My Writing Process & A cute dog with elbow patches....

Hey Guys! Wow it is already April, where is this year going? I have been crazy busy lately and it’s a wonderful thing. I am so excited to take the time to participate in the “My Writing Process” Blog Tour. The lovely and fabulous Kim Chance  happened to tag me and well I cannot say no to her! She is a critique partner of mine (though I know she is probably wondering where some recent chapters are from me…ahem *ducks head*) and she is fantastic. You can find her on Twitter here: @_KimChance 

So here we go, are you ready for the crazy?

Question 1: What are you working on?

I am working on the current love of my keyboards’ life. Yes, the love affair between it and my novel is something to be seen…although they have a few differences that cause me to occasionally leave them to their deep discussions, they are of late, getting along swimmingly.

My novel is a YA supernatural, romantic, adventure full of secrets and “buckets of crazy” danger - yes, buckets!!! 

My MC is Andrea. She is a straight-laced senior who lost her parents and is trying to move on with her life, i.e. go to college and leave the small, southern town of Barbours way in the distance. She's on the right track too; great grades, good friends and the good sense that the town she was raised in isn't quite normal. You know how that goes, make plans to move on and what happens to a girl? She meets a boy. Insert snarky banter here - well at least she's pretty snarky in her head, southern etiquette keeps her from losing her cool completely and who would want to be rude to this boy...A boy with silver eyes and he just so happens to have the same voice that has been plaguing her dreams. One car ride and the next thing we know she's facing her past, her present and a very uncertain future. Did I mention a river of deadly caramel & mysterious star tattoos? No? Ah, well you will just have to see...

I am much like my friend Kim, blurbs are quite intimidating and sharing even the tiniest things on a public forum about a WIP/Novel that is quite possibly your lifeblood at the moment is hard. So aside from the above description I will offer y'all this:

 Andrea is eighteen, trying to move on after her parents death, go to college and discover the perfect career. She never dreamed that in less than twenty four hours her whole world would be unhinged. Small towns are weird, but nothing touches Barbours; people come but they rarely leave.It is perfectly Southern on the surface but its what lies within its beginning that will alter the future of the universe. In one afternoon Andrea finds herself facing a mortal enemy and being marked by a mysterious star tattoo that just might be the key to her entire existence. Running from her fate is not an option but what she does with the knowledge of her past and her powers just might help her get beyond the town line to something much greater than she ever imagined.

whew...there is so much I want to edit, to change, to add, to delete...mental craziness begins in 3...2...1

okay, Question #2: How does your work differ from others in its genre?

That might be the most intriguing question on the list.

Okay, I have to agree with the lovely Kim... Voice. My internal dialogue when I'm writing is more creative and confident on its feet. Sometimes I wish I could reply the way my characters do...it'd make my days REALLY fun.

Question 3: Why do you write what you do?

This question I love. I write what I would love to read. I write because these people, these characters live inside my head. I hear their arguments, their troubles, their happy times...They are as real to me as most anyone I speak to, if not to say I don't talk outloud to them in public...well not all the time. ;o) I love reading. I love the thrill of a new book and the sad, disjointed feeling when I know the characters are done. When I write I don't have to let go of them in the same manner...They get to stick with me, watching new characters emerge and being spectators along with me. I still read YA - all subjects within the genre and I think I love it most because it is such an exciting time in our lives. We are discovering so much about our selves during a time where talents are found and choices are made. I also never feel my age and sometimes think I'm still back there...in those years...only thank goodness I didn't face half of what my characters do...

Question 4: How does your writing process work?

Yeah. I'm a pantser. 

I am a 'sits-down-begins-to-type-mad-woman-style-as-others-run-away-when-i-begin-screaming-at-my-characters' writer. I'm trying to be better at forecasting/outlining. But for me, I just love the organic, free flowing, type it all out writing.. I am at a point in the current work where I'm sitting back and trying to foresee a little more. The world I've created is about to cause me to bring out the post its and break out in hives. You see in my every day life I'm a type A, anal, list making, organization freak - so I think the organic writing is perfect for me. It lets me break out a bit from the tight confines I hold myself to in every other area. Now don't get me wrong, I will meet a writing deadline if need be; but as far as the outline every chapter, post it crazy wall board....nope..although check with me in a month...I fear 3M and I may have to meet up and discuss the loveliness of the neon post it collection.

I also write with music on. I have a Writer's Words Playlist on my iPod that gets me motivated and often inspires a great deal of my scene work.

CPs are the best ever! I have a lovely, small collection of women who are cheerleaders and hardnosed critics. I love them for every minute they take to read my work and share their thoughts. Its a true blessing to know these women & share our dreams together.

Writing is hardwork. It takes a lot out of you emotionally, mentally and really tests your creative communication skills. It brings out sides of you that might never have been discovered and it allows me to step into someone else's shoes for a little while and enjoy the moment...

If I could give any advice it would be "Read, write, read, write.. breathe...read, write... repeat every single day". 

Oh and there are hiccups in my process - the daily life and day job that I currently conform to often tries to pull me away from my computer, but you just keep going back to your work....as I type these words the below interference is happening-NO LIE.

He likes to sit on my chest like a cat...His name is Snickers, he wears sweaters with elbow patches and he hates technology.He's definitely a pantser. His big brother Peanut feels that though technology steals his moms attention it also allows her to order the best toys from Amazon...

well that's it! Thank you so much for swinging by and checking out the Royal Writing Process of one Southern Princess. I hope I made you smile and that maybe just maybe helped you feel not so crazy in your own process. 

XOXO

A simple Dance....

