BLOG.LORILYN.NET

Thunderstorms & Hot Chocolate

LoriLyn — Sat, 09 Jul 2011 22:54:17 GMT

I randomly recalled a childhood memory the other day. A seemingly ordinary event, I suppose.

It was my mother making everyone cups of hot chocolate while a thunder storm raged outside.

Nothing unusual about that, right?

You know what I don't understand though?

Why did my mother feel it necessary to wake me up, who was perfectly happy to be sleeping through the storm until that point, just so I could sit with everyone else at the kitchen table and not drink the beverage? I've NEVER liked hot chocolate.

And it hit me the other day when I had this random recollection - why did I never think to ASK her why the hell she felt it necessary to wake me out of a dead sleep?

Hmm . . . think I owe my mom a phone call.

National Donut Day!

LoriLyn — Sun, 05 Jun 2011 05:45:41 GMT

Did you know June 3rd was National Donut Day? NO? People, people - try to keep current. If we don't remember sacred national events like National Donut Day, what's next? Oops, forgot Nov 4th - National Chicken Lady Day? Hello! Standards, kids, we must maintain standards.

So, I remind the Capt. of this fact the day before and he, of course, is anxious to show his support. He's very patriotic. He did serve as a Marine, you know. And he is a Coast Guard Captain, after all.

Now, I'm not a big sweets eater. Never have been a chocoholic. I don't pour maple syrup on my pancakes (just butter - lots and lots of butter). I don't spread jam on my peanut butter sandwich or toast (again , butter should be enough for you). I eat ice cream (vanilla, of course) maybe once a year. I will eat plain NY cheesecake or creme brulee if really well done now and then but usually pass it up as most often I am disappointed (spoiled by my friend Beverly who is a killer cook and makes creme brulee to DIE for).

But, it's National Donut Day.

National Donut Day.

I have a patriotic responsibility, folks.

So, the Capt. asks me - plain old fashioned or a couple maple bars?

Oooo - tough choice. I do admit my other sweet guilty pleasure is a maple bar. I like to have most of one (feeding a chunk to each of four dogs) followed by a plain old fashioned (feeding a chunk to each of four dogs). And then it's nice to have the last maple bar that night as a dessert (feeding a chunk to each of four dogs).

So, I say, "since I had all old fashioned last time, lets go back to a maple bar, please!"

It's now the dawn of National Donut Day!! Hurrah! There is cheering in the streets! Parades are surely planned!

While my delicate self slumbers, the Capt. showers and makes his was to the store.

He selects his donut delights carefully. But, wait! Did the woman before his just purchase the last two maple bars??? How can he possible return home to his eagerly awaiting love with no maple bars? That's all his loving partner asked of him! How can he fail her?

With a heavy heart, he takes his purchases toward the front of the store.

Aha- what is that before him?

Why, it's a display rack. It's celebrating National Donut Day. And . . .

OMG! Can it really be?

There is ONE maple bar left on the rack. Just one!

Relieved, the Capt. grabs it and adds it to his shopping cart.

Victorious, he brings his trophies home.

Gently (okay, actually he calls the dogs in to jump on me and bruise various tender places) he awakens me to the glorious dawning of National Donut Day. I swear I heard a chorus (or was that puppy growls?) as I opened my eyes.

"I could only trap and kill you one maple bar, my angel."

I forgave him.

(Note: those are real, normal sized donuts behind the mammoth maple bar which was, yes was, the size of a sheet cake.)

Proof I Met Ann Rule!

LoriLyn — Wed, 16 Mar 2011 00:48:00 GMT

Here's proof I really met the amazing Ann Rule!

(I'm the one with the long hair - and why do I look older than her when I'm at least 20 years younger?)

And yes, that's the wine garden directly behind us. I was going to crop this but then wanted to also prove how close they stick authors to the booze. Guess where I was shortly soon after this picture was taken? Good guess!

Ann Rule & The Drunk Twats

LoriLyn — Tue, 15 Mar 2011 00:43:00 GMT

After about a decade, I decided to once again check out the Northwest Womens' Show in Seattle and talked some friends into joining me for the day. It wasn't hard to convince them - especially when I mentioned the fabulous Jimmy's On 1st restaurant literally across the street from QWest Field and we'd be able to take advantage of their great Happy Hour.

My main motivation to going was one of my fave True Crime authors, Ann Rule , was going to be there. I discovered Ann when I first became enthralled with the study of the serial killer Ted Bundy. He was local as is Ann, who actually was a friend and co-worker of his for years. Her attention to detail and the extensive research she does is amazing enough but when you add in her ability to really get you inside the emotional state of these people, well, she's my hero.

As usual, I was late getting going but thankfully my friends all have incidents that made them even later so for once I was sort of on time. Go me!

I get there, wander around a bit (the celebrity impersonators from Julia's were pretty good - especially the MJ) and then hunted out the area called the "Author's Corner". Good thing I did 'cause the minute I walked up to the speaker area, some guy announces that if you get in line, you'll get a copy of Ann's latest book FOR FREE and she'll then sign it!!! OMG!!!

I immediately got in line.

So did the two young "ladies" behind me who kept trying to get in front of me until they figured out it wasn't happening.

And then my nightmare began.

First, it should be no surprise the wine bar was located in the space immediately adjacent to the Author Corner. You're not surprised, right? Hello! Heard of Hemingway?

Okay, so I get in line at 12:45. Ann Rule (and her daughter Leslie Rule, also an author) are due to arrive at 1:00 and will be there until 3:00.

Within seconds, the twats behind me start yammering to each other.

"I'm so drunk!"

"Me too!"

"What are we in line for?"

"Um, I think it's some free books. I love free crap."

"Me too!"

"OMG, I'm so drunk."

