Reads of 2014...So Far...

I've read a lot of good books so far this year, and I'd like to share them with you.

(1) Dr. Sleep, Stephen King

(2) The Plot Against Hip Hop, Nelson George*

(3) The Basic Eight, Daniel Handler*

(4) The Silver Linings Playbook, Matthew Quick

(5) Twittering from the Circus of the Dead, Joe Hill

It probably needs to be said that this title is actually a short story. It also needs to be said that it's written entirely as a series of tweets. It MOST DEFINITELY needs to be said that the author, Joe Hill, does twitter better than probably everyone else on twitter. You should follow him. Even if you don't read horror. Even if you don't read. Even if you don't have eyes or opposable thumbs. 

(6) Hyperbole and a Half, Allie Brosh* 

(7) Truth in Advertising, John Kenney*

(8) Looking for Alaska, John Green* 

(9) The Cutie, Donald Westlake*

Yes, I chose this last book purely based on its cover. And it was a damned good book.

(10) 12 Years a Slave, Solomon Northup* 

(11) Somebody Owes Me Money, Donald Westlake

(12) An Abundance of Katherines, John Green

(13) Beyond Hades, Luke Romyn

(14) The Charm School, Nelson Demille*

(15) Paper Towns, John Green*

(16) The Bank Shot, Donald Westlake 

Currently I'm reading Word of Honor by Nelson Demille:

What does this list say about me? I read a lot of books by men. This year I've sort of been having literary love affairs with Donald Westlake and John Green. I like books in which murders take place. I love political intrigue. 

All books denoted with * are contenders for my end-of-the-year top ten list

 But this is subject to change! 

I love books!!

Adventures in Fiction Writing! Part Six: 20 Things to Do to Kill Time While Waiting for your Beta Readers

Originally this post was going to be an introspective look at how impatient I get while waiting for feedback on my #WIP. But then I said to myself:

"GRRRL, nobody wants to hear you whine."

And I was right. Nobody does. Especially not me. So instead I put together a list of things impatient bitches like me can do to distract ourselves while we wait for that all-important reader feedback. Hopefully it will help some of you. I'm pretty sure it prevented the untimely death of my lovely and infuriating teenage daughter.

(1) Bake a banana bread. It's widely regarded as impossible to be anxious or angry while mashing bananas.
(2) Read someone else's book. But nothing serious. Choose something light or fluffy or fantastical. You know what I mean: the sort of literary junk food you usually deny indulging in.
(3) Get all your friends together--NOT including any beta readers who also happen to be your friends--for a night of drinking and gaming.Cards Against Humanity is stupid fun. It's pee-your-pants-because-you're-laughing-so-hard funny.
(4) Go smurfing for pseudoephedrine. It worked for Walter White.
(5) Forget that. Spend a weekend binge-watching Breaking Bad instead.
(6) Try a new shade of nail polish. Try a different color on every finger. When people ask about it, respond with something completely irrelevant and judgemental, like:

"I hope one day you can grow beyond your racism."

(7) Spend an afternoon reconnecting with your younger self. Pull out that old box of toys from the attic. Play with your barbies. (Or GI Joes if you're a guy. Or a woman who played with masculine toys as a child.) Name one after that rumor-spreading bitch at work. Play through a scenario in which she develops cancer of the everything and then give her "treatments" that consist of you dousing her with gasoline and lighting her on fire.
(8) Research literary agents who represent books in your genre. Make a list of those who are currently accepting submissions.
(9) Stare at your list in despair. Cry a little.
(10) Tell yourself to man up. Expand your list to include details about what each of the agents likes to see in a query letter. Then pour over websites that offer advice on how to write winning query letters.
(11) Pour yourself a glass of red zinfandel. Take a sip. Then knock back the rest of the glass because no one could possibly write a query letter as well as the examples on the website.
(12) Pour yourself another glass. Wonder for a moment how good it would feel to write a different kind of letter to all those literary agents? One in which you tell them exactly where they should shove their submission guidelines.
(13) Throw your glass across the room. Drink the remaining wine straight from the bottle.
(14) Doodle ugly pictures of your Beta readers. Be creative with the details: give one boils and another an unfortunate facial scar.
(15) Ditch the wine. 3 am pity parties call for whiskey.
(16) Come to terms with the fact that each and every one of your Beta readers hates your guts. Or worse, hates your book.

Because that's why they haven't responded to your emails and calls. They hate your book so much that the mere though of talking to you sends them into fits of rage.

