I AM Who They Were

It's Memorial Day here in the U.S. and I can't let the day go by without acknowledging the great debt I owe to those who have gone before me. While I believe there is more after death, I also believe that those we meet live on within us. There is no greater legacy to leave than to inspire others to live a better life... to be a better person....

As I sit inside my house with electricity flowing through outlets and my children beside me entertaining themselves with their Wii, it's hard to believe that my great grandparents didn't have all the conveniences that I enjoy. I can't imagine a world without the internet anymore... even though I lived in that world. Half of my days are spent interacting with people through technology of some way. My husband makes his living working with technology. Life is no longer simple. Nothing is free. I find myself thinking of those that were here before. They were happy with all this.

They had stories... amazing stories of their lives that will never be heard. Some were not always happy stories. I know in the last years of his life, my great grandfather had a "girlfriend." It's not for me to judge but I wonder what drove him to that. He once built an entire two story house by hand for him and his sweetheart to live in. She lived for such a short time after him... and I know she loved him.

My Grandpa Sam died just before my T was born. I couldn't go to the funeral because I'd been on bed rest with preterm labor for so long. T was born with an old soul... and I feel some parts of his personality belong to my Grandpa Sam... even though Sam wasn't even a blood relative of mine. Grandpa Sam was so gruff with his gravelly voice and huge biceps. He and my grandma used to argue and then he'd wink at us or smile whenever she'd turn her back. It was all a big show. He was a total marshmallow on the inside. He was gone so fast. A routine surgery that he never recovered from. My husband never met him. My daughter never met him. He called all my boyfriends from names other than their own. Mostly it was "George" and "Julio" and silly names... but he acted like no one would ever be good enough for me. He made friends where ever he went. Young and old. He was always out chatting with someone. I miss him at least once a week. I think of him frequently. I know wherever he is right now... he's making friends, though.

My grandparents that are still alive--many have failing health. I'm getting to that age when having grandparents isn't likely for much longer. Mortality is a fleeting thing. I love them all.

From my Grandpa Al, I've learned to appreciate nature and a quiet day in a green garden... and that Mexican food is awesome. Grandpa always takes us out to dinner when we're around and I learned to love food and experienced a vast array of food from him.

From my Grandma Gaybrielle, I've learned that exercise keeps you young and happy longer. That a long walk that ends in a beach is a beautiful thing. I've learned to appreciate fresh fruits.

From my Grandma Clarice, I've learned that strength of character and independence can be feminine. I've learned to love cooking. I've learned that love takes many forms and isn't obvious though it's still there. I've grown to appreciate sarcasm from her. (I love sarcasm.) I love sitting and chatting with her until the wee hours of the night. Her opinions are so sincere and she can be so vehement. She's always seemed so full of life. It's hard to imagine her as older. She misses Grandpa Sam so much. It's both beautiful and sad.

From my Grandma Joy, I've learned that life does not always have to be a certain way for it to be good. I've learned to smile and have a sense of humor. I've learned that you never stop being a mother... as she agonizes over her children even today. I've learned that no one is ever forgotten... ever. I've learned the value of an education. She loves learning.

From my Grandpa Wayne, I've learned that the unexpected can be hilarious. He built milk jug bombs and was always experimenting with things. Some things... were not good... like the banana bread with lettuce in it. Some things were odd like the roadkill squirrel he tricked me into eating. He loves life, though. He loves to play his harmonica and see the joy on kids' face.

Love is complex. Living is a luxury. I learned so much about being an adult and loving others from my grandparents and great grandparents. I am who I am because of who they were and how they treated me. I've been lucky to be respected and loved my whole life. I'm the product of many generations of love and understanding. I don't know what it's like not to be loved. I hope that I'm continuing that pattern with my own children. Everyone deserves to be loved and loved well.

Happy Memorial Day. I miss you, Grandpa Sam.

May the Force Be With You

Hey! It's a writing-related post... from me. Well, sort of. It's a catch-up post for those that don't follow me on Twitter.