At just a few minutes after 1:00, Ann and Leslie arrive. Yay!! They get settled in. They begin to address the crowd seated before them (we are standing in a line off to the side, behind the backdrop of their table and back about a hundred people long at this point).

"I've so gotta pee."

"Me too!"

"I'm still really drunk."

"Me too."

"You know, I'm so glad Bridgette didn't come with us. I mean, she's so all about the drama and I told Jim Bob I really just wanted to spend some time with you for a change!"

"Oh, that's so sweet! Look at all this bronzer crap I bought. I'll be bronze for months."

"Bridgette tweets all the time about stupid stuff. She's such a gossip. Wish her boyfriend had a brother cause I would so do him. He's hot."

Now, Ann Rule is talking and sharing some wonderful insights into writing and researching her crime books - I assume. I can't hear a word since the drunk idiot girls have diarrhea of the mouth. It's now 1:30 so I've been standing in line in low heeled boots for 45 minutes in one place. My feet hurt.

"You know, I hate it when guys wanna do it when you're on the rag. That's so gross!"

"I know! Ew. Some girls like that and Jim Bob wants to sometimes but I'm all, like, dude - no way. Yuck."

The woman in front of me, a lovely person with killer red pumps who was a vendor promoting the Newport, Oregon Seafood Festival happened to generously mention that Ann just said that the hardest book for her to write was one of both our faves, "Small Sacrifices". And then the blathering behind me continued.

"I'm still really drunk - and now I really gotta pee!"

" I know. Did you get that free stuff from that bread place?"

"Yeah. Love free stuff."

"Yeah, free crap is great. You know what else is great? Older guys for your first time! They totally know what they're doing."

I'm straining forward to aim my ear toward the closest speaker emitting Ann' s voice and willing myself to hear her words of wisdom. My feet are aching and my head is ready to explode at this point. I cannot make out a single word.

Nothing is going my way.

I momentarily think to tell the twats to take turns using the restroom and thereby keeping their place in line but then I'm all like - what the hell are you thinking?!?!? Do you really want to encourage them to stay?!?!?!?

I so do not and keep my big mouth shut for a change.

Finally, about 2:30, they start handing out the books and the first people get to have them signed by Ann (we also got one from her daughter, Leslie Rule, about ghosts in mirrors which sounds pretty interesting). Gradually, the line begins to move.

We inch up, closer and closer.

"It hurts I gotta pee so bad!"

"Me too!"

We inch a little closer.

Suddenly, drunk girls start whispering, loudly mind you - they are still drunk.

"You know, if we count to three and walk away, maybe they won't notice."

"Okay. I'll do it if you do it."

"One, two, three." This in unison followed by giggling and the twats wobble off to presumably find more free stuff, after finding the bathroom, of course.

Why they needed to count is beyond me. Why they waited two hours to only give up when we were so close, I have no clue.

I don't think they did either. Thankfully, one of them stated earlier she doesn't plan to procreate.

PS: I did get both Ann and Leslie's lovely books signed to me personally so it was worth the suffering!

ECWC 2010 - Saturday

LoriLyn — Tue, 07 Dec 2010 00:51:15 GMT

OMG - after a whopping 4 hours sleep, off went the auto-wake up call. I snarled and moaned but then a thought flashed into my mind - AGENT APPOINTMENTS! Zing! A huge boost of adrenaline surged through me and got my fat butt moving. While I still looked like the living dead, at least I was an awake corpse.

When I finally left my room an hour later (yes, in another pair of shoes), I was still only slightly caffeinated and had my "war paint" on. Wasn't much I could do about the bloodshot, puffy eyes. Even though I was almost an hour early, I rushed down to the waiting area outside the rooms they were holding the agent/editor pitches. (The spaces for all the workshops, meals, registration desk, hospitality desk, meeting rooms, etc. were spread over three levels of the hotel.)

So, I ran into some of my peeps right away who were waiting for pitches shortly. All the agent/editor appts this year were groups sessions with about six to eight per group.

I really wanted to attend fabulous Barbara Vey's talk about "Books, Blogs & More" with my beloved speakers Mary Buckham and Deborah Schneider , but I worried about having to leave half way through to be sure to make it to an editor appointment. I so should have gone and just skipped the appointment (editor wasn't requesting anything anyway). Apparently, she used me and my having the sodas delivered to her room as an example of what TO DO RIGHT for "building name recognition"! She even mentioned it in her blog !

Gaah! I would have to have missed that! Plus, I don't have a book out. Great timing. Crap.

That aside, I did have a wonderful time connecting with friends. And I did get to meet Barbara, who is sweeter than cheesecake.

Back to the pitching . . .

I got lucky and a friend gave me her appt. with my previous agent whom I hadn't seen during my 5 year hiatus from writing. It went well, thanks to a gnat.

Let me explain since I can hear you scratching your heads in confusion. I hurried to her table in the room and grabbed the seat next to her. I decided I'd go last in pitching and let the others begin. About half way through the wonderful Terrel Hoffman's great pitch, a gnat suddenly buzzed around between me and the agent. My natural instinct was to brush it away.

Agent: "Did you just swat at me?"
Me: "No! It was a gnat."
Agent: "Did the rest of you see that? She swatted at me!"
Me, completely red faced: "No. Honestly there was a gnat, a bug."
Agent, laughing hysterically: "I've never been swatted at during a pitch before! This has to be the funniest pitch group I've ever had!"
Terrel: "She's The Swatter!"
Agent: "Lori, you have to mention that in your submission!"
Me: "Um, okay."

Of course, I did. I'm not stupid, just embarrassed.

So, that agent and another one requested submissions. Go me!

Then it was time for the Award Luncheon, the wonderful speaker Brenda Novack , and I got to be a Raffle Vanna and help hand out baskets of donated bliss from dozens of authors and groups. Fun, fun, fun!

