27 February 2009

ADD or just Plain Nuts?

It's the end of another week, and what a smashing finish. Did anyone see the moon tonight? I was on the phone to my friend (who has a $800 camera) begging him to take a picture of the bugger. Venus was bright, and with the slight misty ring...absolutely unbelievable. I hope he got the picture. Man I hope so. It's perfect for M's blog.

Speaking of people who don't exist, I decided to pull another car out of the garage. This one's a little less formal than Mr. Stuffy-Pants. I call him Xanox. The blog, freshly created, is Pale Rider. Feel free to visit and please, I totally welcome a nasty slaughter if I'm fucking up the story flow on either.

We'll see how far these two get. This is a panel test, and you guys are my delightful lab bunnies. Or am I yours?

Only time will tell.

Really!

Yesterday I gave my first presentation to my peers at work. I aced it, and discovered that I rather like the rush of sweating bullets, and the challenge of trying to remember everything without looking at my notes.

It was the scariest thing, because I had these people for an hour, and was expected to educate and entertain them. On top of all that, I had a big wig from Corporate office in California watching me. Taking notes. Questioning certain statements.

EEK.

I will be giving three more next week. I can't wait.

On other fronts:

I'll most likely be editing M's stuff for proper content and grammar. This morning's blurb is really elementary and dry but I wanted to get it out before getting lost in Corporate land.

I hope I'll have something to blog about this weekend, aside from work. >_>

25 February 2009

Allude to Grandeur and Me = :(

So work's been great. Busy. Completely engulfing. Problem is, M is quiet and I don't have time to do installments just this week. It should improve slightly for the weekend and most certainly after next Thursday. Dreaming up a new scenario for him to get into. I like action. Too much talk is well, Zzz.

Welcome new minions of mine. :) I'll check through the list and make sure I'm checking out at least one of your blogs.

24 February 2009

Warning...

Blogger seems to be unfollowing people from Blogs (visibly) for no reason. I stand corrected on my previous school of thought.

It's not you or me. It's Blogger.

22 February 2009

They are no longer angels...DM premiere



Okay, I love them even more. The dark sound is just what this old goth ordered. Seek Depeche Mode "Wrong" on Youtube. What do you think?

21 February 2009

Angel again.

At the risk of looking multi-talented, I expose one more angel to the light. She's rather shy so be kind to her. Feel free to slaughter my technique:


19 February 2009

Mange.

The sickening, sleazy slime of decades past
a life I eliminated from my daily agenda
Journey back to where the book was open
and everything was up in the air

A beating of dark wings
outstretched beyond the landscape of my ideal imagination
a bile so villainous
I can’t abide to carry the concept of it existing
longer than a nanosecond.

The case was closed;
said-chest of poisonous deceit
drowned in the depths of self preservation
The page was turned;
the candle extinguished
to protect the eyes of the innocent.

Still, I pause here
on this dusty trail of what I’ve been doing
to look behind me and see
it’s followed me home
like a stray dog with mange.

Undead, unbarred.
Sunken red eyes to demonstrate
A hundred pounds of wasted skin
Mottled judgment or askew irony...

Fate is not always what we make it.

17 February 2009

Not a professional

It seems like everywhere I turn, everyone is seeking attention. Read me, review me, comment, anything...just love me. Validate the reason I exist here.

Yes, we are all human. We all bleed. We all breathe. We all die.

We have various beliefs, colors, sizes, and affinities, but we are all the same. What makes us unique to one another is our minds. The brain is a powerful entity, creating or destroying illusions or concrete realities so tangible you can almost reach out and touch it.

We wander in own halls, caressed by the strong breezes of creativity, and drink from the very river that all others have drank before. We are part of the process, but each and every mind is like another door in the Akashic halls of legend.

We love, we nurture. We encourage and disarm. We abhor and dismantle. Each and every day.

