An Ink and Paper Twin

You may already know that my genre is middle-grade horror (think GOOSEBUMPS + the basement from CABIN IN THE WOODS), so there's nothing too treacherous to worry about when writing late at night. However, I'm beginning to recognize a recent arrival in my manuscript as similar to an in-real-life (IRL) neighbor from my childhood. And that is creepy. Especially since this new character's voice grows louder and clearer than my main character (MC)--who is creepy enough on her own.

I'm thrilled that my work-in-progress (WIP) is getting stronger. I don't just mean better--though I won't object if this alone were the case--just that the MC is getting antsy for me to finish her story. She's usually the loudest voice in the WIP, but a little over a week ago, this other boy crept in.

And he's everywhere.

Seven nights ago he showed up in a scene barring my MC's way into the Half-witch Woods. He said he was protecting her, but I'm not sure. I don't think I trust him. Either way, my MC seems neither to care nor mind.

Three nights later, he showed up briefly in a dream. Can't remember what, but when I woke up, my skin crawled.

Yesterday during class I had to give my students an early break so I could email myself his connection to my MC's family--during which he proceeded to rant about me not referring to him by his 'real' name.

Last night, I woke from a dream in which I came-to in an abandoned nine-story boathouse--him standing on the dock watching the killer jellyfish circling closer and closer and closer. Woke up sweating.

I did not plan this character.

I do not want this character.

Yet, I need this character.

The tiny gods living between the pages of my manuscript demand him and they are never wrong. But it's creeping me out. You try ignoring an imaginary depressive-ogre-nightmare-boy who makes your story a million times more goosebump-giving.

Resistance is futile.

I tried avoiding him.

I tried writing around him.

I tried writing him out.

Bad idea.

As a result, he is currently holding my unconscious MC hostage in the middle of the Half-witch Woods, threatening to bury her. Unless I learn his 'real' name.

I don't even know what that means.

Until then, he has taken the name of this childhood neighbor who was no where near as creepy and only half as intimidating. Regardless, this character insists they are ink-and-paper twins.

And I am powerless.

The ABC's of New Year's Eve

A is for Asking guests over for games and fun and foodness.

B is for Being 'sad' when they decline-thank effing goodness.


C is for Champagne which may or may not have been forgotten.

D is for Deliberating Dishes--though they don't really smell that rotten.


E is for Etiquette and knowing when to phuck it. 

F is for Filch and Fudge and Umbrage who can suck it.


G is for The Guild and marathons, thereof.

H is for Hopelessness when trying to rhyme weird words.


I is for Ice Cream left over from Thanksgiving.

J is for Just eat it all. Pajamas are forgiving.


K is for Kindness. Or Crusade. Or Maim. Or Bleed.

L is for Love Listening to Assassin's Creed.


M is for Midol and shut your face before I skin it.

N is for Notable performances on the Spinnet.


O is for Other-worlds from where ghosts come to haunt you.

P is for Pantslessness because you know you want to.


Q is for Quiet couch times that won't soon be forgot.

R is for Resolution follow-through. Or not.


S is for Six episodes of Downton in a row. 

T is for Two more just because. THIS SHOW.


U is for Unlimited amounts of coffee.

V is for Very, Very many of pots of coffee.


W is for Watching poor Edith twice not Wed.

X is for X because it's way past time for bed. 


Y is for You and Yours and me and my caffeine.

Z is for Zero brain things left. Wake me in '15.

Make Haste and Have a Cupcake: A Gift-Giving Guide if You Know Jack About Jane

Today is Jane Austen's 239th Birthday. Jane Austen is my homegirl and my homegirls get cupcakes. Unless you were born two centuries ago. In which case, you get gifts. 

Having never had the pleasure of meeting her, I know jack about Jane Austen as a person. But through the immortal genius of PRIDE & PREJUDICE, as well as from the audio version of her personal letters, I *know* her, and do know about giving her gifts. 

Inspired by the infectious joy oozing out of the farthest bedazzled, upcycled, spray-glittered, birded corners of Pinterest, I give you 'A Guide to Giving Four Simple Gifts': 

Give 1 thing they want, 1 thing they need, 1 thing to wear, and 1 thing to read.

The following are my four simple gifts to Jane Austen on this, her 239th birthday.

Something Miss Austen Wants:

Fair enough. My first gift to Miss Austen is a revised version of this post with less agreeable dialogue language most foul. Douche bags.   

Something Miss Austen Needs:

Sorry Suck it, Clarkson. This belongs to one lady, and one lady only.

Something for Miss Austen To Wear:

Since Miss Austen wouldn't know a thermostat from a pinchbeck kerseymere: EITHER a Snuggie ( Children not included Asshat Family sold separately) OR...

A vintage  fothermucking couch dress. What in the world sharkfart is this and does it come in blue?

Something for Jane to Read:

I've got a first Edition of EMMA, so it's only fair that Miss Austen receives the original copy of HIDE AND NO SEEK, my first thriller. Such clever young ladies are we!  Voldemort can go jump back up his mother. 

Make haste and have a cupcake! 

Happy Birthday, Homegirl.

PhDidn't: A Visual Summary of the Last Forty-Some Months

My last post was 3 years, 8 months, and 15 days ago on the eve of a PhD program in English Education. 

Seven semesters later, that stubborn story-obsessed banshee of a fiction-based conscience wouldn't. Shut. Up. 

While I still value and miss my fellow doctoral colleagues and PhDivas, as well as my newfound appreciation for higher education, I could not be happier that I PhDidn't. 

And now... 

A Visual Summary of the Last Forty-Some Months

Started strong.

Found other PhDivas

It's a gift. 

Found joy.

Partied tackily.

Got _ _ _ _ locked.

Made this. 

Said yes.

Took a walk.

THIS guy.

Volunteered.

Gorgeous boy. 

Picked a hobby.

Fiction withdrawal.

Effed that.

Noticed this.

Saw her. 

Bated (dog) breath.

Signed these...

Welcome home!

Made this.

Reserved a seat in hell. 

Got hired.

Headed South.

Moved in.

Discovered sun-liyte (sp?).

Teaching begins.

Made friends.

Best Friends.

Howl-ween.

Hallowork

Buffalovies.

 Happy Christma-birthda-versary (Equinox sold separately).

Decompressed.

Best invention.

Snow day.

Teaching ends.

Nom nom.

Humidity challenged.

Fancy pals.

Home office.

Writing pillow.

Potlucky friends.

No squirrel.

Bacon weaving.

New hobby (before).

New hobby (after).

Oh, Ridley.

Henry revised.

I helped.

Now we're on the same page.