He approaches slowly, each step a hesitation of his decision,
Once beside me he leans down, hand palm up in invitation.
I do not rush to accept, looking at his face, his cerulean eyes and strong jawline.
The smile is unexpected, charming and delightfully crooked when I nod.

Hands clasped he leads me to the dance floor,

With every step I cling to each breath, 

I love the softness of his touch, the warmth of his palm against my own,

Heat fills my cheeks as he turns me to face him. 

We stand among strangers but they disappear,

A hush fills my ears,
His eyes shine, soft light, the moon wishes it could glow like he does.

The need to move my feet is great, I want to glide, to sweep the room,
Instead our first movements are jerky and clumsy,
He sighs, arms stretched out with mine...
The position is uncomfortable, stiff,
Yet we continue to move, our bodies following the pattern taught by so many.

His toes crush mine and he grimaces,
I smile.
He sighs.
Boldly I move closer to him, the confidence coming from within some place new.
I grin at his surprise and delight.
Our feet find comfort in the closeness,
Suddenly we are the center, the point of perfection in the room.
For a second he lets me lead, my touch is strong and selective,

I lean into him, my cheek on his shoulder,
He sighs again, this time I do not smile, I merely close my eyes and listen to the sound.
Simple, fleeting, that one breath tells me so much.

Suddenly he leads me again,
This time his arms circle my waist, confidently leading my hips to the rhythm.
I lose myself in his direction, in the sounds of a love song.
His fingers find my hand and I am spinning, out of his arms then back against his chest.

The air in my lungs fill again, releasing on the second spin.
I am laughing, loud and full.
He chuckles, proud of his new talent and my response.

The chorus dies down and the last verse fills the room,
I'm aware of the ending, the upcoming silence once the song dies down.
I've never felt as anxious as I am in this second.
I do not want the music to end yet I cannot wait to hear his voice above the din,
For him to make me laugh, or better yet for me to make him laugh.

He holds me close, we slow down to barely a sway,
Pulling back I look up at him, he down at me.
The air around me softens, I am aware of nothing but his face.
My fingers lay against his shoulders, carefully feeling the threads of his jacket.

Who knew that I was ready?
Who knew that he would be too?

His lips turn up and the crooked smile that brought me onto the dance floor returns,
Without a word he turns us toward the tables.
I grin, stepping forward with him, leaving the other dancers behind us...

Breathing life into an MS beyond the inertia...

"If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it."

-Anais Nin

***

I don't like the word inertia...well some weekends I do; but on the whole I really don't. I enjoy relaxing after a long day's work, but there must first be that long day, that work to then enjoy what relaxation is all about.

All summer long I have been in a state of inertia when it comes to writing. The storm shook me up a bit, then we held the fundraiser and now school has begun for my resident 17 year old. Life is never boring, but inertia can still exist within areas that seem to be a constant movement. That is scary part about inertia. We think that we are moving, that we are being productive but really we are just performing a rote action. We have lost the excitement, the feeling of accomplishment, the ambition, the desire to better improve; we are just going along with the motions pretending that we are moving.

I was at a service last weekend that discussed life, creating habits, and looking at something you do every day differently. The application was more geared to prayer but I would be losing a great deal of the message if I did not apply it to other areas as well. I realized that writing before the storm had become a bit rote. I wasn't excited when I opened the file and I wasn't missing it when I was away. That isn't good. I had let the entire summer pass me by and had barely done anything with the story except go through the motions.

So last night I decided to apply the message to my own story. To sit down, to open the file, to read my words and see beyond what letters on the page spelled out and to breathe life back into the story. It was fulfilling to move forward, to no longer sit on the edge of something I truly desire to witness in all its elements. I broke it apart and saw myself looking at the characters, settings, and plot more openly. It is not ready to be shelved, in fact a brand new direction came out the endeavor.

Inertia had me thinking that it was time to give up but fresh air, an open mind and the desire to better the work has me now excited to see where the next scene is going...

What do you do when the words seem to be lackluster on the page? Do you give up immediately or do you work through the issues and discover something new? How do you know when it is truly time to shelve the work or it just needs an afternoon in the sun?

First Line Blogfest...

The lovely Brenda Drake is hosting this first line blogfest and I am ecstatic! There are so many entries (OVER a 100!!!) that it has taken me forever last night and still today to visit these great opening lines...

Name: Courtney Barr

Title: BOUND

Genre: YA Paranormal/Romance

First Line:

Outsiders never understand.

First Paragraph:

At first glance they see the simple houses, the bustling streets, the neighborly waves and the perfect blue sky. They never look down the alleys or beyond the clapboard homes. They see the young man raking leaves but they don’t see his face. Even if he stops to smile and share a friendly glance they don’t see the truth. The young woman in the diner brings their coffee as they rest from the drive, yet they don’t see her furtive glances and nervous fingers.

Now go, visit all the other wonderful entries at Brenda Drake They are so fun and such a mixture of genres...

Have a Terrific Tuesday!

(for those who have followed my blog prior to today - please note this first page has once before been placed in a blogfest, only now you are viewing the tweaked version - hope you still enjoy!)

Monday Memos: Martha Washington

"Think of the magic of that foot, comparatively small, upon which your whole weight rests. It's a miracle, and the dance...is a celebration of that miracle."

-Martha Washington

***

It is quite normal for me to find myself in our kitchen singing along to music streaming from a local station.

