Octopi, Disney, and What I Wrote In High School

I got a little chatty with some of these, but you asked for it, right? Thanks for all the fun questions!

Angela said: What did you write about when you were in high school?
HA. High school writing. Thank goodness I knew I wasn’t good enough to get published, because it was pretty silly stuff.

Along with a lot of angsty free poetry, I wrote one story about a girl with blue hair from another planet. She ended up on Earth, and she had to find her seven guardians in order to return home and save her planet from invasion. Oh, and she had wings, because wings are pretty.

Basically, it was every anime I’d seen at that point smashed together into one. Embarrassingly enough, this was my first “serious” project when I decided to start writing again. This kind of makes me want to crawl in a hole and die.

The other project I started in high school was kind of a smash between fantasy and dystopian. It was about a world where everyone is tattooed at birth with the symbol of their profession chosen by the government. My main character cuts his mark off and goes on that whole quest thing to free people.

I had a friend read the first 100 pages, and she (very nicely) said it sucked. I was devastated, and that’s when I stopped writing creatively (probably the beginning of my junior year). (Note to friend if she ever reads this: You were right—it did suck. It’s okay. I’m over it.)

Larissa said: If you did draw a background like this one, what would you put in it?
Ninjas, of course. And probably some more specific things that I like, such as Code Red, books, art supplies, food, inside jokes, etc. The funny thing about line art like that is it’s deceptively simple. Creating such clean lines without it looking cluttered is hard.

CKHB said: Question: octopus, dolphin, or turtle?
I love how you left context completely up to me.

To eat: Octopus
To be: Turtle
To draw: Dolphin
To save: Dolphin
To have as a pet: Turtle
To ride: Dolphin
To be my arch nemesis: Octopus
To shoot at people in a go-kart race: Turtle (preferably red-shelled ones)

inthewritemind said: I'm on a Disney movie kick and I'm curious—what’s your favorite animated Disney film?
As a girl with strong feminist tendencies, I have this weird relationship with Disney. When I was younger, I loved all the princesses. Sleeping Beauty was my absolute favorite—my mom can attest to how many times I watched it. I went as Snow White one Halloween, Jasmine for another. I waited for Disney movies to come out with extreme excitement.

And then I got a little jaded when I realized life isn’t so fairy tale as the princesses made it seem. That boys weren’t knights in shining armor—they were people with their own problems. (This, curiously enough, was also when I started watching more anime.) I stopped believing in the pretty world Disney has an incredible knack for creating.

Ah, disillusionment, I know you well.

That said, I do appreciate Disney, and I know that the older princess films are reflections of the time in which they were created. I don’t blame Disney for feeding me lies and turning me into some helpless drone. Obviously, that didn’t happen at all.

Looking back at all the films, I would have to say that I appreciate Aladdin and Beauty and the Beast the most.

While I still worry about Belle being so determined to change the sometimes violent Beast, she sticks up for herself and she is just cool and independent and all that. The story and characters are fabulous in general—it didn’t get nominated for Best Picture for nothing.

I loved Jasmine even when I was little, how she doesn’t let Aladdin get away with lying. And she’s smart—she sees right through all the guys’ motives. She’s always fighting for what she wants, even when things look hopeless. I love that Aladdin is “a diamond in the rough.” He’s not at all perfect, but he’s got a good heart and ninja-like cleverness.

Caroline Starr Rose said: What childhood book made the biggest impression on you?
Like I can pick just one!

Picture Book: If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. That is the one I remember reading over and over again. I loved it so much. It was one of many that instilled a love of reading and drawing in me.

Middle Grade Book: Bridge to Terebithia. I don’t remember all the details of it, but I remember it had a SAD ending. I remember crying—it was the first time a book made me cry. And having lost my grandmother at 8, I could really identify.

Tween Books: Catherine, Called Birdy. Read it in 7th grade for class, LOVED it intensely. I loved how real real was—she said “piss”! I remember laughing out loud about how she liked to sit in the outhouse over the stream because it was airy and didn’t stink. I STILL remember her talking about the boy (her brother?) who’d “piss on ant hills.” She might have been a made up 14th century girl, but I felt like I understood her.

The Giver. Oh man, The Giver just blew me away as a kid. I think it was the first dystopian thing I read, and it really made me think about the world in a new way.

Candice said: If you could make a wish and the perfect pair of shoes appeared out of thin air, what would they look like?
Oh, silly Candice, there’s no one perfect pair of shoes! There are different shoes for every occasion! Thus, I would wish for shoes that would transform into whatever I wanted based on the outfit. That would be awesome, except then I’d never have to shoe shop again. That would be sad.

Amanda J. said: You want to do an interview for me sometime? Huh, huh, do ya? do ya? lol...we'll talk later haha.
I would love to! I think it’s so funny that anyone would want to interview me, but I’m flattered all the same. Shoot me an email.

Umm, When you're writing and you get a Shiny New Idea, what do you do? Do you play with it? Write it down and come back later? How do you handle all the characters? :)
It really depends on how much I like it. Usually I don’t write anything down when I first think of something. If it’s a good, strong idea, it’ll come back. It won’t leave me alone. It’ll force me to write. Then I’ll start messing around with a few basic notes or an experimental writing session.

As for characters, oy. I have so many characters it’s getting ridiculous. I’m running out names I like! But I treat them like I treat that new idea. I don’t write things down. If they stick in my head, talk to me a lot, then I know they’re someone worth pursuing.

Also, favorite kind of pasta and/or rice?
Pasta: Thin spaghetti or linguine.
Rice: Short grain sticky white rice. Mmm.

Anita Saxena said: If you became a famous author, and they asked you to compete on Dancing with the Stars, would you do it?
Maybe. While I’ve always liked to dance, I’m extremely self-conscious about it. Like, I dance in my living room all the time and took a few semesters of standard ballroom and Polynesian dance in college, but performing scares the pants off me. And at school dances I’d rarely dance (if I went at all).

I think it would be really fun, though. My brother was in ballroom dance for a few years and I loved watching him. He was so good!

Last Meals, Querying, and Ninjas

Here are half the questions today, some of which are making me wonder if you know of my impending doom or something. The rest will be answered tomorrow, and after that there will be a post about one of my areas of extreme expertise. Get excited, guys.

Falen said: What would you like to eat for your LAST MEAL ON EARTH... (i don't know why you'd be eating your last meal... let's assume you're 109 years old and still have all your teeth and a strong GI tract).
As a major fan of food, this is a really mean question. It changes constantly, but right now I’m on a bit of a Japanese kick. So I’d pretty much want a full spread of ramen, gyoza, sushi, yakisoba, teriyaki, perfect sticky rice, miso, etc.

Candyland said: How long before you landed Nathan Bransford when querying?
Roughly two years of querying. I queried my first project in October 2007. Eight projects, four rounds of querying, and more rounds of revisions than I want to count later, I signed with Nathan the Fall of 2009.

And that doesn’t count the time I wrote before querying, which was about two years of writing seriously (as in I’d made the decision to try to get published [I’ve always written as a hobby]).

So all in all, about four years of work before an agent.

Lisa said: 1) Is your book on submission? Which one? Both sound super awesome.
I’m sorry I’m gonna have to be vague about this. Yes, something of mine is on submission. That is all.

2) I'm paranoid. I don't know why. I'm querying right now with an idea I love. Agents seem to like it too until they get to my partial. Obviously my writing needs work. But do you think an agent would pass along the idea to one of their clients who is more up-to-speed and polished with their writing? I don't think you can copyright an idea or a hook. I don't know why I think like this, maybe because I just really love this idea so much. Am I only the one who thinks this way? I'm crazy...
First, you are a little crazy—but we all are. Don’t worry about that.

About passing on your idea, I really don’t think that’ll happen. Agents, as far as I’ve experienced, are really professional. And their clients have ideas enough of their own. There is so small a chance that will happen. And even if it does, the idea will be a totally different beast in the hands of another writer. You could give 100 writers the same premise/idea and they’d all write vastly different stories.