I've decided to only query in odd numbered months and I'm trying for every Thursday. So, with May drawing to a close, I've got a bunch of queries out. I think I've received around eight responses this month... one for a partial and two for fulls. There was a huge book expo last week though, so I think most agents are going to play catch-up in June... if they respond.

I have a full still out from... April, I believe.

So, that's my big news. I'm really excited about the fulls I just sent out... but trying not to get my hopes up. Some writers cope with querying by being optimistic... others by being pessimistic. I definitely fall in the second category.

The husband and I are sick today. Hubby with a migraine... and me with a head cold. Hopefully, we'll recover to get a lot done tomorrow. I've gotten so far behind on everything. My WIP is sucking my time... and it's been a crazy week. Still, June is query free, so maybe I'll get some of that time back.

Dearest Husband,

Today isn't a special day. It's a typical Friday and you're up with our kids reading them stories because you're a wonderful father.

It's not an anniversary. Though in another couple months we'll have been together for thirteen years... and that should be unlucky, but I feel lucky because you're a wonderful husband.

I remember the day my sister invited you over and you thought she was interested but it was really me. I remember telling her, "Maybe I'm crazy... but that guy... the guy with the blonde hair. I really like him." I won't say you were my type, because I didn't date guys that were nice, cute, and super intelligent, but you've definitely become my type.

My type is the guy that'll fix a dryer without complaining. My type is the guy that knows me well enough to take the kids away sometimes. My type is the guy that is a good provider for his family even if they're a lot more work than he ever planned on. My type is you.

I loved you from our first kiss and I always will.

I know I'm high maintenance and you've had to learn all my stupid rules to keep us all happy. I know I don't clean as much as I should. I know I'm not perfect. I know you love me despite all that.

Thank you for supporting me when I showed an interest in painting. Thank you for keeping my laptop up and going and helping me with my writing. Thank you, most of all, for always being proud of me. You're the best husband I could have ever dreamed of.

I love you the most,

Wendy

Rejected on a Rejection

So, I received one of my rejections back but I didn't get my rejection back. The small "we didn't like your stuff" form card (yes... not even a full sheet of paper) came wrapped in my query in my SASE. Ouch.

Since I made each rejection personal... I know which one I should have received. Here it is:

Earthling Writer,

Weve intercepted your inter-city communication and we were most curious to read of your plans for young earthling Lucas. Were taking this back to our planet to publish and will bring you back your remuneration in Tak-tak bladders, the currency of our planet. If all goes well, we may request you visit our planet to discuss this matter further. Its approximately seventy earth years away, so weve acknowledged the best failsafe would be to crystallize you in the meantime. Please prepare yourself for our arrival by eating only nutritious and low-sodium meals.

The climate on our planet is very harsh and barren, but our green hearts are warm and enjoy tales of bipedal romance. Weve returned here as Earthling Shakespeare can only be read three hundred and sixty-eight times before his texts grow monotonous. Weve outlawed the words Forsooth and Herewith and those unwise Lurglots which replicate them are flailed with Tak-tak tongues.

Your compliance is non-negotiable and the agent originally meant to receive this communication is most desirous that you meet our demands with gratitude. She is most resistant to the idea of taking your place in our crystallizing chamber.

By the authority of Commander Clayflock

Translation:

Earthling Writer,

We have intercepted your inter-city communication and we were most curious to read of your plans for young earthling Lucas. We are taking this back to our planet to publish and will bring you back your remuneration in Tak-tak bladders, the currency of our planet. If all goes well, we may request you visit our planet to discuss this matter further. It is approximately seventy earth years away, so we have acknowledged the best failsafe would be to crystallize you in the meantime. Please prepare yourself for our arrival by eating only nutritious and low-sodium meals.