After chatting with more people, a brief stop into the crowded Book Fair, and a drink in the bar with yet more friends, I decided it was time to go change for dinner. I was hosting a group in the hotel restaurant as a volunteer Dinner Diva.

We had a great group, great food and lots of laughs! Afterward, we moved our group to the lounge where others joined us.

Some of us made our way to the karaoke party for a while, cheering on those braver than us.

Finally, our little group decided to once again go up to my room for yet more drinks and to unwind a bit from the busy (and early!) day. Some sensibly decided to call it a night a while later, since Sunday would be the final day and it was once again crammed full of great events. Others of us (you're not shocked that I was one, right?) just needed a couple more hours of chatter before we could unwind enough to think of sleep, no matter how badly needed.

I think the shoe count reached an even half dozen so far.

ECWC 2010 - Friday

LoriLyn — Mon, 01 Nov 2010 23:10:00 GMT

After my hostess and I stayed up very late solving world problems over glasses of chilled wine and cheese and crackers, the poor dear had to get up early to attend a bonus workshop she'd registered for. I'd known better. I slept in, thank you.

when I'd found out the wonderful Barbara Vey had agreed to be the keynote speaker, I'd played stalker-fan and had promised her an ice cold diet Coke upon her arrival so, I had to run around Bellevue to try to find a regular grocery store, which involved much cursing. (I really don't like driving in Bellevue, just so you know.) I purchased a Styrofoam cooler, a couple bags of ice, a couple of six-packs of soda and lots and lots of bottles of wine. This was a writer's conference,after all.

Then I had to shift rooms and unload the rest of my stuff. I filled one cart to capacity and trundled to the new digs. Upon entering the room, I found a man standing on my balcony! Don't get excited on any account - he was one of the workers cleaning the exterior of the building. Moments later he jumped into a cherry picker bucket thingy and went to scare the crap out of some other unsuspecting woman. Now, if he'd been a stud-muffin . . .

After unloading, setting up my own cooler (I'd checked, hotel had no fridge) with soda, wine and snacks, I loaded up Barbara's cooler with the other six-pack and took it to the front desk to have them deliver it to her room. My first stalking task was a success!

My friends finished with the workshop and registration officially opened.

After officially registering, it was time for me to play volunteer once again (with hat #2, the white & cream one - forgot to mention the hats before) and be one of the Hospitality Hostess' at the First Timers Reception. What a blast I had! I talked to so many great people. I even got to spend a little time with one of the Australian writers who came. A really fun and interesting woman. Wish I'd more time with her, like with so many other people. The Hosp Chair and her committee did a fab job having wine and chocolates aplenty!

The hour went by fast and then it was time to catch my breath and change before the Friday night Welcome dinner. I changed (yes, my shoes too - pair three so far for the weekend), and then went off to find my peeps.

We took up the better part of a table and were pleasantly surprised that a few unknown brave souls filled the rest of the seats (one is new friend Jude Bown). Since it took a while to get food service going, I decided we needed drinks but was informed I'd have to go upstairs to the bar to get them. Ha! They obviously didn't know who they were dealing with. That wasn't going to stop me. Off I went to the bar. I must have given off the air of not being one to trifle with. I had the manager himself help me. Did I want both bottles of wine opened? Of course. Did I want them on ice? Of course. How many glasses would I need? Five. Would I like him to follow me to my table? Of course! (Hello - I was so not going to try navigating the stairs in my four-inch heels while carry breakable things!)

It was a grand entrance I made back into the ballroom, my tall man-servant following me, holding the tray with gleaming bucket and glasses held high. We arrive at the table - and my peeps aren't there! Damn their bladders. At least I got to surprise them when they returned, even if they missed being impressed with my show.

While the food wasn't worth mentioning, Alyssa Day 's welcome speech was fun with her borrowing the credo of "Never give up, never surrender!" from the "Galaxy Quest" movie to inspire us. After that, Cherry Adair presented awards to all those who won her "Finish the DAMN Book" Challenge, like my pals Stephanie Meehan, Chassily Wakefield , and Josie Malone which involved much loud cheering from our group as well as all the attendees. And then we applauded like mad for Diana Ballew who was a finalist in the Emerald City Opener Contest. And then more cheering for my buddies who made PRO this year - Stephanie, Diana & Joan . Next was a recognition of the First Sale Awards and that included our pal Josie Malone (a/k/a Shannon Kennedy ). Finally, there was the Editor/Agent Panel next followed by a Pitchfest!. Whew!!

Our group opted out of the larger pitch session and headed up to my room for more wine (of course) and candy (I don't know why) so we could focus on helping each other with our pitches. This is also when we gave our friend, the newly published Josie Malone , a custom frame to use at her first book signing that next evening.

Yes, it was another very, very late evening but it was a wonderfully productive one. But getting up for that first pitch to an agent would come all too soon when you stumble off to bed at 4:30 am.

ECWC 2010 - Thursday

LoriLyn — Thu, 14 Oct 2010 05:12:00 GMT

So, it's been like five years since I attended the Emerald City Writers' Conference in Bellevue, Washington (sponsored by the Greater Seattle RWA chapter). Thankfully, a shift of weekends worked in my favor this time so I could attend. And, even more thankfully, one of my writer pals offered to let me come an extra evening as her roomy couldn't make it for their Thursday night reservation. Thank you, Miz D !

Now, this was only the second ECWC that I had attended where I wasn't "working it". The first 5-6 years, I was "on" constantly but now, just as a volunteer, I had freedom. But I still packed like I needed to prepare for every calamity. I even brought a spare lint brush. Seriously.

