Happy Birthday, Gabriela Lessa

I don't usually do the weekend posting thing, especially on Saturdays. But this is to help a fantastic blogger celebrate her birthday. It's not completely selfless, there's wicked cool prizes involved, but even if there weren't, I'd be in for this one.

So Gabriela Lessa is throwing a huge birthday bash today, and sharing the fun with all of us. The basic details (Click here for a full run-down):
"...Post the first 312 words of your manuscript on your blog. Just the first 312! It doesn't matter if it ends midsentence, that's ok. But please be sure to count! 312 words, not one more, not one less! Oh, and don't add things like "chapter one". Just start where the story starts and go 312 words from there, stopping wherever you..."

So...Here goes...(and apparently due to a fortunate twist of fate, 312 words for me is not only the end of a sentence, but the end of a paragraph)

Title: Uriel's Fall
Genre: Paranormal Fantasy
Status: Finished

Cherubim longed for a name; a label to give it shape and definition like the seraphim it admired from a distance. Without a name it had no solid form, and therefore no senses. Images and voices bounced in its thoughts, painting a picture of their own.

It didn’t know if the other cherubim felt the same way. No one ever talked about it, so it also kept silent. But Cherubim loved to linger in the ethereal corridors of the creator’s heaven absorbing the day-to-day of the angels with bodies, personalities, and genders. It wondered what color eyes it would have. Would they be violet like Gabriel’s or maybe sapphire blue like Michael’s? And what kind of things would it be able to see with those eyes? Or feel with real fingers?

“Little one.” The voice echoed in its head.

Cherubim sought out the owner, recognizing him as one of the creator’s most powerful. Lucifer. It knew this one better than almost any. His name struck awe and fear in any cherubim. He never interacted with them; never gave them a reason to change their perspective.

It focused on the archangel, indicating its attention.

“I’ve seen you watching the seraphim.” His intent was difficult to read.

Was it in trouble? Cherubim tried to keep the fear at bay and failed.

“It’s all right. It’s why I’m talking to you. Would you like to be one of them?”

Really? It could have that? It would do anything for that.

“No need to promise away things you don’t understand yet. I have a name here, just for you. You have to agree to one thing first, though.”

Yes, of course. Anything. Hadn’t Cherubim already agreed to that?

Lucifer’s laughter echoed in its head. “I’ll have to teach you to curb your enthusiasm. You have to agree that you report to me, and no one else.”

And now that you're done here, don't forget to go read everyone else's entries. Awesome good stuff ^_^.

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TLIF - *Rolls Eyes* *Crosses Arms* *Yields* #Epic

First of all - my heart and sympathies to anyone who's been impacted either directly or indirectly by natural disaster lately. Not just what happened last night, but what happened last week, etc. If you want to help, make sure it's with a reputable charity: the Red Cross, or Shelterbox (as supported here by author Maureen Johnson), which helps build shelters, or another of your choice.

regularly scheduled blog post
For anyone who doesn't know me, I have a couple of very obvious habits. For anyone who's ever worked with me on anything (I'm talking in the office or out of it), they're easy traits to see. I know at least three regular readers (*waves*) who have been privy to this *ahem* amazing ability of mine, and at least one who has recognized it. (Stupid, perceptive people. Bah).

I'm like the #1 most unreliable person in the entirety of existence. Not because I want to be, but because it's a personality trait. Okay, maybe not #1, maybe only like #5. I'd like to make the top 10. That would be something to brag about, right? I'm real good at saying to myself "that sounds like an epic thing to participate in, I'll volunteer". And so I say "I'll do that."

And everyone says "Wow, epic of you, Lori. Thanks!"

And then a day later. Or two days later. Or a week later. They'll say "how's ..... going?"

And I'll say "Oh, um. It's epic. It's almost done. Any minute now."

Rinse and repeat until I either once again find the epic inspiration that made me volunteer in the first place, or enough guilt that I do it because I know my excuse is falling flat and disappearing from all communication with the requester isn't always practical.

Not to say it's always an excuse when I say that. Sometimes, I'm actually in the middle of epicness when asked. It stands to reason, since I'm involved in so much epicness.

