Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Thursday Thirteen #31 -- Summertime, summertime, sum, sum, Summertime!
 |
| Thirteen things ShapeShifter loves to do in the summer: 1. Tour. 2. Play those day-long festivals that are popular. 3. Hang out with the other bands playing the day-long festivals. 4. Find someone in charge who can cough up a grill and some dogs, burgers, and bird. (Bodacious Sauce is a plus but not a requirement) And beer. Don't forget the beer. That is a requirement. 5. Jam with the cooler members of the bands playing the day-long festivals. 6. Learn the music of the cooler bands. 7. Wear the t-shirts of the cooler bands during the ShapeShifter set. Pimp the bands from the stage. 8. Storm the stage when said cooler bands are on. 9. Invite them to do the same. 10. When boredom sets in, swap out band members without telling the crowd what's happening. Make like it's normal for Howard the Hammer to play in Bitterness. 11. When crowd starts to expect that, stop doing it. 12. Throw new songs -- written during the above-mentioned jam sessions -- into the concert set. Watch crowd react. 13. Lather, rinse, repeat until fall and time to head into the studio to record a new album. By the way, that's not ShapeShifter in the header picture; please don't confuse my fictional band for a real one! |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Labels: meme, rock and roll, ShapeShifter, Thursday Thirteen, touring
Monday, May 28, 2007
Susan's Monday Poetry: Help!
Help!
I am being held
Prisoner
in my own home
by my children
Who,
I swear,
have been taught
Advanced Torture Techniques
by their friends.
Don't forget to check out the other writings at Rhian's Poetry Train! Jump on board!
I am being held
Prisoner
in my own home
by my children
Who,
I swear,
have been taught
Advanced Torture Techniques
by their friends.
Don't forget to check out the other writings at Rhian's Poetry Train! Jump on board!
Labels: creative writing, poem, Poetry Train
Friday, May 25, 2007
Susan Speaks: Right on, Sister!
I'm a pretty polarizing woman. It seems you either love me or hate me (or: you get me or you're scared of me). I'm a strong woman, and I'm proud of that.
I would need you guys to tell me how much of that shines through in my fiction and the rest of this blog. But that's not the point today. I don't need the strokes I seem to be asking for.
Rather, I want you guys to read this.
Think about what it means to be a strong woman. Think about people you know who are threatened by us strong women, and think about the ways in which we can do MORE for ourselves and our fellow sisters.
Since this is Memorial Day in the States, maybe take a minute and think about the women brave enough to die in combat, too. A lot of my friends have told me I'm brave, but I'm nothing compared to the men and women who enlist and defend this country.
I would need you guys to tell me how much of that shines through in my fiction and the rest of this blog. But that's not the point today. I don't need the strokes I seem to be asking for.
Rather, I want you guys to read this.
Think about what it means to be a strong woman. Think about people you know who are threatened by us strong women, and think about the ways in which we can do MORE for ourselves and our fellow sisters.
Since this is Memorial Day in the States, maybe take a minute and think about the women brave enough to die in combat, too. A lot of my friends have told me I'm brave, but I'm nothing compared to the men and women who enlist and defend this country.
Labels: Susan Speaks
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Thursday Thirteen #30 -- Take a Tour of Trevor's ... uhh.. kitchen?
 |
| Thirteen things resembling food -- sort of -- in Trevor's kitchen 1. Mold that even Sonya Voss can't remove during her periodic cleaning sessions. 2. an empty pack of cigarettes 3. overflowing ashtrays 4. a beer or two in the fridge for company 5. ketchup for take-out fries 6. A mountain of napkins from take-out places including Big Buck's Best Barbecue, Harry's Hoagies, and the ice cream stand on the way to Daniel's house and the band's practice space. 7. matchbooks from the bar below his apartment, Moon Shadows, and All Access. 8. Hostess Cupcakes 9. empty pizza boxes, one of which contains a really old, half-finished piece of pizza. Trevor had considered auctioning it off at a show, but Mitchell refused. It's been here so long, it's like a mascot. 10. A backup carburetor for the Vincent that he built himself and may or may not blow up if he tries to use it. 11. A jar of chunky peanut butter with a knife sticking out of it. The knife makes it easier to grab a mouthful on the way out the door. 12. Rolling papers 13. Coupons to Lyric's shop. |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Labels: kitchen, meme, Thursday Thirteen, Trevor
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Susan's Inside Writing: Goodbye, Miss Snark
When I was twelve, my mom bought me copies of Anne McCaffrey's Dragonflight and Dragonquest at a flea market. They were stripped copies but this was twenty years ago; what did we know?
I may not have known the first thing about the book business back then -- hey, I was only twelve -- but I knew good characters, and it didn't take long before I'd fallen in love with F'lar and Lessa. They were as real to me as the friend who lived three houses down, who I'd get together with almost every day that same summer.
I wanted to be part of F'lar and Lessa's lives; they seemed so real, so easy to envision. I knew they were fiction, but oh, how I wished I could be fiction, too, and have a place in the Weyr with them. I wanted to live a dangerous, exciting life. I wanted to be among the group of heroes who made a difference.
Eventually, I grew up. Found other things to read. You know how it goes. But every now and then, I'd return to those Pern books, particularly when my life was in tumult. I remember staying up all night after I was married, looking for solace. The Tour Manager's ex-roommate had blamed me for his wife's insecurities, and he hadn't exactly been kind about it.
I read, and I read, looking for the way to cope with what felt like a neutron bomb that had gone off inside my life. I was looking for wisdom, for guidance, for escapism. I found it all.
A year and a half ago, or so, a friend pointed me to Miss Snark. I needed to read her, she said.
At first glance, I was put off. But then, I laughed. And finally, I was hooked.
It wasn't just the things I was learning from her. I mean, heck. I'd been around the publishing block once already. I'd had an agent. I knew that glitter and neon pink paper weren't such great ideas. I knew about twelve-point font and SASEs and to follow the damn directions.
Of course, there was plenty to learn. After all, I've only been around the block once. Maybe I didn't get the whole way around, since my wonderful agent didn't make me a sale.
What hooked me wasn't the content; it was the writing. Snark didn't just dish out her own advice, she took it and whoever created her did so pretty completely. She was her own person, a work of fiction who was as well-rounded and clearly drawn as any of the best fictional characters out there. She had a voice. She had inside jokes. She had a love for shoes and a disdain for cats. In some ways, I knew Miss Snark better than I knew my own best friends.
She wasn't real. I knew that even as I exchanged e-mails with her and tried not to get excited that someone who could afford Jimmy Choos would actually deign to speak to me. There was room in Snark's world for all of us, so long as we weren't total nitwits -- or could laugh at ourselves if we were. We took that risk by e-mailing her questions for the blog or submissions for her writing contests. We knew that, but we risked it anyway.
Part of the reason was that she was trustworthy. The one time when I had a situation on my hands that I truly didn't know how best to handle, she came to my rescue. Didn't even call for the cluegun, either, but then, I know I'm not a nitwit. Every now and then.
That's the part of Snark I'll miss the most. Yes, I'll miss the jokes and the occasional times when I'd scream with laughter or put my water glass down before clicking on her name in my feedburner. For me, the power of Miss Snark was knowing that I always had someone I could turn to when I needed it. The only expectation either of us could have was a thank you; there were no obligations of sending gifts or making sure you followed the proper etiquette. The only etiquette was to have a clue, and the longer you hung around, the bigger your clues got.