You should worry more about why they are connecting with your idea but not your writing.

I hope that doesn’t sound harsh, but it comes from a place of, well, experience. The project I queried before the ninjas—yeah, exact same feedback. “Great idea, writing isn’t there yet.” I got a lot of partial requests, but never made it to a full.

Ideas are wonderful, powerful things, but they really aren’t much without execution. I’ve botched a lot of ideas. Seriously. Like, 14 of my 14 manuscripts I’ve utterly ruined in first drafting. The others are only perfect because I haven’t written them yet.

I would suggest really looking at your book, seeking feedback, and targeting the real reasons for these rejections. An agent saying the idea is great, but ultimately rejecting, is kind of a nice way of saying the writing isn’t “there.” Work on that, and rest assured that your idea is safe.

Jeff said: You are about to die. What are your epic last words?
Last meals, final words…sheesh, are you guys trying to tell me something? I’m not really sure about what I’d say if I were about to die. I’ve spent my life talking. What more could there be? And it would definitely depend on the circumstances. If I were in a car crash I imagine I wouldn’t be able to say anything, and there’d be no one to hear anyway.

But if I were on my death bed, with my family around, I imagine my last words would be as simple as “I love you.” Maybe not even that. Maybe I wouldn’t say anything, but instead hold out my arms and hug everyone there. And if Nick were alive, I’d want to give him one last kiss. That would definitely be the best last thing to experience.

Carolyn V. said: Why don't ninjas wear unitards? They come in black too. Plus they are very stretchy and comfortable. Just sayin'. =)
No pockets. Ninjas need lots and lots of pockets, Carolyn. LOTS. That, and unitards don’t make for quick wardrobe changes. They say that ninja gi may have been reversible (often white for snow), so that a person could switch camouflage when they needed. Also, they speculate ninja may not have worn black at all, but instead an indigo blue. Black can actually be too dark in some cases.

Stephanie L. McGee said: Let's see...Going along with Jeff's question, you're about to die but you're given the option of selecting your last meal. What is it? And why?
See Falen’s question.

Abby Stevens said: What is a 'typical' day like for you?
“Mom! I need insert-any-number-of-items-here! Now!”

“Mom! Ninja Girl is kicking me!”

“Mom! I went potty!”

“Mom! Can I watch Star Wars?”

“Mom! I love you.”

That comprises about 80% of my day. When I’m not burned out and taking a writing break, about 10% of my time goes to actually writing (usually at night or during nap time). The other 10% is comprised of cooking, exercising, reading, and hanging out with Nick.

L.T. Elliot said: You've mentioned, casually, that you like sushi a lot. Why? And does it taste fishy?
Oh, sushi. I need to tell a story to explain why I’m so excited about sushi these days, because I’ve been “training my palate” for a decade.

When I was 16, I took Japanese in high school. I was kind of obsessed. Okay, totally obsessed with all things Japanese. But I had not yet had sushi. My teacher invited this sweet Japanese lady to show us how sushi is made and then we’d get to taste it.

I popped that little California Roll in my mouth, sure I’d love it like I loved all things Japanese. And then I proceeded to dry heave, run to the bathroom, and make out with the porcelain god.

It was really depressing, not to mention mortifying. How could I not like sushi? I felt like some kind of fraud. Dramatic, but true.

But I didn’t give up. Anytime sushi was offered to me, I would try it. But I stayed away from the raw stuff because “that’s just gross.” I thought the rolls were safer or something.

My dad finally convinced me to try nigiri (rice ball and fish) instead of a maki (roll), and to my surprise it was AMAZING. I discovered it was the seaweed—not the actual fish, etc.—that was causing my gag reflex. I’ve since been working on my reaction to seaweed (with great success).

It’s the seaweed that has a “fishy” flavor (there is even fish flavored seaweed, if you can believe it), not the actual raw fish. Raw fish? You’d be shocked to find that it actually tastes less fishy than cooked fish. Tuna in particular has almost a tender, steak-like texture.

If you’ve tried sushi rolls and not been a fan, I highly recommend trying a type of sushi that doesn’t have seaweed and see how you feel about that. There are rolls made with rice paper or where the seaweed is on the inside so you don’t get that taste first thing. There is also nigiri, and I recommend trying the shrimp nigiri if you are nervous about raw things because the shrimp, of course, is cooked.

Sushi, like certain cheeses and even wine (so I’ve heard), sometimes takes time to develop a taste for. Once you become accustomed to the flavors, they are unbelievably appealing and addicting.

I am just getting to the point where I can handle seaweed without auto-gagging. I’m very excited about this, since it opens up so many more things for me to try.

Question Time

It's about time to mess around with my blog again! Yay! So I'm working on a new header today, and thus will not be posting anything terribly interesting. How do you like the new digs so far? I feel pretty and artistic and stuff.

But never fear! As part of a week-long series, the amazing Elana Johnson has interviewed me on her blog today. Check it out. Elana is fabulous, and she happens to live very close to me. Except we never do anything together. (Dude, Elana, what is WITH that? It's like we both live on the internet or something...)

Also, it's about time I do a Q&A again. Yes, I'm running dry on posts. It happens, okay? Help a girl out and ask her some questions. I will answer them all this week.

Half A Sketch

This is half the sketch I'm working on for Sophia, who won honorable mention in my last contest. There's no way I'll be able to finish the background this weekend, so I thought it might be interesting for you to see a halfway sketch and then the finished product. While I'm happy with the figure, I'm nervous I won't get the background right. We'll see, I guess.

The Rewriter

I think I'm finally ready to admit this—I'm a rewriter.

I've tried to deny it for a long time. "Oh, regular revisions will be enough," I told myself. "I won't have to redo more than half my book this time. I'm a better writer now. I won't have as many mistakes as I did before."

Wrong.

I really wish it wasn't the case, because rewriting takes a lot of work mentally and emotionally. But I am one of those writers who just can't get it right the first go around. Not even close to right. It doesn't matter if I have an outline or not—it just doesn't come together well enough to avoid major (as in 50% of the book or more) rewriting. I can't think of a single one of my projects that doesn't need some major overhaul.

Being a rewriter, I'm learning, comes with one major problem: You constantly think you suck.

It's hard not to! I mean, everything I ever write will basically have to be thrown out and done over. It's really easy to think that I'm hopelessly incapable of writing a decent story—even when I put months and months of work into it. And writing anything new becomes nearly impossible, since all I can think is how in a year I'll be REwriting it all. And if I really suck that bad, then why the heck am I doing this at all? Why shouldn't I just give up?

See what I mean? Being a rewriter can really wear down your confidence.

So you have to put your confidence in other things, I think. I may be a sucky writer. I might have to rewrite every project for the rest of my life. But I can edit. I might even be a pretty good reviser. I can get there eventually if I work my butt off.

And maybe being a rewriter is just another way of doing this whole writing gig, just like outliners and note-takers and pen/paper...ers. Maybe this is part of my process that I will never outgrow, part I need to accept and deal with.

I'm a rewriter. I can't quite say I'm proud of that yet, but acknowledgment is the first step, right?

Constant Cussing

*Warning* Rant ahead. Watch out for hyperbole and melodrama.

Before I get started, I want to make sure it's clear that I don't have a problem with most swearing in YA books. Even though I would never personally drop the big F, etc., I don't mind books that have it or other kinds of language I don't use. I get the arguments for authenticity to character and "how teens speak." I am not calling for a blanket censorship of all YA literature.

I just have a few pet peeves, and I'm in the mood to rant about them.

In some of my reading, I've come across a few seriously cuss-laden books. I mean, like, the f-bomb on every page kind of thing. And while that word kind of makes my blood curdle, that's not the major gripe I have with constant swearing. No, my problem is much, much more nerdy.

The REPETITION! For the love of copyediting—the word repetition KILLS me.

