Memory Lane

     Last week I wrote about my WIP and how it's partially inspired by some events of my teenage years. So naturally after writing it I found myself traveling down memory lane. One of my favorite things to do back then was attend the Thursday night poetry readings at the Lighthouse Coffee Shop. It was this quaint little pink house that had been converted into a coffee shop/used clothing store. Even in my goth days, when the color pink was anathema, I loved that little pink building. Sadly, it is no longer pink, and no longer a coffee shop. 

     I dug up this poem I wrote a few years ago about a guy I had a crush on back then. Enjoy! 

No One Makes a Florentine Like You Do

Here I enter my weekly wonder,

the only constant in my world asunder.

My mind more a daze than the haze of the smoke-filled room

crowded with misfits sharing notebooks filled with gloom.

I wait behind the many followers at your bar,

but your eyes seek me from afar.

You know just what I like while I await to take the mike,

Your hand brushes against mine as you hand me my special florentine,

giving my heart a spike.

What to share? What to share?

I think, flipping through my tattered pages of exaggerated despair,

when your voice fills the air.

The room falls to a hush.

My heart pounds and my cheeks burn with a blush.

Your words are meant only for me

and my innocent mind fills with thoughts that were never to be.

You with your experience and never-ending band

of glaring green-eyed beauties. You look only at me,

not even old enough to buy the cigarettes clutched tightly in my hand.

Ahh, but it wasn't meant to be,

nothing but smiles and comments meant only for me,

And a florentine, served with extra chocolate, whipped cream, and a wink.

So here I sit half a lifetime later, my drink

now more bitter than sweet, and I think

wherever you are, this is for you.

In With The New

     After dedicating many a post to my first novel and my experiences trying to get it published, I think it's time to start talking about the new novel I'm working on. It's a young adult paranormal fantasy (I think), and I can't begin to express how excited I am about it.
     It's takes place in a fictional Colorado mountain town called Caribou Canyon (also the working title). The name is inspired by Caribou, a ghost town in Boulder County that thrived when its silver mines were first discovered. The town never quite bounced back from the fire that took place in 1879.
     The story began writing itself in my head long before I actually put anything to paper. I remember the moment the idea first hit me. It was Spring of 2011 and I'd just had the daunting realization that my vampire novel, which I'd thought was complete, needed a lot more work. It was a Friday night and I was sitting at Red Robin with my then boyfriend discussing all the work I had to do on my vampire novel when the idea for the new novel suddenly came to me. I knew I would't be writing it for a while, but it was a huge relief that I had an idea for a new story. I'd been afraid that my first novel was a fluke and I would never have any new ideas.
     I now have at least six potential novel ideas floating around my brain, so this is no longer a fear of mine.
     It wasn't until Fall of 2013 that I finally started working on Caribou Canyon. Since then, I've been flying by the seat of my pants. It's how I roll. Or fly. At least in rough drafts. I only had a very basic concept in mind: three best friends, a small town, murders, ghosts, and maybe some sort of curse. That might sound like a lot, but since I didn't have any details worked out, it really wasn't much at all. I'm amazed with how the story has evolved, and I even know how it's going to end!
     This story has a very special place in my heart. The initial inspiration came from my own tumultuous teenage years. Crazy times. I can't stress that enough. My mom calls those years my "Lost Weekend."  She's a John Lennon fan and had to explain that reference to me. It's an apt name. Although it might've been a Lost Weekend, those years were both painful and beautiful, and utterly awesome.
     The three main characters are based on myself and my two very best friends ever, Teri and Charla. Words cannot convey how much they meant and still mean to me, and how precious our friendship became in such a short period of time. Teri and I spent about three months living at Charla's house, which is by far one of the most interesting houses I've ever been in.
      The house was located in a former mining town. It was built in the early 1900s smack in the middle of a large field. The house had no foundation, so by the late '90s, when I lived there, it was starting to sink into the ground. It was seriously awesome and seriously freaky. The floors were crooked and the walls were dipping in on one side and bulging out on the other. Don't even get me started on that field. It was creepy during the day and downright terrifying at night. Sometimes I couldn't even bring myself to look out the window.
     Teri, Charla, and I were three teenagers with wild imaginations and a desperate need to grasp onto something that was meaningful, something that was less frightening than our painful realities. Crazy angst filled teens and a horror writer's dream house is a recipe for wild times and a lot of groupthink fed delusions. It was good times. Painful, but good.
     For my novel, I traded in the "haunted" house for an entire haunted town. I took away the groupthink delusions and replaced them with actual paranormal activity.
     My main characters are based on Teri, Charla, and myself. Penny is the good girl, the quiet shy book worm. She represents me. Frankie is the angry rebel and is supposed to represent Charla. Natasha is the outgoing beauty who is supposed to represent Teri.
     But when I started writing, I realized that Frankie and Natasha didn't represent Charla and Teri. At least not completely. They are as much me as Penny is. Penny is the ambitious, nothing-is-ever-good-enough, perfect Becky, who finally cracked under the pressure of high school. Frankie is the result of me cracking. Natasha is the girl that nerdy, friendless Becky always longed to be.
     Each girl is a different part of me, though I still like to think of Frankie and Natasha as Charla and Teri. Those girls still mean the world to me. They taught me what true friendship and love is. I hope to do our friendship justice with this novel.
     Teri and Charla, if you guys are reading this, I love you.
     All right, now that I've gotten all gooey and emotional and teary-eyed, I'm going to sign off. As always, thanks for reading.