(17) Cry yourself to sleep. Wake up the next morning with a hangover. Call in sick to work.
(18) Spend the day in a bubble bath. Renew your promise to yourself that you will chill the FUCK out.
(19) Bake chocolate chip cookies. Eat the cookies in bed.
(20) DO NOT CHECK YOUR EMAIL.

Adventures in Fiction Writing: Preparing Yourself for the SUICIDAL SECOND DRAFT

Okay, so, you wrote your book.
It was tough, and it took a long time: months, probably, but sometimes even YEARS.
It started with a feverish idea that wouldn't leave your brain and it grew into this whole messy, exciting THING, this STORY.
You wrote when you were excited about it. And you wrote when you weren't. You wrote when you felt like a hack and the story sounded dumb to your own ears. You wrote when the very act of writing felt like disembowelment...but you ALWAYS wrote.

I wrote a whole book!

And now it's done. At least, the first draft is. You can hardly believe it. It's such a relief and you're so proud of yourself and you feel like celebrating (hopefully you DO celebrate), but then you go online...

...And you realize that what you thought had been the hard part was actually just the warm up.

The first draft is the easy part, they say.
The real work is in the revisions, they say. 
Also, they say, the test of a real writer is the re-writing. Because, dontcha know, anyone can write a FIRST DRAFT.

(Pause for the obligatory eye rolling.)

So, they say, be prepared for a lot of tears and a lot of sleepless nights, because the difference between a writer and a PUBLISHED AUTHOR is how well you handle revision.

Somebody shoot me.

Just who the hell are THEY, anyway? Why do THEY make the writing rules?

Well, here's the thing. THEY are probably people you know and/or respect. They're your friends and fellow writers. They're published authors you've read and admired. They're creative writing teachers.

In short, THEY are people who know. They're people who've been there. They're survivors of the SUICIDAL SECOND DRAFT.

Of course that makes it harder to hate them, which frankly sucks. The last thing you want to realize after all the work you put into your first draft is that now you have to do it all AGAIN, only BETTER, and probably SEVERAL MORE TIMES. But that's the frustrating truth of the matter. And it's also the difference between the ART of writing and the CRAFT of writing.

The ART of writing is in the drunken exhilaration of the first draft. 

The CRAFT of writing is in the care and attention of the revisions.

Both are essential for a good story. And to be fair, both have their moments of joy. But if you're like me, you MUCH prefer the former to the latter. Which is why I chose to call the second draft the SUICIDAL SECOND DRAFT, because it makes me want to slit my wrists. But hang in there! It gets better. The third draft is less painful than the second, and by the time you get to the fourth, you've generally fallen in love with you WIP again.

...because I still write with a pencil!

Wait a minute!

What?

There are more than 2 drafts?

Oh, sister, there are soooo many more than 2! 

(Insert evil laugh.)

Sorry for laughing. But yes, if you're a normal human being there are going to be way more than two drafts required to turn your fledgling WIP into a literary masterpiece. There is no formula that specifies how many drafts your WIP needs because there are no hard and fast rules. Every writer is different, and every WIP is different. The only thing you can depend on is that your novel needs a lot of love and attention. 

Go on! Give your novel all the love and care it needs. It deserves it! And I'll be here to hold your hand in the process...as long as you promise to hold mine. The SUICIDAL SECOND DRAFT is rough, y'all.

Ready to Revise!

Adventures in Bartending: Christmas Edition!!

What says Merry Christmas better than festive shots? NOTHING.

On that note, I give you the Christmas edition of my periodic blogging adventure through the liquor cabinet that I affectionately call ADVENTURES IN BARTENDING!!

HERE WE GO!

Santa Shot

Ingredients:
3/4 oz. grenadine
3/4 oz. green crème de menthe
3/4 oz. peppermint schnapps

Preparation:
(1) Pour grenadine in a shot glass
(2) Float green crème de menthe on top
(3) Float pepperminet schnapps on top

Watch out!
The Santa Shot is a layered shot. I first talked about layered shots in an earlier bartending adventure. Making layered shots can be tricky. The steps are simple: pour the first layer into the glass, then place a spoon into the glass upside down, the tip of the spoon just barely touching the top of the liquid. Then slowly, sl-o-o-o-w-l-y trickle the liquid for the second (or third) layer over the back of the spoon.

Sounds easy, but it's painstaking work.

The Santa Shot tasted like a cold, extra-sweet, boozy candy cane. Yummy! A good shot for the women in your alcoholic life.



