The Origin preview

Here's a small preview of the urban fantasy novel that I have been working on these past several months. Enjoy!

(warning: some strong language)

 

THE ORIGIN

PROLOGUE

The silence was absolute, a big exclamation mark over the football field.

Daniel didn’t notice the lack of noise at first as he palmed the pigskin above his head in jubilation, rejoicing in his third touchdown of the night. Eventually, the absence of cheering from the home crowd sank in. Even his teammates, who had been chest-bumping seconds before, were now all transfixed by the scene behind him.

On Being a Writing Mom

To be a writer means to be egocentric, to lock yourself in a room – or if that's not possible, in your mind – and concentrate on yourself. On your thoughts. On the prose pouring out of your fingers. You have a single-minded focus on getting that story down before it takes over your mind.

To be a mother means to be selfless, especially when your child is simply unable to function until you help seatbelt that Polly Pocket in the car. Your thoughts have to be on the welfare of your child, if she's fed, if she's staying hydrated, if her panties are wet once again. To be a mother means your time and love is at the mercy of your child.

I have to admit, I'm having a tough time reconciling the two. My child is five months shy of 3, and while she has skirted around the "terrible twos" for the most part, she is still a needy, clingy being whose favorite phrase is (and said in a cute, whiny voice), "Mommy, help!" She is no longer merely content to sit in front of the television all day, to learn her values and morals from Dora and Diego. The greedy girl actually wants to play. The audacity!

And the writer in me says, Child, just please sit down with your hands folded in your lap and let me write! But the mother in me gets up and plays, making Barbie and Ken hug repeatedly, catching that fairy ball inelegantly for maximum toddler enjoyment.

The writer in me wants to install a mute and pause button on my child, while the mother in me wants to sit and read with her all day.

Can you see my dilemma?

Yes, the nights are good. I look forward to – nay, actually relish – the moment of the day when we kiss her goodnight and lay her in bed and close that door and heave a sigh of relief. But those times, I turn into the Housekeeper, the Wife, the Reader, the Workout Fiend, and sometimes, the Writer. Sometimes the priorities change, but the dilemma remains the same: there's never enough time in the day.


This post was brought to you during the blissful, and rather infrequent, time of nap.

Multi-tasking with Music

When I'd hear of people who listen to music as they write, I used to have one of two reactions, depending on the day:

1. For reals? How do they not get distracted? I, myself, have ADD tendencies thus I need complete silence to think. I get so distracted easily, y'all! You should see me when I go shopping... forget about trying to carry on a conversation with me.

2. Seriously? Can you say pretentious? When I'd visit an author's site and see a list of the songs they write to, I'd roll my eyes. Don't ask me why, but it just irked me.

But that was all before I found that album that perfectly complemented my novel: One Republic's Dreaming Out Loud. Gosh, I know, now you're rolling your eyes. It's old and, even though it has some pretty awesome (albeit mainstream) songs, they're totally played out. As in, I think "Stop and Stare" was probably played at least once every The Hills episode.

(Not that I'm admitting I ever watched The Hills or anything...)

But the lyrics are spot on and the music sets the perfect mood. Like when I hear "Prodigal," I see one particular airport scene playing right before my eyes. In the movie adaptation of my novel (ha! One can dream!), "Mercy" will play in the trailer that focuses on the romance. A few of the songs even gave me inspiration for future scenes. You seriously can't beat that.

Don't get me wrong; I still have trouble listening to music while writing as I mostly still end up singing along and losing my entire train of thought. But I'm getting better. And I figured, it's good for me to sharpen my focus.

So, to those writers whose musical choices I previously spurned, I'm sorry I was such a snoot. I get you now. I understand. Music sets the mood.

Now I'm off to download other albums. My writing will thank you, but my iTunes account most likely will not.

The Series Downward Spiral

Why is it that most of the book series I've been reading lately have really started to go downhill?

Case in point, the Sookie Stackhouse books by Charlaine Harris. The first four were very entertaining and irreverent. There was danger, intrigue, romance, and the plucky heroine always somehow managed to stay positive despite the hardships. But then a strange thing happened: the books just became... BLAH. Almost as if Charlaine Harris just got tired of writing about Sookie but still had her contractual obligations to fulfill.

Book 10 in the series, Dead in the Family, was a hot mess. Nothing happened, no climactic moment, no exciting vampire sex even. Oh, there was the act of making love, but not the usual hot stuff we've been treated to in the past. And everyone's favorite bad boy Viking vampire, Eric Northman, was reduced to a confused, docile relationship man. What happened to the Sheriff of Area 5?  He's been whipped, is what.

