Snuggies, Video Games and Channing Tatum

What is playing on the iPod? Absolutely nothing because I am watching GI Joe with my kids.

Merry Christmas everyone! I have been sitting here in the midst of the testosterone fest that is my home this morning and contemplating gifts.

First of all, I, er, Santa bought Snuggies for my kids. Snuggies. I am thinking that if I type it over and over, it will get easier to reconcile myself to the fact that my children actually wanted backwards robes for Christmas. Nope, I still can not do it. They are 8 and 12 and wanted these things.

On the upside, they look like some sort of backwards, zen-type straight jackets so I suppose in a pinch and with some duct tape...

Never mind. Okay, lets just get past the Snuggies.

I was so sure of myself when I, er, Santa put the Nerf Dart Tag Strikefire set under the tree. I was certain that package would be ripped open and Nerf bullets would soon be grazing my head (which would be perfectly fine as long as none landed in my coffee - then we would have a problem). The boys have been up for two hours and the Strikefire is still in the box. New Super Mario Brothers Wii has been opened, played, argued over and put back in the box.

At present, Duke and the boys are in the air trying to get the weaponized airheads back from Cobra Commander and Destro, my sons are Snuggie bound and eating stocking candy and I am waiting for Channing Tatum's shirt to come back off, resting comfortably between cup of coffee number two and three.

I wish you all a wonderful and safe Christmas and I hope everyone remembers the Christ in Christmas.

Until next time.

What is playing on the iPod? Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon

Musical side note - seeing Kings of Leon live was one of the highlights of 2009 for me. We went on my birthday and took my children (yeah, I know, generally a bad idea). However, my 8-year-old stood among the biggest partiers, holding his arms up and yelling the lyrics to the songs along with the best of them. I wish I could have got it on film. Only By the Night, the whole album, is on my iPod.

I have read a great deal of material on advice from published authors on how to become published yourself and how to improve your craft while waiting to do so. One author said to write 1000 words at day at least. Those 1000 words may suck, but write them nonetheless. That is a pretty good goal because 1000 words equals four pages. If the work is quality, four pages is not a bad amount of work.

It is now Christmas vacation time at the Blackburn house. My husband has two and a half weeks off and the children have the same amount in different intervals. Roughly translated, that means at least four weeks I will not have the house to myself. Not to sound selfish, but there is only so much the iPod will tune out. Put three extra people in the house yelling, arguing, being boisterous and that does not bode well for putting my thoughts and story lines on the screen.

Needless to say, there is a lot of late night and early morning typing going on.

I love my family and I love having the honor of watching my children grow up. However, being a wife and mother has driven home the importance of me time. If you spend every waking moment being a caretaker of others and not having any time for yourself, then it takes a toll. My personal me time comes in front of a computer or with a book in my hands. Right now, me time is in short supply.

At this moment, it is 10:33 pm and I am waiting for the last holdout, my husband, to go to bed so I may enjoy a silent couple of hours or so in front of the computer before I go to sleep.

I see a ray of light and a quiet computer. Until next time.

Bruises and More Research

What is playing on the iPod? Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin

Let me get this out of the way before I start on the topic I originally intended. My oldest child has an appointment at Duke today. This morning, I was in the bathroom with both children and I pulled my shirt sleeve up. My last entry, I commented on the warning from the phlebotomist before she went in my forearm about how the blood would pool under the skin and I needed to apply pressure. Four days later and I have a pretty sizable, deep purple bruise.

Logan saw my arm this morning and said "Mama! What happened?"

"Oh, that is where I had blood drawn last week." That comment was innocent enough. No big trauma, just a simple blood draw. Until I heard the gasp.

Carson looked at my arm like a deer caught in the headlights. That was not one of my brighter moments. I tried to cover quickly, explaining that this was a special circumstance, sticks in the bend of the elbow (antecubital) do not bruise like that. Carson still looked like he wanted to throw up.

At least this psychological trauma did not involve anything Joan Crawford-ish (wire hangers!) or any "Luke, I am your father" revelations.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I have been researching lately. Book two is at a point where the details have to be researched to make sure there is factual basis for what I have written. For instance, I have discovered that as long as the cells used are adult and not embryonic, the Catholic church generally has no problem with stem cell research. I know the different types of and treatment for pneumothorax. I know types of spiritual entities and what makes them different. That particular search got a little hairy. Some sites I pulled up made me want to dunk my computer in holy water.

I still have some research left to do and roughly five unfinished chapters and then the real work begins. Editing. I continually do this along the way. Whenever I pull my files up, I always read what I wrote last and correct errors and do my rewording, etc. What this basically means is that I see a finish line, I have the baton in my hand and I am running like hell.

So at 9:11 on December 15, I am going to go refill the coffee, do some tweaking on Rebecca and hope like a son of a bitch that I did not scar my child too badly this morning.

Until next time.

Friday Observations

What is playing on the iPod? Freaky Girl by Shaggy and the Kraft

I spent the entire day making observations. The day started in the usual Blackburn household fashion. My fingers were crossed waking the boys up. With a 12-year-old in the house, anything requiring use of emotions is precarious at the very least. I walked in his room with his school uniform and woke him up. He greeted me with a smile. Aah, a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. The 8-year-old was a different issue. I gave him his uniform and with a disheveled bed head, he trudged down the hall muttering something about Pop Tarts. Five minutes later on recheck, both were awake and the 12-year-old entered grooming mode. The 8-year-old had found his Pop Tarts and all was right with the world.