She's gone now, as pretty much the whole world knows. I have no idea what I'll do if I land a contract with an independent publisher and need a referral to an agent, just for the purpose of the contract. And my feed reader will probably never again threaten to explode with the 100-plus Crapometer entries.
In a way, it's like closing the cover on my bedraggled copy of The White Dragon, knowing it was a great ride and I'm a better person for having spent time here. The site remains in case I have to dig through the archives yet again. Just as the books sit on the same shelf with my stuffed bison and Animal the muppet.
I am one of those people who is always looking forward, toward the next adventure and the next person who'll touch my life. I pretend I don't look back, but I do. In those quiet times, when I can't sleep or am driving somewhere and the music lulls me into letting my guard down. I'll look back on it all with a bittersweet laugh.
Just as it was eventually time to leave my beloved Dragonriders on the shelf, now it's time to move through the publishing world without my tart-tongued guide. Always grateful for the interesting things I've found thus far, but always ready to check out -- if cautiously -- the next thing that comes along. Certainly, because of Miss Snark, I'll be the savvier for it.
To the men and/or women who created her, thanks. I hope I never find out who you really are. If I do, I'm afraid I might look at you the same way I look at Casey Kasem now that I know he voiced Shaggy on Scooby Doo.
Some things, I'm better off not knowing.
Let Miss Snark remain her perfectly imperfect fictional self.
I'm sure George Clooney will sleep better for it.
I may not have known the first thing about the book business back then -- hey, I was only twelve -- but I knew good characters, and it didn't take long before I'd fallen in love with F'lar and Lessa. They were as real to me as the friend who lived three houses down, who I'd get together with almost every day that same summer.
I wanted to be part of F'lar and Lessa's lives; they seemed so real, so easy to envision. I knew they were fiction, but oh, how I wished I could be fiction, too, and have a place in the Weyr with them. I wanted to live a dangerous, exciting life. I wanted to be among the group of heroes who made a difference.
Eventually, I grew up. Found other things to read. You know how it goes. But every now and then, I'd return to those Pern books, particularly when my life was in tumult. I remember staying up all night after I was married, looking for solace. The Tour Manager's ex-roommate had blamed me for his wife's insecurities, and he hadn't exactly been kind about it.
I read, and I read, looking for the way to cope with what felt like a neutron bomb that had gone off inside my life. I was looking for wisdom, for guidance, for escapism. I found it all.
A year and a half ago, or so, a friend pointed me to Miss Snark. I needed to read her, she said.
At first glance, I was put off. But then, I laughed. And finally, I was hooked.
It wasn't just the things I was learning from her. I mean, heck. I'd been around the publishing block once already. I'd had an agent. I knew that glitter and neon pink paper weren't such great ideas. I knew about twelve-point font and SASEs and to follow the damn directions.
Of course, there was plenty to learn. After all, I've only been around the block once. Maybe I didn't get the whole way around, since my wonderful agent didn't make me a sale.
What hooked me wasn't the content; it was the writing. Snark didn't just dish out her own advice, she took it and whoever created her did so pretty completely. She was her own person, a work of fiction who was as well-rounded and clearly drawn as any of the best fictional characters out there. She had a voice. She had inside jokes. She had a love for shoes and a disdain for cats. In some ways, I knew Miss Snark better than I knew my own best friends.
She wasn't real. I knew that even as I exchanged e-mails with her and tried not to get excited that someone who could afford Jimmy Choos would actually deign to speak to me. There was room in Snark's world for all of us, so long as we weren't total nitwits -- or could laugh at ourselves if we were. We took that risk by e-mailing her questions for the blog or submissions for her writing contests. We knew that, but we risked it anyway.
Part of the reason was that she was trustworthy. The one time when I had a situation on my hands that I truly didn't know how best to handle, she came to my rescue. Didn't even call for the cluegun, either, but then, I know I'm not a nitwit. Every now and then.
That's the part of Snark I'll miss the most. Yes, I'll miss the jokes and the occasional times when I'd scream with laughter or put my water glass down before clicking on her name in my feedburner. For me, the power of Miss Snark was knowing that I always had someone I could turn to when I needed it. The only expectation either of us could have was a thank you; there were no obligations of sending gifts or making sure you followed the proper etiquette. The only etiquette was to have a clue, and the longer you hung around, the bigger your clues got.
She's gone now, as pretty much the whole world knows. I have no idea what I'll do if I land a contract with an independent publisher and need a referral to an agent, just for the purpose of the contract. And my feed reader will probably never again threaten to explode with the 100-plus Crapometer entries.
In a way, it's like closing the cover on my bedraggled copy of The White Dragon, knowing it was a great ride and I'm a better person for having spent time here. The site remains in case I have to dig through the archives yet again. Just as the books sit on the same shelf with my stuffed bison and Animal the muppet.
I am one of those people who is always looking forward, toward the next adventure and the next person who'll touch my life. I pretend I don't look back, but I do. In those quiet times, when I can't sleep or am driving somewhere and the music lulls me into letting my guard down. I'll look back on it all with a bittersweet laugh.
Just as it was eventually time to leave my beloved Dragonriders on the shelf, now it's time to move through the publishing world without my tart-tongued guide. Always grateful for the interesting things I've found thus far, but always ready to check out -- if cautiously -- the next thing that comes along. Certainly, because of Miss Snark, I'll be the savvier for it.
To the men and/or women who created her, thanks. I hope I never find out who you really are. If I do, I'm afraid I might look at you the same way I look at Casey Kasem now that I know he voiced Shaggy on Scooby Doo.
Some things, I'm better off not knowing.
Let Miss Snark remain her perfectly imperfect fictional self.
I'm sure George Clooney will sleep better for it.
Labels: agent hunting, blogging, Inside Writing, Miss Snark
Monday, May 21, 2007
Fiction Outtake: Val's Tantrum (Trevor's Song era)
Warning: this outtake contains sexual inneundo and abuse of cookware. Please do not read further if this will upset you.
They could hear the crashing from where they stood outside the practice studio, across the driveway from the house. They'd actually congregated to listen; it was that loud.
"Sounds like your woman needs to get laid," Trevor said, bobbing his head like he knew it all. Then again, when it came to tantrums like this, he did.
"Hardly," Daniel said with a snort.
"That time of the month?" Eric asked. Like he knew about those things, Trevor thought. Mr.-I'd-rather-be-their-friend. His girls got one boringly chaste week on the bus with the band and then forever bought him dinner whenever he blew through town.
Come to think of it, having women buy him dinner wasn't such a bad thing. But that lack of getting off? For-get it. Trevor hadn't formed a band to keep his pants on. Or zipped, for that matter.
"No," Daniel said with a sigh. He hung his head and shook it, looking like a dark brown mop. Trevor snickered, wondering what sort of shit he'd have to clean up later on. Val was not a happy woman in there.
Lately, she'd been like that a lot.
"It's her fault, really," Daniel said. "She told me to make dinner, and I did. No big deal, right?"
Trevor wasn't so sure about that. Part of Val's miserable mood had started when she'd quit the restaurant. That'd been years ago now, but her mood wasn't even a bad wine -- it hadn't even tried to improve with age.
"So what happened?" Mitchell asked. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Daniel a look like he wanted this to hurry along.