And don't even get me started on JR Ward's Lover series. Sheesh.

So what is it that makes a series start to go downhill? I'm very interested because my novel is only the first of 5 novels, and I'm trying to avoid the same fate that has befallen other previously good series.

Is it because the author just lost interest?

Is it because their story is open-ended and thus they need "filler" books in order to continue with the series?

Is it because the author/editor just got complacent after the success of the first few books?

I wish I knew!

It's HERE!!!!

My friends, it has arrived! The novel, Corona by MJ Heiser (available on Amazon and Powell's) finally landed in my APO box and made it into my hot little hands.

Yes, dude, I designed that! I guess now I could say I'm published, cross that off my list, and call it good. But after reading my dear cousin's post about how it felt to see her words in print, I know simply designing a book cover isn't enough. Sure, it's fun and all that stuff, but it's not the same as seeing my own words inside.

Holding Corona in my hands made me all the more determined to free my novel out into the world. And why not? It's not a terrible story, and I at least wrote it semi-coherently. I've read novels on bestseller lists that are absolute crap, so why not my turd, eh?

So stay sane, stay hydrated, and stay tuned!

Dumb Blog, your roots are showing!

Make no mistake about it, this blog is not smart, nor is it full of information on writing and publishing. I leave those kinds of blogs to the professionals, to those who already have experience. Me? Well, I'm still trying to find an agent who will see my novel's true potential. And that's a bloody hard task.

I just hope that, one day, it will happen, and I will achieve a lifelong dream.

For now, I'm just writing in this blog about random things, like book reviews, my dreams, my day, whatever issue is plaguing my mind at that very moment. If you've come to learn about writing or publishing, I'm sorry, this site is not it. I'm no teacher. I tried to sub elementary and junior high for a while in Alaska, and it taught me a very valuable lesson that almost prevented the conception of my dear daughter, and that was, I'm no educator. I'm a writer, a designer, a workout freak, but God help you if you need me to teach you something because I can guarantee it will just end up with me crying in the corner, rocking on my heels.

Review: Sugar Queen by Sarah Addison Allen

This is, admittedly, another book that I decided to read because of the beautiful front cover. It looks flat online, but in real life, the yellow vines are actually gold embossed and the colors are vibrant and dreamy. And it's exactly what the novel itself is like: it's beautiful and magical.

The story revolves around Josey Cirrini, a woman who has lived a sheltered life under the rule of her overbearing and demanding mother. One day, a woman appears in her closet and she is never the same again. Slowly but surely, Josey begins to change, to grow, and her world begins to finally stretch out around her.

Sarah Addison Allen's style is all Southern charm, as she describes the small town and the families that have lived within its confines for many generations. The characters are  relatable, especially the heroine who is coming into her own several years too late.

To say that this novel is, in my humble opinion, the perfect package of excellent writing and a cover to match, would be accurate. In fact, I loved it. And I would read it again.

Dreaming of the perfect writing room...

Right now, my writing space consists of half a round table in the living room and my chair is an abused dining chair that needs re-covering. It's convenient in that I can keep an eye on the kid while I write, but it's also in the same room as the obnoxiously large flat screen t.v., as well as said kid, so it's near impossible to form a coherent thought, let alone string enough to form a novel.

So while I'm procrastinating on editing my novel, I'll daydream a little and describe my perfect writing room. Yes, ROOM, because in my perfect house, I will have a whole separate room for writing and another room for artful and crafty pursuits. I'll also have my own gym complete with weights, a treadmill, and a spin bike, but that's neither here nor there.

Back to my perfect writing room...

It will have eggshell walls, light and serene. Because I'm old school sometimes (and I find it easier to keep writing) I write most of my stories by hand. Thus I will need a handwriting desk, like so...

In front of the desk, the wall will be painted with grey magnetic chalkboard paint so I can write ideas on the wall (how awesome would it be to write on walls when the fancy strikes?) and also attach pictures of my characters with magnets. I'm a visual person, so seeing the character in front of me helps with the writing.

Smack dab in the middle of the room will be a huge, dark wood desk. It will be the size of a small country, antique, and totally ostentatious. Because I like to spread out in style.

My chair will be leather, red, on wheels, and will be wide enough that I can sit cross-legged on it comfortably.