The husband took the boys to school as I had to be at Duke early and he is on a two and a half week vacation. At least one family member likes to go with me to my visits. However, I spend the nearly hour and a half drive with my music on ridiculously loud levels and I enjoy this. Music calms me. Banter and conversation about what could happen at doctor visits does not. Thus, my trips alone.

I love driving. I love speed. Some people retreat to happy places in their mind. My happy place is on the Autobahn driving the 2010 Vantage V12. However...

I hate, with all reasonable thought processes, driving in the Raleigh Durham area. Generally, it is a contest to see how many people behind you that can be pissed off. Today, a woman busted hell wide open to get in front of everyone and then dropped her speed a good 15 mph and rode at an even keel beside a bus. Let me say that again - a bus. As in, ha ha, you are so screwed. Forget making your appointment on time.

Needless to say, I called the doc to let them know I would be rolling in a couple of minutes late.

Deciding that pissy was not the mood for the day, I walked in the hospital and smiled at everyone. I made it a deliberate point to smile and say hello to everyone with a scowl. One scowling guy looked confused for a nanosecond and then returned my smile.

My friend Dawn says we should pay it forward. I could only imagine a day of paid forward smiles.

I got back to a room in a relatively quick fashion. Two hours later, I was back in my vehicle heading to a certain national book retailer. Before I get giddy over my bookstore trip, I have to mention Mary the phlebotomist. My veins roll. I am a nightmare to phlebotomists everywhere. When new phlebotomists are being trained, my picture is put on an overhead projector with my vein anatomy and the label - PATIENT FROM HELL underneath. In my defense, I warn them all before they start. "My veins roll, you are going to need a butterfly and a heat-seeking missile". The warnings usually suffice. I always drink at least two 20 oz bottled waters in preparation for any potential blood work. Today, I should not have had blood drawn, so I stuck to my 42 cups of coffee. I was wrong.

Mary looked at my arm and said "oh dear" to which I mentally responded "oh shit". "Your veins are kind of shy today, aren't they?" Mentally, "they don't like being impaled". Verbally, "yeah, I'm sorry". "Don't be. I can get this." Mentally, "God, I hope so".

Mary had the butterfly positioned above my arm and said "okay sweetie, after this you are going to need to apply pressure because when I have to draw from here, the blood tends to pool under the skin" and with the finesse of a hot knife slicing through butter, she connected with my vein and the vial was collecting blood five seconds later. My next remark was a muttered "son of a bitch" which got a smile from Mary. She responded that she had been doing this for longer than I have been alive and she was so good at it because God called her to do it. I thanked Him for calling her, spent the rest of the time in the chair complementing her and made my way back to the vehicle for the afore-mentioned trip to the bookstore.

The 12-year-old is really into Manga, specifically Naruto Manga. As of right now, the series is 46 books long and this morning, my son had read through 39. I have not been able to find 40. Apparently, the series is in really high demand. This afternoon, I found 40, 41 and 42. Before I could catch myself, I half yelled "YES!" when I found them. That got a few curious looks. Satisfied with my find, I made my way to the front.

There was a guy near me who was unnaturally beautiful. Fitted shirt, ripped physique and a flawless face that should be on the cover of GQ. Completely, utterly and totally droolworthy. I did what any woman nearby did and I looked. Okay, let's not mince words, I stared. He was, indeed, that beautiful. He also had a girl with him. They were near me as I perused the books on Italy (that trip is on my bucket list) and Adonis mentioned something about the gift he had bought his boyfriend. I gave the fitted shirt one more passing glance and made my way to the check out.

By the time I made it nearly back home, it was time to pick up the kids from school. The 12-year-old lit up like a Christmas tree at his new Naruto and started reading on the way home.

So, in closing my blog on observations for December 11, I wish you Marys if you need to give blood. I wish you unblocked roadways if you should find yourself driving in the Raleigh Durham area. I wish you passing glances at Adonises in bookstores. I also wish you the happy smile of a child with new Naruto books. Until next time.

UNOS Update

What is playing on the iPod? Champagne by Cavo

As of 12:08 p.m. December 5, 2009, 105,198 people were on a waiting list for organ donation.

Statistically speaking, there are not half that many people living in the county where I live.

Of these people, there is an infinitesimally small amount who will actually live to receive a transplant. People die on the waiting list every single day.

I have known three people who have received liver transplants, two who have received heart transplants and one bone marrow recipient. Out of those six people, one is no longer with us. The odds of the transplant recipients versus the odds of the people on that damned waiting list are staggering.

This topic is my soapbox. Healthy people die every single day. There are car wrecks and head wounds that happen everywhere (I mention those because those are the leading two causes of death that lead to organ viability). If I offend anyone by my personal crusade, do not expect an apology. Try being one of those people waiting on a selfless act by a grieving family, or try watching someone you love be one of those people, then throw stones. Do not take a religious or moral high road on this topic if you do not have first hand knowledge of what it is like to walk a mile in someone's shoes who understands.

The solution is simple. Sign your donor card and talk to your family. Let your loved ones know your wishes. My husband used to valiantly defend his decision to not be an organ donor before I was diagnosed with primary sclerosing cholangitis (currently in the early stages) which will eventually necessitate transplant. Life tends to bite you in the ass whether you want it to or not.