I loaded up the car (you'd think I was going to be gone at least a week , the number of bags I had - I took a bag of JUST SHOES! like a dozen pair! FOR A WEEKEND! I'm insane) and drove to the eastside. Since my freebie night was one night only, I left most of my crap in the car. I'd be spending Friday and Saturday nights in my own room so could pile said crap in that room.

Yay! Finally settled in (temporarily). I had a bunch of pals to hang with and planned to meet many more. We got together, those who'd arrived a day early, and had a late lunch. It was much fun and made new friends, too!

Most of our group had volunteered to help adding/stuffing promotional items in the free gift bags each attendee of the conference will receive so after we finished eating, we went in search of the stuffing room. The room quickly filled up with helpers - and boxes and boxes of stuff! After planning delay, we got our assembly line going. It was a lot of fun and we all got to see the gorgeous covers and freebies first! Everyone got three books and there were pens, bookmarks, teaser booklets, postcards, candy, a button, chapstick, post-its and on. It's a fun way to get promotional ideas.

It took about three hours to get all 250+ bags stuffed with the huge pile of goodies! After that, we welcomed the pizzas the Conference Committee bought.

We then converged on the bar, meeting up with new and old friends. Several hours later, it was time to stumble off to our rooms.

It was a great way to start the long weekend!!

It scared me more than thoughts of death

LoriLyn — Tue, 12 Oct 2010 04:38:00 GMT

Saturday, October 9th was a special day for me. It was a day I'd looked forward to and hadn't missed for five years previously.

But this year, I got a fright worse than anything I'd ever had.

I went to Port Angeles Crab Fest and COULDN'T FINISH MY CRAB!

I can't explain why I changed my strategy this year. My only guess is hunger was driving me. And year-long fantasies about bacon-wrapped scallops in peta bread with pesto sauce and shredded cabbage, a/k/a the Scallorito, had been haunting me. Gaaahhhh . . . (And I'm sorry I ate mine before taking a picture of the stunning work of art. My bad. But I was f*#@ing hungry!)

See, normally, on one of our only-for-the-day visits to the annual fete (we prefer the weekend long event so that we have several days to sample and waddle around) I would have had a plain cake doughnut before heading out. and consuming much diet soda caffeine on the nearly two hour trip over. Then, upon arrival, I would have eased into a cup of chowder or perhaps some steamed clam & mussels. A few hours later, after much walking around the pier and possibly part of the town, I'd be ready to chow down on a nice fresh hot dungeness crab. All of this is accompanied by glasses of fabulous Olympic Peninsula wineries beverages. (The Capt. often imbibes in the local beers.) And while The Capt. dove into some killer slices of pie later, I'd probably be going back for more steamers or oysters - and of course more wine.

But this year - well, this year didn't work at so well. I should clarify - it worked out well on the financial side but was a disappointment on the consumption side.

I got full too early.

Because it was a rainy day and 11:30 am when we got into town, the crowds under the tent where most of the food booths were was jam packed. The Capt. and I were both ravenous so thought we'd see if our new love of the previous year had their bbq stall going out on the Pier. The Alaskan scallop people were there! We jumped into line and immediately each ordered a Scallorito.

While I did eat all four jumbo Alaska Scallops wrapped in bacon, I only scarfed about two-thirds of the pita bread and condiments. Then we toddled about, looking at wares and visiting a few of the downtown shops. I so love the bookstore, The Port Book & News.

An hour or two later, we ambled back to the food tent, Capt. hungry again and me thinking so, I was so seduced by the tantalizing sights and smells of the seafood. The Capt. convinced me to have a dungeness dinner (whole crab, coleslaw, and a half an ear of corn) and he ordered the same. Halfway through mine, I realized I'd started too heavy and it would be tough to finish. When The Capt. suddenly tossed half his crab on my plate, I knew I was in serious trouble.

I've never gone to Crab Fest before and not eaten at least one whole crab. This year - only about two-thirds, and that was after not eating any coleslaw and only half of the half ear of corn! And might I also add, that was the ONLY corn I've had this year that was fresh and sweet and perfect!

After consuming most of a bottle of wine while trying to gain victory over the crab, and hour later I had to call it quits. With a heavy heart (and even more heavy gut), I allowed the Capt. to toss away the remains.

I was not hungry again for the next 22 hours.

The Dungeness that kicked my ass.

Writing A Synopsis or Just Shoot Me Now

LoriLyn — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 07:08:00 GMT

The writing world is filled with sadomasochistic freaks - and I am one of them.

We writers spend days, months, sometimes years writing our book. We research and pour over dictionaries and thesauruses, painstaking selecting each word. We tear parts of it up and build it over again. We sweat and bleed and cry over it until we think it's close to perfect. We birth tales of humor and love and pain and discovery that are about 100,000 words long.

And some asswipe in New York many moons ago decided you had to cut it down to three pages for the synopsis.

WHAT?!?!?!

But it gets even better.

I recently registered for a fabulous conference and part of the perk to registry early was to get the chance to send in a pitch to an editor who was attending but not taking normal pitch appointments. Bonus! She's from a very good publishing house and is well respected. You got to actually submit two pitches and she would select the top ten of all of them to have a personal one-on-one meet with her at the conference.

Yes, of course there's a catch. Your three page synopsis, approximately 700 words? TOO LONG! Hone it to a maximum of 100 WORDS!

ARGH!!!!! I think they're just trying to make my head explode.

(Don't ask me how - I actually did it.)

Apologies, Facebook

LoriLyn — Sun, 25 Jul 2010 08:20:00 GMT

I apologize to all of Facebook. Really.

Okay, maybe just those who know me/friend me/whatever me on there. Sorry, y'all. (And side note: why do I often type "y'all"? I'm not from the South. I've only been to New Orleans and Orlando once each for short vacations. Hmm - odd.)