"I told her it was time to clean out the freezer. Maybe reorganize it. I swear, there were twenty pounds of chocolate in there. Candy bars, those big bricks for baking, bags of chips, you name it, it was in there. I swear, it took up half the freezer and didn't leave room for the extra sauce I made! Gram would kill me if I let it go to waste; that's her secret recipe!"
"And the frozen margarita mix took up the other half of the freezer?" Trevor asked, bored with the story of the spaghetti sauce. He'd been hearing about how wonderful Gram's sauce was for years, but every time he had it, he thought it wasn't much better than the jarred shit Mitchell's mother would stock his apartment with.
"She didn't care when I said that ought to go downstairs, too!" Daniel half-whined. Trevor cringed, but when Daniel continued, it was in a better tone. "You know, maybe we could put some food in that freezer? Food, kitchens -- you know what I'm saying here?"
"So now she's throwing things because--" Trevor asked. He needed to hear this. To make sure it was real. And to laugh his ass off when it was.
"You heard it," Daniel sighed. "She's pissed because I asked if she'd move the chocolate."
"Oh, Dans," Mitchell said. He scratched his arm, his face screwed up like he was in pain. "That's harsh. I think if I did that to Kerri, she'd take my head off. Along with other choice parts of me that I'd rather keep."
Trevor couldn't get a word in before Daniel said, "That's our roasting pan she's throwing around now. It better not go through the windows."
"Let's go make some music," Mitchell said, putting a hand on Daniel's shoulder to turn him in the right direction. Eric jumped eagerly for the door of the practice space. Trevor took one last hit of his cigarette and ground it into the gravel.
"Music soothes the savage beast," Mitchell continued, reaching above Daniel's head to hold the door open.
"The only thing soothing that beast is her chocolate," the drummer said, giving the house one last, mournful look.
"And you fuck-ups tell me how great your monogamy shit is," Trevor grumbled, resisting the urge to provoke Mitchell more severely. This would have to do for now.
Sure enough, the big idiot cuffed the back of his head as he walked by. "It is great, you loser. Just sometimes… you gotta take the bad with the great."
"And keep the chocolate upstairs!" Eric laughed.
It didn't escape Trevor that neither of the stupidly attached men in the band laughed along. In fact, Trevor thought, they sorta looked like they wouldn't mind if Eric joined Daniel's head in that roasting pan of Val's.
Just so it wasn't his, Trev thought as he picked up his bass. He had more important things to do.
Thankfully, a steady woman was at the bottom of the list.
They could hear the crashing from where they stood outside the practice studio, across the driveway from the house. They'd actually congregated to listen; it was that loud.
"Sounds like your woman needs to get laid," Trevor said, bobbing his head like he knew it all. Then again, when it came to tantrums like this, he did.
"Hardly," Daniel said with a snort.
"That time of the month?" Eric asked. Like he knew about those things, Trevor thought. Mr.-I'd-rather-be-their-friend. His girls got one boringly chaste week on the bus with the band and then forever bought him dinner whenever he blew through town.
Come to think of it, having women buy him dinner wasn't such a bad thing. But that lack of getting off? For-get it. Trevor hadn't formed a band to keep his pants on. Or zipped, for that matter.
"No," Daniel said with a sigh. He hung his head and shook it, looking like a dark brown mop. Trevor snickered, wondering what sort of shit he'd have to clean up later on. Val was not a happy woman in there.
Lately, she'd been like that a lot.
"It's her fault, really," Daniel said. "She told me to make dinner, and I did. No big deal, right?"
Trevor wasn't so sure about that. Part of Val's miserable mood had started when she'd quit the restaurant. That'd been years ago now, but her mood wasn't even a bad wine -- it hadn't even tried to improve with age.
"So what happened?" Mitchell asked. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Daniel a look like he wanted this to hurry along.
"I told her it was time to clean out the freezer. Maybe reorganize it. I swear, there were twenty pounds of chocolate in there. Candy bars, those big bricks for baking, bags of chips, you name it, it was in there. I swear, it took up half the freezer and didn't leave room for the extra sauce I made! Gram would kill me if I let it go to waste; that's her secret recipe!"
"And the frozen margarita mix took up the other half of the freezer?" Trevor asked, bored with the story of the spaghetti sauce. He'd been hearing about how wonderful Gram's sauce was for years, but every time he had it, he thought it wasn't much better than the jarred shit Mitchell's mother would stock his apartment with.
"She didn't care when I said that ought to go downstairs, too!" Daniel half-whined. Trevor cringed, but when Daniel continued, it was in a better tone. "You know, maybe we could put some food in that freezer? Food, kitchens -- you know what I'm saying here?"
"So now she's throwing things because--" Trevor asked. He needed to hear this. To make sure it was real. And to laugh his ass off when it was.
"You heard it," Daniel sighed. "She's pissed because I asked if she'd move the chocolate."
"Oh, Dans," Mitchell said. He scratched his arm, his face screwed up like he was in pain. "That's harsh. I think if I did that to Kerri, she'd take my head off. Along with other choice parts of me that I'd rather keep."
Trevor couldn't get a word in before Daniel said, "That's our roasting pan she's throwing around now. It better not go through the windows."
"Let's go make some music," Mitchell said, putting a hand on Daniel's shoulder to turn him in the right direction. Eric jumped eagerly for the door of the practice space. Trevor took one last hit of his cigarette and ground it into the gravel.
"Music soothes the savage beast," Mitchell continued, reaching above Daniel's head to hold the door open.
"The only thing soothing that beast is her chocolate," the drummer said, giving the house one last, mournful look.
"And you fuck-ups tell me how great your monogamy shit is," Trevor grumbled, resisting the urge to provoke Mitchell more severely. This would have to do for now.
Sure enough, the big idiot cuffed the back of his head as he walked by. "It is great, you loser. Just sometimes… you gotta take the bad with the great."
"And keep the chocolate upstairs!" Eric laughed.
It didn't escape Trevor that neither of the stupidly attached men in the band laughed along. In fact, Trevor thought, they sorta looked like they wouldn't mind if Eric joined Daniel's head in that roasting pan of Val's.
Just so it wasn't his, Trev thought as he picked up his bass. He had more important things to do.
Thankfully, a steady woman was at the bottom of the list.
Labels: chocolate, creative writing, Daniel, fiction, Mitchell, outtake, ShapeShifter, Trevor, Val
Friday, May 18, 2007
Susan's Inside Writing: Feeling Good About Things
Check out what my friend Breeni is up to!
Click HERE.
Other odds and ends:
1. The promised outtake featuring Val and her kitchen, to tie into this week's Thursday Thirteen, is still forthcoming. But you all need to see the interview before I bury it under fiction. *grin*
2. Details on the summer reading contest are starting to come together. Be prepared to join in by the end of June.
3. I'm up to more than just a summer reading contest. Stay tuned; we'll make a small difference in the world together.
4. I did a good peanut gallery impersonation the other day and won the "most creative" award for it. Check it out.
5. It's a really cool feeling when you're standing with a small group of people and before you can break into the conversation to introduce yourself, literary agent Jenny Rappaport reads your name tag and says, "Oh, Susan! Hi!" You'd think we're old friends. Given how much we have in common, separated at birth might be more like it.
There it is, folks. The power of blogging at work.
Click HERE.