I try to be witty in my blog but on this subject, I find myself to be rather low on humor. Just think about it and for the love of all that is holy, let your loved ones know your wishes, regardless of what they may be. At the end of the day, families make the final decision for organ donation which is why letting them know is so important.

Do not let the impassioned rantings of a blogger make your decision for you, become informed on the subject. http://www.unos.org/ is a great place to start. Check it out.

Until next time.

Losses Reflected in Laughter

What is playing on the iPod? Desert Rose by Sting

I have a saying that I use with my kids. When the whining becomes excessive, I simply ask the child currently whining if they want cheese with that. This usually results with an "UGH!" from the whiner and the whining stops. Some days, I choose to address things that would normally piss me off with humor. Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not.

This past Sunday, my grandfather died. He was my last surviving grandparent and his death was unexpected. He was in a nursing home because of declining mental health and the decision to place him there has weighed hard on my father. Not to mention the comments and behavior from family members berating him for that choice. To those jackasses that I have an unfortunate biological tie with, if they read this, I say one thing. Screw you. You are not worthy of anything more than that. Wait a second, two things, kiss my ass. Now you are worthy of no more.

So, losing a grandparent is difficult on anyone but watching my Dad has been heart wrenching. This past Friday night, my grandfather refused dinner. The next day, he refused any food or drink whatsoever. That evening, his nurse called my dad and told him they were transporting my grandfather to the ER. My parents went up there and were told that due to circumstances, he probably was not going to "be here much longer". The next morning at 11:45, he was gone.

So for the third time in four years, my family has buried one of my grandparents. My coping mechanism is odd. I get silly, thus the title of this blog. For instance, 11 years ago, I experienced pain that I had never had before. I lost one of my best friends and one of the best people on the face of the planet. Christy passed away in September 2008. For a solid 24 hours, I cried. I got mad with God, cried, cursed, experienced a raw sense of shock at losing someone so vital and full of life, laughter and love. It was not fair.

At the end of her funeral when the pallbearers were rolling her casket by, it kept going and going. Christy, like myself, was short, yet this casket was long. A six foot tall man easily could have used that one. I put my fisted hand over my mouth to stiffle the laughing that I could feel bubbling up. I leaned my head over and my shoulders started shaking. To anyone behind me, it would appear that I was sobbing, yet I was on the verge of hysterical laughter. As if she were sitting right beside me, I heard Christy's voice.

"What in the hell am I doing in THAT? Did no one notice how short I was?"

That simple, albeit it highly inappropriate laughter, caused a break in the tears and made the rest of that day possible.

My grandfather's funeral was Wednesday, two days ago. Yesterday, my youngest son had a field trip to see a play about 45 minutes away. Afterwards, a group of us took our kids to a nearby mall for lunch in the food court. One of our friends took her kid for some shopping and I was walking with my friend Amanda while her grandmother had our sons. In the commercialized spirit of Christmas, the kiosks are out in full swing. One guy was eyeing Amanda and me as we walked by and Amanda made the comment that he was going to try to sell us something on the way back. I shrugged it off, thinking that I would come up with a way to let us pass without being approached for a sale. This had promise. Amanda had a cold and was feeling bad. I was at my grandfather's funeral a mere 24 hours prior. Both of us needed a laugh. On our way back to meet Amanda's grandmother and our kids, sure enough, the guy approached us.

"Excuse me ladies, would you like..."

I got my best game face on and held up a hand. "Dude, please back off. You are probably going to offend my girlfriend."

Then I stared straight ahead and walked off. Amanda nearly lost it, barely controlling her laughter.

"I. Can. Not. Believe. You. Did. That."

"You are just lucky I did not put my arm around you."

It worked. We laughed and felt a little better about our respective situations.

Laughter amidst pain. It works for some, it mortifies others. It helps me cope. It the time ever comes when you are in a similar situation, try the laughter. If it does not work, hey, you tried.

Bliss and Tears

What is Playing on the iPod? Call Up the Homies - Ludacris

After a relatively uneventful Thanksgiving, I stayed up ridiculously late last night. This morning, I was still awake at 3:00, reading. While some of my friends and loved ones were up, probably in line waiting for a Black Friday sales location to open their doors, I was curled up in bed reading. This morning, coffee was obviously a priority and a need as calling as oxygen.

A sleep-deprived Candace is like David Banner in The Incredible Hulk. "Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I am angry." Needless to say, it has been a well-caffeinated day.

My house has been in relative order after the Thanksgiving cleaning frenzy, the dishes are loaded in the dishwasher and there is no pressure to do anything today. Obviously, my mind, unable to exist in a pressure-free environment, keeps going back to Rebecca and Christian. I have put Natalie and Rob to bed for a little while, having restarted the query process. Now, my mind is somewhere in Raleigh in a house with Rebecca, Christian and Jared. Unfortunately, the storyline has progressed to the point where it is time to torture the couple a little bit. Naturally, a change in music is in order.

I erased my iTunes playlist for my iPod and created another one. I erased my whole library and got the songs to put me in the tortured love mood. The playlist is short and consists of the following.