I sing loudly and enjoy the feeling of the words bursting from within. They flow out and around me, forcing a smile, making me laugh or commanding a tear. My voice is not one you might hear on the radio or even on the stage. The melodies have me spinning in place, sometimes flinging cake batter or dropping a spoon in the process. Peanut, my precious dog who is always under foot, will stand on his back legs and "dance" around me. Marcus will more than often wander in, sing along and sweep me into a quick step or a slow turn. Our bodies do not move with the precision of a ballerina or the quickness of a contemporary dancer. Yet we dance often in our home, we sing more than most people would probably like, we create silly songs to familiar beats and we laugh - loudly.

Those words that come from the radio, those painstaking lyrics flying so simply with that beautiful melody are someone's dream. They are a piece of someone's vision. I dance in my kitchen surrounded by magic when the radio plays. I am celebrating a miracle with every awkward spin or silly dip.

Normally while whatever I was cooking is finishing up I wander into the living room and sit on the couch or a favorite chair and read a magazine or book. My mind imagines the characters or family faces, it enjoys the newest adventure or revisiting the old one. I might wander to my own work and continue the painstaking process of revision or creation. Again, I am seeing a dream. I am surrounded by magic when those pages turn and the images burn into my mind. I am celebrating a miracle with every sentence...with every phrase.

At night I often dream of the stories I read or write, of the memories a song reminds me of or the activities of the day. These type of things stay with me.

Take a few tidbits about Martha Washington, she not only followed her husband into battle to aid the troops and support the man she loved; she stepped into a miracle. She surrounded herself with the magic of perseverance and faith. Those men were painstakingly fighting for freedom, for a dream of a nation. Battle is brutal, friends are lost, friends are made, enemies are destroyed and families are missed. The smallest things in life are thought of as comfort. She is said to have led the men many nights in song or story, where each sitting together must share. Men said that those nights of words and melodies made a difference...yes words and melodies - their magic is like no other.

Think of the magic of the pen, the finger, the pencil...also comparatively small, upon which your dreams rest, the weight of that is immeasurable. It is also a miracle, and the words that you share? They are a celebration of that miracle...who knows where they will pop up: a kitchen, a living room, a battlefield....what a way to share a dream...

Happy Happy Tuesday!

(It's a Monday Memo, but we all celebrated another type of Dream yesterday ;o) )

Wednesday's Written Word: Delivered

He looks at me...knowing it has been too long...

My fingers are ready but scared to dive back in...

The words are so few, such tiny scraps of paper...

So terrifying with their unknown letters...

I inhale and release the breath, accepting I must return to the habit...

to the sanctuary of the words...

***

DELIVERED

***

This cannot be happening! Air! I need air...p-pllleeease...air!

The whimper escapes before I can stop it. Inhaling burns my lungs and I wait for the pain to ease before running my hands along the rough wall, frantically searching for an opening. I pound against the wood, ignoring the pain, wanting only to be heard by someone. It has been at least four days since I was placed in the first box and hours since the second.

Splinters pull at my skin with every inch I cover. The wood's tiny spikes scratch my bare legs and back. The cold has long since left body, replaced by the warmth of my own blood scattered across my skin. The journey was rough over the last days and the box had been thrown around. But none of the pain of travel compared to before.

My jaw aches from the lashes. Even if I wanted to speak it would be difficult. My teeth chattered for so long when they first loaded my crate that I bit the edges of my tongue, my cheek and my lips.

Wooden walls encase me; walls so tight that I cannot turn around. Every movement has my body aching. It has been hours since I last heard voices and now it seems they have placed me in another box; only this one appears to be airtight.

Please, God, please if you can hear me...please don't let me die...please...I don't understand.

My hands rest on my knees and I feel a splinter dig into my index finger - the pain is dull, no longer so sharp. Breathing hurts. Every inhale is peppered with a quiet rasp that has begun to grow louder with every passing minute.

Tears flow freely down my cheeks. Sweet salty drops fall against my lips and I taste my own fear. Hope is a fickle mystery that lingers in my mind, skirting along a thin line of sanity. My soul seems to remind me to relax, to wait...so I sit back against the coarse boards.

Closing my eyes I sit still and listen to the crackling rasp of my own breath.

My thoughts are of before, when once I knew the feeling of the safety. I had not known that things could change so quickly. They had come before I could learn the ways of the lost and taken me, stripped me of my belongings and handed me over... to him.

He hates me. I disgust him.

In my heart I believe he fears me but I do not know why. What could a girl of eighteen do to a man of such power? A man who ruled so many.

I anger him. His power tore at my face and hands but I did not weep. He wanted me to cry out, to beg and my soul would not let me. It told me to be patient and to be strong.

Why did I not cry?

It hurt so badly, yet tears would not come. Now they run freely and there is no one here to see them.

A noise in the distance has me jumping, my shoulder scrapes against the wall. Biting my lip from the pain I listen.

Footsteps. I pull my knees close to my chest, the rasps are faster now and the sound coming from my mouth cannot be silenced.

"Which one is she in?" A voice hard and gritty fills my ears.

"The one with the mark - the mark of the stone." The words are spoken in a whisper with a reverence that startles me. "They said she would arrive within the week."

Stone?

The odd shaped mark on my ankle has always resembled a jewel. I have no idea if I was born with it, only that it had been of interest to him.

The footsteps are closer now, I can hear their breathing.

Loud creaking fills my ears as they open the outer box. Light peeks through the slats of wood and I fight the urge to weep.

"I can hear her breathing! She's alive. The Gelders will be so happy!"

The words have me cowering. Who are the Gelders? Dear God, please don't let it be like before. Please.

"How has she survived?" The whispering voice speaks so soft that I almost do not hear it.

The wood shakes as they try to open the box that has surrounded me for days. The panel beside me begins to loosen from the corners and I lean away from it.

Light spills over me as it is removed. I duck my head from the stark white brightness.