We as writers spend ridiculous amounts of time removing excessive that, was, just, even, like, has, and other verbal ticks like adverbs and favorite adjectives and quantifiers from our writing. We know that when people read, those kind of repetitious words and phrases stick out and mess with the flow of a reading experience.

Why does cussing sometimes get such an obvious free pass?

To me, swearing is like caviar or a really good bleu cheese—a little goes a long way. You don't need it on every page to establish your book's tone. It just gets old, honestly. And then when a writer uses it when it should have had weight, it doesn't. It's just filler. "Edgy" filler.

Which brings me to another annoying aspect of constant cussing. It feels like the writer was like "Oh, I need to make my book edgier, because it's fairly clean and fun and I want to be cool and dark and edgy. I got it! I'll just throw the f-word in there."

Bam. Insta-edgy. Or really transparent and unnecessary, depending on how you look at it.

People talk all the time about how we as YA writers shouldn't exactly mimic "teen speak," right? You'd get reamed for littering your manuscript with a never-ending string of "like, totally epic, omg." Yes, there should be a flavor of accessible, youthful speech, but it just can't be 100% accurate. It would be painful to read. Shouldn't the same thing apply to cussing?

Again, I'm not saying there should be no cussing in YA, I just hope those who do use it with thought and not just because "that's how teens speak" or "I want to make my book edgy." A good example to me? Lisa McMann's WAKE series. While there is definitely strong language, it feels as if she put thought into placement, and it's not constantly smacking you across the face every page. It works. It feels right for the characters. And yet it's not overdone. Bravo, Lisa.

I'm just saying, like with all writing, moderation is important. Really thinking about your words and why you're using them is key.

The Thing About Covers

Oh, the book cover. I don't think there's a writer out there who hasn't imagined the day they have an actual book cover—one that represents their book exactly, while also being eye-grabbing, bestsellery, award-winning, and all around perfect.

Yeah...that's not really how it works. But like the magical publication stories about writing a book in a month, getting an agent the next day, and selling in one week, we writers like to dream it's that pretty and simple.

Now, this is just one writer's semi-outside view of the process, but I think it's slightly unhealthy to idealize covers and I want to bring it down to a practical level. It's important to be prepared for how your cover will likely be handled instead of romanticizing it.

Note: I'm not saying this is how it should be, that this is bad, or anything of the like. I'm just saying these are some things that go into cover creation that you may not like to think about but should.

Intent
Most people think covers are meant to represent what's inside a book. While that's partially true, it's not the core intent of any cover.

A cover is designed to sell the book.

I hate to shatter the dream, but that is the #1 objective. Your cover, or future cover, is an ad. Everything that goes into it is meant to boost its chances of selling. Yes, what's inside is a factor, but it's not the only one or sometimes even the most important.

Demographics
Since your cover is an ad, a certain demographic will likely be chosen based on where the marketing team thinks your book fits. You might think your book will appeal to boys and girls, or men and women, or sports lovers AND video gamers, or all of the above. But marketing doesn't work that way—it's too hard to make a product universally appealing.

Your book will get a box, most likely the box marketing thinks will be most inclined to buy your book. Your cover will be designed with that demographic in mind. Your jacket copy, blurbs, and maybe even your author bio/name will be created based on it. You will be a brand, essentially.

Your Place Among Titles
I don't think anyone likes to talk about this, but the truth is you may not be as "important" at your publishing house (or future house) as you want to be. Yes, publishers pick books to be bigger sellers than others based on a ton of factors I won't pretend to know. It kinda sucks. Get over it.

The practical fact of the matter is not every book can be a bestseller. Just like not every singer can be a grammy winner or insert-whatever-other-comparison-here. Publishers basically bet on their titles. Sometimes it pays off, sometimes not. Of course they're going to put more into their "best bets," so to speak.

Your book may not be as important as you hoped for, and the cover might get treated accordingly.

Note: I am not saying editors take on books they hate or think will fail. Not true at all. I believe all editors buy books they truly love, but that doesn't mean they have control over how a book gets treated in house. I'm sure every editor works hard to get their titles the attention they deserve—but you just can't win every battle.

Stock
Not every cover is created from scratch. Your cover could get stock photoed (aka: slap a typical image on the front that is shown to do well within your determined demographic, but with a few tweaks and changes).

I think we imagine getting our own personal model for our covers, or a commissioned piece of artwork, or whatever. This does happen, but don't be surprised if it doesn't. And I would say don't be sad if it doesn't, too. There are a lot of amazing books that have done very well with "typical" covers. It's not necessarily a kiss of death or anything.

Changes
You could think you have a final cover, and it could get changed completely based on feedback from booksellers and reviewers. It happens more often than you might think. If a major seller says they won't stock it with a certain cover, you better bet it'll be changed. That could be good or bad depending on how you feel about your cover.


Okay, some of this might be depressing. I know it's hard to think about your creative work being boiled down and packaged and marketed, but here's a few good things.

You Can Build Your Brand Now
If you don't want someone else branding you, then you can do it yourself. I think that's why publishing seems to be looking for writers who are already out there networking, etc. They'd rather not spend time making you a brand if they can have someone who has already made themselves one.

The beauty of that? You can be what you want to be. Then you just need the patience to wait for someone to notice.

You Can Prove Them Wrong
Just because you get put in a certain demographic or your house decides you aren't going to be a bestseller doesn't mean it won't happen. Just like books poised to be big sellers flop, there are novels that break out unexpectedly.

Do everything you can for your book—the number one thing being writing a really good one.

Chill Out
If you're to the point that you're worrying about your cover, that means you're getting published. Dude, you're getting published. Maybe it's not exactly how you pictured. Maybe the whole journey isn't. But figure out how to work with what you have and try to enjoy it. Have faith that your writing will shine through.

*Insert Your Own Conclusion.*
(Sorry, my kids decided to get sick again, and I've been trying to write this for like three hours. I've basically forgotten the whole point of this by now.)

Five Words: Results

Another five crazy words, another tale from the life of Kitty Roux, Sorceress' Assistant. If you missed the first installment and wish to read it, go here.

Thanks again for playing the game, guys. It's been fun to have a little project to mess around with—a no pressure writing gig. (Okay, there's a tiny bit of pressure, but not as much.) Hope you enjoy it, and get your awful words ready for next time. Some of you already scared me with threats of giant, impossible ones. Eek.

The Assistant

1.1 A New Task
I stare at Madame, unable to believe her words. Lost her powers? She can’t be serious. They worked just fine a second ago when she called for me. “But I’m not free. How can—?”

She rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Kitty, you have been here over a year. Think, girl. Losing my powers only affects future sorcery, not past.”

I force my mouth shut. She doesn’t tell me a thing about sorcery, yet she expects me to know every detail of their rules. I’m not her apprentice; I’m just the assistant. Basically, one step above Henry The Manservant. I clean the house, tend the animals, and help her look at least partially sane when she ventures out into normal society.

I have a suspicion she could do all this herself, but she likes people waiting on her.

She waves her hand at the strange assortment of ingredients. “Now, make the rémoulade. I am famished.”

I check the cookbook, unsure of what rémoulade even is. Madame usually conjures her food from the finest restaurants in France (“conjure” is pretty much a nice way of saying “steal”). Apparently, it’s a dressing of some kind. It looks gross. I hate eggs; I’m not touching eggs just so she can disapprove of my sub-par rémoulade. The command tugs at me, but I at least have to see if I can get out of it. “I’m sorry, Madame. I don’t know how to cook. I’m really bad at it, actually.”

She frowns, but I can feel the command’s pressure release. “This will not do. If I cannot have my powers, can’t I at least have a decent meal?”

“We could go out somewhere. There’s supposedly a new, fabulous place up in Calistoga. And I could book a spa trip, too.”