The climate on our planet is very harsh and barren, but our green hearts are warm and enjoy tales of bipedal romance. We have returned here because Earthling Shakespeare can only be read three hundred and sixty-eight times before his texts grow monotonous. We have outlawed the words “Forsooth” and “Herewith” and those unwise Lurglots which replicate them are flailed with Tak-tak tongues.

Your compliance is non-negotiable and the agent originally meant to receive this communication is most desirous that you meet our demands with gratitude. She is most resistant to the idea of taking your place in our crystallizing chamber.

By the authority of Commander Clayflock

Names don't matter--unless you have a really stupid one--and then they do.

Or... porn name. C'mon. If you had any of the Bond girl names, would they hire you at Disneyland to hang out with a name tag that said "Pussy Galore"? No. No, they wouldn't.

Wait... what was I talking about? OH! Names... or titles or both.

I changed the name of all three of the manuscripts I'm querying during the last two weeks. The funny thing is that the one I haven't been mentioning online by its real name... is now called "Curse Me a Story." Scorched and Re:Straint both now have names that I won't be mentioning online anymore. Why? They're really good names. When I was on Twitter this last week, an editor was bemoaning the fact that she didn't have any Angels/Demons on her docket right then because she'd just thought of the perfect title. She wasn't going to share it of course... because it was that good.

That's the way it goes with this whole business, you know?

I was in a chat room at the beginning of the year and when I mentioned my name... one of the agents commented, "That's a really good name."

Yeah it is... which is weird, of course... because it really is my name, but still....

So, the other reason I'm thinking of it is because I just finished a Maeve Binchy book. It was awesome. It was basically a bunch of short stories intertwined around a town. It was well-written, funny, not stodgy... the voices were entertaining... I couldn't put it down. On the other hand, if it hadn't been a book club read, I never would have read it. NO WAY. C'mon... the author's name was Maeve Binchy. It practically screams "Literary Read for Old People" to me. I was actually prepared to yawn through this book. I didn't. I loved it.

So... what's in a name? A reputation... an assumption... a bestseller?

I've been working on my vampire book... not Honor... the one I'm continuing from the short story I wrote. (Yes, JT convinced me to do it.) I'm never going to publish this book under my name. No way. It's not trashy but it turns out that Darcy is the way she is because she was raped when she was converted into being a vampire. Violence and sex have built some funny quirks in her mind... and not "funny" as in "ha ha"... well, not just funny in that way anyway. I want to finish this story but there is no way I'd want my teenage beta reader to dive into it thinking it's like my other books. It's got some mature subjects in it in my opinion.

So, a name is a name is a name is a lot of stress and pressure and you thought picking the right name for your baby is hard. I still haven't gotten much feedback on this new round of queries. What if the agents take a look at "Curse Me A Story" and say, "You're ugly and your mama dresses you funny!"

What... it could happen....

So I choose to reject myself!

So, I just did something that probably made many question my sanity. I enclosed a rejection letter to myself inside the SASE I sent to an agent. I also included a handwritten note explaining that I'd never received good news in a SASE so I figured I'd include a little something to look forward to. It came today... with the agent's form letter and I have to say... it felt okay. Really. It's the first time I've seen a SASE without being filled with dread... and wanting to hurl.

Was it unprofessional? Possibly.

Am I mature? Not at all... so I figured it couldn't hurt. They'd find out eventually if they repped me anyway.

Besides... it was hilarious. So, I'll write a new rejection next time I have to do an SASE... so here is this one:

Dear Wendy Sparrow,

While your manuscript consumed my interest, I’m afraid that wild gnomes from a far-off burrow broke into my office during the middle of the night and decided I shouldn’t represent you. I wanted to deny their demands, but if you’ve seen wild gnomes with their pointy sharp teeth and feral ways… you’ll understand. They’re standing above me while I’m typing this rejection and their pointy, red hats keep hitting the sides of my head. Honestly, Wendy, I’m scared, and not just a little bit. They’ve threatened to rip my arms off and beat me with them. While your manuscript is good, it’s not worth self-flagellation. I’m not rejecting you as either a writer or a person. I’m sure you’re a lovely individual for the gnomes to be taking so much joy in thwarting you.