"Oh my...what did he - " the question dies on his lips as I slowly try to move. My limbs are sore and cut, my skin is covered in patches of blood. At first I do not think that I can even unfold myself, but I look to see his hand outstretched toward me.

Slowly I reach out for the large hand, feeling the callouses on his upturned palm as our skin meets and sensing the strength within it. I should be scared but a feeling of comfort washes over me at the human touch.

I allow them to pull me out and help me to stand. My nakedness has them blushing but I have learned in a short time that modesty is the least of my worries. The two men look me over as I adjust to the air and the light. Their cheeks are pink as their gaze travels my body but I see the light in their eyes when they find the mark on my ankle. The one who held my hand reaches for a cloak and covers me as his companion hits his knees.

Then he also kneels and bows his head.

In unison they speak and I begin to tremble.

"We bow to you, and promise to serve you. You bear the mark and we are blessed to have been chosen to be your guides."

***

Have a Wacky & Whimsical Wednesday!

To read past Wednesday's Written Words please feel free to use the sidebar menu on the right or visit my Original Works page!

P.S. Scoot over to CJREDWINE's Blog and donate to a worthy cause - one of the most amazing reasons to enter a contest - a family can be made a reality...THE LAST WORD

Monday Memos!

"The beginning is the most important part of the work.”

-Plato

***

You can find hundreds of blog posts all over the internet that focus on "hooking" your reader. Books are written about how to pull a reader in by using tone, subject, description or just a few words - oh I'm sorry, the right words.

We all search for the right words. What makes me laugh is that we search not only for the words to draw a reader in, but we must work to discover the ones that keep them in our clutches. ;o)

We want them to turn that first page, stay up late, lose sleep because they cannot put it down and fall in love with our characters. These are demands we make of ourselves as we scurry through a manuscript. What we sometimes forget is that we are also the reader during this process. WE need to want to turn the first page, we need to want to stay up late, lose sleep and fall in love with the villains, the heroes and the supporting characters. But for the writer even if the first attempt does not keep us close, don't lose faith or think it a wasted beginning.

Plato is right the beginning is the most important part, what he leaves open to interpretation is "what is the beginning?". For the reader it's that hook on the first few pages...but for the writer it is whatever point the story appears in our mind then fleshes out on paper. Some write from middle to end and end to beginning. Others are traditional and start from page one, some create an outline and fill in as they go. I am a traditionalist for the most part but have found myself waking up to a scene that is at the end of a story itching to be told....they are all beginnings for the writer. They are all our most important part of the work for that story.

We cannot forget that each story is its own beginning as a whole. It is a step, a platform, a direction that we yearn to explore. It is a part of us that must be nurtured. Yes, I know some stories get shelved, they never get printed out, they are barely even a full MS; but can you not see that they too are beginnings...they are the first step or the turning point or the base for something we will begin again later or that will push us to write the MS that changes it all. Yes, beginnings are the most important work. Life is full of beginnings just waiting for us to discover their hook and keep us up late, working our fingers to the bone and loving every single second...

Where do you begin?

***

Around the blogs today!!

Um, are you ready for WRITE ON CON? NO? What? You have to be - it begins tomorrow!!!!!

Wendy Ramer has an adorable post about Justin Bieber - yes, you read that right!

The Literary Lab has a very interesting interview with Murray Dunlap, What would you do if you forgot everything you ever wrote?

Oh & The CONTESTS!!!

Okay, Lola's is awesome - go enter now! Click on the pic in the right sidebar -No other words need be said ;o)

Early info on Miss Snark's August Secret Agent contest!

Rebecca & Naomi: 2 sisters, 2 birthdays, 2 contests, 2 AWESOME GIRLS!

Follow both: Rebecca & Naomi

Carol over at Carol's Prints is giving away 7 ARCS! Yep you read it right 7 ARCS!!! click now it ends 8-15-10

Have a Marvelous Monday!

Breaking the Rules Blogfest!

The wonderful Elizabeth Mueller is hosting a blogfest focused on the rules...well actually focused on breaking the rules...

Yep this is no ordinary blogfest. She has asked us to post something from before we understood certain rules to fiction (course I still like to break a few, like, completely, absolutely break some.. love me some adverbs; seriously ;o) ) Please enjoy a snippet from a story I wrote in the 5th grade (1992)...yep... went into the basement and selected a few journals to peruse. I used to love to buy blank journals and write my own 'novels' in them...my friends & family thought it was so cool. In a way this post is in honor of their support. I would not be blogging today or working towards publication if it weren't for all the rule breaking writing I used to do.

So visit the other bloggers participating here and go find some writing of your own before you became aware of punctuation, adverbs and structure - you may even discover a character or two that you still love!

***

A breeze lightly touched Anastasia's skin as she walked through the courtyard. Her morning ride on her favorite horse, Whispers, was what she looked forward to every day. She hastened her steps and soon reached the stables.

Quietly she clucked her tongue and to her delight a soft whinny called from one of the stalls. Whispers always answered her with a soft, loving whinny then eagerly would nudge her pockets for a piece of apple or sugar.

"Oh, you've gotten smart. Now you know exactly where your treats are." Anastasia said teasingly.

Quickly she lead Whispers out of her stall, warmed her up with a short walk then adjusted the tack.

By quickly mounting, she eased into the saddle. The two began a brisk walk, then began a full gallop towards the woods. As she neared the trail, Anastasia noticed a small blue scarf-like object on one of the branches of a nearby oak tree. She picked it up, thinking perhaps she would find the owner.

The familiar trail wound around an area of land that opened to a large meadow that was beside a brisk, flowing stream. Whispers knew the trail by heart, so Anastasia slowly slackened the reins and let her go.