I suspect that this is a similar flaw stunning personality trait that makes writers adore teh new shiny, every single one, for at least a few hours until it's relegated to a word file for 'later perusal'.

But...not my point. Which apparently I've taken a very long time to get to this morning. My point is - gestures, personality traits, and habits in writing. I hear lots of 'rules' about writing. I've listed some before. One I hear a lot (and get a lot of complaints about in my writing) is cliche'd gestures (character habits if you will. I'm totally not stretching to make these two things connect, I promise).

During my time working with critique partners and groups, I've repeatedly been reminded that my characters:

• Pout too much
• Roll their eyes too much
• Growl/sigh/giggle too much
• Smirk too much
• Etc, etc, etc

Which, okay, I get how that can be repetative, I do. But this is where I need help (not being sarcastic, I actually need assistance here). Those are all things I do on a regular basis. They're things in real society that are recognizable forms of body-language. I roll my eyes at you, you have an idea of how I feel about your comment.

So my question is, if I want to use body language to show

1. Character personality
2. Character reaction

How do I go about it without being epic repetative?

How do you do accomplish this epic evasive goal in your own writing?

Isn't the word epic just, well, epic?

Does anyone have any chocolate?

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Chemistry between characters

The last two days have been an amazing whirlwind. Yesterday afternoon and last night...epic for my brain. I shall elaborate ^_^

When I started the whole character guest post thing, I had no idea where it would go. I didn't know how I was going to do it, or what I was going to write, or how I was going to be my characters without giving away critical story elements.

I've read the way other people do it, and each time it's different and entertaining. If you want to see it done well on a regular basis, a great group of writers does this over at The Character Cafe. But that's not the way I think. Each time I tried to reproduce one of these styles, I came up short. It wasn't my voice. (Hearing that phrase a lot lately. I never thought I had one. Rumor is, I actually do).

And then I let Scott out to play. Honestly, he's the safest. I know him that well. I know Max Rae better. And Zach. But playing around as Rae means giving away bits of me and Zach...If I ever met a man like Zach, all bets would be off. Forunately he's imaginary and people like that don't actually exist.

It pushed me inside all of these characters' heads more than I thought it would. It's been this slow build-up of inspiration that's becoming some amazingly fun writing. It all culminated last night in a scene that totally took me by surprise. My characters made sparks fly in ways I haven't seen in ages. The anger, passion, frustration, fear, and flat-out chemistry...I had no idea they were capable of these things when the situations were right. It's been a long time since my characters surprised me. I've missed it.

Not to say I've written the greatest novel ever. I'll probably go back on the re-read and say "it's crap...it's too much" delete, delete, delete. But for the first time in a while, I had electric fun re-discovering these people who have lived in my head for the last twenty years.

Oh, and I got to spam the pages with emoticons and some gramatically horrid netspeak, which amused the hell out of me. All in the name of authenticity.

When was your most recent/favorite moment where you just absolutely fell in love with the story you were writing?

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U Sound Hawt

I'm old school internet. As in, LOL was part of my rhetoric before most people knew what AOL was. It also means I'm not a stranger to the epic world of online dating. I met guys online and then in person

1. Before it was socially acceptable, and
2. While it was still only supposedly not safe, not actually not safe.

I lurked online dating sites while they were still little more than message boards, were still mostly free, and didn't have spiffy matching algorithms that told me I was amongst the 20% of people who couldn't be matched by an algorithm (eharmony.com told me that. I laughed.) If you've never been a female and listed your status as 'single but looking' or even 'married but looking' in an online community, let me fill you in on how it works.

Ariana's Profile: I'm a tall, snarky redhead who is turned on by intelligent conversation. Wow me with your wit and we'll take it from there. Not big on superficial dorks, clingy posers, or arrogant assholes. Love to talk to you if you're not one of the above.

If you're me, (which I am, usually...) the above is a very pleasant way of saying "impress me in ten words or less". And other mean things that most of my girl readers can probably derive.

So...profile goes up. And messages roll in. Once again, if you've never done this before you may think I'm exaggerating to say that the first 1-3 days after this profile goes up/is edited, I could expect 20-50 emails a day. Not quite as many as a literary agent (in case you wanted a hint of where this is going), but still a lot.