Perhaps I am too hard on those that desperately seek my acceptance. After all, who am I to judge any one person, or a genre or race as a whole? How can I feel confident in knowing that I am vindicated when all I know is what's behind my own little red door?

Life is a participatory sport, not a sideline pastime. That's where it all begins: a strong run and kick then flip into the air, suspended in glorious rainbows for one precious second...

only to merge with the rest of the sparking fishes in this river called the World.

13 February 2009

On Wicked Game

Wicked Game is the first in a series by Jeri Smith-Ready, and is a fast-paced work of rock-and-roll art. Weaving old masterpieces of rock music into her story, Smith-Ready creates a very believable set of vampires that inhabit the lower level of an ailing independent radio station. Ciara (and that's Keer-ah, thank you very much) is hired on to help boost revenues or the owner of the station will sell to the conglomerate bunch called Skywave, and the vampires will lose their shelter.

Smith-Ready has created her vampires with several new twists, including the fact that they are trapped in their own time once changed, and cannot learn new things. They also exhibit heavy Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I found it hilarious to see how compulsive they really got in the story.

Shane McAllister and Ciara Griffin make an unlikely duo, but their interactions ring true. I felt for these characters. I rooted for them. I was sad for them. I wanted them to win.

There were a few parts where I had to look back to remember which vampire was which; the cast does get rather crowded at a few parts and you are forced to slow down and take the story in sips rather than gulps. It isn't a bad thing, and once you get past it, the story climbs back on the freeway and you are smooth reading again.

Wicked Game
was a romance, but not; urban fantasy, but yeah...you get the idea. Smith-Ready's unique point-of-view throughout the whole story was distracting at first, but once I grew used to the idea of everything in present-tense, I relaxed and enjoyed the tale. The music, and the stories behind these wonderful creatures; Jeri's earned a spot on my "Will Buy" list.

Take a peek and support this up-and-coming author.

12 February 2009

2009.04.21



Sounds of the Universe joins my collection of sweet, sweet DM music. I. Can't. Wait.

10 February 2009

Remiel - to cold storage with ye and NEXT!

This is going to be short. I've decided to stop pretending like I have time to write a bloody novel right now. Remiel, to the meat locker with you. Watch out for the others, you're fresh and they like that.

Went out for Mexi-marts last night with Kite and had a good talk which enlightened me more than ever. I've been banging my head against the wrong wall. So I started a posse. A local one. With real people.

For what?

You'll have to wait and see.

09 February 2009

That's great, it starts with earthquakes; birds, snakes and airplanes...

I picked up a couple of paranormal 'romance' books or Urban fantasy as the skirt-around is called. Guilty Pleasures, by Laurell K. Hamilton and Dead Witch Walking by Kim Harrison. I've peeked into both of them, and here are my impressions so far, which would match my impression before buying at a bookstore as a customer:

Laurell K. Hamilton: I see why she is so popular. Her front-end hooks land solid and snatch you by the collar straight into the story. This is the first book in this Anita Blake series, but it's obvious she's done work before in this genre. Her descriptions are fleeting and necessary, her character's interior voice is true. Self-description is sparse, yet revealing. As of yet, no smoothing fingers down a skirt (my idea of lazy descriptive).

Kim Harrison: This is her first book, I think. My initial reaction? Yuck. She jumps straight into the story with a Pixie she doesn't describe until a few pages in, takes an entire page to describe wardrobe and makes lazy references to props. I think the most important thing to note is that this is certainly the work of an amateur. I'm hoping that she grows as a writer, because when she's not worrying over details, she flows much better. I previewed newer titles, and it appears that this does (thankfully) happen.

I also have Jeri Smith-Ready's Wicked Game set to arrive soon in the mail. I will post an impression of that when I finish the book. I'm hoping for bedazzlement, because I personally like the author very much.