The Miserable Un-Accomplishments of Becky

     Yesterday I told my friend to use this as a blog title, and I was totally kidding. Then I told her that I was going to use it as a title, and I was still kidding. But I woke up this morning and thought, "Wow, I have lots of miserable un-accomplishments to share." By miserable, I mean so ridiculously pathetic that I can only laugh at myself, and encourage others to laugh at me as well.
     Back in college when I was working on my BA in psychology, I took a course titled Behavioral Neuroscience. This was a combination upper division/graduate level course. The only difference between the grads and the undergrads was that the grads had to do an extra paper. It was a tough class. In retrospect, I'm not even sure why I took it. I'm not a science-minded person. Needless to say, I got a D in the course.
     Lucky for me, the university was testing out their course forgiveness program. If you received an undesirable grade, you were allowed to repeat the course the next semester. After completing the course a second time, the new grade would be the one recorded on the student's transcript, regardless of whether or not it was better than the first. I gladly took the course again. Guess what happened? I got an F the second time around. Yep. I repeated the course only to have my bad grade replaced by a worse grade.
     Go ahead. Laugh. I do. It's funny, and it's easy to laugh now because I still managed to graduate with a decent GPA.
     My next un-accomplishment is in regards to my quest to get my novel published. During the first eight or so months of querying agents, my manuscript was 124,000 words. For those who don't know, 80-100k is the standard word count for an adult novel. There's nothing wrong with longer novels, but in a new writer, it can be a sign that one has yet to perfect their craft. I of course was certain that I needed all 124k of those words.
     I met an agent at a conference, who was the first to request sample chapters. She ended up passing on the project. A few weeks later I had a major epiphany about how to shorten my manuscript. It's now 96k. Yay! I was upset that I hadn't had this epiphany before I'd sent my chapters to this agent. I looked at her agent page again and discovered that she accepts revisions, which is pretty rare. So I queried her again, and again she requested sample chapters only to pass on the project.
     Again.
     I got rejected by the same agent for the same project twice. I'm still a bit embarrassed/sad about this, but I'm trying to laugh. I bet a few years from now I'll find it really funny, so you can go ahead and laugh now.
     Okay, I've saved the best for last.
     I used to own a VW Jetta. I bought it at a shady little used car lot which caused me a bit of trouble, though that's a story for another time. They gave me the car with only one key. It was one of those fancy switch blade-esque key fobs with that weird electronic key. If I'd known better, I would've demanded that they provide me a spare, but I didn't know better. When I went to the VW dealer to get a spare, I learned that another fob would cost $400 and a valet key would be $250. I was a student at the time, so paying that amount of money for a key was out of the question. I decided to risk having only one key. It worked out just fine for about four years.
     After college I got a job at a mental health center for incarcerated adolescents. I always used the bathroom before my shift started, because during the shift it could be hard to get away. I was wearing a sweatshirt with pockets in the front, which was where I'd stuffed my car keys. When I leaned over to flush the toilet, my keys slipped out of my pocket into the toilet. Time slowed during those horrifying seconds as I watched my keys swirl around and disappear. I reached for them (ick) but I was too late. This wasn't just one key either. It was a big clunky key chain with lots of useless things on it.
     My car key was not useless. Nor were my facility keys.
     I had to ask another staff member to walk me through a number of locked doors to get to maintenance. When I told Mr. Maintenance I flushed my keys down the toilet, I was so embarrassed that I couldn't stop laughing. I think he thought I was joking. He stared at me blankly for a full minute before he realized I was serious. He finally grabbed some long stick thing and we headed back to the bathroom.
     It was a single person bathroom and someone was in there by the time we got back. Mr. Maintenance knocked on the door and briefly explained the situation. He asked the woman inside not to flush the toilet, to which she replied, "Are you sure? It's not pretty in there."
     Yeah. She said that.
     Oh, are you wondering who was in the bathroom? It was the president of the company. That's right. My boss's boss's boss.
     She opened the door a crack so Mr. Maintenance could hand her the weird fishing tool. She closed the door and tried to pull out my car keys while Mr. Maintenance yelled instructions through the door. By the that time, a number of people had poked their heads out of their office doors to see what was going on.
     Unfortunately, my keys were irretrievable. The funny thing was, the toilet never clogged. That was some good plumbing. Luckily, my boss felt so bad for me that he waived the $150 replacement fee for the facility keys. It wasn't so easy for my car though. I had to get it towed to the VW dealership so they could program a new key, and pay several hundred dollars for a replacement. I learned my lesson and got two replacements.
     I'm sure I have more hilarious un-accomplishments to share, but I don't think anything can top the key story. That was seven years ago, and I still can't stop laughing about it. If you aren't laughing, then you have no sense of humor.
     As always, thanks for reading.