99% of the responses look like this:

• U sound hawt. Heres my digits
• You sound like a smart individual. I like redheads. Message me back if you'd like to talk
• You're funny. I like funny girls. Here's some pictures of me. Send me your pics.

Once again, if you're me...delete, delete, delete. Imagine if I were a literary agent instead. that's 85-95% of my inbox gone just like that because...you didn't read my profile, you didn't try and impress me, you made it all about how kick ass you are and thinly veiled it as an attempt to get me to bestow praises on you.

And then there's one. The 1%. It says something more like...

Is it true redheads only drink taquila at midnight when surrounded by demon bunnies? I'm always up for intelligent, but few people really are. Liked your profile (duh), write back if you want to chat. Delete me if you don't.

And an eyebrow raises, and I almost smile. And I hit 'reply'. And...the agent just requested sample pages. But not always. Sometimes I'm still a little sick from the tequila and not in the mood to be mocked for it. Or I'm tired of bunnies. Or I just replied to a different guy who used sarcasm and aloofness as his hook.

A couple more emails fly back and forth. Sometimes they stop after one. Sorry, rejection on your partial. It might be because you've honed your introduction e-mail, but the rest of the document sucks. It might just be because after the inneundo dies down, one of you likes macadamias and the other doesn't.

Pattern continues...wanna meet for drinks sometime? (i.e. send me your full manuscript).

You get the picture...I hope ;-)

My point is most guys are schmucks.. Sorry, that was my point 12 years ago. And I actually really love guys - half my friends are male...and stopping before I dig this hole any deeper. My point today is...online dating is like searching for an agent. Except as writers we're all (regardless of gender), the poor witty guy who has to have just the right line at just the right time without looking like he's trying to hard.

Now that I've had this revelation, I feel more sympathy for anyone who has to sift through piles of genetalia pictures query letters on a daily basis. Like, a lot more.

But it doesn't do anything to reduce my craving to be that 1% who said just the right thing at just the right time...I promise to leave the compromising pictures out until at least the third date...#batseyelashes

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The Proverbial Bridge and the Jump

"If mentally stimulating is attractive, and you cease to be mentally stimulating..." Mackenzie trailed off, letting the unsaid words hang in the air between them. Slogging through my #MarNo story - having a hard time with a specific scene. But I did write out one that I loved, and now have my favorite sentence ever.

Which is why I adore Kenzie. I'm not so fond of the fact that she's made one of my older standbys into a stalker, but he wasn't doing anything anyway. Poor guy niced/creepied himself right out of a starring role when he started being...well...creepy ^_^

Anyway...I'm not talking about burning bridges, though that's an interesting topic. Today it's all associated with "If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you?"

It all depends. Do we have bungie cords? How high up is it? Will we get arrested?

One of the authors I follow on Twitter announced last week that she'd landed an e-publishing deal for a novella. Which is WOOT! in itself. So as part of this celebration process, she got her hair cut and dyed for author head-shots.

And I got hair envy. Yeah. It's true. I needed to cut my hair anyway, but I saw the streaks and the great photos and said "I haven't dyed my hair in forever...I want streaks." So I got the haircut (which I like...I think...maybe) And instead of being smart about it, and paying a professional to do it (like my sister-in-law who rocks like pop rocks and would have done it for the cost of the dye), I went and bought a do-it-myself hilighting kit from the grocery store next to the salon.

And made the house smell like bleach for an hour. And when all was said and done, my $12 kit did leave little blond spots in my hair. But you can't see them unless you know where they are (my hair is too thick, it hid them), and the streaks don't run the entire length of the hair. They start about 1/2 inch from my scalp and fade out about 2 inches below that.

And what have I learned from this whole experience? That I can't set my goals and objectives based on what other authors are doing - regardless of where they are in their career or where I am. That I have to set my own pace, not take short cuts, and do things right.

You might be thinking 'well, duh?' or 'how the hell did you get from point A to point Q?', but the answer to both is "hey, I'm a little nuts (I talk to the voices in my head, don't you?), cut me some slack."