Soon the two were at the stream. Beautiful daisies, buttercups, and any other such wildflowers grew bountiful in the meadow along the stream. This was the one place Anastasia relaxed at.

Bringing Whispers to a halt, Anastasia dismounted and slipped out of her boots. Tying Whispers to a nearby tree so she could obtain water freely.

Suddenly the sound of hooves pounding the ground was heard. Curious, Anastasia began to look and see who it was. Worry began to seep into her body. The land she was on was private property. Owned solely by her father, a well-known nobleman.

Fearing that some hunters might have gotten on the land she quickly untied Whispers and led her to a busy area where the two could be concealed. Another frightening thought struck Anastasia, thieves sometimes used thick forests to hide out.

The pounding of the hooves got louder as the horses got closer and closer. Now Anastasia was positive of the fact that there were many horses headed her way.

Anastasia's heart was pounding like a drum against her chest, as the first equestrian appeared before her.

A man of around mid-thirties with red hair and beard, rough looking as of a seaman from the wharfs. Another equestrian of early forties, with a deep brown complexion, short and stocky. The two dismounted beside the stream and before the two conversed, they drank from the stream.

Eager to learn what the two were doing, Anastasia crept quietly towards them.

"Well, Jameson, looks as though we came in undetected," said the red haired man.

"Sure did Curland. Maybe the old guy who owns this land doesn't visit here often." replied Jameson.

"I've heard he's exceedingly wealthy. A nobleman, he is. Oh well, I'm sure the lout will allow us to rest." Curland informed Jameson.

"By the way Curland where are the others?" Jameson asked in an impatient tone."They've got the loot. If they backed out, I'll have their heads!"

"They didn't back out. They know they won't get paid without us." Curland said laughing.

The two stopped talking to get another drink of water. As they were finishing four young men on horseback appeared.

"Well, well, hello!" one young man of his early twenties said to Jameson and Curland.

Anastasia was struck by his good looks. Tall, gallant, muscular, not the type to be a common thief at all! At least not to Anastasia's knowledge. They were always rough, unattractive and burly, like Curland.

"Why, Brontein, didn't know you'd joined our brigade." Curland said sarcastically.

"Well, I just thought joining your little venture might create an interesting time."

"We best be going anyway you two, we'll return tomorrow." Jameson said to Curland and Brontein as he remounted.

Curland, Jameson, and Brontein rode away from the stream.

Anastasia crept quietly out of hiding. Now being able to breathe normally she led Whispers out of the bushes. She kissed her on the nose and said thank you. It amazed her that the horse had remained quiet.

She decided to walk Whispers a little ways on the way home. But she then decided against it. She was too curious as to where the thieves came from. The one called Brontein was still fresh in her memory. His lips, the way his deep blue eyes danced, his muscles. The blue tantalizing eyes played over and over in her mind.

"Augh! I don't even know him! He's a thief!" she reasoned with herself."Just forget him."

She walked towards the area Brontein had gone, a nagging instinct told her to leave. But womanly curiosity urged her forward.

Right then a twig cracked behind her.

Before she could blink the young Brontein was in front of her.

***

Yep. Forgive my young love of big words and handsome men. lol I hope you enjoyed this - I got a good chuckle typing it exactly as I wrote it. The urge to correct, erase, and burn was deep. My love for my 11 year old self is too great, so it is EXACTLY copied from the book. What I do think is interesting is that even now there are some descriptive aspects that I still love to do when writing, even when the rule is against it. Dang my stubborn streak - I need to work on that.

This is just a small portion of the journals I still have - goodness knows how many total there are. This snippet is from the tan DaVinci covered one-far right.

Don't forget to visit the other bloggers participating here

***

Have a Fabulous Friday!

Wednesday's Written Word (on a Thursday): Xeric

Back to the routine, he looks at me...

I nod, gesture to the bowl...

The slips are few, only 1o lay waiting...

He unfolds one, grins....

Xeric

I will kill him later...

***

Hard, red earth crackled below my feet. Beads of sweat dripped down my forehead, lingering only at my chin before splashing against my chest.

Why in God's name would anyone live here? Too damn hot!

My foot connected with a small rock on the ground and I watched it tumble beneath the prickles of a cactus plant. Splotches of red dirt covered my new white flats.

Six hours I had been walking around.

Six hours staring at shades of orange, red, and green.

Six hours - one big circle.

Of course the car breaks down in no-where-Arizona. Why on earth would I expect it to break down in sunny LA? Oh no! God's sense of humor is definitely at work today.

The lone bottle of water in my pack had been gone for four hours. The lilac and honey scented makeup remover cloths (not so tasty by the way) had dried out an hour ago and the concept that cacti are easy to extract water from had died fifty six seconds before being pricked.

I love that my GPS system - "Guaranteed to work anywhere - we have the strongest signal!" yeah right salesman - lost signal the minute I took that last turn. Serves me right, this trip was a stupid idea anyway.

My father wanted me to finish school at Brown. I wanted to see the world.

Well so far the world has made you bleed, sweat in places you failed to know you had sweat glands and jam a toe while kicking the tires on a lovely Land Rover. Outback vehicle! PSH! More like out of gas, out of service and out of its mind vehicle!

Thank goodness the sun was going down.

I had not realized that exploring the Arizona desert was going to be like leaving the country. There had been road maps, hiking trail guides - not that I would ever hike purposely - and Discover the Wild West! booklets at every convenience store. It would have been more convenient had they said: "Stay away - you will get lost city girl - the desert is really one giant dust bowl - go shopping instead."