In the corner, by a floor lamp will be a red leather club chair with matching ottoman. It will be soft and well-used and a soft chenille blanket will hang on one arm.

And finally, flush against the wall, behind my mob boss desk, will be an enormous red bookcase to house my collection of books.

That ladder was not initially part of my imaginings, but it is now. Look at those details!

I've almost forgotten the most important detail of all: the room will be accessible to only me. It will be a place where I can escape, where I can hide away and find that elusive thought-inducing silence. It will be perfect.

Review: The Adventures of Miles and Isabel by Tom Gilling

Don't be fooled by the beautiful cover or the blurb that talks of romance because they will deceive you. For unless you have a keen interest on the history of flight, you won't find this book very interesting.

The first two-thirds of the book is about Miles and Isabel as separate people, living their lives without knowledge of the each other. And for a novel that touts true love, that is a long time to expect the readers to wait. Yet, I think the true love spoken of is actually about their true love of flight, not of each other. And in that respect, sure, Tom Gilling does a great job of storytelling. Except, I, admittedly, could not care less about flight and why Miles and Isabel are so consumed by it.

When the two finally meet, their time together is so rushed, that I found it hard to believe that they could have fallen in love over such a short period of time. Sure, they're kindred spirits as far as their love of flight and storytelling is concerned, but Mr. Gilling left so much to the imagination, that when the end came, I found myself thinking, "This is it?!"

I felt gypped, not so much of an ending, but of a real tale of romance.

Review: Wake by Lisa McMann

This is the second book in a row that I've devoured in one day, though it is far shorter than April & Oliver. I managed to read the entire thing in about 3 hours, give or take.

The book size fits perfectly in my hand, so it was a real joy to read, ergonomically. This is an important point for me, because the more I read on my iTouch, the more hardback books feel heavier and harder to read in bed. But Lisa McMann's first book in this series is smaller (eyeballing it at about 6" x 4") and thus more enjoyable to hold.

The design cover, too, is fantastic. It's minimalist and striking, just like her writing style. And though I've been known to give up on books with this kind of style before, it really works in this book. A lot is left to the imagination, to interpretation, and I love that.

The characters are engaging, though I found myself frustrated a few times at the misunderstanding between Janie and Cabel. The storyline is absorbing, if a little straightforward, but this is a young adult novel, after all. The tension between Janie and Cabel is realistic yet romantic. The dream sequences are fairly believable, though I don't know of one person who dreams about the same things nightly, let alone an entire town of them.

Still, Wake was an enjoyable, fast read. Great fare for a sunny Sunday morning.

Review: April & Oliver by Tess Callahan

Rare is the day when I find the time to read a book cover to cover, but inexplicably, April & Oliver caught my interest and imagination like nothing I've read in the past several months (sorry Mr. Gaiman, sorry Ms. Austen).

First and foremost, a confession: I blatantly judge books by their covers. I'm a designer, it's in my dna. As you can see, the cover of April & Oliver is gorgeous. The hazy image of the sea (representing the relationship of the two characters) along with the beautifully simple typography is sophisticated and beguiling.

I could say the same about the prose, as it immediately draws you into the world of April and her crumbling world. Her younger brother (who she raised from infancy) just died from a car accident, her abusive ex-boyfriend is stalking her, and her childhood love has just moved back to town with his perfect fiancee. Naturally, the troubled April is on a downward spiral that Oliver (with a bulging hero-complex) feels he must try to prevent, despite their palpable chemistry. And in that regard, the novel shines, and you can't help but root for the two to get back together despite the insurmountable odds.

The book, though, is surprisingly dark. This is no beach-read, fluffy love story. This is a gritty, secret-charged story and I found myself wanting to give up on April (and on a certain extent, Oliver) many times over for the poor choices she continues to make.

As I was reading, I made up my mind to buy this book and add it to my collection of favorites. But alas, as I turned the last page, I completely changed my mind. I understand that this is a "realistic" love story, and that in the real world, endings do not always have a happily ever after. But Tess Callahan chose to end this story in the most frustrating way possible, and in the interest of not ruining the ending for you, I'll just say that it left much to be desired. And honestly, I cannot stand books that leave me hanging. Give me good, heck, give me bad, but don't leave me with nothing at all.

I'm a sucker for beautiful book covers...

The cover is actually more green, more vintage-feeling in real life, and is so absolutely, heartbreakingly beautiful, that I need to read the book to make sure it warrants such a cover.