Let It Go - Cavo
My Little Secret - Cavo
The Flame - Cheap Trick
Never Think - Rob Pattinson
Far Away - Nickelback
Hands to Heaven - Breathe
Unfaithful - Rihanna
Last Kiss Goodbye - Hinder

I need the sad music to put me in the mood to do the things I am about to do.

I have to do some things to Christian and Rebecca that I am not happy with. As far as the story line goes, it is great. As far as being an author goes, creating a world revolving around two characters that I am crazy about, hurting them drives me crazy. If that sounds insane, ask any fiction author that you may know if they enjoy harming their characters. Chances are pretty good that you will find a couple that do not like it at all.

Why the title of this blog? Bliss and Tears? If I am going to bitch about hurting Rebecca and Christian, where does the bliss come in? Simply put, with writing. I have turned on my desk top and I hear the motor running. Knowing I am about to go and create more makes me itchy. When I used to smoke, there was a certain feeling when I knew I had a cigarette break coming up at work. I got excited, sort of jonesing for a fix. That is the feeling I have now. I have not worked for a couple of days with all of the Thanksgiving preparations going on, so I have a couple of hours where I can go to that Raleigh neighborhood. Even though I am not going to be doing Rebecca and Christian any favors this night, I am so damned excited to be writing, I am going to end this blog now.

Until next time.

Queries

What is playing on the iPod? Hallelujah by Hana Pestle

Musical commentary - Hana Pestle goes completely against type for me. I love rock, the harder the better and the very talented Ms. Pestle probably does not even own a rock, so the very fact that I listen to her dumbfounds me. However, that being said, I have at least five of her songs on my iTunes account. She has some serious game and I would love to see what she is doing musically in five years.

Today has tried really hard to suck. It put a good effort into being damned near sucktacular (sucktacular is related to craptacular only it is worse). I did get some pre-Thanksgiving cleaning done, so the day was not a total waste.

The bright spot in my day was from 9:45 - 1:30. I pulled up book one and read some more, reading over what I read a couple of days ago. Being completely satisfied with the end product, I went to one of my favorite writing websites and pulled up a saved list of agents to query.

At the beginning of this process, it literally took me a day to formulate one query letter. Today, I sent several individually written queries. As in hot damn, I may be getting over the overwhelming case of nerves I have had! The whole process felt fantastic, empowering and I have decided to send more tomorrow.

Get ready agents, here I come!

Until next time.

Sunday

What is on the iPod? Let It Go by Cavo

Plug for free here - I saw Cavo two weeks ago with Theory of a Deadman and Daughtry. Good Lord, I had no clue! These guys were worth every cent of the ticket price by themselves. They go on my list of people I would go back and see.

While I go on about bands, I found a site that I am giddy over. Earshotband.com is worth checking out, or maybe not. I got pissed beyond reason when I saw that one of my favorite bands played a $2 show in New Mexico. Geographically speaking, that sucked ass. I am on the East Coast, North Carolina specifically and while I would gladly jump at the chance to see my guys for $20, much less $2, they actually need to come to NC for that to happen. Still, go check out the website and go to iTunes and download a couple of their songs. My recommendation for an Earshot intro is Wait. I play an iPod in my vehicle when I am carrying my kids to school and I always try to work in a couple of songs to get their endorphins kicking (mine too for that matter as the java has not always kicked in at that point). Without fail, my 8-year-old sings along with Wait and the 12-year-old plays air drums while the song is going. What an awesome way to start the morning!

I scavenged the net this weekend and picked out my next set of agents to send queries too. I am scared as hell. Why? Because the book I am trying to gain representation for is dependent on my ability to write a letter. Can I write a novel? Hell yes, I have. Is it good? No, it is phenomenal. Can I sell it? Cue the cricket noise.

I am taking something that I have spent a year on, condensing it into an elevator pitch (more on that to come), throwing in a few odds and ends that I deem worthy enough to grab an agents attention and hope I catch said agent on a day where they are in a good enough mood to not toss my work on a damned slush pile.

AAAAAAAAAH!

By the way, if my children were not asleep, I would have actually made a noise similar to that. This is seriously scary! I am not a salesman, by any stretch of the imagination and it is now my job to sell this work to agents. I do not want to do that. I want you to read it and say this - "I want to read more."

Incidentally, an elevator pitch is a sales pitch that is condensed to the amount of time it would take you to travel from maybe the third to the eighth floors on an elevator. See what I mean? Take a year of your work and wrap it up into 20 seconds. Hard, isn't it?

Can I put in the email how I have tediously worked this book over until it no longer resembles the words I typed out in September 2008? Would the potential agent care to know that I would wake in a cold sweat, searching desperately in the dark for a scrap of paper to write an idea on before I lost it? Does the person who probably reads hundreds, if not thousands, of query letters a week, give a damn that I actually cried when I finished this book?

No, no and hell no.

What is going to matter to them is my ability to convince them, in a page or less, that I have a product worth their time. I think that if it were that simple, I could simply say this.

After her divorce, Natalie is diagnosed with advanced primary sclerosing cholangitis and is nearing the stage where a transplant is necessitated. After the transplant, she meets and falls in love with Rob who has just lost his wife. Come take this journey with me as Natalie gets her happy ending but has to come to terms with what it cost others to get her there.

That is so cheesy, I feel like I need some wine to go with it.