Once upon a time there were Elven Space Vampires who controlled the galaxy...

     Yep. That was totally a thing. Once upon a time. Guess what? That time is now. Because why shouldn't there be Elven Space Vampires taking over the entire galaxy?
     All right, perhaps I should back up a bit. Many of you know that I've been querying my post-apocalyptic vampire novel. You also know that I am up to 27 rejections. It's harsh, but I remain determined. Determined enough to create Elven Space Vampires.
     Oops, I jumped ahead again.
     One of the hardest things about being rejected is that it is difficult to know why you are being rejected. Is it the writing? Is it the query letter? Is it the fact that the market is no longer ripe for vampires? Or is it some other reason that I've yet to even think of?
     I suspect it might largely be due to the fact that the vampire ship has temporarily sailed, however I hate to simply leave it at that because it seems like a cop out on my part. If I blame it on the market, I'm leaving no accountability for my own writing, and I know that I have room to improve. There is always room to improve.
     Of my 27 queries, only once did I receive a partial request. This lets me know that my rejections were either due to a poor query letter, or the market not having enough fresh blood for the vampires. I suppose the solution is to address both issues. So, much to my discontent, I will be rewriting my query. Because I'm into self-torture. Yep. Writing a query is self-torture. All right, I'm being slightly melodramatic, but hey, I'm a writer. So, to address this issue, I've posted my query and first page on my blog. If you'd like to take part in ripping my query to shreds, see my previous post "Give me your best shot." (Update: I received a ton of good feedback and have taken the post down. Thanks to everyone who contributed.)
     Okay, so I've addressed the query issue. What about the market issue? Never fear. That's where the Elven Space Vampires come in. I've done some research and have discovered that many agents are looking for space operas. Fairy tale reworks are also in style, and high fantasy is still alive and kicking.
     Does this mean I should write a space opera, rework a fairy tale, or create a whole new universe? Nope. By the time I finished that, agents would be looking for something else. So I've come up with a much easier solution: rework my current manuscript. It shouldn't be that hard. I've got vampires taking over Earth. So, I just need to make the vampires come from another planet. Simple.
     As far as the high fantasy elements, I just need to give my vampires pointy ears and Elven magic. Easy. Elven vampires from planet Elvampiter (Hey, I wrote an entire novel, I don't have time to think of a better planet name). Instead of conquering Earth, they conquer multiple planets. Easy.
     Oh, the fairy tale part. I almost forget. I'll just begin with "Once upon a time…" That's all that makes a fairy tale, right? Okay, I guess I can throw in a red cape just to be on the safe side. Yeah, that's it. And my MC can wear glass slippers that give her psychic powers. Awesome. Problem solved. Soon I will have a post-apocalyptic space opera fairy tale urban romantic fantasy. Look for it on shelves near you.
     (If you do happen to see something like this on the shelves, I suggest you run the other way.)
     Feel free to check out my query. Any comments are greatly appreciated. As always, thanks for reading.