Other odds and ends:
1. The promised outtake featuring Val and her kitchen, to tie into this week's Thursday Thirteen, is still forthcoming. But you all need to see the interview before I bury it under fiction. *grin*
2. Details on the summer reading contest are starting to come together. Be prepared to join in by the end of June.
3. I'm up to more than just a summer reading contest. Stay tuned; we'll make a small difference in the world together.
4. I did a good peanut gallery impersonation the other day and won the "most creative" award for it. Check it out.
5. It's a really cool feeling when you're standing with a small group of people and before you can break into the conversation to introduce yourself, literary agent Jenny Rappaport reads your name tag and says, "Oh, Susan! Hi!" You'd think we're old friends. Given how much we have in common, separated at birth might be more like it.
There it is, folks. The power of blogging at work.
Labels: Breeni Books, contest, Inside Writing, interview
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Thursday Thirteen #29 -- What's in Daniel and Val's kitchen?
 |
| In keeping with the theme I began two weeks ago, when we looked at Mitchell and Kerri's kitchen and its contents, this week, let's take a look at Daniel and Val's kitchen. For those of you too lazy to follow the links, Daniel is ShapeShifter's drummer and Val, his long-time girlfriend who trained as a chef but quit the restaurant business when it got too much. Look for a new outtake featuring Daniel, Val, and their kitchen over the weekend. And for you meme lovers, another one I'll let the band answer. 1. A sourdough starter 2. a windowsill herb garden (that overflows onto the patio, in ever-expanding pots) 3. A wide variety of teas 4. Phone numbers for three butchers 5. ten kinds of chocolate and/or cocoa, not counting hidden candy bars 6. A variety of wines, ports, and other highbrow alcoholic delicacies that you wouldn't expect a rock star to know a thing about. Mostly, he doesn't. Val, however, does. She's not a rock star, so your expectation here was met perfectly. 7. Locally produced clover honey 8. chick peas, tahini, lemons (for juicing), and garlic 9. Phone numbers and schedules for the local CSA 10. Ping's Soy Sauce. Lots of it. 11. Bodacious Sauce. Not quite as much of it. 12. organic cranberry granola bars (Daniel's favorites. Eric's too, come to think about it) 13. One of those undercounter TVs that's hooked up to the cable in case Daniel starts to go through CNN withdrawal. And because the voting's not closed yet... And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!     Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way! |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Labels: Blogger's Choice Award, Bodacious Sauce, Daniel, kitchen, meme, Soy Sauce Story, Thursday Thirteen, Val
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Susan Speaks: Careful what you ask for.
Recipe for Susan's now-famous Dark Chocolate Brownies
(in easy-to-follow steps)
1. Go to bank.
2. Ask for three five-dollar bills. They must be brand new. The serial numbers must not be sequential.
3. Trade the bank teller something of equal worth for those three five-dollar bills. You're not the thief in this scenario!
4. Go home.
5. Get notebook.
6. Get pen.
7. Choose previously blank sheet of paper.
8. Write: Dear Susan. Please send me a batch of dark chocolate brownies.
9. Sign your name to the note.
10. Include an address for me to mail brownies to.
11. Rip sheet of paper out of notebook.
12. Fold sheet of paper neatly into thirds.
13. Carefully place the three brand new, non-sequentially numbered five dollar bills into the middle of the note. Do not fold the five dollar bills. If you must, repeat steps 6 through 13 on a standard size sheet of notebook paper.
14. Place packet into #10 envelope.
15. Seal envelope.
16. Address to Susan Helene Gottfried at West of Mars.
17. Place Forever Stamp in upper right-hand corner.
18. Deliver to postal worker, dependable mailbox, or best friend who is headed to the post office.
19. Mail.
20. Sit back and wait. Brownies will arrive within a week, unless postal workers between here and there open box and partake.
Failure to adhere to any of these directions will cause your brownies to mysteriously vanish into the gut of one Tour Manager, who will then have to bike many miles to be thin again. Please, if you're not going to follow the directions (okay, you can ask for my real address), just make a cash donation here instead.
Okay, now that you're laughing, go to the Bloggers Choice Awards and vote for me. I'm too lazy to cut and paste the code yet again. Must be post-brownie syndrome.
(in easy-to-follow steps)
1. Go to bank.
2. Ask for three five-dollar bills. They must be brand new. The serial numbers must not be sequential.
3. Trade the bank teller something of equal worth for those three five-dollar bills. You're not the thief in this scenario!
4. Go home.
5. Get notebook.
6. Get pen.
7. Choose previously blank sheet of paper.
8. Write: Dear Susan. Please send me a batch of dark chocolate brownies.
9. Sign your name to the note.
10. Include an address for me to mail brownies to.
11. Rip sheet of paper out of notebook.
12. Fold sheet of paper neatly into thirds.
13. Carefully place the three brand new, non-sequentially numbered five dollar bills into the middle of the note. Do not fold the five dollar bills. If you must, repeat steps 6 through 13 on a standard size sheet of notebook paper.
14. Place packet into #10 envelope.
15. Seal envelope.
16. Address to Susan Helene Gottfried at West of Mars.
17. Place Forever Stamp in upper right-hand corner.
18. Deliver to postal worker, dependable mailbox, or best friend who is headed to the post office.
19. Mail.
20. Sit back and wait. Brownies will arrive within a week, unless postal workers between here and there open box and partake.
Failure to adhere to any of these directions will cause your brownies to mysteriously vanish into the gut of one Tour Manager, who will then have to bike many miles to be thin again. Please, if you're not going to follow the directions (okay, you can ask for my real address), just make a cash donation here instead.
Okay, now that you're laughing, go to the Bloggers Choice Awards and vote for me. I'm too lazy to cut and paste the code yet again. Must be post-brownie syndrome.
Labels: brownies, Montour Trail, Susan Speaks
Monday, May 14, 2007
Poetry Train Monday!
First off, those of you in the know will get this... I baked dark chocolate brownies over the weekend and they are better than the regular kind! Whoa, baby. I keep saying they taste like mud, but that doesn't do them justice because then I have to explain that if mud really tasted this good, puddles the world over would be in trouble. Some ice cream maker needs to come buy my recipe.
Now, to the poem... I wrote this last night and I'd like to say that although I sometimes feel like people see me in their comment train and think, "Why do you keep hanging around here?" it's not directed at anyone in my blog world. So don't think I'm pointing finger at you; I'm not.
Here you go...
Thorns
Sometimes, I feel like Trevor.
Irreverent.
Witty, and sly.
Knowing fully well I'm not liked
or wanted
and barely tolerated
But not caring in the least.
Trevor won't admit it,
So I will.
I do care.
Yet I smile and keep up
the perky routine,
Feeling like a trained puppy
And all those other things that
Trevor will
-- rarely --
sometimes admit he feels, too.
Sometimes, I feel like Trevor.
Sometimes, it's fun to be a thorn.
Especially when the people you prick
asked for it.
Cast you in that role and
never gave you a chance.
All they could see was someone different
and different is bad.
But after the prick's been given,
a sort of remorse sets in
for what might be
And the awareness that by giving those pricks,
it's only prolonging the agony
and ensuring that acceptance can't be won.
Trevor's story (dare I say his Song)
is more clear-cut than mine.
Read his tale
and you'll see.
That sometimes, I feel like Trevor.
And sometimes, Trevor feels like me.