She waves her hand, her eyes watering for the first time I’ve ever seen. “I was at the zenith of my powers, Kitty! The zenith!” She slumps forward. “Just run to the store and get me every flavor of ice cream they have.”

“Okay.” I grab my keys and head for the door.

As I drive the winding road through the vineyard, I can’t help but think about what this means. This is bad. Really bad. Madame was demanding before—but without powers? I’ll be waiting on her hand and foot. I wonder if she even knows how to dress herself. My stomach turns at the thought of having to move in just so I can button her shirt and comb her hair.

And Geoff, oh, how he’d love to have me under the same roof. He was so close to getting me there before. I gasp. That sneaky, corrupted, jackal of an apprentice. He probably took Madame’s powers just to get his way again.

No, this will not do at all. She has to get her powers back, even if it means I have to run all over the planet to find them.

I drop by the closest supermarket and fill a cart full of ice cream. Everyone stares, but I have to get all the flavors like Madame said. Her commands often sound outrageous, but she’s dead serious. I once spent a day as a platypus for failing to get her the last quiche at the Harvest Gala. I wouldn’t recommend it. Sure, they look cool, but that bill is not the best when you’re craving pizza.

“Excuse me, miss,” a creaky old voice comes from behind. I turn to find an equally creaky old lady, hands on hips. “You took the last of the cookies and cream.”

I bite my lip, wishing I could just give the lady the carton. I look horrible enough as it is. “I’m sorry—my boss needs every flavor. She’ll kill me if I don’t have them all.”

“And my grandson will have a fit if he doesn’t get cookies and cream.”

“I really am sorry.” I take a five out of my purse. “Here, I’ll pay you for it.”

“I’m not going to another store!” She yells, actually yells at me, and everyone in the aisle stops. “Tell your boss they were out of cookies and cream! She’s got a hundred other flavors.”

I wince. Madame may not have her powers, but under the current circumstances I wouldn’t be surprised if she asked Geoff to turn me into a horsefly or a dung beetle. And if he got the chance, he’d probably never turn me back. “I can’t give it to you.”

“Then I’ll take it myself!” She grabs the ice cream, and I lunge for it.

“Give it back!” I tug, but the woman is surprisingly strong. My fingers nearly slip off the frosty carton. The people around us either gape in horror or laugh. A group of teens point, and I recognize them from my school. Fantastic. Now everyone will hear about my epic ice cream battle. Kitty Roux vs. Sexagenarian.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” A familiar hand comes over mine, making my insides seize up. No, not him. Anyone but him. “Here, ma’am, you can have mine.”

“Why, thank you, young man.” She takes his ice cream, flashing me a frigid glare. “At least some young people know how to treat their elders.”

I can feel him shrug, though I haven’t yet turned around. He used to do it all the time, this easy, beautiful movement that still makes me weak. “She really does have a demanding boss. She’s not normally so pugnacious.”

I roll my eyes. Pugnacious. Cal and his big words. That’s what happens when a guy places second in the National Spelling Bee three years in a row. He’s the only reason I even know what a sexagenarian is, by the way. When I first met him, I felt like I had to carry a dictionary around just to keep up.

But he’s not a dork at all. Cal is the best forward on our soccer team—so good he personally made the sport cooler than football when he won us State. As a sophomore. He just happens to have a thing for words.

The lady stalks off, satisfied, and I reluctantly meet Cal’s eyes. They’re still big and beautiful and dark. They make me ache.

What can I say? He is the first and only guy I’ve ever truly loved. The only boyfriend I’ve ever had.

Too bad I broke up with him.

“Looks like Madame Beaumont is having a bad day,” Cal says.

“You have no idea.” I shuffle back and forth, wanting to leave more than ever. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“No problem, Kate.”

I look up, startled by the use of his nickname for me. He never liked Kitty, so I let him call me Kate. No one else ever has.

He bites the inside of his lip. “Sorry.”

I shake my head. “You have nothing to be sorry for, trust me.”

His brow furrows, and I curse myself for saying even that. As far as he knows, I left him for someone else. For a certain blue-haired jerkface. I said horrible things—things that weren’t true—but he can’t know the truth. Stupid rules of sorcery.

“I gotta go before this melts.” I barely wave as I rush for the check out. I have enough to deal with without Cal being perfect and saving the day. I have a sorceress to console and an apprentice to question. Then there’s that whole getting-her-powers-back thing. Because my job didn’t suck before.

Five Words Time!

It's that time again—give me your words and I shall concoct some kind of story out of them. It was so fun last time, and I really enjoyed the results. I can't wait to see what horrible words you guys throw at me.

The Rules: Give me a word—any PG word—and I will incorporate it into a flash fiction piece, which will be posted at some point. Only one word per person, and I will take the first five words offered. The story must continue where it left off.

More From Teenage Me

Thought I'd do a few more short journal entries from back in the day. High school me is so silly, and sometimes she can be really smart, too.

Friday, October 1, 1999
Well I'm still in Cedar City (on a drama trip). It's great fun, but a lot of times I feel really excluded. I know part of it is just because these people don't know me. A lot of it is my fault, though. I should try and be more open & out going. I'm sure people find me a bit boring. (I really don't blame them if they don't want to be around me.) I'll live though, I've definitely been through worse. So I'll just swallow all my bad feelings & think of my homework or something...

(Hmm, that's probably why I got such good grades. Bury myself in homework—always a good plan.)

Monday, December 13, 1999
I turn 16 in 7 days, gosh, that's weird. Most people are so excited when they turn 16, but I'm really kind of sad. I feel like people will expect me to drive and date...I don't think that's gonna happen really. It sounds fun, but I never pictured it happening to me. I'm still so young, I don't want to grow up! I don't want so much responsibility. I'm...afraid.

(Aw, poor me. I really was. I didn't get my license until I was 17. And my first date? Disaster. lol.)

Wednesday, May 31, 2000
Today was nothing amazing, but relaxing just the same. I have finally gotten through my writer's block. I can write once more! If you didn't know, I write fantasy/science fiction books. They aren't anything special, but I really enjoy doing it. It gives me a way to clear my thoughts and surround myself in something out of this world. I love basking in my own imagination!

If I didn't tell you, I have a wild imagination; I can never tell what's in my head or out! It's nice sometimes, not so nice other times.

[Scrawled at the bottom of the page] Doubt Ensures Failure

(Preach it, 16-year-old me. Can I have some of that confidence back? Pretty please?)

Thursday, June 1, 2000
It is funny how talent works. At times I feel like I'm pretty good at writing and drawing. At other times I feel like dead wood is better than I am. Really, it's all a learning process. When I look back at everything I've done...I've come to find I have gotten better over the years. That's the value of keeping all your old artwork and writing.

(Wait, so this self-confidence thing really is a perpetual battle? Crap.)

Living Life

Yeah, so I skipped blogging yesterday. You know that whole "if you can't say anything nice" thing? I figured I better take that advice. Because I'm burned out, guys. Really bad. And when I burn out I can't think anything except that I'm a seriously crappy writer. There's not much else I can say.

So yesterday I did other things. I went out for some of this:


I didn't used to like sushi, but the more I eat it the more I crave it. Nigiri (rice ball and fish) is my favorite. It seriously soothes my soul. Food has always had that effect on me—good food, made with skill and love.

And I bought SHOES. Yes, I'm a stereotypical female in that respect. Love shoes, in particular those that stand out.
I can't tell you how long I've been on the hunt for cute yellow shoes. And the zebra? I've always wanted a pair, and they'll go great with the hot pink pencil skirt I found.

Is it obvious yet that I have a thing for color? No? Okay, one more embarrassing picture:
I had orange shorts, but now I also own neon orange pants! All is right with the world.

When I got home from my outing, I did break down and read a few blogs. I'm glad I did, because Maggie Stiefvater wrote just what I needed to read. Basically, she said writers need to live, as in doing other things besides writing. If you spend all your time in front of the screen, you use up the experiences you draw on to write without generating new ones.