Jumping back in - I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I haven't accepted your spare bushels of corn or adopted your extra goat or agreed to buy your surplus of methane 'cause you've got really gassy pigs (I've got really gassy dogs when I feed them pigs and that's more than enough for me). I'm sorry I haven't returned your bedazzled hearts, shamrock charms, or kitten love points back. My bad that I haven't clicked that I love unicorn rainbows too. Apologies I don't want your angels' love protection or glitter halos or what the hell else I get sent.

I'm sorry but I really don't have the time to deal with this. And: News break - I'm not a touchy-feely kinda person. I don't get into online games. I've managed to find enough crap to distract myself, thank you very much. I can waste more than enough time playing Solitaire or howling with laughter over old posts by the bloggess or allie brosh or channel surfing on hundreds of cable stations - not all speaking the same language I do. Hours have been spent doing research on Wikipedia or Google or university websites. (Okay, fine - I also might happen to spend a little time on TMZ or something like that. I do like to read, too, you know oh, and I write!)

Then there are all the groups I'm a member of. And, unless I'm really that clever(hint: I'm not), anyone who knows me knows that if I have even an infinitesimal knowledge of a subject a questions was just asked on or know someone who does, I have to answer. I have to.

And then there's the huge vacuum of time that seems to surround me whenever I'm trying to actually answer e-mails. I compose, then re-write, then often have to research, then spell-check, then re-write again and spell-check again - after which I will either tell myself I'm a blow-hard and don't know crap so will delete or will send and then worry for the next couple hours everyone on the loop will read it and see it as proof I'm a know-it-all idiot.

So, I ask you - do I really need to deal with fantasy farms and mythical angels? Don't you think I'm "challenged" enough already?!?

I do.

But thanks for thinking me friendly/smart/interesting enough to enjoy your invites. Hugs!

What Does a Norwegian Pop Band Have to do With Writing?

LoriLyn — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 07:45:00 GMT

Want to hear about my first experience?

Hello! I mean with exploring the professional side of being a writer. Temporarily lift your mind from the gutter. (But only temporarily. I'm sure to find some smutty subject to discuss soon. And remind me to tell you about the time I convinced my bff in high school to write about my real first experience for her English term paper. She didn't get expelled - but it was close!)

Anyway, I decided at (mumble-grumble-garble) age that I wanted to be a writer. I finally managed to write a WHOLE STORY with a beginning, a middle and an end (but just barely that!) and it all sort of made sense, at least to me it did - at the time. So, I recalled a magazine I'd once seen about a group of romance authors. Found out it was a national organization (RWA) and I joined. Then, discovered there was a local chapter and I joined them. The next month the local group was having a day long workshop/meeting. Perfect timing to jump start my new career!

Oooo! I was so excited. I was going to meet up with a bunch of like-minded writers who loved to write about love. And the fee included a pasta lunch! What could be better? (This was also my first encounter with a critique but I'll save that for another day. Oye. Not pretty.)

So, there I am, not knowing a single soul of the fifty or so attendees. I hadn't actually spoken to someone who was a professional writer since I took a creative writing class in the 8th grade. But this topic, "How To Write Humor", was being presented by a new author I'd just read and enjoyed. And a bonus was that her bff was in attendance and was a new absolute fave of mine! OMG!! I was sitting in a room with at least TWO famous writers! If I hadn't been sitting, I might have swooned.

After a nice business meeting for the group and a strange but funny introduction of the speaker involving a rubber chicken, the author took the stage. I had my pen and notepad at hand, ready to write pearls of wisdom on how to make sure I was writing with a slant toward humor, as that was (and still is) my hope.

Hmm . . . it didn't begin quite like I'd hoped it might.

This lovely woman, a truly fabulous writer, steps to the podium and smiles shyly.

"I'm supposed to tell you about how to write with humor." She grimaces and looks to her bff in the front row just ahead of me. "But I really don't know what to tell you. People say I write funny stuff but I don't know how I do it. I don't plan it, I just guess I do it."

Are you f-ing kidding me?!? I just spent over $50 dollars for a limp salad, a slightly stale roll, luke-warm bottle of water and what tasted like a frozen bargain lasagna so I could hear you tell me the secrets of being funny and you say in your opening address 'you don't have a damn clue'?!?!?!

Where do I go to get my money back?

I have a feeling I wasn't the only face in the audience to register shock as she quickly tossed out a writing exercise (more about that another time) which smoothed ruffled feathers. She was so lucky to have this back up - I knew there was a large hardware store just down the street that I was sure sold pitch forks.

And then, for the last half of the day, she told us interesting information about The Industry. I knew absolutely nothing so I hung on every word. But like so often in my life, I was soon completely out to sea on what the heck she was talking about.

She began by talking about GMC* and how it was so important for your story. I looked to my left to see a woman nodding. I looked behind her and saw another jotting notes.

What the hell did General Motors Corporation have to do with writing? Flummoxed, I continued listening.

Next, our lovely speaker addressed a question someone asked about POV*. Well, I thought to myself, the Norwegian pop group did write a lot of songs about love and loss and angst. There was the tune about Ferdinand or whatever his name was and the one about Napoleon's big battle. Plus the women were pretty and wore flowing dresses with bell sleeves and the guys were 70's cute and European.

Her next topic again made some sense as make-up and womens' romantic fiction seemed to go hand in hand. I had no problem understanding why Avon* would be interested in romance novels. But I'd never heard they actually published any books.

When she began talking about a hero's journey* (I didn't want to write travel books) and wall bangers* (not into penning erotica), I wasn't so sure she knew what she was talking about.

The day ended well but I was so confused. Determined to figure out these strange secret messages she had given us, I scurried home and got on The World-Wide-Web and began trying to find answers. It took me a few weeks of lurking on list groups to get my answers and thankfully there were newbie writers braver than me who asked all the questions. At least this once I was able to avoid public embarrassment!