Be sure to visit Rhian for the links to others on the train. There are neat people writing wonderful things who are jumping on. As you can tell by this one, a strong command of poetry isn't needed; just a willingness to put it out there.
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
Now, to the poem... I wrote this last night and I'd like to say that although I sometimes feel like people see me in their comment train and think, "Why do you keep hanging around here?" it's not directed at anyone in my blog world. So don't think I'm pointing finger at you; I'm not.
Here you go...
Thorns
Sometimes, I feel like Trevor.
Irreverent.
Witty, and sly.
Knowing fully well I'm not liked
or wanted
and barely tolerated
But not caring in the least.
Trevor won't admit it,
So I will.
I do care.
Yet I smile and keep up
the perky routine,
Feeling like a trained puppy
And all those other things that
Trevor will
-- rarely --
sometimes admit he feels, too.
Sometimes, I feel like Trevor.
Sometimes, it's fun to be a thorn.
Especially when the people you prick
asked for it.
Cast you in that role and
never gave you a chance.
All they could see was someone different
and different is bad.
But after the prick's been given,
a sort of remorse sets in
for what might be
And the awareness that by giving those pricks,
it's only prolonging the agony
and ensuring that acceptance can't be won.
Trevor's story (dare I say his Song)
is more clear-cut than mine.
Read his tale
and you'll see.
That sometimes, I feel like Trevor.
And sometimes, Trevor feels like me.
Be sure to visit Rhian for the links to others on the train. There are neat people writing wonderful things who are jumping on. As you can tell by this one, a strong command of poetry isn't needed; just a willingness to put it out there.
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
Labels: Blogger's Choice Award, poem, Poetry Train
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Tag me twice yet again... (Mother's Day 2007)
Now, I'm TOTALLY not complaining that I seem to get tagged in spurts like this. It makes it much easier to answer these tags and still have room for fiction.
Therefore... let's get on with the meme...
Both Erica and Red tagged me for the eight random things meme, but Erica explicitly asked for a band member's eight things, or eight things about the official ShapeShifter band mom, Sonya Voss.
It took awhile before anyone fully stepped up to the plate. Kerri is Sonya's daughter-in-law and was afraid she'd be seen as being a kiss-up if she said too much. Trevor didn't want to say anything nice in public, of course. Amy's busy with a patient. So that left… Good Old Dependable Mitchell.
Or, as Trevor calls him -- for good reason -- The Big Idiot.
Eight things about Ma:
1. She knows I only call her Ma to get under her skin. And since she knows that, she's always ignoring it. But I do it anyway 'cause now I'm stuck doing it.
2. She used to send us care packages on the road. She'd even fill the boxes with rubbers and underwear, especially on that last tour before I met Kerri, when the girls we'd let into the dressing room decided it was fun to steal our underwear when we dropped them.
3. She let us practice in the basement. We're a loud band, but she never complained, even when we weren't around. She'd just tell people she was glad she knew where we were.
4. Sometimes, she'd complain. If we were working on a song that sucked, she'd tell us. Every now and then, she had suggestions to make the song better. Not enough to turn herself into a pain in the ass, but when she said something, we'd listen and follow. It usually worked, too.
5. When I conned Kerri into meeting her, Ma treated Kerri like she was already a member of the family. Kerri was the first girl I ever did more than sleep with; that was probably all the tip-off Ma needed.
6. Ma and Dad used to come to all our shows. I mean ALL. They never missed a damn show. Sometimes, they were the only people in there. Now that we're big, they still come whenever we're in town. Even when we play Wolf Whistle shows. We have to save them two spots, even when we don't want to.
7. No one'll talk about it, but I think it was Ma's idea to let Trevor come live with us. She was always fast to tell anyone that she always wanted a second boy and that Trevor was better than a baby 'cause she didn't have to deal with his diapers. Trev hates it when she says that; he thinks he's too cool to have ever needed diapers. Amy says he probably didn't get out of them until he was seven. She might be right.
8. This is how cool Ma is: whenever she has the family over, she makes sure the entire band comes. With steady girls, if we've got 'em. And when I'm on the road but Kerri's at home, Ma makes sure Kerri comes to dinner a few times. She's sorta like Val; she likes to cook for the people she loves. Val's the better cook, of course, but don't tell Ma that. She might get a complex, but for a cook who didn't go to cook's school, she's damn good.
As for who to tag, here are the rules:
1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
2. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
3. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
4. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
Hey, notice how you don't have to link back to anyone? Well, let's fix that. Feel free to link back to me, okay? I love new groupies!
And next to share… Karen, Milan, Dewey, she, Claire, Breeni, Nimrodiel, and littlebirdblue. Yep, a lot of book friends you may not be familiar with. Why aren't you?
I only get to hound you for ten more days with this. Aren't you glad? I am.
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
(PS -- I've got my first sunburn of the year. I'm not happy about that. *sniff*)
Therefore... let's get on with the meme...
Both Erica and Red tagged me for the eight random things meme, but Erica explicitly asked for a band member's eight things, or eight things about the official ShapeShifter band mom, Sonya Voss.
It took awhile before anyone fully stepped up to the plate. Kerri is Sonya's daughter-in-law and was afraid she'd be seen as being a kiss-up if she said too much. Trevor didn't want to say anything nice in public, of course. Amy's busy with a patient. So that left… Good Old Dependable Mitchell.
Or, as Trevor calls him -- for good reason -- The Big Idiot.
Eight things about Ma:
1. She knows I only call her Ma to get under her skin. And since she knows that, she's always ignoring it. But I do it anyway 'cause now I'm stuck doing it.
2. She used to send us care packages on the road. She'd even fill the boxes with rubbers and underwear, especially on that last tour before I met Kerri, when the girls we'd let into the dressing room decided it was fun to steal our underwear when we dropped them.
3. She let us practice in the basement. We're a loud band, but she never complained, even when we weren't around. She'd just tell people she was glad she knew where we were.
4. Sometimes, she'd complain. If we were working on a song that sucked, she'd tell us. Every now and then, she had suggestions to make the song better. Not enough to turn herself into a pain in the ass, but when she said something, we'd listen and follow. It usually worked, too.
5. When I conned Kerri into meeting her, Ma treated Kerri like she was already a member of the family. Kerri was the first girl I ever did more than sleep with; that was probably all the tip-off Ma needed.
6. Ma and Dad used to come to all our shows. I mean ALL. They never missed a damn show. Sometimes, they were the only people in there. Now that we're big, they still come whenever we're in town. Even when we play Wolf Whistle shows. We have to save them two spots, even when we don't want to.
7. No one'll talk about it, but I think it was Ma's idea to let Trevor come live with us. She was always fast to tell anyone that she always wanted a second boy and that Trevor was better than a baby 'cause she didn't have to deal with his diapers. Trev hates it when she says that; he thinks he's too cool to have ever needed diapers. Amy says he probably didn't get out of them until he was seven. She might be right.
8. This is how cool Ma is: whenever she has the family over, she makes sure the entire band comes. With steady girls, if we've got 'em. And when I'm on the road but Kerri's at home, Ma makes sure Kerri comes to dinner a few times. She's sorta like Val; she likes to cook for the people she loves. Val's the better cook, of course, but don't tell Ma that. She might get a complex, but for a cook who didn't go to cook's school, she's damn good.