The Ugly Green Monster

     I have a confession. I love monsters. If you know me, this comes as no surprise. While vampires are my first love, they are not the only creatures of the night I worship and adore. Ghosts; zombies; wights; werewolves; heck, were-anything; wendigos; chupacabras; demons; you name the monster, I love it. (I apologize to any monsters that have unintentionally been left off the list. I promise, I love you too.) Monsters are so much fun to write about. You can take all the legends and lore and use them however you like, while putting your own spin on things. It's just plain awesome.
     There is, however, one monster I don't like. The ugly green monster. Jealousy. Envy. Resentment. Does anyone feel like they're back in Elementary School? I do, but I feel the need to address this in order to make the feelings go away. I hate the green monster. It lurks inside me, hiding from others, but rearing its ugly head. It's evil, but I can't get rid of it.
     I thought about a stake to the heart, but it's just a giant green blob; I couldn't find its heart. I thought maybe I'd wear garlic to protect myself, but I love garlic so much I just wound up cooking with it. I put salt lines over the windows and doors of my apartment, wore silver jewelry, and even carried around an iron rod. Nothing worked. I guess that means I have to conquer the monster the old-fashioned way: by owning up to my feelings. Shiver.
     I am now up to 27 rejections on my novel, and it's not getting any easier. I have no intention of giving up, but each new rejection is a weight on my shoulders. I've recently started participating in a number of Twitter pitching contests. These contests are great. They help connect writers with other writers and create a sense of community. However, they are pretty competitive. Whenever something is competitive, that means there will be disappointment for someone. As it turns out, I am one of those someones.
     It isn't just the disappointment that bothers me. I know that's a part of the process, and I don't regret trying. What bothers me is that I'm so disappointed that I often have a hard time being happy for those who've succeeded. Looking at the Twitter feed for the most recent contest I entered and seeing everyone talk about how awesome the winners are makes me feel even more heavy with disappointment. Part of me doesn't even want to look at Twitter right now, because it's hard to see everyone cheering about the winners. It's a terrible feeling, but I don't know how to make it go away.
     I think maybe there's a part of me that believes there can only be so many successful people, and if one person succeeds, that's one less spot for me. In the grand scheme of things, I know this isn't true, but I also know these feelings aren't rational. It's not as though I wish bad things upon those who succeed, I just have a hard time feeling happy for them while I'm feeling sad for myself.
     About a year ago, my boyfriend interviewed for a promotion. He was narrowly passed up for the job for another candidate. This other candidate was highly qualified, a great worker, and a great person. My boyfriend was disappointed he didn't get the position, but it was obvious that he was genuinely happy for the other guy. I was both amazed and impressed that he was able to feel both upset for himself and happy for someone else. I would like to achieve those feelings myself one day.
     I don't want to feel this way. I want to be happy for the success of others, and deep down I am, it's just hard not to think about my own lack of success. To be honest, admitting these feelings of jealousy is very hard for me. No one likes the ugly feelings, and no one wants others to know they are having the ugly feelings. I'm hoping that maybe it's like the saying goes: admitting is the first step. If I open up about my jealousy, maybe I can vanquish the monster for good.
     I read through some of the winning entries. They were pretty darn good. Definitely deserving of being the winners. But it doesn't make me feel any better about my 27 rejections.
     If anyone has any thoughts and tips for how to deal with these feelings, please share. If you happen to know of a combination of herbs that will banish the monster, please share that as well.
     As always, thank you for reading.

Am I Doing This Right?