You can see how much it pains me as I’m belaboring over this rejection even as the gnomes are going through my inbox and throwing papers around like confetti. Yes, this is a subjective business, but really it’s ruled often by luck… and, by luck, I mean the leprechauns who sent out the gnomes in the first place. Hopefully, you’ll find someone who isn’t afraid of the leprechauns or their gnome minions who’ll champion your book and fight the oppression of small fictional creatures with claws and an interest in manuscripts meant for mid-grade nearing young adult audiences. I’m afraid I’m just not that person. Please don’t judge me.

Regards,

Me

(Send help and cookies to appease the gnomes.)

Flirting with Death... A Blogfest post

Okay, so I've been a huge slacker this week. I had a nasty outer ear infection take me out of commission. I should do an update on my life and so on... especially since it was B's birthday a week ago, but I'm getting sleepy and I finally picked out a blogfest entry.

I have a ton of mss that contain flirting, but this one is such an unusual situation for flirting. It's from my "Company of Him" series of books... the fifth one called "For in That Sleep" and it deals with near-death experiences. Johnna is attacked in a park and stabbed repeatedly. Among others... a pediatrician comes to her aid. After this near death experience, she can see colored halos/auras around people. The colors correspond to that person's emotions. So, here is the scene where the doctor is trying to save her life. She keeps going into a tunnel of light.

One way, there was a thin shimmery wall that looked like a bubble about to be blown from a wand, and I could see me on the ground with everyone around me. The other way had music, but it wasn't music you could hear. It ran through your body into your soul and made you feel at peace. I looked back down at my body beyond the bubble.

"C'mon. Come back, Sweetheart," someone said. It was the doctor who was nice in so many ways.

I looked back at the musical end of the tunnel there was a light at the end like I was about to walk into sunlight after being in a cave. I looked between my choices. I was torn, so I sat down in the tunnel to think about it. My body looked like it would be really painful when the adrenalin wore off. The music sounded so nice. I had so little that tied me to that life. I was about to face a lot of disappointment. The music promised rest, and peace, and love. I'd had so little of any of that in life. Everyone deserved love. I got up and turned toward the light and started walking towards that end of the tunnel.

From behind me outside the bubble, I heard the doctor say, "I'm not feeling a pulse. Okay. I'm going to start CPR. Keep pressure on that." I definitely had to at least stick around for that. Suddenly I was vacuumed down through the tunnel back towards my body. I burst the bubble just as his mouth was coming down, and opened my eyes. Oh… well… That was poor timing. He took a deep breath in relief and said, "You're back."

My eyes felt heavy, but I said, "I came back for the CPR, but you stopped."

Both the doctor and the girl laughed. I could hear sirens, and the doctor looked up to see where they were. Then, he was checking my pulse and looking in my eyes again.

The tunnel beckoned me with its sweet, soul-deep music. I frowned. Stay or leave. I closed my eyes. It was too bright even as the dark fell over the city.

"Hey… hey… The ambulance is almost here. Open your eyes," the doctor said.

I opened them a little, but I could feel the vacuum of the tunnel teasing at my soul. I closed them again. The bubble hummed, and I knew I was going back to the tunnel. Peace. I wanted that. I knew it. Acceptance. Love. Why was I staying? Suddenly, I could feel the pressure of the doctor's lips against mine, and I pushed against the tunnel and responded whole-heartedly.

When he pulled back, I opened my eyes and smiled.

"I've never done that," the doctor said sheepishly to the girl who was smothering a smile.

"Really? You were pretty good at it," I said quietly.

He laughed self-consciously and said, "I meant as far as first aid goes."

I started breathing a little quicker, but said, "I hope not. Your patients are all jailbait."

"Ah… a comedian, huh?" he said, smiling down at me.