As for who to tag, here are the rules:
1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
2. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
3. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
4. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
Hey, notice how you don't have to link back to anyone? Well, let's fix that. Feel free to link back to me, okay? I love new groupies!
And next to share… Karen, Milan, Dewey, she, Claire, Breeni, Nimrodiel, and littlebirdblue. Yep, a lot of book friends you may not be familiar with. Why aren't you?
I only get to hound you for ten more days with this. Aren't you glad? I am.
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
(PS -- I've got my first sunburn of the year. I'm not happy about that. *sniff*)
Labels: Blogger's Choice Award, meme, Mitchell, mothers, Sonya, Writing Aspirations
Friday, May 11, 2007
Susan Speaks: About Nothing
Come hang with me at Working Stiffs today. Or just leave your comments here. I'll keep an eye on both spots.
Labels: blogging, nothing, Working Stiffs
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Thursday Thirteen #28 -- Let's hit the Road
 |
| If you've been here during the first part of this week, you know that I wrote two interlinked outtakes in honor of a comment Rashenbo made about last week's TT, Thirteen Things in Mitchell and Kerri's kitchen. If you haven't read the outtakes yet (and why not?) but want to read the Thirteen before you do, let's just suffice to say that they take place very early in the band's career, when they are a little more dependent on the kindness of others -- but what sometimes seems to be kindness backfires. Anyway, since it's summer and since it ties in so nicely, here's Thirteen Things To Eat While RoadTripping 1. Mountain Dew 2. Potato Chips 3. Oreos 4. Slim Jims 5. apples 6. Peanuts 7. Twizzlers 8. popcorn 9. doughnuts 10. cheap beer (hey, road trips take pit stops!) 11. pizza 12. fast food, especially milkshakes 13. sunflower seeds Happy trails, everyone! And because the voting's not closed yet... And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me! Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way! |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Labels: Blogger's Choice Award, meme, road trip, Thursday Thirteen
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Fiction Outtake: Bean Dip Concludes
You guys are really into this bean dip... Hope what follows doesn't disappoint, as the bean dip is mostly absent. Mostly.
If you're a bit lost, this is the earlier post, setting up this lovely scene.
Erica knew how to stock a backstage dressing room, that was for sure. Daniel asked Mitchell to remember to include some of the things she thought of -- ice cream sandwiches for after the show, and gummy candies beforehand -- whenever ShapeShifter got big enough to have a catering rider.
"Shit, I'll ask for the ice cream from now on," Mitchell laughed. It had been a stroke of genius on Erica's part; nice and cool after the hot set. They'd all gotten headaches and nasty head rushes, but fuck if it hadn't been worth it.
Back at Erica's flat, Mitchell got friendly with a six-pack and crashed. The other three stayed up with their hostess, met her boyfriend -- a hulking biker type, apparently -- and talked the night away. Mitchell had trouble believing they'd stayed up and talked without getting drunk or stoned; it took awhile in the morning before anyone would admit to both.
They were in pretty good moods as Mitchell pulled the Bronco out of the narrow city street that Erica lived on and followed her directions to the Northbound freeway. After its brief cleaning, the truck smelled better, the weather was good for driving -- not raining, not too bright; just perfect -- and so Daniel and Mitchell fell into a discussion of how many t-shirts they had left and how many more copies of their small-label release they'd need to have shipped out when it started.
Eric farted.
Not to be outdone, Trevor burped. Then farted.
"Oh, shit, here we go," Daniel muttered.
Mitchell tried not to smile. "She did feed us Mexican food last night."
"Knowing fully well we'd be stuck together in a small space when it kicked in," Daniel pointed out.
Eric groaned with pleasure as he farted again.
Mitchell could practically feel Trevor's brain working, trying to find another way to top him.
"Trev," he said in his most serious voice, "give me your lighter."
"Ooh!" Mitchell envisioned Trevor's eyes lighting up as he understood what Mitchell was trying to prevent. "Nope, I think I need a smoke."
"Four guys who smoke, stuck in a truck the morning after a midnight Mexican feast," Daniel said, then farted noisily. "This is not going to be pretty."
"Let's get the windows open," Eric said, waving a hand in front of his face. "It's already nasty back here."
"So open the fucking windows," Mitchell snarled, reaching for the map.
"Don't do it, man," Daniel said softly. "Going back without a plan's never a good idea."
Mitchell glared at him. The tooting in the back continued, accompanied by a burping contest.
"We'll get our revenge on her," Daniel said with a definitive nod.
"How?"
"Beats the shit out of me, but I'm sure we can find something. We're ShapeShifter. No one fucks with us like this."
Mitchell had to sigh as he opened his window and let go of the tight hold he'd had on himself. "I think, Dans, that she did."
And because the voting's not closed yet...
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
If you're a bit lost, this is the earlier post, setting up this lovely scene.
Erica knew how to stock a backstage dressing room, that was for sure. Daniel asked Mitchell to remember to include some of the things she thought of -- ice cream sandwiches for after the show, and gummy candies beforehand -- whenever ShapeShifter got big enough to have a catering rider.
"Shit, I'll ask for the ice cream from now on," Mitchell laughed. It had been a stroke of genius on Erica's part; nice and cool after the hot set. They'd all gotten headaches and nasty head rushes, but fuck if it hadn't been worth it.
Back at Erica's flat, Mitchell got friendly with a six-pack and crashed. The other three stayed up with their hostess, met her boyfriend -- a hulking biker type, apparently -- and talked the night away. Mitchell had trouble believing they'd stayed up and talked without getting drunk or stoned; it took awhile in the morning before anyone would admit to both.
They were in pretty good moods as Mitchell pulled the Bronco out of the narrow city street that Erica lived on and followed her directions to the Northbound freeway. After its brief cleaning, the truck smelled better, the weather was good for driving -- not raining, not too bright; just perfect -- and so Daniel and Mitchell fell into a discussion of how many t-shirts they had left and how many more copies of their small-label release they'd need to have shipped out when it started.
Eric farted.
Not to be outdone, Trevor burped. Then farted.
"Oh, shit, here we go," Daniel muttered.
Mitchell tried not to smile. "She did feed us Mexican food last night."
"Knowing fully well we'd be stuck together in a small space when it kicked in," Daniel pointed out.
Eric groaned with pleasure as he farted again.
Mitchell could practically feel Trevor's brain working, trying to find another way to top him.
"Trev," he said in his most serious voice, "give me your lighter."
"Ooh!" Mitchell envisioned Trevor's eyes lighting up as he understood what Mitchell was trying to prevent. "Nope, I think I need a smoke."
"Four guys who smoke, stuck in a truck the morning after a midnight Mexican feast," Daniel said, then farted noisily. "This is not going to be pretty."
"Let's get the windows open," Eric said, waving a hand in front of his face. "It's already nasty back here."
"So open the fucking windows," Mitchell snarled, reaching for the map.
"Don't do it, man," Daniel said softly. "Going back without a plan's never a good idea."
Mitchell glared at him. The tooting in the back continued, accompanied by a burping contest.
"We'll get our revenge on her," Daniel said with a definitive nod.
"How?"
"Beats the shit out of me, but I'm sure we can find something. We're ShapeShifter. No one fucks with us like this."
Mitchell had to sigh as he opened his window and let go of the tight hold he'd had on himself. "I think, Dans, that she did."
And because the voting's not closed yet...