06 February 2009

Just a Taste

I've seen other writers do this, and I find it very appealing. I'm going to share a scene from my novel-in-progress. This is where Avanti finds out what her gentle consort really is:


He had a name, this dark stranger, stereotypically dazzling for a foreign male. I needed to know it. I needed to know who he was in order to take him out. I had to. The voices of my ancestors sang in my blood, excruciatingly haunting and beautiful all at once. I knew those voices, even though they were as solidly heard as mist is seen. It was a transparent frequency and nothing more having something to do with the magic present in my veins.

“Remiel,” he replied, his tongue skipping over the syllables like harmony. Like sweet jazz to my brain. My head ached, and then I knew it was all him.

Vampire.

I shook my head. No, not this one, this sweet bulk of a man, broad of shoulder and slightly graying at the temples. He had me in thrall dammit, and it had to come off. I had to get away from him without him suspecting that I was who I was, and that I knew also what he was.

“Remiel,” I said, “Powerful name for an archaeologist.”

“Mother loved her angels,” he said with a gentle, close-lipped smile.

“How old are you then?” I asked and his smile broke into a small grin.

“Old enough to not tell the truth.”

I pressed my lips together, trying to hide that disapproving look I knew I was developing. His eyes followed my every movement, but his body stayed casual and comfortable; slack. I felt like I was already-tagged game.

The predator lies in wait for the unsuspecting young gazelle to let her guard down for one precious second.

Tick.

I pretended to feel my phone give a silent alert and checked it, even though there wasn't a message waiting for me.

“I'm sorry Remiel. Looks like my best friend just got dumped by her fuckwit boyfriend.”

“You have to go?” He asked, his dark eyebrows climbing skywards. Time froze and for a minute, the charade was dropped to expose the real creature underneath this lovable, older professional. He was young, like me. Not quite yet thirty. Brown hair, so dark it may as well be black. Piercing hazel eyes: green, with a generous splash of caramel. His face was free of creases, and there was no gray at his temples. He was definitely a vampire, and a damn powerful one if he hid his real self from me.

I tempered my reaction to this sudden reveal. “She's going to need wine and vent time. We'll do this again soon.”

“What about your family?” He asked as he stood politely for me to take my leave.

I paused in my panicked flight, crestfallen. He was the only link to them.

Drawing Down the Bones, part III



This is one of my angels in a series of three, which I suppose I'll share. Although I am a person without faith, I can appreciate the fantasy and lore woven into the divine image of this ethereal creature.

On Remiel and Avanti--Remiel didn't have the gumption to tell her what he needed to. I left off at 462 words. Just too tired. My job has stolen my brain, and I don't know how to make them give it back. It's okay-they pay me well.


2064 / 75000 words. 3% done!

05 February 2009

gobbledegook.

To this date, I've missed two major deadlines, and mostly because my attention has been defused by several factors, among which is The Old Story, The Baby, and The Job.

To get away for forty-five minutes and type up some sort of something that I've been scribbling at random in my dump book is a definite luxury. To sit and compose a story that actually goes somewhere is still only a pipe dream. So much noise in here, and I don't mean my house. My head is filled with gobbledegook from throughout the day: Technical Process Documents, Random Facts gleaned from the history book open on its face on the corner of my desk, To-Do lists inscribed in my mind that easily fuzz out when I'm actually standing at the store, worries over money, and the claim that was denied by my Dental...I should really call them to interpret this in English.

In other words, I am so busy.

I'd set up a nice little get-together with my small band of friends, old and new, and it fell through. I haven't really been out in months. I did get coffee with Kite last Saturday (or was it Sunday?) but it was 90 minutes. I ended up overdosing on caffeine and having a restless night, which has continued as a trend these past few nights.

I just want sleep. To have a silent spot where I can tune into my Muse, and understand these storylines and thoughts on plot.

I can't do both.

I do have good news: Last night, the new story breathed life for the first time. Avanti met Remiel, and already, sparks are flying between them. I may start debriefing on a generalized idea of what is going on/has happened between the two unlikely lovebirds.


1642 / 75000 words. 2% done!

If you want, that is. Oh hell. I'll do it because I want to.