Sometimes I forget to live, which sounds silly but it's true. I feel like if I'm not doing everything possible to get out there in the writing world, I'll never make it. I feel like if I take a break I'll lose all the momentum I've generated. I work too hard sometimes.

In reality, there's nothing wrong with taking a break, slowing down to refill the inspiration tank. In fact, it's probably good for you.

So I'm taking a break of sorts. I'm sure I'll still be blogging, but my writing will be on a strictly whim basis. I need to live a little.

What Inspires Me

I gotta be honest, I'm in a funky place right now. Somewhere between panicked, tired, and hopeful. I need positivity. Bad. So I'll be doing a series of post on happy things in attempts to psych myself out. I'm happy, guys! Happy!

People often ask a writer where they get their ideas, or what inspires them. That's a hard question to answer, because I get inspiration from just about everything. I'm a writer—I'm always looking for the story in something.

I'm just gonna post a bunch of things that inspire me:


















That's not everything, but that would take about a year of posts. I think I'll stop there for today.

Trying New Things

If you didn't know, I'm kinda sorta in the middle of writing a YA contemporary book. And by kinda sorta, I mean I WAS, but then I stopped to dig in on Transparent edits.

Now I'm terrified to get back to the WIP.

I always do this to myself! I think, "Oh, I'll try something new, just to stretch myself. Yeah, great idea! I need to grow as a writer." Then I kick myself about a month later when I discover that growing is HARD, and trying a newish genre is HARD, and why do I willingly put myself through this again?

I've done this several times, guys. Take Relax, I'm a Ninja—my first male MC. Or Hammered—my first attempt at YA sci-fi, about an organic girl living in a mostly cybernetic society. And Transparent—my first attempt at present tense, not to mention superhero-ish/alternate present-based-on-alternate-history...thing. This fall I went for my first true fantasy with Spork—my french-twisted steampunk adventure, plus elemental weapons.

Now I'm doing contemporary. Why? If I'm being honest, I was a little bored of the fantastical. I know, gasp. That's what I WRITE! But having experimented so much within contemporary fantasy (hello? dragons, zombies, ninjas, elves, super-powers, angels, wizards, etc.), I needed to see if I could write a book that didn't use fantastical elements.

Answer? I'm not sure if I can, and I really don't like that answer.

This contemporary business is hard and new and sometimes really fun, though maybe not right now. It's different, and I feel like a huge, flopping fish out of water—more than in any of my other writing experiments.

I have an intense admiration for contemporary YA authors, though. You guys are amazing, and you totally don't get the recognition you deserve. So I'm saying it here: YOU GUYS ROCK! And you work really hard to make your stories interesting and real and yet still magical, somehow. I'm jealous, because I suck at it.

But despite the suckage, I have committed to myself that I WILL finish this book. I will learn. I will stretch myself. Because no matter how hard my past stretching has been, good things have come from it. Great things, even.

I have grown as a writer, and allowing myself to try new things, I think, has played a big part in that. This book may never see the light of day, but I love it all the same. You know, when I'm not scared of it.

Saturday Sketch

Yay! A sketch actually on Saturday! These things take time—so far I've learned that having a tablet isn't a time saver, it's just a different medium. Maybe as I get more experience it'll go quicker, who knows. I'm still learning.

Anyway, this is Bea Navarro from Transparent. Since I just finished editing that baby, I still have the characters on my mind. I love Bea. Some people call her Trixy, too. But never call her Beatrix, unless you want an elbow to your nose. She's just the kind of friend Fiona's always needed. She cusses like a sailor, and she's the middle child with two brother's on each end. Yeah, she's tough. Oh, and she can imitate other peoples' voices.

Trees and Walking

I've always been a walker. I didn't get my license until I was 17 because I honestly liked walking to school. There was a bus—nope, I'll walk, thank you. Even as a little kid I'd search out the scant areas of vegetation to walk and explore in my Fremont, CA, neighborhood. I climbed every tree that I could—like the giant one I convinced my brother was bleeding. I even climbed some that I shouldn't have. Like the tall prickly evergreen two apartments down. (If you're wondering, that was not so fun.)

Those trees are gone, cut down to make way for newer things.

When we drove to Utah to visit family, it was like heaven. Trees and fields and forests everywhere! I swung from a swing my grandpa hung from a gorgeous crab apple tree. I dipped my toes in an irigation ditch, cooling off under the shade of a cherry orchard.

Those trees are gone, too, so that a street could be widened.

Even as I grew older, my love for walking and trees didn't fade. We moved to Utah, and while there were many things I didn't like about that, I did love our new neighborhood. So many trees! Such a beautiful place to walk! And walk I did—all the time. As a teen I'd sit under this tree that arched over the riverbank, as if it were trying to kiss the water. I'd think there, write there, dream there, under its bows. I don't live far away, and every time I walk there I visit it.

Today, I went to see my tree, my old friend who kept me company on many a lonely, angtsy teen walk. It had fallen, its once beautiful arch now stretched out on the dirt. I won't lie—I cried. Its branches were just about to blossom again; its spring flowers were stunning. The last storm killed it, and I'm going to miss that tree as the rest of the world comes back to life.

But its branches kissed the water, so maybe it got what it wanted.

Thinking about all these walks I've taken and all these trees I've loved and lost, I'm not sure what to make of it all. I hate that the trees of my childhood are gone—that I can't even visit them. And losing this last one felt official, somehow. I am no longer a child.

I know, I've finished college! I'm married! I have two kids! How can I just be realizing this? Perhaps because I still feel small sometimes. Perhaps because I still feel like the world is so big and new and constantly changing. Perhaps because there are still so many walks to take and trees to fall in love with.

At the start of every new walk in my life, I feel like I did as a child, wondering what lies ahead of me. I hope for more beautiful trees.

Intro To Anime

A few people have expressed an interest in learning more about anime, but not knowing where to start. It can be overwhelming! Sometimes I'm still overwhelmed by just how much is out there, especially since it's so much more accessible than it used to be.

Shall we start with a basic definition?

Anime: Animated TV series and movies from (mostly) Japan. And for the love of Pop Tarts, do not call it Japanimation. Ew. Even typing it made my blood curdle. It's anime, as in ah-ni-meh, if you wanna get really specific.

Unlike American animation, anime isn't solely geared towards children (I'm pretending Family Guy, etc don't exist, okay? American animation is a little embarrassing.). Here, we have this idea that cartoons are for kids, which I think is kind of lame. But in Japan, every age group reads manga (comics) and watches anime. There are many sub-genres within anime, the basics being children, teen, adult, and hentai (the dirty stuff). And of course there's sub-genres within those, like contemporary and fantasy (hmm, that doesn't sound like books at all).

This is why I hate hearing someone say, "Oh, anime—I hate Bakugan. Anime is stupid." Bakugan (or Digimon or Pokémon) is just one sub-genre of children's anime. But many westerners assume—because here cartoons are for kids—that this is the only thing anime has to offer.

Not true. Not at all.

Anime Characteristics: I think most people are more familiar with the look of anime than they used to be—the big eyes, the typically thin, willowy figures, and the crazy hair. But there are a lot of different styles, and some of "the greats" don't fit that mold at all.

But no matter the anime style, there's a lot of expressiveness conveyed. Eyes are enlarged or shrunken for a purpose—to convey a certain emotion. Same with mouths. And chibi style (when the characters are small and cute). The tear drops and other symbols are meant to exaggerate emotion.

American cartoons do this too (though anime does it better, hehe), just in different ways—eyes bugging out, heart popping out of chest, steam coming out of ears, etc.

What You Should Know Before You Watch: First, you should know what genre of anime the series is, because it may surprise you content-wise. If you're expecting something that's good, clean fun, then you might want to stick with children and tween anime.

Nudity and violence standards are different in other countries, and there is often more blood and gore in teen anime than some people might expect. There is sometimes nudity, but it's in the form of what I call the "Peach Bodysuit." No details, like a Barbie or Ken doll. If you are sensitive to those issues, you'll want to investigate the series first.

