writing?

Do share.

Writing Wednesday: Withered (which I know I'll need to change)

As always, this is unedited.  I don't think I've even read it since I wrote it.    This may or may not be my next project after Sad.

      Entering the cafeteria, we looked around to see where we might want to sit.  We walked slowly down the aisles of  industrial white school lunch tables until we heard someone say, “You ladies need a place to sit?”

     Following the voice, we found a table of boys.  All staring and smiling.  At Sarah.

     “You can sit on my lap,” a tall thin boy with wispy shoulder length strawberry blond hair and a nose full of freckles said.

     The boy next to him, the one that had called us in the first place, punched him hard in the arm.  “Ow!” he yelled, rubbing what would probably a newly forming bruise.

     “Never mind Jack.  He’s an idiot.  What he meant to say was that he’d love it if you beautiful ladies would sit at our table.”

     Sarah looked over to me, I just shrugged, and we headed over to their table.  Not wanting to sit too close to Jack, we took a seat on the other side of our host.

     “I’m Chad,” he said, offering his hand.  He was something to look at, light brown hair, sparkling blue eyes, and dimples that could make even the most frigid girl melt.  

     “So, you two are new this year, huh?” Chad asked, mostly to Sarah as his eyes hadn’t left her face since we sat down.

     “Yeah, I’m from Colorado, and Willa here is from Oklahoma,” Sarah answered.

       “What do you do in Oklahoma?  Tip cows?” Jack asked then snort laughed.

     “Yeah, cow tipping, never heard that one before,” I said.  “And we’re all rednecks, love country music, drive pick-ups and wear cowboy hats.”

     “Jack, stop being such a douche,” Chad said.

     “What?” Jack said with a mouth full of peanut butter sandwich.

     Just then, Veronica, our walking dead tour guide from orientation showed up, food tray in hand, two more walking dead girls, twins to be exact,  behind her.  Veronica looked right at Chad and said, “What are they doing here?”

     “I invited them to sit with us.”

     “Well uninvite them.”

     “Ronnie, come on.”

     She exasperated and took a seat on the other side of Jack, her entourage sat across from her.

     “Ronnie, this is Sarah and-”

     “We’ve met,” she said digging into her school lunch, which consisted of nothing more than a pile of carrots and an apple juice.

     Chad then turned to us, gestured toward the twins and said, “And this is Blythe and Bliss.”

     “It means joy,” they said in unison, reminding me of murderous evil twins from a horror movie.

     “Creepy,” I whispered in Sarah’s ear.  She giggled.

     The time passed quickly as Veronica nibbled on her carrots, Chad talked Sarah’s ear off, Jack told stupid blonde jokes, and the scary twins did everything in unison from shoveling food in their mouth to drinking from their pop cans.  The bell rang and Sarah and I headed toward the exit.

Top 4 Worst Experiences of My Life: # 3 Affliction

This is where it gets personal for me.

I used to hate myself. Period. At the time this seemed rational, but of course with age and experience I see it was a lack of self confidence in myself that caused these feelings of self loathing. At any rate from age 18 to 23 I suffered from Bulimia. I'm sure you know what that is, so I won't bother explaining. The reasons behind it are too personal to share, and don't really matter anymore anyhow.

The disease started off slowly, but gained speed and at its apex I was purging anywhere from 2 to 15 times a day, after every little thing I ate. It became an art form of sorts. I knew which foods made it easier, which were harder. I knew drinking liquids would help the process. At work, I knew which bathrooms were empty at what times of the day. I even convinced myself after I ate that I was sick, I couldn't possibly keep anything down. Yep. I was sick.

I was controlled by it. It was more an addiction for me than a disease, like meth to the drug user, or booze to the alcoholic. I couldn't get through the day without it. I finally confided in my boyfriend (who will remain nameless because he was a big jerk) that I had a problem. He told me to stop, as if that would solve anything. And as with any other addiction, you know how easy that must have been. I tried to control it, but couldn't

Rock bottom hit. I started getting shooting pains in my gut, I couldn't stay awake, my body was rebelling against me, making demands, telling me to quit or die. I finally told my parents I needed help. Between them, my work, and my future husband, (who is not the boyfriend I mentioned before) I got the help I needed.

It's been about seventeen years, but like with all addicts, I've relapsed a couple of times since, and I still struggle on occasion, especially on dark days. For the most part I've overcome those obstacles of my late teens, early adult years, and I urge anyone with similar problems to get help before it's too late. Talk to someone, your parents, a friend, teacher, or counselor. Many work places have mental health programs for all sorts of afflictions and addictions.

Please feel free to comment or question. Come back tomorrow and read my # 2 worst life experience.