     By "this" I mean social media: Twitter, blogging, Facebook as a means of promotion as opposed to posting cat videos, etc. Though come to think of it, the question can apply to my entire life. Hmmm…it might be best to just stick with the social media aspect of the question, otherwise this post may be as long as my current novel in progress, which is growing like a weed.
     I've spent the past year looking into publishing my first novel. I'm still stuck on the idea of traditional publishing, although self-publishing is not out of the question. Either way, I've heard time and again that I will need to promote myself. Ick. Sales. Marketing. Publicity. It seems like someone's idea of a sick joke. Writers are some of the biggest introverts in the world, and we're expected to market ourselves? Talk ourselves up? Shove our websites in people's faces? Talk to people?  Real live human beings? Ahh! It's frightening. It's almost enough to make me give up. Almost. Since I refuse to give up, I will do the unthinkable and attempt to market myself.
     Shiver.
     Back when blogging first started to become popular, I was completely against the concept. No offense to bloggers out there, but I used to think it was a pretty narcissistic thing to do. To me, it seemed like glorified journaling. I've since seen the error of that thought process, and not just because I'm now a blogger. Among other things, blogging gives a voice to people who might not normally have a voice. Despite having changed my mind about blogging, I balked when I learned that I might have to start a blog. Not because I still thought it was narcissistic, but because there was no way I would have time to blog. Finally, I realized there was no getting around it. I would have to blog. So I did. I share my posts on Facebook and Twitter to get the word out.
     I've now learned that just sharing on Facebook and Twitter isn't enough. I have to find other ways to promote my blog. I have to allow advertising, which can only be done once my blog reaches a certain standard of quality and readership. I have to reach out to other bloggers, get them to like me, volunteer to guest blog, promote myself on sights that talk about the topics I blog about. Ahh! Not only is that a ton of work, but I don't even know how begin to do those things.
     Back when Twitter first became popular, I was completely against the concept. Anyone sensing a theme here? I really just did not understand its purpose. I told myself I would only start using Twitter if absolutely necessary (I'd learned at that point to never say never). Well, apparently it is now absolutely necessary. Turns out, literary agents are all over Twitter. They tweet writing and submitting tips and share things on twitter that they don't share anywhere else. So at the very least, I had to join Twitter to follow agents.
     I've since learned the real purpose of Twitter. It is a wonderful, wonderful place to not only promote yourself, but mingle with people in your profession. In the short time that I've been on Twitter, I've learned many things from agents, and become acquainted with writers just like me. I think I'm actually enjoying it.
     Shiver.
     I now tweet about my writing, share tips when I have them, retweet interesting tweets, and share my blog. But guess what? It still isn't enough. My tweets don't just have to be interesting, they have to be extraordinarily interesting. I have to tweet daily, but not so much that I irritate people. I have to choose optimum times of the day to tweet, so I get the most views. I'm also pretty sure that I'm supposed to be doing a lot of other things I haven't even heard of yet.
     So, back to my original question: Am I doing this right? I'm going to give myself some credit here and say I'm probably doing some things right. I've started putting myself out there, and that's something. Have I done everything I can to promote myself? No, not yet. But I've made a start. Baby steps are better than no steps.
     As always, thank you for reading. Remember: it's only fair to share, sharing is caring, share if you dare, click share while eating a pear, spare a thought for me and share, and don't forget to beware of bears.

A future without books. A nightmare or an inevitable fate?

     In November, 2014, a mystery began to plague residents and visitors of Boulder County, Colorado. Drivers on a lonely stretch of Highway 287 between the cities of Lafayette and Longmont began to notice books scattered all over the highway. The books were on the North and Southbound lanes, as well as the side of the road. The books made their unexplainable appearance quite frequently for several months. The mystery was so baffling that it gained television news coverage. One driver even speculated that the responsible party was perhaps trying to send some sort of message that could be decoded via the titles of the books. That would actually be pretty awesome, aside from the inherent dangers of books being all over the highway and the fact that this is littering in the extreme. Sadly, the true reason behind the books' appearance is a much more despairing tale.
     In April, 2015, a state trooper finally caught the 62 year-old man responsible. He admitted to throwing the books out his truck window on his way to work almost every morning. He claimed he had no idea the books were getting scattered across the highway. He'd assumed they'd landed in a ditch.
     He purchased the books at a used bookstore's going out of business sale several years ago. At first he sold them on Amazon, but could no longer compete with Amazon's pricing. He was left with hundreds of books and nothing to do with them. No library or used bookstore would take them. He didn't see any other choice, so he gradually dumped the books out the window.  (For more on this story, see link at bottom of post.)
     This story makes me very sad. Not the part about the littering, or how the highway was made dangerous for drivers. Sure, those things are bad, but for me the sad part is that the guy truly had no idea what to do with all his books. Books are wonderful amazing things. I don't know what I would do without them. They are thoughts, feelings, whole new worlds, friends when we have nowhere else to turn…books create escapes, provide entertainment, teach us things, cure our boredom, give us hope, make us fall in love… To think that printed books are becoming so abundant that there is nothing to do with them is absolutely devastating.