How are you comparing yourself to other writers/people in your profession even though we all know we're not supposed to?

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MarNo, a snippet, and the Catch Me If You Can Blogfest

I stumbled on this at about 2 am. Which is insane because I have to be up to get ready for work at five. Or six. Or maybe seven. Anyway...I thought it was perfect because

1. I just finished week 1 of MarNo along with a great group of authors, and I can use that piece
2. I like posting snippets of my work ^_^
3. I love meeting new people and these blog fests always give me that opportunity

The concept is simple. I post the first 550 or so words of my current WIP (in this case, Serious Game 2.0), and ask for critique and opinion on whether or not it catches the reader's eye. Because we all know, you don't have very many words to hook an agent or an editor.

Longer/private critiques can be emailed. I have a Contact Me page now that has things like my email, Twitter, and author Facebook page on it. And when I get to work, I'll be starting the rounds to read what everyone else has because...I love reading stuff ^_^ If you're reading this and not already planning on it, make sure you click the image and do the same.

Story...right...I don't need lead-in because this is the first 550 words of the story so...enjoy!

Serious Game 2.0
Edited thanks to comments. Thank you to everyone who's stopped by so far!

Zach pulled a shirt over his head as he walked, navigating the spiral staircase from memory. “Yeah, all right. I’m coming.” Loose strands of blond fell back into his eyes and he blew them away with irritation. He really needed a haircut. Might have already gotten one if Kelly had been there …he pushed the thought away. The failed not-engagement was the last thing he needed to be thinking about. For a moment he wondered if he should be wearing more than his pajamas, and decided he didn’t care. His private life was already public. It couldn’t get much worse.

He crossed the foyer, tile cool against his feet, wondering who was pounding on his door at seven thirty on a Saturday morning. He could see a shape through the frosted glass, but not make out a face. The curves were enough to put a smile on his face before he answered. The expression grew when the details came into focus.

His gaze traveled up her figure. A hint of turquoise whispered through her thin top. Her dirty blond hair was pulled into short pigtails on either side of her head, and her lips were pursed in irritation. Something about her was familiar and for a minute he worried she might be someone he’d done a one-night thing with. But that couldn’t be right. She didn’t look like the kind of girl who spent her nights in bars. “Can I help you?”

She looked him over, brown eyes wide, before ducking her head. A flush spread across her cheeks. “Is my sister here?”

His hopes of hitting on her dropped a notch. Sisters were always trouble. He paused, realizing he hadn’t brought anyone home the night before. “No, sorry.”

She tugged one of her pigtails and sighed. “Are you sure?”

He would have remembered getting laid. Or going out. And it wasn’t like he drank, so he hadn’t been wasted and just forgotten.

Behind him bare feet slapped against the floor. His renter, Mason, always walked with a heavy footfall. “Hey, sis,” Mason’s distinct alto bounced off the faux-suede walls.

Zach looked behind him, eyebrow raised. Sure, Mason had long hair, but he wasn’t a girl. He looked at his visitor again. “That’s your sister?”

She rolled her eyes, but was smirking. The rise and fall of her chest captivated him for a moment. She looked at Mason when she replied. “Have you seen Natalie? Mom and Dad are freaking out.”

When he heard the name, Zach knew why she looked familiar. Like Mason, Natalie worked for him. Except unlike Rae, Natalie dyed her hair black and kept her skin pale.

“She’s downstairs tea-bagging noobs,” Mason replied. “I’ll get her.”

“No, wai-” Her protest faded as he disappeared back into the basement. “Don’t bother,” she muttered. “It’ll take too long to pull her away.”

Mystery solved and cute girl available, Zach seized the opportunity. “Do you want to come in and wait? Unless you need to be somewhere.”

“Sorta, not really.” She was still tugging on her pigtail. “I mean, I need to call my mom so she stops panicking, and I seriously need coffee because I’m not safe on the roads this early without it.”

“In that case, I can’t let you leave.” He stepped aside and held the door open. “I have coffee.” He didn’t mention it was because it had been over almost two months since Kelly left and he still hadn’t bothered to cancel her coffee of the month membership.

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