Don't worry, the occasion was a short lived event. Much embarrassment has since ensued.

GMC - Goal, Motivation & Conflict

POV - Point of View (of the character)

Avon - a large publishing house, not affiliated to my knowledge with the make-up company

Hero's Journey - process of exploring the emotional development of characters

Wall Banger - popular term for when you have read a book and come to a point where come elements cause the reader to stop reading, or in other words, throw the book across the room in frustration

Secret Writer Obesssion - Ssshhh!!

LoriLyn — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 08:59:00 GMT

Writers have a dirty little secret. It's not something they talk about unless safely amongst a group of others known to be writers. If you're good - very, very good, I might just tell you what it is. But remember, it's a very personal guilty pleasure.

Office Supplies.

Ssshhh!!!! Don't repeat that so loudly! Do you know who's lurking about?

Okay. I don't know for sure what it is about office supplies but there is something that just makes us giddy. Stick me in an Office Mega Max or Supply Depot Haven or even an ordinary stationary store (surely a couple still exists someplace), and my blood pressure skyrockets, my palms get all sweaty and I actually grin uncontrollably - I was once even observed giggling. It's worse than a first date when he's bought dinner, you know for sure the guy is all but begging for it and he's actually cute, too.

I don't know how many times I've gasped in delight when handling sleek, smooth pen. Or gotten all breathy when the latest highlighter pens or sharpie colors are revealed. Who can contain their joy at the new shapes, sizes and clever quotes on post-it notes?

Such rapture!

Don't even get me started on talking about notepads, label makers, binder clips, tape flags, and containers to hold all these treasures.

Evans, you have been warned!

LoriLyn — Sat, 19 Jun 2010 02:25:00 GMT

I may have mentioned this before but, in case you missed it - my neighbor is insane.

Okay, sorry. That might not be completely accurate and I don't mean to offend anyone but she's at least having trouble adjusting her medication(s) or something. I mean, the facts speak for themselves:

1) Over the course of 4 years, she managed to paint her house a a blotchy purple (I think she used a couple different colors and that's why it's so blotchy).

2) Initially, she thought the perfect trim color for dark purple was, of course, gold. A year later, the unicorn living in her dryer lint catcher must have told her that poop brown was a much better choice. That change took 2 years to complete.

3) My dog hates her so you know there's some problem with her.

4) She threatened me not to glare and then thanked me for "our talk" when I hadn't said more five words all during her rant.

E) She threatened to call the cops on the Capt. and six months later was chatting him up (he was so stunned to see her smile at him he thought for sure it was a different person).

Enough reasons to start with?

The latest are the signs she's posted on her house.

At first, we didn't pay too much attention and thought maybe her boy-toy was working out of her house. Then, after a better look at the wordage and the threat not to trespass, the Capt. thought the signs were posted for her latest boyfriend. He reasoned that they'd had a fight. I said it was possible since she had taken out a restraining order on her ex-hubby a few years back. But the Capt.'s reasoning didn't make sense to me. However, I said nothing, as often something doesn't make sense to me until I've had a chance to process it.

Still, I'd never heard of someone having the first name of "Evans" before. "Evan", sure, but not "Evans".

So, I googled 'cause that's what I do when I'm puzzled. I google a lot obviously.

Turns out "Evans Glass" is a company and they are in this area. Now, stating the city or state statute restricting them access to your property is, perhaps, a bit extreme but logical. Directing anyone with questions to your attorney is a little over the edge.

Handwriting it in what looks like green crayon and black marker and putting up two signs (there's also one beside her front door) is whack-a-doodle.

The thing I can't understand is - she doesn't appear to have any new windows installed. Maybe the unicorn lied to her and said she had new windows?

If I could only shower in the liquor store . . .

LoriLyn — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 06:16:00 GMT

It's amazing where ideas come to you.

Driving is often one. That's why I started carrying a hand-held recorder. I just need to remember to stop it when I feel the sudden urge to explain quite loudly to some driver ahead of me just exactly where the gas peddle is and precisely how they should get out of my way because I am certainly not driving to sight-see, thank you very much. ("In next chapter, could have hero - HEY, ASSHOLE! Gas peddle's on the right and pick a damn lane already!")

A hands down popular one is the shower (no, not popular as in group brainstorming sessions! Ewe! it's just I know most writers say they get ideas while showering).

Sleeping or in bed is another good place. Hell, sleep or being in bed is just good. Period.

Today, I had one in the liquor store. (Oh, stop - you are so not really surprised.)

I was staring at the rows of local white wines when suddenly, out of thin air, I realized the beginning of my first contemporary manuscript needed to start at the fountain! Sorry, that makes senses to me. What I mean is, I have all this, what I realize now, extraneous stuff happening to lead up to the scene which should now be the opening! In the few chapters before this scene, I don't reveal that much information. I should be able to rework the info in sporadically in the "new" first chapter or chapters.

It's strange because I haven't been thinking about that book at all lately. I'm working on wrapping up one story (almost done - yay!) and am half way through another one.

But there I was, contemplating a new local vineyard over an old fave when the thought slammed into my brain "the place to start it is at the fountain!".

I wonder if this is like when, just after he gets his marching orders, Arthur gets a knife lobbed at him by the aquatic tart, the lady of the lake?

Never mind. Probably too obscure a reference.

I'll just go with - it was an epiphany! In the Washington State Liquor Control Board store #97!

Go me!

I don't do that, dammit!

LoriLyn — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 10:01:00 GMT

I am not amused.

It's not like I have a gazillion people following me on Twitter or anything. I really only just started blogging and being a tweet-head. Seriously, I only have a few dozen people following me. So tell me why so many (proportionately) are really strange followers?

It was weird enough a couple weeks ago or whenever that an entire Mongolian Grill was following me and then suddenly stopped as soon as I blogged that an entire Mongolian Grill (and it was a chain!) was following me.