The tunnel was pulling me again. I looked at the doctor and pushed against it. I noticed in the twilight gloom he looked like he had a tie-dyed thin glow around his body. It was like the reflection of the moon on water. I blinked, thinking it was blur, but it wasn't. He wasn't blurry. He just had a quiet thin reflection of color bouncing off his skin. It was different shades of yellow with patches of light blue and bounced a little around the edges.

I looked at the girl. Her body's halo was dark orange with blue strands and the colors poured off her like a fountain. She had something funny over her head, too. It was like a cylindrical fog that started at her shoulders and went up fading into nothing. It was white sparkles in a midnight purple fog, and looked really beautiful. It was as if she was here but was being beckoned too.

The man, Charlie, had a purple edge with tiny spots of brownish-orange hovering around him. It looked very calm.

"They're almost here," Jeremiah said, brushing back my hair again. "You made it."

"What?" I said as he swam before me, and his voice sounded far away. The tunnel tugged at me. "No. I want to stay with him," I muttered over and over pushing against the barrier of the bubble that stretched between this world and the tunnel. I opened my eyes and saw new faces and felt myself rocking a little. I started to get panicked. "Who are you?" I asked them, but there was something on my mouth. I tried to get up. Why was I here?

The man held me down and asked someone, "Can you try to calm her down again?"

"Hey. Johnna, relax. You're just going for a ride," he said. It was the doctor again. I could see deep-orange and brown halos around the other people working on my stomach, but not around Jeremiah. Then he touched my forehead and he lit up again like a Christmas light. He was white, bright yellow, blue, and deep orange, but it fizzled around him.

"You're a nice color," I said. "Very fizzy." Unfortunately, he couldn't hear me through the mask over my mouth and nose. I was in so much pain. My hands seemed on fire. I looked down at the man and the woman working competently and methodically. Paramedics. I looked around. Ambulance. This was the reality. Pain, and blood, and the tunnel tugged at me saying, "You can come… You really can. You don't have to be here for this."

I looked at Jeremiah. I barely knew him, and he was a doctor. I probably could be anyone to him. I felt the strong pull of the music and peace and acceptance.

He shot a look at something near me, and his color flared to bright orange and streaked with gray for a moment. "Johnna, stay here. Stay here with me." He smiled, and rubbed my cheek.

"We're losing her again," someone said.

I felt his mouth against my forehead, and I opened my eyes and smiled at him. "Please, stay," he said, and he really seemed to mean it.

"That's better," one of the men said.

My body was pushing against me and the tunnel was pulling, but I was trying to stay.

"No. Stay here, Johnna. Stay with me," Jeremiah said.

"I'm trying," I whispered, but the mask grabbed it and held it. I stayed looking at his eyes as he rubbed my cheek.

"We're almost there, I think" he said. "You're doing really well. Just stay here okay," and he kissed my head again. The doors to the ambulance opened, and I was pulled out and away.

Then, I was sitting in the tunnel again, and I saw myself wheeled into an Operating Room. People were shouting, and I felt a jolt of electricity go through me, and I frowned down at the table I was lying on. That was really mean. I looked at both ends of the tunnel thoughtfully. They did it again. Alright, decision time… Stop with the buzzer already. I get it. I looked at both ends, and wondered how a single person I'd known less than an hour had managed to actually make this choice difficult. I'd felt so hopeless, and I would have sprinted down the tunnel before he came. Instead, I was sitting here while my body kept getting hit with paddles shooting lightning. I sighed. "Well… I'll get a second try at the other way later.” I pushed against the bubble until I fell through, but went to sleep instead of opening my eyes.

I'm not bad--I'm just written that way BLOGFEST POST

For once, this isn't an excerpt, but it might be if some readers have their way. This is a short story I wrote for my other blog this week to get it out of my head, but it seems "right" for this blogfest. It falls into the same category of bad as Jessica Rabbit in my opinion.