There is so much that is missing, but unfortunately, eliminating details is part of how the game is played. Cut to the chase in as clean a manner as possible while grabbing the agents attention.

Rob looks really good naked, just wait until page 123.

No, that is not how it works. Now, I am going to bed, trying not to worry too much about my prior lack of sales positions on my resume. I have to trust that the passion and belief I have in my writing to translate into the emails that will make their way into certain inboxes tomorrow. Belief in self can carry a long way. I hope it carries me to the right inbox and keeps me out of a slush pile.

Until next time.

What Makes Me a Happy Girl

What is on the iPod? Believe by Staind

Finding Natalie is the title of book one. I would love for another title for reach out and slap me, but nothing has done that yet, so...

I am nearly 50,000 words into book two. I have written, this week alone, 25 pages. Trust me, this is a lot for someone who has been out of the game for almost a month. I cut some dead weight and I added some enticing elements. I am reworking some stuff that wasn't grooving too well and I am making a background player into more of a presence. I am feeling pretty damned good about the direction things are going. Jared, Rebecca and Christian are making me very happy.

However, book one is still the pink elephant in the room. I sent 17 query letters, got three requests for more material and some very kind rejections. This, under no uncertain terms, has pissed me off. Why? Because the book is something that I would buy for myself. You have to write something that you would enjoy reading if you want success with it. I walked away from Natalie for three months. I did not touch it, I did not send a query out, I left it alone and poured myself in book two. Still, Natalie and Rob would not go away. There were certain elements of the book that needed to be reworked and I played and replayed plot lines, possible consequences of changing the parts that needed to be changed and decided to go for it. I pulled out my trusty flash drive yesterday and reread the book in the entirety. This morning, I spend hours tweaking. I can honestly say that the product I have now is worthy of a spot on the shelves of any major book chain in the country. Hell, why stop there, I may as well conquer this continent while I am at it. It is worthy of a spot on the shelves of any North American chain there is. I would love to reprint it and give it to the four people who have read the original to see their reactions.

Any given day of the week I would buy this book for myself. Why? Because at the end of the day, you care about Natalie and Rob. You want happiness for them both. You think Lisa is probably one of the coolest girls ever and would love to have her as a friend and you would love to have her car. You think that Jack may not be such an ass after all. You think that Amelia and Jackson are the kind of kids you would want for yourself. You actually go on the UNOS website to do a little research into transplantation because that is one of my original purposes for writing the book. You google University Memorial Hospital and no, it is not a real place. Truthfully, University Memorial is a split between Duke University Medical Center and UNC Hospitals at Chapel Hill because, although I did not truly define the area Natalie lives, she would be close to both. Rob is closer to Raleigh as is Lisa but Natalie is about 20 minutes away from University Memorial, so I combined them. My fellow North Carolinians know that for all the rivalry between the two schools, Duke and UNC are actually only 20 minutes away from one another, and that is allowing for traffic, which is hell on a good day.

Not only have I completed one novel this year, I am almost two-thirds of the way through a second and I have read probably close to 250 books this past year, all the while raising two children (and leaping tall buildings in a single bound - ha!). I have researched. I know the books that I enjoy and I know my favorite authors. I know which books made me sniffle, cry and sob. I know what hooks me. I know what makes me pull for a character. I know what makes me close the book after 20 or so pages (I usually flip to the end before I shelf the book permanently to see if there is any sort of payoff).

Not only did I read these books, I looked at how they sold. During the year of writing and research, I had the honor of meeting one of my favorite authors, Nicholas Sparks. Talk about shaking nervousness! I also went to the Backspace Writers Conference in Manhattan and met some of the most famous agents in the game. I had a well-researched year and I now have one hell of a completed book as a result. I only wait on the elusive agent.

Patience is a learned virtue, not one easily gained, I might add. I will find an agent and when I do, he or she will find that I am exactly what I say, one hell of a writer. All I need is the one bite, the one agent who will see the value of my work. For the ones that have passed, I would have loved working with you but it is your loss. For the agent that I will eventually find, come get me, I am waiting!

Until next time.

The Five Weeks of Extreme Suckage

What is playing on the iPod? Wake Up - Three Days Grace

Unfortunately, I have had an extremely long period in between blog entries again, which is the inspiration for this particular entry. My youngest child, Logan, loves school. The whole process, learning, being with the kids, every part of school makes him giddy with anticipation. So, when he came up to me last month, crying and asked to stay home from school, my Spidey senses went off. This was so not good. A visit to the pediatrician later that day resulted in a bronchitis diagnosis. Logan missed the better part of that week of school, much to his dismay. By the end of day two, he was ready to go back and truthfully, I was ready to send him. In the meantime, I sounded like I was trying to cough up a fur ball the size of Alaska. I was fully convinced that it was a sinus infection until I ended up hooked up to an IV getting fluids the next week for dehydration. As it turned out, I had bronchitis and a kidney infection. Lovely, especially for someone who has been deemed immunocompromised (due to my four autoimmune conditions). Week two of hell was well underway. After 12 days of migrating from the bed, bathroom and vehicle to transport the kids back and forth to school, I gradually became upright - yippee! The Monday, which began week four, my oldest tells me he feels like he was hit by a truck. He woke me up at 2 in the morning, getting two inches from my face and informing me that his throat was in dire pain. After politely asking him to remove his undoubtedly contagious mouth away from my face, I got him some medicine, made sure he was comfortable, went about Purelling myself and crawled back in bed. The subsequent visit to the pediatrician later that day resulted in a negative strep culture (that was what my money was on) and a positive flu test.