Santa's Breath

Ingredients:
1 part whisky
1 part Sambuca

Preparation:
(1) pour whisky into shot glass
(2) float Sambuca on top

As mentioned in my earlier bartending adventure about layered shots, this shot was a special lesson for me in density. Although I poured the whisky into the glass first, then oh-so-carefully layered the Sambuca on top, when I was done the whisky was the top layer. Oh the chemistry! Where's Mr. Wizard when you need him?

Santa's Breath is STRONG and vaguely medicinal. It'll put hair on your Christmas-loving chest.





Merry Christmas everyone! And DRINK UP!

One Moment: HIEROGLYPHS

So I've been tagged by Elyana (follow her on twitter!!) in this fun writerly-type blogger game! Here's a link to the original post: Read all about the game!

The game is called ONE MOMENT, and everyone who is tagged is asked to find timey-wimey type words or phrases in their manuscripts, pick their favorite instances of such, then post that chunk of literature on their blogs!

I scoured the entirety of my memoir HIEROGLYPHS for a timey-wimey phrase. And I found my favorite instance. Read on:

Tonya was seven when I began kindergarten, and from what she told me, seven was practically old enough to take over the world. She went to school all day whereas I was home in time to catch The Monkeys and eat a bowl of tomato soup before naptime. In my class we practiced dialing our home phone numbers on a giant cardboard rotary phone. Tonya’s class did real school stuff: math and reading and shit. They even had tests that they took with Number Two Pencils!

But it was the fact that Tonya could read and write that made me burn with jealousy. My big sister was now one of the Special People. She had the secret knowledge, the answer to the puzzle. She was in the know. And she never missed an opportunity to brag.

One afternoon I sat down next to Tonya while she did her homework. She pulled out a sheet of notebook paper so I pulled out a sheet of notebook paper. She grabbed a pencil and I grabbed a pencil. Then she began copying the assigned sentences out of her textbook. I watched for a few minutes in silence. I studied the way she gripped the pencil in her fist: she held it firmly enough to control it but also with enough freedom to allow it to skip and dance across the page. A flick of her wrist sent a series of seemingly random dots and dashes spiraling across the lined paper.

It all looked so meaningless but it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t. More importantly, Tonya knew it wasn’t because she knew what all of it meant. She was creating those hieroglyphs!

Then it hit me: I could cheat! If I could move my hand like Tonya did, I could make hieroglyphs like hers. Then it would all be clear! It’d have to be!

So I held my breath, and I began to write—haltingly at first, but with increasing confidence as my hand made its meandering way across the page. I was doing it!

Then I heard a snicker in my left ear. I turned my head and caught my older sister staring at my paper with a delighted sneer.

“That’s not writing!” She crowed. “That’s just scribbles! You think you can write words just by copying me?”

She laughed and laughed. I felt angry tears welling up behind my eyes.

“No I didn’t! I just…”

“Yes you did!” Tonya laughed some more. “You were trying to be big like me but you’re not big! You’re just a kindergarten baby!"

The People's Eyebrow

So it's Day 1 of my 21-Day-Challenge!! (Hashtag #21DaysofWords)

Tonight me and Brandon are also going to join countless other wrestling fans at a Ring of Honor (follow them on twitter!) show in San Antonio!! Soooooo excited!

So Brandon thought it would be fun for me to use a wrestling-related writing prompt today. I agreed, and we put the word out on twitter and facebook for ideas. We received several good ones, but I decided to go with this:

"The People's Eyebrow returns to the ring because..."

This awesome prompt was provided by my twitter friend James Neal (@BloodandBlade on twitter). Thanks James!

And here's what I came up with:

It was late-summer hot, the sort of hot that discourages all but the meanest of children and biting bugs from venturing out. Timmy and his little sister Sara played in their front yard. They weren't allowed to leave the small rectangle of parched grass that defined their space but that was okay. Today the lawn was a wrestling ring.

Sara raised one tiny fist to the sky and declared, in her squeaky little-girl voice: “The People's Eyebrow returns to the ring because...!”

“It's People's Elbow, dumbass!” Timmy said. He was ten and very worldly so he knew these things.

“I'm not a dumbass, you are!” Sara said.

“At least I know the difference between an eyebrow and an elbow,” her older brother retorted. “You can't even put Mr. Whiskers in a half-Nelson.”

Mr. Whiskers was Sara's most beloved stuffed animal. Once he was velveteen-soft and the delicious pink of whipped cupcake frosting. Today his fur was coarse and dishwater-gray. Sara clutched him in one grimy hand and shouted: “Yes I can!” Even though she had no idea what a half-Nelson was.

“Oh yeah? Let's see it then!” Timmy said.

Sara threw Mr. Whiskers to the ground and flopped down on top of him. “Count to three, ref!” She hollered.