*Not appropriate for the young or easily weirded out*

I woke up dead in a trunk. You wouldn't believe how often this happens to me. I pulled my stilettoed heel up and kicked against the roof.

"Hey...," a voice yelled, hitting the top of the trunk. "Keep those heels off the upholstery and give me a second."

Fair enough... since he'd asked sort of nicely.

A moment later, the trunk popped open. I shielded my eyes from the bulb in the dimly-lit garage. It was night--barely. A hand reached out to help me from the well-padded trunk. As far as trunks went, it hadn't been bad. The hand was nice and strong... and living. I inhaled the strong scent of blood rushing and mmmmm... he wore a nice subtle cologne. Expensive... for a guy with callused hands. My eyes adjusted and I looked around. The living didn't like if you focused overly on them. I was in a two-car garage with a nice vintage and restored barracuda convertible. Sweet. I love a man who appreciates vintage.

Now... the man. He was tall and broad and muscular. His hair was long and black but pulled back in a ponytail. He had eyelashes women killed for surrounding dark brown eyes. He could use a shave, but it made him look rough and... sweet heaven... a type O. It had been too long since I'd eaten.

Tall and dark must have noticed the extra pallor of my skin because he reached behind him and handed me a glass of blood.

"It's warm," I said, trying not to salivate.

He pulled a rubber strap from around his bicep and tossed it in the trash. "Straight from the source as it were. I wasn't expecting to bring a guest home. My name is Mitch and the Arch told me there might be a fanged friend there last night. You took a bad hit before they threw you out in the alley for the light to kill you. I got you just in time."

The blood was calling to me but this was a game I played with myself. It was about proving I wasn't an animal. I lifted up my shirt to make the waist chain with the "arch angel" sign visible. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

He smiled. "I already saw yours. It's the reason you made it into Angeline's trunk and not into a pile of dust." Regardless, he lifted up his shirt to show the tattoo of a "Arch Angel" friend.

"Angeline?"

He gestured at the car. "Angeline doesn't put up with any old vamp hanging out in her."

I glanced back at the car in approval. "Nice, Mitch."

"Mitch is sometimes nice... especially to women who come with a name." He raised his eyebrows, looking at me. He'd been keeping his distance since I got out of the car. I wasn't sure if it was because he was polite or still unsure of me. "Arch Angel" would have hunted me down if I was dangerous... it's what we did. Still... I could understand some caution if you had a beating heart.

"My name is Darcy," I said. I held up the glass. "You got a straw?"

He laughed and walked through the door into his house, opening a drawer and handing the straw out through the doorway but then staying inside. Drat. I could feel a pulse of energy from the doorway. He was staying inside, and he hadn't invited me in. Stupid "domain of the living" block. Not that there was anything wrong with his garage, but it might have been nice to go inside. Still, I wasn't about to ask or beg. He knew our kind. He knew the rules.

I stabbed the straw into the glass and sipped. Oh... wow. I'd been living on animal blood or cold donor. This was heaven. It slid across my tongue like syrup. The fact that he was there made the experience intense. I could smell the heat from his blood pouring off his body from a few feet away and the warmth sliding down my throat spreading through my body. He was watching with interest too. Have mercy on a girl, Mitch. I felt like I was going up in flames in front of him. When I finished and set the glass aside, I took a moment to compose myself.

"Was it enough?" he asked from inside the doorway.

"In some ways," I said, trying to cope. Yeah. This was why you went with animal or donor blood.

"Hmm.... What does that mean?"

His blood was pounding inside me. I closed my eyes. I wasn't sure how much he knew about vampires who'd gone clean. This was both good and bad. It was bad in that it was just... sooo... good. Okay. I needed him.

I swallowed the blood lust. "So, how much do you know about vamps and blood lust, Mitch?"

"Some. I know that you're not going to kill me to suck my blood. That's a myth."

I opened my eyes. I'm sure he could see my pupils were fully dilated. "It's not that kind of lust, Mitch," I whispered. Okay, if I sat on the stool and concentrated on anything other than the man in the house... why did he have to be in the house? If he was still in the garage, I'd have pinned him to the ground by now and been having my wicked way with him.