After a litany of mentally spewed four letter words, I discovered that he met virtually every CDC-established criteria for H1N1. Being a healthy child (thank God), he was not eligible for Tamiflu. However, I was. I called my local doc (the only non-Duke doc I have) and informed them of the situation. A prophylactic prescription for Tamiflu was called in.

As evidence of my weird sense of humor, as soon as the nurse said "prophylactic", I snorted. I had all sorts of lewd thoughts running through my head...

"Trojan, it's no longer for birth control! We are now making Tamiflu!" Sorry, I digress.

Anyway, back to the five weeks of extreme suckage. Carson recovered and this past Monday went back to school. The day before he went back, it was a beautiful, sunny day. The day held much potential. Barring any unforeseen events, both children would be at school the next day and I could work on book two - woohoo! That night, my right eye started tearing up. Another mentally and verbally spewed litany of four letter words started as soon as I discovered that I could not bear to look at light. I went to the doctor the next morning for a recheck. As soon as the doc asked "is there anything else", I took my sunglasses off. She took one look at my eye and said, no joke, "Oh my God!"

Boy, does that boost confidence.

She went to get the black light and after getting some stain rubbed on my lower lid, she found that I had scratched my cornea.

Week five was off to a rousing start.

I got a good bit of antibiotic goo smeared on the inside of my lid and had my eye patched. I have not put a picture up, but let me assure you that I am white. Not only am I white, I am a shade of white that makes cotton balls look like they have a tan. I tell people that Duke has to keep a special set of pink sheets on hand for when I have surgery so I don't blend in to the white sheets. So, I dubbed myself Snowball, the pirate and went about the next 24 hours, which is the amount of time I had to wear the patch.

Here we sit on Thursday of week five and I am patch free. I still have some light sensitivity, which is normal, but not a deterrent to keep me away from the computers. I am back people and I am hoping for a much less eventful next week.

Until next time.

Back to Rebecca

What is on the iPod? Breaking Inside by Shinedown

It is Monday, November 3. Since October 24, I have been battling bronchitis. Yesterday, after my second trip to the doctor, I think we discovered the magical medicine because today I sit with a laptop open, turned on and my fingers are furiously banging on keys. YES! You just have to love modern medicine.

For ten days, I have been away from my girl, Rebecca. Today is a process of refamiliarizing myself with her world. I have felt so bad that I have not even given the computer a second glance. For someone who loves to write to the degree that I love to write, that says a lot. This morning, I woke up thinking about Rebecca, Christian, Jared, her neighborhood, Matt, the ending that I have shed tears over and lots of other Rebecca-related things.

Yes, I cried writing the ending. Yes, the ending is done before the rest of the book. I have a compulsion to write. I had initially planned on this big emotional reveal for Rebecca but the keyboard literally pulled me down with this ending. I had problems with it, stalked around the room and tried reworking it. No, the story had to be told and it had to be told this way.

My husband, the world's biggest carbon-based sack of emotionless goo, read it, blinked his eyes a couple of times and said "damn."

"What? Does it not work?"

"Oh, it works. I just did not see it coming."

I mentally high fived myself and decided that if I should rework the whole thing to become a book about the finer details of flower gardening, the ending was happening exactly as I wrote it. When I get an agent and they read the book, I want them to know that anything can be edited but the ending got that kind of reaction out of someone who does not typically react to anything other than having a nap disturbed. Or stealing his Snickers, but that is another blog for another day.

Today, I promised my son I would go for more Naruto Manga but when I am done, I will be diving back into central North Carolina on Rebecca's street. I am briskly rubbing my fingers together, excited to be back in the game.

Until next time.

Literary vampires

What's playing on the iPod? Wake Up by Three Days Grace

Funny side note, when I initially saw the name of the band Three Days Grace, I wondered why a Christian band would be classified in the same genre as Earshot, Three Doors Down, etc., etc. Then I listened to the words to Wake Up. I soon realized, again, what a mistake assumption is.

I am not, repeat, AM NOT jumping on the vampire bandwagon. I am not writing a book about a brooding Yugoslavian vampire just waiting in his centuries-old castle for his love to come along and save him with her blood. Nope, not hoping on that train. However, I am a sucker (ha!) for the brooding waiting-in-castle types and I love, love, love to read about them. So, I am choosing this time to write about my favorite vampires. Go to another one of my blog entries if you are over this craze or are a werewolf person, whatever. As I have been a vampire addict since Salem's Lot and I initially read that in junior high, this is something I like so I have just a few things to say.

First of all, for all of you Brad Pitt people, I apologize. No offense to you whatsoever. However, if we were watching Troy, I would fast forward through all the Pitt scenes to get to Eric Bana's stuff. I am all over the tall, dark and brooding.

LESTAT - We can not begin to delve into this category without going to the great Anne Rice. I will not write too much on him as it has been 20 years since I read Interview, but he left an impression. And I preferred the Stuart Townsend Queen of the Damned version to the Tom Cruise Interview version. If you have never seen the movies or read the books, please, please, please read the books first. You screw yourself out of such a great experience by watching the movies without reading the books. Next...