Luckily, you don't have to necessarily buy a series like you used to. There are many on Hulu and Youtube that are sponsored, and you can watch full seasons without the guilt of internet piracy. Or you can watch a few episodes, decide it's not for you, and move on.

How To Watch Anime: Dude, watch it in Japanese (English subs) and save yourself the torture of poor English dubbing. Seriously. I've watched anime in both, and I promise the experience is better in Japanese. The English is often overdone, because they're trying to make it American...and it's just not. They usually choose horrible, annoying voices, too, where the Japanese voices fit the characters.

Yeah, yeah, "it's hard to read subtitles!" Boo hoo. You get used to it. Trust me on this one.

A Few Recommendations:
(Please feel free to add your own in comments. I do not pretend to have seen every anime series out there, and I will miss some great ones.)

Best Place to Start: Hayao Miyazaki
You might already be familiar with Miyazaki's work, since Disney/Pixar's John Lasseter decided he'd "introduce Miyazaki to the world." (Except a lot of people already knew that Miyazaki is way, way cooler than Lasseter. Times ten. He's like the Godfather of anime.) Disney has since promoted My Neighbor Totoro, Kiki's Delivery Service, Castle In The Sky, Spirited Away, Howl's Moving Castle, and his most recent Ponyo.

Miyazaki's work spans both children's and teen anime, with movies like Ponyo and Totoro being for a very young age group and movies like Howl, Naussica, and Princess Mononoke being for a teen and older audience.

You can't really go wrong with Miyazaki. Everyone has their favorites, mine being Kiki's Delivery Service, Castle In The Sky (Laputa in Japanese), and Howl's Moving Castle. But I like them all—I haven't seen a Miyazaki film I didn't like.

Action-Based Anime (some would say "boy anime," but I love action-based so nyah):
Evangelion: Shinji is chosen to pilot an Eva—the only machine/thing strong enough to defeat the never ending barrage of "angels" sent to destroy what's left of the human race.

Seriously bloody (I'd say an upper teen anime), but freaking awesome. I think it's still one of the most popular series I've seen out there. It's the machina (giant machines) trend at its best.

Dragonball: Yeah, it's old school, but it's awesome! It starts with Goku—a boy with a monkey tail who's from another planet. Dragonball Z was on Cartoon Network back in the day, which follows both Goku and his son Gohan.

Lots of fighting, but not bloody. I'd say it's in the tween category.


Naruto: Ninjas! Naruto is determined to become his Clan's top leader...except he's kind of a goof with a temper. Also in the tweenish category.





Bleach: I cannot express how much I love this series right now. Ichigo becomes a Soul Reaper, charged with saving souls from the Hollows, evil dead spirits. Bloody, but not as much as Evangelion. And there's...um, a few large-breasted women, though I'm four seasons in and no kissing. Definitely in the upper teen category.

Romantic-Based Anime (some would say "girl anime," but it often has a healthy amount of action so nyah):
Fushigi Yuugi: Miyaka is sucked into a world like ancient China, where she must become the Priestess of Suzaku. As Priestess, she will be granted three wishes if she can gather the Suzaku Seven. Kissing, betrayal, action, and a bit of comedy.

There's a little blood, and some, uh, precarious romantic situations. The series would definitely be in the teen category. It's one of my favorites.

Escaflowne: Hitomi falls into another world (yes, a common theme), where she has more control than she realizes. Machina, winged guys, war, Atlantis.

This one is pretty dang clean. I'd put it in the tween category. The animation is a little older in style, but the story is fantastic.

Ouran High School Host Club: Haruhi, a tomboy, is mistaken for a boy and recruited into a "Host Club," where rich boys entertain bored, rich girls. It's gender bending. It's hilarious.

Clean in my book, though I suppose I should mention it deals a lot with gender and orientation, but I think in a very smart, mature way.

Okay, I think that's a long enough post. Anime is awesome. Go watch some!

Five Things: The Results

You gave me five, admittedly horrible, words. But I asked for it, and I have written a story just for you. I kind of love how it turned out, even. Let me know if you'd like to continue playing this game with me. I'm thinking once or twice a month. Thoughts?

The Assistant
by Natalie Whipple

1.0 When To Forego Suspicions
They say opening an umbrella inside is bad luck, but those people have never been in Madame Beaumont’s “Safari Room” during the rainy season. Trust me, you’d be worse off without the umbrella.

“Going in, eh, Kitty?” Geoff, her beloved apprentice, says.

I sigh as I shove my feet into the black galoshes. Water leaks from the door’s cracks. If I neglect it, Madame will be pissed. “Don’t really have a choice.”

He smirks. “No, I guess you don’t.”

“You could help, you know.”

His eyes widen. “And risk getting my nicest suit wet?”

My grip doubles on the umbrella. The guy is exactly as I would imagine a peacock (you know, if it were human), right down to the teal blue hair. He could make my job so much easier, but he seems to enjoy watching me suffer.

“Because you couldn’t make the rain disappear,” I say.

“Madame insists on her rooms possessing the utmost in authenticity, weather included. I could never go against her wishes.”

“Whatever, liar.” He’s ignored plenty of her wishes—one in particular I’ll never forgive him for. “Then get out of my way.”

“Fine.” He disappears, literally, and I turn the handle. Water rushes out, covering the toes of my galoshes. Great, now I’ll have to mop the hall, too. I pull the umbrella closer to my face and venture in.

The Safari Room isn’t so bad in the dry season, when you can sit under an Acacia tree and watch the meerkats peek from their dens. Madame’s prized striped-butt okapi, Pumpkin, grazes through the lush grass. It’s all the beauties of the savannah without the bugs or predators to eat you alive.

But now it’s muck and gloom. Pumpkin bleats in the distance, probably stuck in some mud hole. I make for the sound, knowing I should get her out before I unplug the drains. She might be cute and exotic, but she’s not the smartest animal. The poor thing was taken from her home on one of Madame’s eccentric excursions through time. “I didn’t break any laws,” she said. “It was eight-hundred years ago—there were no laws!”

Sorceresses. They’re all about bending the rules.

That’s how I got stuck here in the first place. Mom said I needed a job, and in Napa Valley that means sweating in vineyards, putting up with tourists, or being an assistant to the upper echelon of vintner society. You can probably guess what I picked.

Hey, the pay was good, and I really like air conditioning. How was I supposed to know Madame Millicent Beaumont was a sorceress?

To Napa Valley, she’s “the rich French woman who has the gall to think her grapes are better just because she’s French.” But she doesn’t grow her grapes at all. She doesn’t even care about them. That’s Henry’s job. Henry is her manservant.

I’ll let you imagine what that entails.

She hired me because I wasn’t “horrible to look at.” Then she had me sign a contract saying I’d work here until the end of high school, and I blindly wrote “Katherine Roux” with a feather quill. Little did I know it was a magic quill—one that would bind me to her until the agreement ended. She calls my name, and it’s like a leash tugging around my neck.

Speaking of, her shrill voice rips the air out of my lungs. “Kitty! Kitty!”

I resist the urge to run, knowing I have to pull these plugs or the place will flood again. After I shut out the rain, I close the umbrella and stuff it back in its place. I opt to keep the galoshes on, since the hall is still a sopping mess.

“Kitty! Where are you?”

“Coming!” I head for the kitchen, wondering why on her earth her voice is coming from there. I push the door open, and my jaw drops.

There stands Madame, an apron around her thin waist and her dark hair pulled back in a loose bun. I used to think she was young, but now I have no idea if it’s an illusion or not. It’s not the kind of question you ask a powerful sorceress.

“Madame?” I take a few cautious steps into the kitchen. She does not cook—she conjures. “What are you doing?”

“I am trying to make rémoulade!” She motions me over. “Come. Help.”