Timmy, who had been crouched down on his haunches, fell over on his back laughing. He laughed so loud it drowned out the roar of traffic rushing by. He hugged his arms to his belly and gulped and coughed and sputtered.

Sara jumped to her feet. Her cheeks were red with indignation. “Stop it Timmy!”

“You...you...” Her brother started, then dissolved into another fit of giggles.

“Shut up!”

“You think that was a half-Nelson?” He finally managed.

There came a stirring from a few feet away.

Brother and sister stopped fighting. Their heads swiveled in the direction of the sound.

“She's getting up,” Sara said.

In front of their yard, in the strip of pavement that was the no-man's land between sidewalk and the black tar of the street, lay Kelly. She was seventeen and dangerous, with white-blonde hair that fell to her waist, a body that made all the men in the neighborhood stare, and green eyes that flashed fire when she got wound up—and she was always getting wound up. Sara had heard her parents call Kelly a lush. She didn't know what that meant, but she knew that the older girl got dizzy and fell down on the street a lot.

Sara tiptoed up to the very edge of the lawn to get a better look. Her brother followed. They stood there in silence and watched Kelly's eyes flutter open, unseeing. Suddenly, a daring grin spread across Timmy's face. He took a step onto the sidewalk. Sara gasped.

“What are you doing?” She said.

“I'll show you a half-Nelson,” the boy said and joined the semi-conscious girl in the gutter.

Timmy lifted her torso and twisted it around so that she was facing away from him and he held her arms up over her head while squeezing her from behind. Or he tried. Her arms went up and then promptly flopped back down. Her head lolled on her neck. Her pretty green eyes remained open but they didn't register anything.

“See?” Timmy said. “This is how you do a half-Nelson.”

Sara watched, simultaneously fascinated and terrified by her brother's daring move. Cars thundered past him but he seemed oblivious. He squeezed tighter.

“She couldn't move, even if she wanted to,” the boy said.

Then Kelly blinked, and life returned to her eyes. Color flooded into her cheeks. Her neck muscles stiffened. Her hands clenched into fists.

“Gah!” She sputtered.

In one swift move, Kelly ripped her arms out of Timmy's grasp, whirled around, and shoved him—hard—into oncoming traffic.

“NOOO!” Sara screamed.

Timmy's limp body sailed into the grill of a Ford pickup. He hit the truck with a spine-cracking crunch, then bounced off and flew into the gutter on the opposite side of the street. He landed in a twisted, lifeless heap and lay there, unmoving.

Kelly watched everything from where she remained—in the gutter on this side of the street. She didn't say anything, but her expression changed from fury to confusion to horror. Sara dropped to her knees. Blades of grass scratched her skin. Her tormented cries echoed back and forth across the busy street. She wanted to go to her brother and comfort him, but she couldn't. She was rooted to the spot.

She wasn't allowed to leave the lawn.

More Writing Prompts!

This prompt was provided to me by Nick Gator on twitter:

When the Pope asks you to whack a guy, you whack a guy.

And here's what I came up with!

“You're being such a dumbass,” Sheila said.

“I don't have a choice,” Kevin said.

“Of course you have a choice!” Sheila was getting loud now.

Kevin rolled up the car windows. “You're gonna get us caught!”

“I'm gonna get you caught? Oh that's rich! You're gonna get your own stupid ass caught because you don't know what you're doing! And for what—to impress that asshole Frankie. Notice he's not here? Hmm? He's not going down with you Kevin!”

Kevin had noticed that Frankie wasn't there, but he preferred to believe it was because Frankie trusted Kevin to get the job done by himself. Of course there was no arguing with Sheila. But that didn't stop Kevin from trying.

“When the Pope asks you to whack a guy, you whack a guy.”

“Frankie isn't the Pope. And we're not talking about you whacking a guy. We're talking about you holding up the Walgreens.” She nodded toward the building out the window.

“Just shut up,” Kevin said and opened his door. He slung one leg out, planted that foot on the ground, then slung the other leg out. “I've gotta do this, Sheila.” He said in a less-than-convincing tone.

He stood, tripped over his laces, and fell face-first into the pavement.

“Ow.”

“You're such a dumbass, Kevin,” Sheila said.

Adventures in Bartending 3, Part 1: Tequila and Board Games on a Friday Night

For my third Bartending Adventure I decided to play with tequila because, well just because I never really had before.

Don't get me wrong. I love a pretty and delicious margarita as much as the next grrrl. But until this weekend I'd never explored any other sides of Mexico's most famous contribution to the world. So I busted out my bartending guide and I picked out a few different drinks.