JEAN CLAUDE - I will go out on a limb here and say that Jean Claude is a much sexier vampire than Lestat and that says a lot. If you are an avid reader and like the supernatural, go to Laurell K. Hamilton's website, print off the correct reading order for the Anita Blake series and go to Barnes and Noble, Borders, Amazon, whatever and buy the first six. I say six because in either five or six (sorry, memory is not doing me any favors here), there is a bathtub scene that is worth waiting all of those books for. I am all the way through the last one and my black-haired, blue-eyed vampire is still with us.

JR WARD - No, she isn't a vampire, she is an author and a damned talented one at that. I have to say her in general as opposed to singling one of her guys out because she has written about two which could carry a series all on their own, V and Wrath. Each are tall, dark and brooding, drop dead sexy and both cursed. They, by far, are my favorites. I like Z but he doesn't quite get me like V and Wrath do. If you want to take a fictional trip to vampire-land, take the first plane you can out of Forks to Caldwell, NY. The Black Dagger Brotherhood will not disappoint, true?

Side note, for the Pitt fans, there is Phury and Rhage who undoubtedly put Mr. Pitt to shame.

My definition of a successful book is when you turn the last page and wish it was not done. All but one of those have left me with that reaction. John Michael's story is next in that particular series and I am chewing my nails waiting on it. She has a new series out about fallen angels and I just read Covet. WOW! JR, if I am ever lucky enough to have you read my blog, I just have one thing to say. Vin should have been a Brother. I am sure there is an extra pair of shitkickers laying around just waiting on him.

SHERRILYN KENYON - Again, ultra-talented author and you can not narrow down favorites to one or two choices. The Dark Hunter series is fantastic. Valerius, Zarek and Acheron are my favorites. Actually, after you get into the series, Acheron has a book all to himself, as they all do, but Acheron is easily in my top 25 favorite books of all time. It is an emotionally taxing read but there are lots of questions about everyone's favorite Goth answered.

If you do not like to read about mythology, then you may not like this series. I can provide this disclaimer. I have a deep faith in God and His Son. I serve in my church. He has come through for me way too many times for me not to believe in Him. However, I do read this series and will continue to read them as long as I am able. It is fictional entertainment, pure and simple. Enjoy it for what it is. If I have persuaded you to take this one for a test run, Nick's story is next. Unfortunately, it will not come out until next year. However, I will read it as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Ms. Kenyon is too talented a writer not to.

EDWARD CULLEN - Vampires do not sparkle, they incinerate in sunlight. They have fangs, for the love of Pete. They sleep, even if it is during they day. The Twilight series completely kills any preconceived notion of bloodsuckers except for the vampire/lycan thing. However, if you can get through these books and not feel something for the eternal 17-year-old then I can say the genre is not for you. No matter the age, women anywhere would love to have the devotion that Edward gives Bella, even if it borders on stupid sometimes (why leave her when a few decades ago there were werewolves living down the road - duh). The devotion is heartwarming and all four books were quite entertaining. Even if Emmett is my favorite, Edward gets the mention here.

I hope I have persuaded you to go book shopping. If not, I hope I have entertained you for a few minutes. Until next time.

Reading - Why It Is Essential

What is playing on the iPod? Wait by Earshot



I am convinced that at the corporate headquarters of a certain book retailer (hint - they have a Seattle-based coffee shop within most of them), there has been a statue erected in my honor. Some people smoke, some drink, I read to the point where it should be clinically classified as an addiction. Last Saturday was declared do as little as possible day at my house, so we all did as we pleased. I sat on my bed with two new books, one I had not finished and I read myself silly.



It was fabulous!



I had a thought one afternoon while looking at the ridiculously large collection of video games my children have. What if these were books? I have always made sure my children have plenty to read. My children have the classics, they have the not-so-classics, they have lots of stuff in the middle. They have enough to stock the children's section of my local library - twice.



I started multiplying the video games. Each box times 50 bucks. When the video game boxes got to 25, I stopped counting, depressed. These games are going to be obselete soon, only to be replaced by the latest and greatest craze. Books last as long as the binding holds. I would wager that we have roughly three-thousand dollars in video games. What if they were books? What if that money had been used to invest in quality books that my children could pass down?



Instead, I have a collection of video games that quickly get discarded to the side as soon as the newness wears off or either of my children defeat the game. That sucks.



I have seen statistics about declining book sales. For the life of me, I can't figure it out. Why? There is so much untapped potential in the industry. Reading is the ultimate escape. When it is done right, you can transport yourself anywhere. You want to relax for an afternoon? Read a book. Guess what? Once you are done, you can read the book again and again. One purchase and it is yours.

We have a large screen TV and the purpose for that is still unknown to me. I rarely turn it on. The three males I live with, however, use it as a homing beacon to find their way back to the house. It is the same premise as a bug zapper in the middle of summer.

Okay, small confession here. My lone guilty television pleasure was the one hour a week from June to September that the new episode of True Blood was on. If you are a follower of the show, imagine LaFayette in all his hilarity on a big screen. Or Eric without his shirt. Still, that was my one hour a week. Undoubtedly, with ACC basketball season about to start - GO BLUE DEVILS - my TV will be turned on a little more at my hand. I also may want to watch my beloved Carolina Panthers possibly have one of the worst seasons in NFL history, depends on how much Kleenex I have around the house.