For six hours I had walked around. Well for three hours I truly had walked a circle, then I realized that I needed to walk away from the car to find help. Yeah took three hours to nail down that I really needed help - go figure.

Father would laugh at this. He would tell me I was ridiculous and that in an hour he could have a helicopter scoop me up to bring me home. Only this time I wasn't going to call for help - as if the cell phone had not been dead already this morning.

I really thought I plugged it in last night.

I can only imagine my father's face when he gets the call that I missed my morning classes. The last time he had taken away the credit cards. Too bad I've known those numbers since I was nine. He was furious when he discovered that I had charged a month's stay in Paris - but never went. I hope that couple had a great time. They were so in love and such nice neighbors.

What were their names? Hmmm... oh well it doesn't matter.

This time I had cashed in some bonds and empty the account he kept for me. Now the money was hidden beneath the backseat of the car - just waiting for me to spend it all. He had always said that money was the answer to any problem in life. That it can write the book or erase the words.

Well, daddy too bad it could not erase six wives, two jealous step-brothers and the fact that your only biological daughter rebels at every rule you set. Money hasn't fixed that yet, has it?

Perhaps it would be different if I would not have realized that my own father values me less than his own income. Sending me to a boarding school because wife number five felt that living with a teenage girl would make her age faster!

My laughter echoed among the barren land in front of me; the only sound to accompany the jingle of my car keys against my leg. Oh she had not aged faster but she'd divorced quickly when she caught him with a woman half her own age!

The Gucci sunglasses hanging from my now stretched tank top slid to the ground. I bent down to pick them up and saw a beer bottle in the dirt. That's odd. It is the first piece of trash I have encountered. Straightening I began to survey the area I had been walking. The sun was setting and a light darkness had begun to descend on the dry ground.

Thoughts of my father had distracted me from my surroundings. The cacti, the sporatic long grass, the xeric flora was still around me but it appeared to also show signs of human activity.

Focusing I began to listen for signs of a highway. Instead I heard a coyote howl and what appeared to be music; faint and in the distance.

MUSIC! Yes! Okay where is it coming from?

Quickly I stepped to my left and followed the sounds. As the music grew louder so did laughter. At first I paused to make sure I was not laughing.

Desert sun really does make you crazy!

Stepping around the various cacti I started moving faster. The ground was hard in spots and slippery in others; the sandy earth was killing my calves with every step. The terrain shifted and I found myself climbing a crimson hill, dodging rock and weed with each foot closer to the sounds. Finally reaching the peak I froze.

Below me, only two hundred yards was a ranch style building. Lights surrounded a large pool, music drifted from a stone patio. I could see people mingling and hear their laughter. To the south of the building I saw more smaller buildings, each built in the same Mission style. I could not see a road but I did see an area designated for cars.

A few young woman carried trays amongst the group laden with glasses and what I assumed was food.

What on earth? Wait - is that margaritas? OH THANK YOU GOD!

Stumbling forward I began to head towards the crowd.

I passed underneath a light fixture and an alarm began to blare. The sound startled me and I tumbled forward the last few feet, landing beside a wall. My back slammed against the dirt and I hollered out.

"Over there! I just heard something!"

The music stopped playing and the alarm was turned off. I could hear footsteps as I began to get back to my feet.

Just as I straightened up a bright light was shone in my eyes.

"Hold still! Who are you?"

Raising my arms I closed my eyes to the bright light.

"Lucidia Grayson Calhoun - from Manhattan. My car broke down, like so far away from here and I have been trying to find someone. Please, dude, drop the light - its killing me."

The light maniac chuckled and lowered his flashlight. I assumed I must look harmless - but also like a tumbleweed.

"Welcome to Heaven' Agua Seca, Lucidia from Manhattan. I apologize for the alarm, we set them at night so that our guests feel safer. "

I caught the word heaven and again wondered whether or not the sun from today had gone to my head.

A warm hand grasped mine and I looked at deep brown eyes peeking beneath dark black hair. He was built like a swimmer and boy did I want to see him in a swimsuit.

"I am Cosa. Owner and manager of the spa. Welcome. Let's get you inside and we can help you contact someone for your car. 'K?"

Holy crap he's cute.

"Um, did you say spa?"

His grin grew and I watched as he assessed my dirt laden clothes. He paused at the Gucci sunglasses and the emerald ring on my right hand. He was no idiot.

"Yes, we are happy to offer you accommodations if you like?"

He led me to the front of the building, passing people all along the way. Everyone looked concerned until the music started again and the party continued. Two guys at the bar looked me up and down as I passed then grinned as they downed two shots.

"Sir, what are your rates?"

"Ma'am, for a standard room nine hundred per night. For a suite, two thousand - it does include all our services when you stay in a suite."

"Two suites, please, adjoining. I like my space. Oh and give me double the services - I've had a long day."

"Do you have a credit card you would like to use?"

The giggle bubbled out and I began to recite the numbers to my favorite American Express card.

Oh daddy! So sorry you could not come on this vacation either....

***

(Feel Free to visit past entries via the Original Works page at the top of the blog or the right sidebar menu - How WWW works: these are written on the spot with a time limit of 45 minutes - no word limit. Each word is drawn from a bowl where the 26 letters of the alphabet are represented by words selected by my husband. I have no idea what words are in the bowl nor which ones will be pulled out each week. I use this as a great 'interruption' from my current work in progress to keep my creative juices flowing & to not get bogged down with current major projects)

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Have a Toe Tapping Thursday...

Monday Memos!

Their story, yours and mine - its what we all carry with us on this trip we take, and we owe it to each other to respect our stories and learn from them.