Mitch chuckled and leaned against the doorway. "So... this is blood lust?"

"In the flesh...." I gestured to my body that was vibrating with need.

"Does it get worse than this?"

"Does it need to?" I asked him, annoyed.

He shrugged. I stood up and walked toward the door, my black leather stiletto boots clicked on the garage floor, and he watched my hips sway as I approached, but he didn't move. He did know I couldn't come in. Well, if he could tease... so could I.

"Put out your hand," I whispered.

He did, without hesitation, and with his eyes saying, "I dare you."

The doorway pushed against me as I tipped my face in. I put my cheek against his palm, feeling the brush of callused palms on my supernaturally soft skin. I let my lips brush the pads of his fingers, and I heard his heart speed up. You ain't seen nothing yet, baby. I bit the tip of his finger. A moment later, he jerked back. It wasn't the pain.

"What was...?" he mouthed, his eyes dilated.

"You... your blood is already inside me, Mitch," I whispered. "When it's fresh like that... to a vampire whose been on cold or beast." I moaned. I was to the point of aching with need. I needed to touch him. "Mitch... you... your blood... it feels the same to my body." I'd let him get just a taste of that... just a bit. Since we shared blood currently... we could share mental images... if we were touching.

He swallowed, trying to tame his body's response. "Will it be like that....?"

I smothered a smug smile. "Better. Once you go vamp, Mitch...."

He didn't say anything. The silence hung between us. His body was still resonating heat but I felt the cold of the garage behind me. Was he expecting me to beg? He could wait all night for that. Wow... he'd already regained control. I'd never seen anyone able to block and resist so well. His heart was slowing to a lazy beat. Oooh... and that was so sexy too. I wanted... needed to feel his pulse with my skin.... to hear his heartbeat from his chest pressed up against my cheek. I had some major, major needs.

Mitch didn't move.

My whole body groaned in defeat. Part of me wanted to try out begging. Crap. Pride could be a pain. I was going to be in bad shape. I wanted to crawl back into the trunk and wait the bloodlust out.

Mitch took a step back from the doorway. "Come on in, Darcy. Let's make you a little more comfortable."

Today I'm going to Query/Party like it's 1955

So, I'm getting ready to work on some queries for "hardcopy" only agents. I've got a good feeling about some agents... which is why I'm doing it. In general, I don't like hardcopy stuff... because then I'm forced to lurk by the mailbox waiting to be rejected. Also, I have to go to the post office. Some of you may remember one of my stranger "phobias" is of the post office. It's ridiculous, but much of my life is... so quit being so judgmental.

So, has anyone else had a really good experience with hardcopy querying versus e-querying that will cheer me up?

Le sigh.

I have to move on to writing a synopsis now. Yep... the day just gets better.

Last Lines Blogfest

I love blogfests so much. I don't know if it's my OCD which likes themes... or my egomania which likes attention. Anyway... here is my Last Lines entry.

I'm doing the last line from my book Parallel Lives which mimics the beginning which I used for my very first blogfest and the kissing scene. This woman with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) witnesses a murder (in the office in the parallel building) shortly after she comes out of a fugue trance in the dark in her office. She screams and this guy comes running to save her and turns on the light in her office. In order to explain their presence, she grabs the random guy and starts kissing him--enacting a torrid love scene for the murderer. Eventually, they get to know each other, solve a murder, and so on. He finds out at the end of the book that he has to leave town on a business trip for a bit. They're both wanting to make sure the other person knows they're in a relationship. Tess calls John and asks him to come across to her office. He walks in to find Tess right next to the door. (From John's perspective):

Hey… It was just like last time. This time, she flipped the lights back off. That's why it seemed familiar it was just like last…. I heard the buttons hit the walls as she yanked my shirt off, and then I decided that thinking was over-rated.