I bite my lip. “Forgive me, but why don’t you just, you know, make it like you usually do?”

She puts her hands on her hips. “Can you not see?”

I inspect her, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. Minus the cooking. “Um, no?”

“Silly girl. I’ve lost my powers. Now you must help me cook.”

Five Things Game

I decided it's time for a game. In my contests, I challenge people to write stuff just for me, so it's only fair that I write something just for you! That, and I kind of miss posting excerpts, so this will take its place. I'm hoping to make this a reoccurring feature, but we'll see how it goes. I could totally tank it, and then I'd be embarrassed.

The Rules: Give me a word—any PG word—and I will incorporate it into a flash fiction piece, which will be posted at some point. Only one word per person, and I will take the first five words offered. If I continue this as a series, the future pieces must continue the story you've helped create.

And...go!

Finished. For Now.

I finished revisions of Transparent! Yay! I've been working on it since late Fall, so it's a nice feeling to have it in some semblance of order. At least for the time being. Now I should probably send it off to a certain someone, but you'd be surprised how terrifying that is!

You know that feeling you get when you send off queries or partials or fulls? Yeah, I hate to tell you that doesn't exactly go away even after you sign with an agent. Oh no, there's still a lovely pit in my stomach at the thought of hitting send, of putting my little book baby out there to be...judged. By a really nice judge, but still.

I have this problem, and I think a lot of writers (if not all) might feel same way. No matter how much praise I get—no matter how far along the journey I make it—there's still part of me that wonders if I'm really just a hack. And maybe one day, one terrible day, everyone else will figure it out.

When I first started pursuing publication, I thought that feeling would go away after I reached a certain level of validation. You know, like getting an agent, for example. Or getting published. Or winning some award. Or hitting a bestseller list.

Now I'm beginning the realize that nothing ultimately helps. Sure, it satiates the worries for a second, but they always come back. Seeking that outside validation can be dangerous—almost like a drug.

Validation has to come from inside—from yourself.

You can't let others dictate how you should feel about yourself or your writing. And more than that, you can't let that dark part of you run your life. Negative thinking is not the best environment for creativity, so you're basically doing that whole self-fulfilling prophecy thing. Instead of believing the part of you that says you can't, you have to have confidence in the part that says you can. I know that's hard, but it's a battle you have to fight.

Don't lie—you totally have a confident side too! We all do, or we wouldn't be trying at all. Part of us does believe that we'll make it someday, that we'll see our names in print. It's not wrong to believe that side, especially when you put the work in.

Now that I've publicly pep-talked myself, I have a manuscript to send...

Weekend Sketch. Barely.

I made it! So close. I'd like to say this weekend was super busy and I just didn't have time, but it wasn't. I played a lot of Warcaft, and I drove 50 miles just to get this burger from Reed's Drive-In:

Yeah...so no good excuses for the very late sketch. Unless you count relaxing and having fun as an excuse. But here it is!

This is just a quick character sketch of Seth Mitchell, who I've been spending a lot of time with lately. If you didn't know, I'm about to finish Big Revisions of Transparent, my novel about an invisible girl who's just wants to know who she is—inside and out. Seth comes from that novel, and is one of my favorite characters ever.

Dark and Stormy Winners!

Man, you guys made this hard on me! My short list was 15 people long. Do you know how hard it is to cut that down to 3? Well, it's hard. But thank you so much for making me agonize! I enjoyed reading all the entries—it was very interesting to see how other writers attacked the dreaded weather opener.

So before we get to winners, how about a few numbers?

Types of Weather Used:
Thunderstorm: 12
Wind: 6
Heat: 4
Rain: 7
Snow: 10
Tornado: 2
"Perfect" Weather: 2
Fog: 2
Hurricane: 1
"Impending" Weather: 3

Total entries: 49

As you can see, rain/thunderstorms were the most popular choice. I separated them by whether or not the writer mentioned lightning. That's a pretty decent chunk. But that's not to say they weren't done well—just that it was done frequently.

I actually found that the type of weather didn't turn me off while reading, though. I noticed there was a lot of rain, but I also liked many of the rain entries. I didn't even realize there were 10 snow entries until I tallied it up, and I thought there were only a few in wind.

It was all in approach. I gravitated to entries that used the weather so "say something," if that makes sense. It wasn't just about the sun or the rain or the wind—they used the weather to paint a deeper picture, to reveal a character trait, to evoke an emotion. And more than that, it worked. At least for me.

So, it's time to get on to the winners! Are you excited? I am. I've been dying to share these great little pieces! There were so many good ones I had to add an Honorable Mention. I know, I'm cheating, but I couldn't help myself!

**Disclaimer** I was the sole judge of this contest. I chose winners based on my own tastes, and those who weren't chosen are still good writers. Don't stone me, please.

Honorable Mention: Sophia E! Sophia is 12 years old, guys, and she wrote a wonderful little piece that stole my heart, so I'm awarding her a drawing of her choice:

If I catch 13 raindrops on my tongue, does that mean I am going to have good luck throughout my teenage years? I hope so, because today I kiss my sweet childhood days goodbye and open my eyes to the world of a teenager.

I don’t feel different. Everyone treats me the same so far. No one showed up for my party. Except for the rain. It was a heavy rain storm and everyone was worried about another flood. That’s why no one is here.

My mom works over night at the hospital, so I am here alone with the noises of the rain and my book. I didn’t want to spend my birthday inside, so I put my rain boots on and went outside to sit on the swing set. I dug my toes into the ground. I wasn't exactly sad, or bored. But I wasn’t absolutely happy either. I was…uncertain. I’m not sure about what. I was upset that my mom wasn't here to celebrate with me. I was concerned that this storm would cause problems, like last year’s deadly flood.

In my mind I counted each year of my life and matched it with a major event that happened. I stopped when I got to 13 because so far nothing major has happened. I’ve only been this old for a few hours, and I was glad that the first few hours were spent with my life long friend, the rain.

What I love most about this is how the rain is a friend. In many of the other entries, it was menacing. So she took a "typical" weather element and gave it a little twist. I like this girl who likes the rain and books and is alone on her 13th birthday. A little sad for her, but I want to get to know her better, which makes for a great opening.


Third Place: Paul Liandis!
She was as cold and bleak as a February morning. That was the truth, and Rube knew it. He lay on his back in the grubby days-old snow, thinking about her and staring at the sky.

He hadn’t planned on conducting an impromptu Meteorological study, but his to-do list for the day hadn’t included being on the receiving end of a right cross, either.

Maybe he shouldn't have said it. Perhaps it would have been better if he hadn't insulted her and instead just walked out the door. Who was he kidding? Of course it would've been better. If he had just shut his mouth, his flannel pants would not be soaked and his lip would not have the nice little crater in the middle. And his comic book collection wouldn't be wedged in the snow drift.

As he struggled to his feet, Rube grabbed a handful of snow and placed it on his lip, hoping the cold would stop the bleeding. He took a final look at the closed door. The stupid snowman wreath, knocked askew when she slammed the door, hung crooked in the same spot it occupied since the previous winter. It would drive her nuts. He smiled.

He should have split a long time ago. It was a blessing that he and his fledgling one man private detective agency were tossed out. In fact, if he had to do it all over again he wouldn't change a thing. Except perhaps duck his mother's right hand.

When I first read this, the last line made me laugh. I was ready to think this guy was a jerk, being all happy to leave what I thought might be a girlfriend. And then that twist added this whole new aspect to the character!

More than that, the weather paints a great picture of this mother/son relationship. I mean, that mom must be at the end of her rope if she's throwing her son out in the freezing cold. That says something, paints the characters subtly, but well.

Second Place: Cristin Terrill!

Later I’ll blame the heat for everything.

It’s one of the worst March heat waves this part of the state has ever seen, and the sweaty orange sun makes a haze of the mesquite grove as I tear through the underbrush. My lungs are burning, but I don’t stop. I need to get away from the compound before I start to cry.