My boys are used to the sound of no TV in the house.

"What do we do, Mama?"

"Clean your room?"

After the eye rolling stops. "Seriously, what do we do?"

"Hey, here is a thought. Pick up a book, without a lot of pictures, and read it. From front to back. The whole thing."

This excites the 8-year-0ld. He loves to read. The 12-year-old looks scoffs for a bit before he goes to grab a book. Ten minutes later...

"I'm done!"

"No you are not!"

"What? You wanted me to read the whole thing?"

"Uh, yeah. That was kind of the point of the instructions."

Then, as if the gates of Heaven opened up and an angel dropped a gift to me, the 12-year-old and I happened upon the Manga section in the earlier referred to book store. The boy actually gasped. It was like when my friend Amanda sees something pink on sale, a look of carnal victory appeared in his eyes.

"What do you think?"

"It's great! How many can I get?"

This was about a month ago. Naruto is his current series of choice, which also happens to be the single most popular Manga in the whole industry. That means finding the next edition can be a little dicey sometimes. Currently, he is on #28 and there are 46 that have been published. Do I care that it is a comic book or that it is published from back to front? Not in the least. He is reading.

Do I care that he may not like me very much right now because I keep the TV turned off? Do I care that he rolls his eyes at me because I shove books at him instead of letting him play with his Wii? Yes, I do. It bothers me a little bit. However, I am not raising a friend, I am raising a child. If it does not like me for things I do right now but respects me in the future for the decisions I have made for him, it will all be worth it.


Now I am going back to my room to check my bookshelf for something to read. It is probably going to be something scary since Halloween is tomorrow. Still, it is better than sitting in front of the TV letting my brain rot. Until next time!

My Books

What is playing on the iPod? Collision Course, Jay-Z and Linkin Park

I completed a novel. From the concept, character development, ever-developing plot lines, I did it. This gets a self pat on the back and a big whew complete with dramatic forehead sweep. I have written since elementary school, won contests and have heard people say for years that I should write a book.

So I did. In the process of doing so, I fell deeply in love with Natalie and Rob. No matter if I become a juggernaut such as Nicholas Sparks or Laurell K. Hamilton and have dozens of my books published, Natalie and Rob will always be the two characters I love the most.

For months (which my family will gladly attest to), I immersed myself in the process of creating Natalie's world. The book started out as thoughts on a computer screen. I was pissed at lots of things, most notably the number of people in the US waiting on organ transplants. Last October, the official count on the UNOS website reached 100,000 for the first time. I stewed on that for a few days and furiously pounded thoughts out. I stared at what I had written and the random thoughts took shape and I heard a voice telling me that the thoughts needed direction and she was willing to give it to me.

I sat down and gave Natalie, the voice, freedom over the thoughts and let her rearrange them and tell her story. Unfortunately, I decided to infuse some personal details into Natalie's life to relate the details that first came out on the screen. Therefore, Natalie has primary sclerosing cholangitis which is a progressive, degenerative liver disease which leaves the bile ducts too scarred up or hardened to allow bile to pass through. This is the reason I was on the UNOS website. I have PSC and periodically, I check the stats because someday down the road, I will need a liver transplant. My liver doc stands firm in his belief that by the time I need one, the medical community will have developed effective treatment for PSC, perhaps in the form of stem cell treatment, so I am crossing my fingers that he is right.

And since it is MY BLOG, I will shamelessly take this opportunity to promote the collective genius of physicians in the gastroenterology/transplant departments at Duke University Medical Center - GO BLUE DEVILS.

Natalie's story developed, her voice got louder and the writing process got emotional. I gave her trials, tribulations and challenges that would have broke lesser women. Not Natalie. My girl donned her cape and leaped tall buildings with a single bound.

Somewhere in the process of exploring Natalie's world, another voice appeared. This guy slowly showed himself. He was demanding that his story be included with Natalie's. He made it clear that he cared for her and if I would let him in, he would grow to love her. How could I refuse? So, Rob was born.

Now, a year after Natalie made her way into my world, I am two-thirds of the way though the actual construction of Rebecca's story. Rebecca has given me more complications than I could have contemplated. She brings issues that would make Freud drool. She is as complex as a good wine and is a challenge to write. That is why I keep going. I love a challenge. Getting through to the bottom of her story is haunting my dreams and most conscious thoughts.

I am not just telling Rebecca's story, I am telling Christian and Jared's as well. Each could carry their own story with no problem but they are so closely involved, their story becomes one.

For a couple of hours Monday through Friday, I get to explore their worlds. I weave their stories, hoping that I do them justice. By Christmas, I will be done with not only the writing but the process of self-editing. I hope to have a couple of copies ready for the group of people who serve as my feedback crew. Rebecca's story will be ready to query by in the next few months.

This means that not only do I have to finish the book but I have to perfect the art of the query letter, making me break out in a cold sweat. Imagine taking months, if not years, of your work and sum that up for a respected industry professional in less than a few paragraphs. I not only have to make my work shine, I have to work a little bit of kiss ass in there as well. This is not too hard because I only query the agents I have researched and want pretty bad, so a little obligatory kissing ass is not beyond me.

I have so much more to blog on, so please feel free to come back and check later. Thanks for letting me share a bit with you.