Then, I discovered only a few days ago that E-Builder was following me. E-Builder? At first I thought E-Builder was like some mega-lumber store or something. Like a Costco for contractors but you can only order online.

Not. (And no, I obviously didn't think that whole business premise through.)

Apparently, they're some "web-based capital program and project management software" company - whatever the hell that means. Anyway, they were also almost immediately banned from following or posting or anything because they violated the list rules. So I no longer have them following me.

And I find I don't mind BookPal following me since I'm following them. I'm hoping for a symbiotic relationship.

But now - it's almost too much.

I mean, really. How much am I expected to take?

People, I'm being followed by not one but TWO "snoring" sites! TWO!!!! I so do not snore!

I, ahem, breathe heavy. There is so a difference. My 80+ pound lab and the Capt. snore. I do not. I simply breathe heavy.

I. Do. Not. Snore.

Contests - Part II

LoriLyn — Tue, 08 Jun 2010 02:30:00 GMT

Remember me telling you about entering that contest? The second one I ever entered and about ten years after the first one? I didn't final.

Waaahh.

After a moment or two of pouting (and a large glass of chardonnay), I bravely opened up the first of four attached judge score sheets. I took a deep breath and (once I had another glass of wine at hand) scrolled down to the final score number . . . and a 91 out of 123! That wasn't so bad. I sipped at the wine. A few comments are quite valid. This person obviously has a fairly good grasp of writing and judging.

Ouch. Judge #2 only gave me half the possible points. Actually, not even half - I got 61 out of a possible 123. What is that? Like a D? Maybe a C-, if I'm lucky? She thinks I suck! She's mean! I know what it is - she's just jealous. Yeah, that's gotta be it. I'm gonna hold my breath 'til she takes it back. I don't suck - I don't, I don't.

Moving on (and moving on to 'nother glass), I opened score sheet #3, tissues at the ready should I get another half-grade. Scroll, scroll . . . and a 114! Seriously?!?!? Wow! Now I'm feeling much better (and much warmer, can we open a window?) I should celebrate this great score with another glass of wine!

After managing to not step on dog on my way to a pee and refilling the glass (did I mention it holds 18 oz? woo-hoo!), I open the final score sheet. This will be it, this will really tell me if I'm mediocre (another sucky score means I'm not connecting with the majority) or on the verge of supremeness (which is preferred, hello).

Sip. Sigh. Sip. Scroll. Sip.

Spew.

Judge #4 gave me . . .

A PERFECT SCORE!!!!

I got 123 out of only 123 possible points! Holy Crap!

The judge even gave me her e-mail addy and asked that I put her into my database to notify her when the book comes out for sale!

SHE'S MY FIRST ANONYMOUS FAN!!

Go me!

I have to go lie down now. Will celebrate more after the room stops spinning.

Eavesdropping

LoriLyn — Sun, 06 Jun 2010 21:29:00 GMT

A common question for writers is "where do you get your ideas"?

I eavesdrop.

No, not on the average conversation! That's just wrong - and often extremely dull.

"Hi, Jane."
"Hi, Jill."
"How's that rash your husband has?"
"It's better. The ointment at least got it to stop oozing."

(Not a great inspiration for a story. All though, you could make it into a medical mystery or sci-fi thriller, I suppose.)

And the other kind of normal conversations usually involve things that are too adult-like for me and require actions that I just don't want to tackle. (I probably do have crab grass and should have it treated but I don't really care and certainly don't want to spend the money on that when I could buy yummy real crab to drip in butter. Great, now I'm hungry. And I don't have any crab, just crab grass. Crap.)

I eavesdrop on myself. You know, those snippets of conversations that suddenly spring up in your mind and you perk up, wondering just who said that and why they think their neighbor should die?

No? You don't have strangers speaking in your head about murder and mayhem? Huh, that's odd. It happens to me all the time.

I'd ask my psychologist brother if this is bizarre, but then he'd start analyzing me and there's no end to that once it's begun. ("So, sis, tell me the emotional motivation to put tarter sauce in the sugar cookies when you were young. Was it a cry out for freedom from domesticity?" Back off, bro - I just read the damn directions wrong and I'd never heard of creme of tarter before!)

Anyway, I usually "intercept" some bit of conversation and if it's interesting enough, I begin to mull it over. Who are these people? Why do they want to kill their neighbor? Is it because their neighbor is a screechy-bitch like mine? How are they going to do it? Will they get caught?

And that's how a story can take off. I use that bit of dialogue and build around it. Sometimes I take current news events and blend them in. Sometimes it's complete fiction, without any conscious borrowing from reality. But most of the time, that's how it starts for me, that snippet of speech, which may or may not become the actual opening of the story.

Now, back to the couple plotting to murder the obnoxious neighbor - this could be good! Is it wrong for me to hope they succeed?

Did I ever tell you about the time that I . . .

LoriLyn — Sat, 05 Jun 2010 05:27:00 GMT

. . . baked cookies? Previously, I told you about the cake incident and me being banned from my own stove. Here is a story that might give you some insight into how the cake thing really came to happen.

When I was a a kid, I loved sugar cookies. My mom had the best-in-the-frigging world sugar cookie recipe - ever. In the entire universe. I loved those damn cookies.

And I had (actually still do) two older brothers who were on the track, football, and baseball teams (but they're not now - now they're old - thankfully I'm not, go me!). So I didn't get that many cookies most of the time because they were each known to demolish a meal meant for a family of five in one sitting.

One early summer afternoon, my bff was over and I decided we should bake some of these superior-to-the-manna-from-the-gods cookies. I pulled out Mom's neat, cursively written recipe card and began telling bff Erin what ingredients to pull out of the fridge. Soon, there was a decent grouping of items. We hauled out some mixing bowls and measuring cups and we were good to go.