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
Labels: Blogger's Choice Award, creative writing, Daniel, fiction, Mitchell, outtake, ShapeShifter, touring, Trevor
Monday, May 07, 2007
Susan Speaks: More on Monday!
If you haven't had enough of me today -- and how could you have? -- then head on over to JM's place. Yep, I'm guest blogging at The Fiction Scribe today.
But read the outtake first 'cause it continues tomorrow.
But read the outtake first 'cause it continues tomorrow.
Fiction Outtake: For Erica (The Early Days)
Some fiction again this week for Rhian's Poetry Train. I don't think you need any run-up to this; it's the early days, the fledgling band's put together a small tour on a shoestring budget. On these tours, you rely on the goodness of locals -- or you sleep in your truck.
By the way, you can blame this -- and its conclusion, which I'll run tomorrow -- on Erica at Writing Aspirations. It's all her fault.
"Hey, M," Trevor said, coming up behind Mitchell, who was half-in, half-out of the Bronco, trying to clean it out a bit. He wasn't sure, but he thought it was starting to smell. Four guys on the road would do that, he knew. But damn, it had happened fast.
"Whatcha-doin'?" Trev sing-songed.
Mitchell bombed an empty can of Mountain Dew at him.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"Why the fuck not? It's fun." Mitchell tossed another one, again without looking. Who cared where it landed, so long as it was out of the truck.
Trevor smacked his lips. A bag rustled; Mitchell guessed he had talked someone into coughing up some chips. Until they got paid for this show, they had about five cents between the four of them. Unless, of course, Trevor was hoarding cash again and had used that to buy the stupid chips.
"Because I'm not alone," Trevor sing-songed.
Mitchell groaned and buried his head in the seat of the Bronco. He should have known.
"You want to come meet Erica."
Before he raised his head, Mitchell let himself growl. Getting it out would be the only way he could smile at this girl. He didn't want to be social; he wanted to clean the damn truck out before he had to think about the show. He had about ten minutes, tops.
What he saw when he turned around surprised him. First of all, this girl was holding a can of bean dip, and she and Trevor had almost abandoned the chips for it. Mitchell half-expected Trevor to pick the can out of her hand and lick it clean.
The last time he'd done that, he'd turned it into foreplay.
"Who're you?" Mitchell asked. She was tall for a girl, almost taller than Trevor, and she wore ratty denim shorts over fishnet hose and fourteen-eye black Doc Martens. A push-up bra and a ripped black Soulbender t-shirt; she looked more goth than metal except her hair wasn't dyed black and she didn't have makeup on. In the absence of those, Mitchell decided she was … normal.
"Erica," she said and stuck her finger in the can of bean dip. She licked it off before saying, "The Sleeve wanted me to connect with you guys. I'll be doing your dressing room tonight, so if you want anything special in there, holler. Also, if you need a place to crash tonight, I've got room."
Trevor moved a step closer to her and started examining her mouth. "I want something special," he said.
"Forget it," she told him coolly. "I'm taken."
"M here can fix that for you," Trevor said, giving Mitchell a wide smile like he was asking for a punch.
"Not gonna happen," Mitchell said before Erica could react. She was cool enough, she worked for Steve the Sleeve, and if she was offering them a place to crash, he was all over it. Anything to keep from driving most of the night. He'd pull over for an hour or two when he had to, but sleeping in the truck was old. If he never had to do it again, he'd be happy.
Trevor turned and started rummaging through the back seat of the Bronco.
"Think you want that place to crash?" Erica asked, peering past Trevor into the truck.
"If it's no big deal," Mitchell said, wondering how many other times she'd made this same offer. She didn't have that over-eager bunny attitude; this was old hat for her.
Trevor emerged with a crumpled pack of cigarettes. "One left," he said, pulling it out. It wasn't very straight.
It didn't seem to matter how banged up the cigarette was because suddenly, Mitchell wanted it for himself.
"I'll make dinner for you after we get back to my place after the show," Erica offered. "I make a mean Mexican spread."
Mitchell narrowed his eyes and looked her over. This was bordering on ritual. "You're Steve the Sleeve's girl?" he asked, his opinion of the local promoter plummeting. Everyone knew you didn't use your girl for dressing room detail.
Erica snorted. "I wouldn't do that sleazeball if you gave me a million bucks and underwrote my own promotions biz. But he pays me good," she shrugged. "So what if I have to kick him in the balls every now and then to keep his hands off me? It's nothing compared to how hard he'll get it when I spin out and start doing my own shows."
"You're on for that place to crash tonight," Mitchell told her. There was something honest about her, something he could relate to. He wasn't so sure about the Mexican food, but he'd deal with that when he had to. The last time they'd had Mexican food, they'd all gotten sicker than dogs and had to stop at every single rest stop along the drive.
Maybe the homemade effect would make the difference.
And because the voting's not closed yet...
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
By the way, you can blame this -- and its conclusion, which I'll run tomorrow -- on Erica at Writing Aspirations. It's all her fault.
"Hey, M," Trevor said, coming up behind Mitchell, who was half-in, half-out of the Bronco, trying to clean it out a bit. He wasn't sure, but he thought it was starting to smell. Four guys on the road would do that, he knew. But damn, it had happened fast.
"Whatcha-doin'?" Trev sing-songed.
Mitchell bombed an empty can of Mountain Dew at him.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"Why the fuck not? It's fun." Mitchell tossed another one, again without looking. Who cared where it landed, so long as it was out of the truck.
Trevor smacked his lips. A bag rustled; Mitchell guessed he had talked someone into coughing up some chips. Until they got paid for this show, they had about five cents between the four of them. Unless, of course, Trevor was hoarding cash again and had used that to buy the stupid chips.
"Because I'm not alone," Trevor sing-songed.
Mitchell groaned and buried his head in the seat of the Bronco. He should have known.
"You want to come meet Erica."
Before he raised his head, Mitchell let himself growl. Getting it out would be the only way he could smile at this girl. He didn't want to be social; he wanted to clean the damn truck out before he had to think about the show. He had about ten minutes, tops.
What he saw when he turned around surprised him. First of all, this girl was holding a can of bean dip, and she and Trevor had almost abandoned the chips for it. Mitchell half-expected Trevor to pick the can out of her hand and lick it clean.
The last time he'd done that, he'd turned it into foreplay.
"Who're you?" Mitchell asked. She was tall for a girl, almost taller than Trevor, and she wore ratty denim shorts over fishnet hose and fourteen-eye black Doc Martens. A push-up bra and a ripped black Soulbender t-shirt; she looked more goth than metal except her hair wasn't dyed black and she didn't have makeup on. In the absence of those, Mitchell decided she was … normal.
"Erica," she said and stuck her finger in the can of bean dip. She licked it off before saying, "The Sleeve wanted me to connect with you guys. I'll be doing your dressing room tonight, so if you want anything special in there, holler. Also, if you need a place to crash tonight, I've got room."
Trevor moved a step closer to her and started examining her mouth. "I want something special," he said.
"Forget it," she told him coolly. "I'm taken."
"M here can fix that for you," Trevor said, giving Mitchell a wide smile like he was asking for a punch.
"Not gonna happen," Mitchell said before Erica could react. She was cool enough, she worked for Steve the Sleeve, and if she was offering them a place to crash, he was all over it. Anything to keep from driving most of the night. He'd pull over for an hour or two when he had to, but sleeping in the truck was old. If he never had to do it again, he'd be happy.