-Anonymous

Often we find ourselves surrounded by strangers: on a subway, in an airport, on a street, at a bar, in a restaurant, at a concert, shopping. No matter the setting we are all a part of the story. We do not always recognize the character we are playing at the time or the directions we may need to take, but they are there nonetheless.

We step into our role every day. We carefully select the wardrobe and we enter the staging area. It is when we are acknowledged, not by our own normal cast of characters, but by someone else that we may recognize our importance in that moment.

I was blessed to meet a number of country music artists this past weekend. I was amazed at their kindness and excitement to meet their fans. A few in particular did some extraordinary things for the people who buy their albums, travel to their shows and tell others about their favorite songs. One in particular hosted a free event, where she signed for 13 hours straight, allowed people on her tour bus, brought her entire concert wardrobe for viewing and had stages set up so people could "be" in her videos for just a moment. She also gave a free acoustic performance, a free CD that you could get signed by her & her entire band, or a headshot signed by the same. She also did all this in the air conditioning - God bless her ;o).

As I stood waiting to meet this young, beautiful woman who has inspired so many young girls to write and sing I began to talk to those around me. I live in Alabama, a mere 3 hours from Nashville. I drove a comfortable drive to get there and expected a simple drive back.

The girls in front of me had driven from Minnesota...overnight..just for this signing.

They did not have tickets to the other concerts, they did not have a hotel room. They had a cowboy hat and a picture from one of the singer's concerts that they wanted signed. One of them had just begun sharing her own songwriting talent and has even received some interest from a label in Chicago that partners with a Nashville label. She was beyond ecstatic and was waiting for more information that her parents would be looking at if it came. She was glowing as she waited patiently to meet the young woman who had given her the push she needed just by singing her own songs... I was touched and excited for this stranger. As we got closer the girls realized that they had forgotten one important thing: their camera. Frantically they rummaged through their purse and backpacks. No luck. Well, I asked if they had cellphones - one. Camera is okay on it, older model but even at close range it is a blurry shot. I thought they were going to cry. Meeting your idol is amazing, but capturing it in a photo to look back on whenever you are down - phenomenal.

Samsung has made a wonderful camera on my phone. I told the girls not to worry, I would take a few pics and email it to their accounts immediately.

The songwriter almost burst into tears as she hugged my neck. I laughed and hugged her back saying no need for thanks, it was a pleasure. We talked for the next thirty minutes until their time to meet & greet arrived. They were shaking. They hugged her and then they just began rambling. Telling her how much they appreciate having someone to look up to who is close to their age, someone who worked hard to achieve her dreams and that they appreciated this event. The singer was all smiles and spent a good ten minutes talking with the girls, giving some tips and advice, then turned for pictures. I took some with my phone then watched the girls step to the side for me to have my own turn.

When I approached the singer I smiled. Not just because it was neat to meet one that I enjoy hearing but because she had made an impact on me as well. At that very moment I realized that her art had done what we writers hope to do. She touched someone's soul and made them work harder, dream bigger and aspire to share their passion with those around them.

I hugged her, talked music, then a little football then I thanked her. At first she just said a traditional you are welcome (I am sure she thought just for the autograph). But I paused and said "No. really...thank you. For making those two girls remember that dreams are possible and that doing what you love is worth every long hour, every crazy day and every minute you have to stand in 5 inch heels" She laughed, loud and hard then gave me another hug and I had the shock of seeing her eyes glisten.

I stepped off the carpeted area and emailed the girls their photos as they bounced beside me. They hugged me for an extended period of time then I told them I had to leave. They pouted (seriously) and then continued to thank me. I stopped them around the hundredth and told them they had given me more than they knew; that I was blessed to have met them.

That is what we want in this world. To be able to create/do what we love. To share it with others who will honor it, respect it and love it as we do. We hope to touch someone, to make them realize that dreams are not mere flickers of images lost to the night; that they are living, breathing things that we can experience.

I will continue to listen to that artist. To marvel at her songwriting ability.

I will remember the laughter of two young girls and the way they lit up in the presence of their idol.

I will think of a hot June morning, surrounded by strangers in a strange location where I was allowed to play the part of girl number 3.

You know the character; she's the one who gets to play a small part in helping the stranger experience a magical moment. She thinks it is a small part, that it is not that important until the part is over. Then she realizes that yes she helped them but it is really their story that reminded her that dreams are worth chasing and that those around us can be as inspiring as the singer on the stage...

***

Oh and just for today's funny: my laptop battery has chosen to no longer be a battery. It is now a space filler with attitude. So in tribute to the wonderful aggravation that came right before it decided to change careers:

PROGRAM - n. A magic spell cast over a computer allowing it to turn one's input into error messages. v. tr.- To engage in a pastime similar to banging one's head against a wall, but with fewer opportunities for reward.

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Around the Blogosphere on a HAWT! Monday!

Lola over at Sharp Pen/Dull Sword uses a word I love... MAYBE..I have a lot of maybes in my vocabulary...how about you? Go look at her list..see if you share in her thoughts...

ooooohhhh do your characters share the same Moral issues? Roni's guest blogger talks characters and morals...

Megan Rebekah talks of the 4 Sentence Synopsis!

Oh & check out Shannon's Blog for details of an amazing pay it forward event...crazy fun & read it carefully - you must mark your calendars & well let's just say it will be AMAZING!!!!!