Review: Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman

This was my second proverbial toe into the Neil Gaiman pond. American Gods was the first, but I didn't get far as the storyline just did not grab me. I had the same problem with Anansi Boys, which is why it took me two whole months and constant self-bribery ("If you finish this, you can read April & Oliver next!") to finish it. And when I did finally turn that last page, I felt like I'd really worked hard to reach the summit.

But don't get me wrong, the book is wonderful. The writing is fantastic, and with each page, I imagine Mr. Gaiman sitting at his writing desk with a gleeful smile, chuckling at his own cleverness. The prose is sophisticated and hilarious and quick-witted. A few times, I actually chuckled out loud, which is a rare thing for me. Not that I don't have a sense of humor; I'm just a bit of a quiet reader.

The problem, I think, lies in the plot and the infuriating characters, who all just screwed each other over repeatedly. I just never grew fond of Fat Charlie (who was a downright putz until the end) or Spider (who was just so rude!) or their father, Anansi for that matter. It's tough to want to turn page after page when you could care less about the characters, and good writing can only pull you so far.

Now obviously, this is not my last venture into Gaimanland, as I've begun Neverwhere. I'll let you know how that goes.

Song Stuck in My Head: Memories by Barbara Streisand

So, how lame am I? I started this blog, posted one measly entry, and then promptly forgot about it! I suppose that it could appear like I was busy with my writing, that I was not actually *that* distracted. But that's not entirely true, because I've been plenty distracted with other things.

Like, trying to finish Anansi Boys. I'm sorry Neil, but I just can't seem to find the motivation to pick up the book and finish it. It's sitting right here on my nightstand, next to Neverwhere, and I can't even manage to pick it up and read more than a paragraph. Not because it sucks, but just because I can't find the time to just allow myself to get sucked back into the story.

And spring has sprung in Germany, so we've been trying to spend time outdoors. I've been trying to urge Amelia to ride her bike (because heck, all the kids her age have already mastered pedaling!) but she just doesn't seem to be interested. She'd rather play with her ball, or make me blow bubbles while she kisses or kicks them. Some days, I blow bubbles so much, I get lightheaded. I need an automatic bubble making machine or something STAT!

She does, however, know all her letters, numbers, shapes and colors. She's even really started counting, like pointing to her fingers and counting up to five. Big ups, Little Girl! And she recognizes some sight words, like "have" and "play" and "of." She surprises me everyday with what she's learned by observation, like when I brought the water bottle in the other day and she said, "Heavy?"

Gosh, my Schinkenbutt is all growed up! *pretend tear*

I guess I have been getting some writing done too, or more like, editing (which nobody tells you is a real pain in the ass when you're a perfectionist!). I keep tweaking scenes and rewriting dialogue for maximum impact, and it's really taking a helluva long time. But the payoff will be a (hopefully) decent novel, I guess. I've also made it darker, so it's been a little difficult writing scenes with death and such, since that's not something I normally encounter in my day to day life. But hey, it's all about growth and crap like that, right?

I am what I am...

Hi, my name's Wilette and I want to be a writer. Unfortunately, I get distracted quite easily. Take right now, for example. I should be writing additional scenes to my novel, but what am I doing instead? I'm snacking on my daughter's goldfish crackers and starting a new blog. I'm hopeless.

I've also been playing catch up with music lately. Since we moved to Germany (coming on two years now), I've found myself in this bubble of ignorance. We don't have German cable and the only t.v. we have is AFN satellite, which airs only a select few American shows but replaces product advertisements with unitentionally goofy military commercials. So James Morrison, who released his first album Undiscovered in 2007? I only *just* discovered him. I am way behind.

To make matters worse, the Media Gods That Be has banned anybody outside of the United States from watching anything on youtube so that the only version of Beyonce's Single Ladies video available has a leotarded Jonas freaking Brother in it. I am, quite frankly, appalled. And a little sick to my stomach.

I never thought I'd say this, but thank goodness for the wonderful Army Europe library system, a veritable Shangri-La of books, movies, music, magazines, newspapers, you name it. Their new system allows me to log on to the website, search for whatever the heck my heart desires at that very moment (i.e. Elmo & Abbie's Great Adventure), reserve it, and be able to pick it up a day or two later. The network involves the entire European library system, so if the book I want is in Schweinfurt, they'll send it down to our library. I am in love with this system hardcore!

The only problem now, though, is that just gives me more fodder for distraction. Ah well.