Trevor turned and started rummaging through the back seat of the Bronco.
"Think you want that place to crash?" Erica asked, peering past Trevor into the truck.
"If it's no big deal," Mitchell said, wondering how many other times she'd made this same offer. She didn't have that over-eager bunny attitude; this was old hat for her.
Trevor emerged with a crumpled pack of cigarettes. "One left," he said, pulling it out. It wasn't very straight.
It didn't seem to matter how banged up the cigarette was because suddenly, Mitchell wanted it for himself.
"I'll make dinner for you after we get back to my place after the show," Erica offered. "I make a mean Mexican spread."
Mitchell narrowed his eyes and looked her over. This was bordering on ritual. "You're Steve the Sleeve's girl?" he asked, his opinion of the local promoter plummeting. Everyone knew you didn't use your girl for dressing room detail.
Erica snorted. "I wouldn't do that sleazeball if you gave me a million bucks and underwrote my own promotions biz. But he pays me good," she shrugged. "So what if I have to kick him in the balls every now and then to keep his hands off me? It's nothing compared to how hard he'll get it when I spin out and start doing my own shows."
"You're on for that place to crash tonight," Mitchell told her. There was something honest about her, something he could relate to. He wasn't so sure about the Mexican food, but he'd deal with that when he had to. The last time they'd had Mexican food, they'd all gotten sicker than dogs and had to stop at every single rest stop along the drive.
Maybe the homemade effect would make the difference.
And because the voting's not closed yet...
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
Labels: Blogger's Choice Award, creative writing, fiction, Mitchell, outtake, Poetry Train, ShapeShifter, touring, Trevor, Writing Aspirations
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Tag! I'm it -- twice!
It seems I can't turn around and write some fiction without you guys tagging me for things. I'm flattered by this; it's a good feeling to be important. Just remember to bring your friends around for a visit or two -- whatever it takes until they get hooked.
So, first off, Andrew tagged me with a new (to me) one: the goals meme.
I can't say that I have between five and ten crazy goals or dreams I want to achieve in my lifetime. I only have one: to be a successfully published author of Trevor and his friends. (What? You thought I was done with these guys once Trevor's Song gets published?)
Therefore, let's turn things over to Trevor...
Five goals, Trevor Style
1. World Domination by ShapeShifter, of course. I mean, why else form a band? I didn't need those wankers to get girls.
2. Get Rusty permanently out of Mitchell's life. Not to mention mine. Not in that order, though.
3. To love back every woman who already loves me. Maybe I'll love her front, too. And sides; why stop when you're on a roll?
Rolling's fun, too.
4. To be called "Mr. Wolff" when I check in at some hoity-toity hotel, and not get eyed up 'cause they think I'll trash the place. Why does everyone expect me to do the cliched shit?
5. Respect.
Ahh, poor Trevor. Above and beyond all else, he only wants one thing in life. Just like me; it's our goals that are different, though.
Which brings me to meme #2. The way cool Amy Ruttan tagged me with my third Thinking Blogger Award. Wow! Three of them!
Here are the rules, for you newly tagged folk...
How participation works:
If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.
Optional: Display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award’ with a link to the post that you wrote.
Okay, time to tag some new friends...
Ready?
This is loooooooooonnnnnnngggggg overdue, but it's time to tag a few of my book blog friends:
Karen
Breeni
and
Janelle
Have fun, guys!
Oh, and lest you think the kudos have stopped there, just a reminder again... go vote...
And because the voting's not closed yet...
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
(So when do literary agents and publishers catch on to what you guys already know and give me THEIR awards in the form of contracts and advances against royalties?)
So, first off, Andrew tagged me with a new (to me) one: the goals meme.
I can't say that I have between five and ten crazy goals or dreams I want to achieve in my lifetime. I only have one: to be a successfully published author of Trevor and his friends. (What? You thought I was done with these guys once Trevor's Song gets published?)
Therefore, let's turn things over to Trevor...
Five goals, Trevor Style
1. World Domination by ShapeShifter, of course. I mean, why else form a band? I didn't need those wankers to get girls.
2. Get Rusty permanently out of Mitchell's life. Not to mention mine. Not in that order, though.
3. To love back every woman who already loves me. Maybe I'll love her front, too. And sides; why stop when you're on a roll?
Rolling's fun, too.
4. To be called "Mr. Wolff" when I check in at some hoity-toity hotel, and not get eyed up 'cause they think I'll trash the place. Why does everyone expect me to do the cliched shit?
5. Respect.
Ahh, poor Trevor. Above and beyond all else, he only wants one thing in life. Just like me; it's our goals that are different, though.
Which brings me to meme #2. The way cool Amy Ruttan tagged me with my third Thinking Blogger Award. Wow! Three of them!
Here are the rules, for you newly tagged folk...
How participation works:
If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.
Optional: Display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award’ with a link to the post that you wrote.
Okay, time to tag some new friends...
Ready?
This is loooooooooonnnnnnngggggg overdue, but it's time to tag a few of my book blog friends:
Karen
Breeni
and
Janelle
Have fun, guys!
Oh, and lest you think the kudos have stopped there, just a reminder again... go vote...
And because the voting's not closed yet...
And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me!
Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way!
(So when do literary agents and publishers catch on to what you guys already know and give me THEIR awards in the form of contracts and advances against royalties?)
Labels: Amy Ruttan, Andrew, Blogger's Choice Award, blogging, Goals Meme, meme, Thinking Blogger Award
Friday, May 04, 2007
Susan's Book Talk: More Comic Talk
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Thursday Thirteen #27 -- What's in the kitchen?
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| Last week, I created Mitchell and Kerri's farmhouse for you, but didn't do it totally Cribs style, by showing you what's in their refrigerator. By popular demand... not just their fridge, but foods found in their pantry, as well. Here you go. 1. orange juice, beer, and Mountain Dew (Mitchell's drinks of choice, in order of preference, by and large) 2. pancake mix (This is important in the opening chapter of Trevor's Song.) 3. coffee (Yeah, Kerri goes for it when M's not around.) 4. brownie mix, as seen here 5. apples, oranges, grapes, and pears 6. Dragon Food -- a box of catfood that Kerri recovered and that she uses to threaten him with when he shapeshifts from his usual, mild-mannered self into the dragon his fans know and love. 7. jarred mushrooms, as seen here 8. Salad fixings -- varieties of lettuce, bell peppers, cucumber, carrots, broccoli, celery, cauliflower. Most of these make convenient snack foods, too. 9. bread that Val made by hand (no bread machine for her) and gave Kerri, who'd just finished the loaf she'd put in her bread machine. (You think an artist has time to knead dough?) 10. six kinds of balsamic vinegar, as seen here 11. random sketch pads and pencils that Kerri leaves places -- the pantry, the kitchen table, the counters 12. potato chips (ever notice how Mitchell's always eating them? They also have a part in the current WIP.) 13. ice cream, chocolate sauce, and other things that leave the sheets a disaster but are darn fun at the time. And because the voting's not closed yet... And if you've missed it somehow, Just a reminder... go vote for me! Yes, I'm totally going to torture you with this until the voting closes on May 22. So go vote, will ya? If you've already voted, why not register under another e-mail address? You'll get to vote again that way! |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
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Labels: Kerri, kitchen, meme, Mitchell, Thursday Thirteen