Don't forget to enter my AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT CONTEST! You could win a book, a book+an opal ring...or a $10 giftcard to AMAZON.COM!! Hurry go and enter!!! 3 Winners or maybe more... *wink*

~~~Have a MARVELOUS MONDAY~~~

Wednesday's Written Word: Wicked

The word he selected last week for today...

Wicked

I begin...

***

Stinging pellets of rain attack my cheeks and forehead. The tiny beads pound against my eyelids while I lay on the grass; my clothes clinging to me as my body sinks deeper.

"Will she come?" The words are soft and barely audible.

I do not move in response to his question, I let it fight the drumming of the rain against our bodies, dodging the answer by pretending I did not hear.

I could sense his tension and wanted to laugh. So many things we had done before now. So many nights spent trying to find her; the atrocities we had committed in order to prove to her our faithfulness. He had always wavered, carefully walking a balance of how far he would go.

I had given up on balance the the first time I had drawn blood.

It had been a hot summer day and we were discovering that only certain acts would attract her attention. He had stolen thousands of dollars worth of items from a local department store and no vision. We had burned down an apartment building but she had not come. We had wrecked cars and gotten into fights. We had forced people to admit and act upon their worst fears yet nothing had worked.

Then there had been the brunette, Sarah. Sweet and funny, wanting to 'fix' our bad ways. She said she saw good in us that we weren't all bad.

He had liked her. He wanted to keep her, to take her away and to have her all to himself. It was then that I knew how to summon the one I wanted. The girl had screamed, had struggled, but I had won the battle. Her blood on my hands and my love had appeared.

She had stood in front of me a vision in coal black. Hair flickering with shades of fire whipping around her face and the smile was for me and only me. Then she had seen him. He was standing behind me, tears streaming down his face as his first love died on the concrete floor. Her eyebrow lifted as she glanced from Sarah to him and back to me.

Her hand outstretched she beckoned me forward and told me a secret. One that would allow her to be free, to be with me forever - then she vanished.

Since then I had avoided the secret, wondering if there was another way. I had stained my hands over and over again with the blood of strangers praying she would come. That it would be enough to have her here without it.

No.

It had to be her way.

He had forgiven me. He had stood beside me, helping me with every kill and hoping she would come for us.

The rain slacked off and I opened my eyes to a solid gray sky. The filtered light barely allowed me to see the trees around us. I had chosen this spot because it was special.

We had come here as children and first played with the darkness. It had been here that the shadows had come, teasing us, tempting us with their ideas. At first we had been afraid but then she had appeared. She had been our age, funny and engaging. She knew things that we did not and we wanted to know more. She had shown us how to start a fire with our minds and how to steal small items from the market. She was with us each time we succeeded. She had made it fun, an adventure that we came back for every day.

When we were thirteen she had quit visiting. Our special friend who was with us during every punishment was no longer here. That was when we began to search for her.

"Maybe we should begin." His voice was clear. The confidence appeared now that the rain slipped away.

"Yes. We should." Standing I looked down at him, a mirror of myself. Our eyes the same green, our chestnut hair parted on the same side, and our bodies built with the same athletic lines. We were identical.

I held out a hand, pulling him up easily.

His gaze traveled the edge of the clearing before meeting mine.

For an instant I wavered. My hands began to sweat and I wanted to turn away. Closing my eyes I saw her face. Porcelain skin, against a sea of fire; a curvy frame that beckoned things I had yet to discover and a mouth that with the slightest curve made my own water with desire. Needs rocked my body.

Shaking my head I looked at him. No longer seeing the mirror image, only the obstacle.

Before he could speak my fist connected with his jaw. He staggered backwards, shocked and dismayed slipping on the muddy ground. I did not wait for him to recover, I swung again. He barely had time to block my movement. Our bodies beat against one another for a moment before he regained his stance. His hands shoved against my chest forcing me on my back. Panting he stood over me.

"Why?"

"Because she promised." My words hung between us.

She had always been something we had shared. A friend that had appeared to both of us, had taught us both until Sarah's death. It was the only time she had spoken privately to one of us.

"I see." He stood up straight, towering over me. The advantage was his now and for the first time in our lives the fear of our mirrored strength crept into my mind.

Then he held out his hand; the creases of which matched mine. Hesitantly I accepted it and he pulled me to my feet.

We stared at each other; panting from the exertion.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the knife he always kept. I began to step back but he caught my arm. Placing the knife in my hand he looked around the clearing.

"She will come." Raising his arms to the side he waited for me.

I looked down at the blade before meeting his eyes. There was no fear only acceptance.

Clutching the weapon I nodded before thrusting it through his chest. The scream echoed through the trees as I plunged over and over again. The rain no longer here to wash away the crimson as it flowed against my skin.

My hands trembled and my body began to shake. Tears streamed down my face as I stared at the blank expression reflected in his eyes...my eyes. It took awhile for my breathing to slow down and my body to allow me to move.

Carefully I stood, watching the sky and the trees, waiting.

The minutes ticked by becoming hours. My head throbbed and my eyes grew weary.

As the light began to fade I sat down, propping against his side. I glanced back at his face, the life gone from his eyes and the mirror now nothing but an image.

My heart pounded as the pain racked my body; a moan escaped my lips and I closed my eyes to the darkness around me.

She never came.

***

For new members of the Royal Court, if you would like to peruse past Wednesday's Written Words please peruse the sidebar menu on the right or click on my Original Works page above.

Oh & by the way I just began doing the EMAIL COMMENT reply system - we will see how it goes! ;o)

(How WWW works: these are written on the spot with a time limit of 45 minutes - no word limit. Each word is drawn from a bowl where the 26 letters of the alphabet are represented by words selected by my husband. I have no idea what words are in the bowl nor which ones will be pulled out each week. I use this as a great 'interruption' from my current work in progress to keep my creative juices flowing & to not get bogged down with current major projects)

Have a Wicked Wednesday!

(though not TOO wicked ;o) )