Carefully, we measured and mixed. Gently, we placed spoonfuls of dough on the baking sheet - before smooshing them with a flat bottom glass coated with sugar. Excitedly, we placed them in the oven.

The minutes ticked by slowly. It was nearly painful having to wait.

Finally the correct amount crawled by. But suddenly the cookies didn't smell quite right. There was something, just - off.

We pulled them out of the oven, carefully placing them on the cooling rack.

Finally, the cookies were cool enough to eat. Each armed with large glasses of milk, we snatched up a cookie and took our first soft, warm bite.

And immediately spit it out.

I'd told Erin to use "tarter sauce" rather than the "cream of tarter" the recipe had called for.

My bad.

Even my brothers wouldn't eat the cookies.

Obviously I was never meant to bake - at least for humans.

I'm All A-Twitter

LoriLyn — Thu, 27 May 2010 23:06:00 GMT

I’m a little freaked out right now.

There’s a grill following me on Twitter.

Yes, a grill.

No, not a barbecue, I know the difference. It’s a grill.

Seriously, an entire grill is following me. Actually, it’s more than an entire grill. It’s a grill chain, that’s following me, as in more-than-one-store.

A chain of grills, in seventeen states mind you, that specializes in Mongolian stir-fry, is following me. And they don’t have a location anywhere in my state – not even in the states that border my state!

But, they’re following me.

And they claim it’s not cuisine. Oh no, it’s so much more. It’s “an INTERACTIVE style of exhibition cooking” apparently in keeping with how Genghis Khan did it so they must make you squat in a field and cook your food over a red hot battle shield while naked.

I’m sorry – no? That’s incorrect?

My bad, that’s how Genghis Khan did it. My stalking-Mongolian-stir-fry-grill-chain-in-seventeen-states-but-not-one-remotely-close-to-where-I-live is more of a “restaurant” style eating experience, probably without the nudity, but I guess somehow still INTERACTIVE.

No, I don’t know how a restaurant can be INTERACTIVE unless they expect you to kill your own food in plain sight and/or grill it on your shields. For the record, I rarely want to interact with my food source prior to consumption.

And they’re following me.

Wait! That means I must have said something really fabulous in one of my like, sixteen tweets ever, for this huge chain of Mongolian grills to be following me.

Damn, I’m becoming famous even before I get published!

Cool.

Go me.

A Lesson Learned In Second Grade

LoriLyn — Tue, 27 Apr 2010 02:14:00 GMT

Writers study human nature and so must delve into the inner core of human angst. We must look beyond the superficial and find the driving force, the secret fear that motivates people in order to bring our characters to life. We have to find a way to connect with the reader, to make them say "yes, I can understand that fear! I too was terrified by Charlotte in Charlotte's Web - and I'm not even afraid of spiders! To this day I cannot watch that movie!"

Like my fear of tucking my hair behind my ears.

What?!?!?

Let me explain. When I was in the second grade, I had a horrible, cruel teacher. No, she wasn't even really a teacher. She must have been an Orc in disguise - or perhaps a harpy. She was ancient and had ferret like features and hands curled into claws complete with talon-sharp fingernails filed to a point. We called her Mrs. Crabapple, which was close to her real name but more fitting as she looked like a shriveled apple, wrinkled and dried up.

Everyone in my class hated her. She would make you stand up to ask a question and then take great pleasure in ridiculing your poor little seven-year-old self in front of everyone else, mocking you if you dared to cry.

She had many targets but I was one of her favorites. Maybe because I was generally pretty happy and friendly. Maybe because I tried hard to do things her way and to please her. I think the real reason was she was jealous of my hair.

Back then, I had long, blondish hair. It hung down to about my waist (like now, but now it's more brown and shot through with gray - lots and lots of gray). While in second grade I may not have had a figure to be proud of, or even all my front teeth, but I was proud of my hair. I brushed it every morning and every night, no matter how painful it was to dislodge all the tangles caused by running around the playground or riding my bike.

After months of trying to make the cantankerous old crone like me, I think she must have sensed I was giving up. My penmanship was not as exact, I'd allowed an ice cream bar to melt in my desk, and I refused to button my sweater up to my neck.

Then came the fateful day I tucked my long golden hair behind my ears.

I'd probably done this many, many times before - in fact, I'm sure I had. It was a habit, since I hated wearing headbands. But for some reason, this one particular day, it sent her over the edge.

There I sat at my little desk (the melted ice cream sandwich had since been cleaned up), working hard at my math problems, my honey colored hair tucked out of the way behind my ears when she swooped down upon me.

"Don't wear your hair that way," she snapped as one claw scraped my ear as she flicked the hair from behind it. "It makes your ears stick out and look big. I don't even want to catch you doing that again."

I was devastated, humiliated. My seven-year-old tender little ego was crushed to learn I had dumbo ears! I was so hurt. There wasn't anything I could do to make my ears smaller, was there? No, I would be destined to go through life as The Girl With Huge Ears. I could never tuck my pretty hair behind my monstrously huge ears again.

And I didn't for many,many years. Seriously. This one comment, made by a woman who was shortly "encouraged" to retire and had probably burned out years before on teaching a bunch of unruly second graders, changed my life and a part of my self-esteem for several decades.

Why am I boring you with this and not seeking out a therapist or consulting a plastic surgeon to have a lobe reduction? It's as I said in the beginning. Writing is a study of human nature and you never know when one small incident in a persons past can alter the course of who they become. When you create a character, it's the little things like having your second grade teacher tell you you have big ears that really shapes a person and as the creator, you need to delve into just such minute experiences.

And while I hate spiders, I'm not afraid of Charlotte - but she was a little creepy looking wasn't she?