My Bartender's Bible



I picked out some girly drinks: Alamo, God Bless Texastini, and one called Salma Hayek (that actually didn't turn out that well).
And I picked out some not-girly drinks: Alamo Powow, Flat Tire at the Border, Prairie Fire Shooter, Tequila Slammer.

Now I had every intention of trying all of those drinks. And frankly that's a lot of drinks. So I decided to spread the Adventure out over Friday and Saturday nights. That way I should be able to avoid the pesky alcohol poisoning.

Let's get to the Adventure!

Friday night started with tequila slammers and a kick-ass board game Brandon found called Furt.




Tequila Slammer

The Tequila Slammer is a simple, classic shooter. It's 1&1/2 ounces of tequila and 2 ounces of Sprite. Pour both liquids in a rocks glass, then slam it down so it gets all fizzy and shoot! Simple, fun, and an awesome way to open a cool party game like Furt.





Coolest Game You Haven't Played Yet



 Furt kicks so much ass. And I sincerely enjoyed the Tequila Slammer. We were all laughing and having a grand time. Brandon texted his brother and sister to tell them about the game and they immediately responded with an invite for Saturday night. But I wanted more to drink. And there was a nearly full bottle of vodka in the closet, and a recipe for an intriguing sounding drink in my bartender book: The Mind Eraser.

The Mind Eraser isn't a tequila drink, so I don't suppose it really belongs in this Adventure. But it was a Bartending Adventure weekend, and that was a new drink for me, so there! It belongs!

Mind Eraser
1 ounce vodka
1 ounce coffee liqueur
club soda to fill

Pour the liquids into a rocks glass with ice. Stick in a straw and drink all at once.

Here's what the Mind Eraser tastes like: fizzy, alcoholic iced coffee. That's pretty much it. And it's pretty much yummy.



Drinks Go Sideways When You're Drunk





An hour or two into what's now one of my all-time favorite party games I lost spectacularly. A couple tequila slammers, a couple mind erasers and a whiskey drink caught up to me all at once and I collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles. And that was that.

But that was hardly the end of my Bartending Adventure weekend. We had plans to get together with Brandon's brother and sister, their significant others, and their folks Saturday night, and I had plans to bring my Adventure to them.

Tune in tomorrow night for Adventures in Bartending 3, Part 2: Hangovers are like Girl Scout Badges for Bartenders, Right?

Still to Come!

COMING SOON TO THIS GRRRL'S BLOG!!

Next weekend I will regale you with tales of my latest Adventure in Bartending! (I'm gonna experiment with tequila!)

Next month--the second Saturday of April to be exact--I will review a fabulous novel by J. Birch, Gasher Creek!

In between, well, let's just see what happens!

Once Upon a Time in the Life of This Grrrl

Hey friends and neighbors!

Did I ever tell you about the time that I was waiting for my friend on a street corner in Hollywood and a pimp tried to recruit me to be one of his hoes?

Or about my childhood adventures in plagiarism?

Or about the girl who told me she hoped I'd get herpes?

No? Well you can read all that and more in my memoirs Hieroglyphs and The Cookie Dumpster!

These action-packed tales will make you laugh and cry and will leave you craving a sweet treat.

A Memoir from the Gutter

Words are puzzles. Words are lies. Words are power. Words are hope.

 

As with all of my books, these memoirs are affordably priced and are available on amazon!

A Little Bit of Soap

I suck at blogging + I like blogging = blogging conundrum.

I began this blog late in 2012 in order to share how I write shit, read shit, and drink shit. So what did I do? I stated that fact, and then disappeared.

Well no more! As of this moment my blog has 2 followers and a scant few posts. By the end of 2013 this blog will be vital! 

My solemn vow: I will publish a book review on the second Saturday of each month. And on the third Saturday of each month I will publish a bartending adventure.

If I have the time and the inclination strikes, I may even do more than that...

Just Popped My Blogger Cherry!

HEY YOU GUYS!!

Welcome to my uncensored brain. Know me from twitter? (Follow me!) Then you already know that I have a penchant for broadcasting every scandalous thought I have. And I DO mean every thought: however dangerous. Up til now Twitter has been my only outlet. Well, now, the seamy underbelly of my intellect has its own address.
Ready for it?
Muahahahahahaha!

Like my bio says: I write shit, I read shit, I drink shit, and I talk shit. So you can expect this blog to be full of shit.
Shit like: updates and links to my new (and previously published) books, adventures in BBQ sauce and adult beverage experimentation, book reviews (Interested authors contact me here), and any spastic ramblings that find their way to my page.