     I recently began watching the new season of Orange is the New Black. **WARNING** Extremely minor spoiler alert. By minor I mean, yes, I am going to state something that occurred in the show, so technically it is a spoiler. However, what I'm giving away is a very minor plot point and should not actually ruin your enjoyment of the show. But I felt I should still give a warning. Spoiler is from episode 2 of season 3 and will last two paragraphs.

     The women's correctional facility that is the setting of the show became infested with bed bugs. Much to the disappointment of the characters, bed bugs (or possibly muffin crumbs) were found in the pages of a book. They had no choice but to burn all of the books, knowing that they would likely never have the funding to replace them.
     It later occurred to me that lack of reading material in prisons is probably a real issue. Although the story of the man who threw his books all over the highway is extreme, his problem is becoming more and more prevalant. As online subscription services like Kindle Unlimited and Oyster take over, more and more used book stores and even libraries are forced to close their doors. As fewer and fewer used bookstores exist, there are fewer places to donate books to. It seems that people may not be thinking about all their options. Maybe donating books to prisons is a good idea. It is at least worth a shot before resorting to throwing books away, be it in a garbage can or on the highway.

*******************END OF SPOILER. *********************

     This set me thinking even further. Currently, over-abundance of printed material is an issue, but for how long will this continue to be an issue? More and more people are purchasing e-readers and opting to purchase and read books electronically. Many self-published authors don't even have print versions of their books, or they simply use print-on-demand services, which means a printed copy is only made after it is ordered.
     I initially hated the concept of e-readers, mainly for two reasons. One, it is much riskier to take your e-reader into the hot tub or bathtub. Two, it is much riskier to throw your e-reader across the room when the ending of a book destroys you. (Oh come on, don't tell me you've never thrown a book across the room because you hated the ending.) But even I have begun to love the convenience of the e-reader.
     First, there is instant gratification. In this day and age, society is all about instant gratification. Because of the internet, we no longer possess the patience we once did. Secondly, it is extremely convenient to have all your books in one place. Now, instead of carrying one book with you, you can carry one hundred books. Plus, e-books mean that you no longer have to worry about where to put the many, many books you own.
     The trend towards e-publishing will only continue. What does this mean for the future? More and more books will be electronic only. Even books that are still being printed will have fewer hard copies. This is great. For now. Everything runs on electronics. But what happens if this changes? I'm not talking about the near future. I'm thinking fifty to one hundred years from now. What if something happens and all this information we have stored in virtual space is gone? I'm not a tech person, so I have no idea if this is possible. I am however, a writer of urban fantasy. Therefore, my brain immediately goes to post-apocalyptic terms.
     So, if one day in the future, we lose access to the internet, what happens to all the books written in this decade and the decades to come? Will they just simply cease to exist? That would be tragic. Think about it. There are tons of copies of twentieth century and earlier literature. At least our descendants will have access to the wonderful literature of the past. But what about twenty-first century literature? What if those books simply get lost in space? Scary.
     I realize that this is extreme, but I feel as though it could happen somewhere down the line. While I do enjoy the convenience of e-books, there will always be something special about a printed book. I personally love the way books smell. E-readers don't have the right smell. In the future, I'm going to try to tame some of my needs for instant gratification and purchase more hard copy books. Maybe you should too.
     As always, comments, opinions different than mine, and shares are welcome.
     Here is a link to the article about the man dumping books on the highway:

http://www.timescall.com/news/crime/ci_27975732/state-patrol-tickets-dumped-books-287-longmont