I’m a half a mile from the nearest house before I slow down. I wipe a long cotton sleeve across my forehead, and soon I’m mopping at tears. I sink to the ground and bury my face in my hands. The sobs rush up my throat, nearly choking me as they fight their way out.

My shame is as thick and hot as the air around me. I snapped. Somewhere between making dinner, answering a hundred childish questions and trying to keep a lid on the misery churning in my stomach, something inside of me broke. I thrust the sauce spoon in my hand at my nearest sister and ran from the house.

Please God, give me strength. Give me gratitude for your blessings.

I don’t feel anything. I’m not trying hard enough.

“Please God, give me strength,” I say aloud. “Give me gratitude for your blessings.”

When I was young, I used to imagine my prayers as little wisps of thought that curled out of my mouth and floated up to Heaven, to God’s ear. Now they seem to fall into the parched dust around me.

The heat in this evokes a unique feel. Instead of going for anger, which we usually associate with heat, this heat emphasizes the character's exhaustion with life. I can feel her desperation, and I wonder what she'll do about it.

First Place: Carrie (CKHB)!
A poet once wondered if the world would end in fire or ice. He spoke of desire and hate.

If I could meet that poet, I would tell him that the world can end far less dramatically. It can end under a perfect blue sky and fluffy white clouds, unmarred by excessive heat or cold. It can end with indifference, with a man who woke up on such a fine day as this and said that he no longer wanted to be married. Who looked at me with empty eyes and shrugged when I asked why. Who had so little interest remaining that he packed only a few changes of clothes, leaving behind books, music, photos, computer files, furniture, money.

In an effort to provoke either love or anger, I grabbed Ninja, said I was keeping the dog. The man who was everything to me eyed the small black dachshund, who had indeed been his pet first, and said that was fine. Then he closed the door gently behind himself.

I wanted for it to pour rain, for the sky to turn shades of black and gray, for thunder to rage, for lightning to strike—him or me, it didn't matter. But the sweet breeze kept blowing, the clouds drifted, the sun shone. It hurt even more knowing that the weather was indifferent as well.

What I love most about this is the dog named Ninja. No, kidding! The best part about this piece is how real it felt to me. How normal. Bad things happen on perfectly nice days, and I could see this woman's world falling down. I could feel that indifference—made more acute by the perfect day—and it hurt.

Alrighty! Winners, please email me with your prize requests, and we'll get started.

Cupcakes, Fat, and Other Stuff

I don't talk a lot about my life, since I assume most people read my blog, you know, for the writing related stuff. That, and my life is often really boring. Like, epically boring. Why do you think I write?

Take today, for instance. The most "interesting" thing I did today was get up early to go get weighed for my lame-o "health insentivised" insurance program. Basically, the company takes our weight, blood pressure, glucose, and cholesterol every other month, and if we don't meet certain standards we must pay a fee. I know, it sucks. Don't even get me started.

So I had to drag my two kids out of bed and drive down to Nick's work to get weighed. Because that's what every woman wants to do first thing in the morning.

Good news: I lost four pounds! Yay. Maybe because of the pedometer said insurance company has strapped to me. Oh? Did I not mention the pedometer (aka: The Leash)? On top of the tests, I have to log in 10k steps a day or, you guessed it, pay a fee. So I feel good about the four pounds, though I was already a healthy weight to begin with and shouldn't have to work so friggin' hard for my insurance...whoa, stopping. *deep breath*

Interesting news: According to their fancy scale (which I was told sends some kind of electric current through me), I am 30% fat! THIRTY PERCENT. Now, I'm no stick skinny girl, but 30% seemed rather substantial, though they said that was perfectly healthy and normal. But now I have this image of every 30% of me being this gooey yellow substance, which is hardly pleasant.

See? My life is THAT boring. I spent a good part of my day contemplating my body fat percentage.

Besides the weigh-in escapade, my day has gone pretty much like this: feed kids, change diaper, get to level 23, feed kids, clean up after kids, grumble as the destroy everything I just cleaned up, watch Sesame Street, put ninja girl in bed, realize I haven't eaten lunch, eat, decide maybe I should edit fast while dino boy is watching PBS.

And since I am already 30% fat, I figured it wouldn't hurt to bribe myself with cupcakes. It worked rather well. Rainbow chip cupcakes ftw. But I did edit! Only 6 chapters to go! That guilt from yesterday was rather effective as well, so thanks for chipping in, guys. You get virtual cupcakes! (While I go eat another one...)

So it's no wonder I like to spend time making up worlds. Because my day might have looked boring on the surface, but in my head there were stories brewing, plot holes being mended, and characters coming to life. I haven't been bored at all.

The Art of Procrastination

Things I'm doing instead of editing my book:

• Watching Bleach in unhealthy amounts. But it's a long anime series! And Ichigo is freaking hot! And the fighting is awesome. How can I say no to this?
Ichigo by ~GreyEye on deviantART

• Playing with Tabby.

• Leveling a Night Elf Druid in Warcraft, since my husband insists on being Alliance. I still miss my Tauren Druid. (Why did our Horde guild have to die?)

• Cooking and baking. Tonight it'll be homemade gyoza. I already baked cupcakes. Therefore...

• Exercising to burn off the extra food.

• Dinking around on the internet. aka: Refreshing Twitter every minute.

• Complaining to friends about how much I don't want to edit.

• Going to bed at a reasonable hour.

I'm usually not this bad, guys. I swear. This edit might be trying to kill me. I'm only 10 chapters away from the end (you know, for the 4th time), and it's like I've fallen into a tar pit or something. This is the point where I know I'm close, but when I finish I'll just have to edit AGAIN. Who wants to me a kick in the pants? C'mon, shame me into finishing. Maybe that'll work.

Making Time To Write

A few pieces of news first: You still have plenty of time to enter my contest! Thanks to all who've entered so far. I've enjoyed my weather reading.

Steph has a cover! It's BEAUTIFUL! As is the book. Love, love, love the book.

Carrie is also having a contest! For BOOKS. Who doesn't want free books? And laughs to boot?

Now, to the post!

Oh, time. Doesn't every writer wish they had a little more of that stuff? Between day jobs, family, school, and just life, sometimes it seems impossible to sit down and get words on the page. Recently, I personally have lost a lot of time I used to devote to writing, and have had to make some adjustments to my process.

But in all my adjustments, I've found that the whole "you don't find time, you make time" principle is as true as it ever was. If you truly want to do something, you'll find the time to do it.

That's not to say you must schedule a certain amount of time a day in which to write—there are lots of ways to "make time."

Okay, okay, I know I just said you don't need a schedule, but if you can swing one that's fantastic! My life right now doesn't exactly allow for one, but I used to write during naptimes and I got a lot done. It was great. I miss my old schedule. I hope to have one again someday.

It doesn't have to be a ton of time, either. A couple hours, even one. Something to get you in the habit of writing/editing.

But since I don't have a set schedule, I use goals to keep me on track. Sometimes it's a goal to finish writing a chapter, other times it's a goal to finish editing a certain amount of pages, and then there are the times when it's a goal to just write something.

When I have an opening, I sit down and chip away at my little goal. Sometimes (and quite often lately) I don't meet that goal—but that's not the point of the goal, oddly enough. The goal makes me try. I made progress! Which is better than not trying at all.

If you really, really have no time or not enough, sometimes you have to give up stuff you like. Such as sleep. Or TV. Yes, I gave up TV for writing. It was hard at first, but boy did it free up my time. Now I don't even miss it. Of course, there are some things you shouldn't sacrifice, but that's for you to decide.

All in all, I think the most important thing is not to beat yourself up if you can't write as much as you'd like. Why feel guilty? Unless you have real deadlines (as in you're published), there's no need to rush. (Though I know it's so easy to get caught up in the game. Been there, fer reals.) You do what you can do at a pace that's reasonable for you. It's enough, promise.